ALM02 The Death of a Celebrity

by Hulbert Footner

  “I think so,” she said doubtfully. “There is something different about him … No, Inspector, this man has a moustache and that other had a shaven lip.”

  “Pardon me,” said Lee, “I forgot that.” He turned to Emmett. The latter threw an arm over his mouth, but Loasby pulled down both his arms from behind and held them. The trim little moustache came away in Lee’s hand with a couple of pulls. “It’s false,” he said. “In disguising himself he reversed the usual procedure. Rather clever of him.”

  “That is the man,” said Cynthia. “I am certain of it now.”

  Fanny slipped an arm through Cynthia’s and the two girls went out.

  “I can produce a dozen more identifying witnesses,” murmured Lee.

  There was a silence in the big room. Siebert and Mack were staring at Emmett, dazed. Loasby was the first to speak. He said, with a curious mixture of admiration and chagrin: “Nice work. Lee. Like the Mounties, you always get your man.”

  Lee, with a look of pain, threw up his hand. “This was more than just another case, Inspector.”

  No sound came from Emmett. Loasby had released his arms. Suddenly with the quickness of an animal, he sprang for the open window. The river was two hundred feet below. Loasby grabbed him, but he slipped through. Siebert thrust out a foot and he crashed to the ground. They seized him. He struggled silently, like a madman, with the strength of three. Loasby drew his gun and, reversing it, struck him on the head with the butt. Emmett went limp. Smither and the headquarters detective ran in. “Have you got handcuffs?” Loasby asked his man. “Yes, sir.”

  “Put them on him, and carry him out into the gallery. Phone down to the lobby for Williamson to come up. Get a car to take this fellow to Headquarters.”

  Again there was a silence in the big room. The men looked at each other, unable to comprehend that it was all over. Siebert murmured: “Gavin was Emmett’s friend for twenty-five years!” After a moment, he added: “I can’t seem to get it straight. Lee. What about the play?”

  “It was Gavin’s play. That’s what Emmett killed him for. Emmett copied it, making a few unimportant changes, and sent it to you under the name of John Venner.”

  “Good God, Lee! Do you blame me for my part in marketing it?”

  “Did you know it was Gavin’s play?”

  “No! I’m not a literary man, I’m an agent!”

  “That lets you out. Lee looked at Mack sombrely. “Mack knew it.”

  Mack’s face turned livid. “No, Lee!” he cried.

  “Don’t lie,” said Lee deprecatingly. “I have proof that you knew.”

  “How could I have known it? I only surmised it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before you put it into rehearsal?”

  “That wouldn’t have brought Gavin back.”

  “It would have saved me two months’ work, and Cynthia all that mental agony … Suppose this brute had killed her this evening?”

  Mack flung an arm up. “For God’s sake, don’t speak of that, Lee! … Try to put yourself in my place,” he went on. “This play gave me my only chance to effect a reconciliation with Bea. She was mad to nose out the Garrett woman and play that part.”

  “Sure,” said Lee, ” and what was friendship?”

  Mack was silent. “Lee,” asked Loasby, ” how did you pin it on Emmett Gundy?”

  “We traced him by the old typewriter. To-night we found the hangout where he did his typing. In a hole in the wall I found a page from Gavin’s note-book which Emmett had saved because he couldn’t read it, and he thought it must be important. It was important. It’ll send him to the chair.” Lee took the leaf from his pocket and passed it over.

  “This is all in hieroglyphics,” said Loasby.

  “Phoenician characters,” corrected Lee. “When we were in school together Gavin and I used to correspond in these characters in order to conceal our boyish secrets. There are only nineteen letters in the Phoenician alphabet and when we lacked a letter we turned one of our own upside down. Gavin had occasion to make an entry in his note-book that he didn’t want anybody to read and he naturally turned to these characters again.”

  “What does it say?” asked Loasby.

  “Listen.” Lee read slowly: “For his new novel Emmett said he needed a farewell letter left by a successful man who had suddenly tired of life. He couldn’t seem to get it right, and I wrote out a draft for him. Afterwards the amusing thought came to me: Suppose E were to kill me and leave this letter beside my body? There’s an idea for a crime play in this.”

  “Good God!” murmured Siebert.

  THE police took away their prisoner. Mack Townley slipped out of the apartment without saying anything to Lee; he was ashamed. Lee paid off Smither and sent him home. Only Siebert was left with Lee. The tall young fellow drifted back and forth in the big room, aimlessly picking things up and putting them down again; glancing at Lee out of the corners of his eyes, evidently longing to confide in him, and afraid to speak. To Lee he seemed absurdly young. Finally he said very off-hand: “I suppose Cynthia’s gone back to bed.”

  “I reckon so,” said Lee. “She’s probably asleep.”

  “Well, hardly sleeping so soon after the scene in this room.”

  Another silence. In the end Siebert could no longer hold himself in. “O God, Lee,” he burst out, “I love her so much it’s terrible! Will I ever be able to make good with her? Has the break between us widened so far it can never be bridged?”

  “Bless me!” said Lee. “How can I tell? I don’t know what has passed between you.”

  “I acted terribly,” said Siebert. “I could bite my tongue off when I think of some of the things I said. It was only because I loved her so, but she can’t understand that.,.. God! I’ve tried my damnedest to forget her. Night after night I’ve tried to drink myself into unconsciousness. I’ve tried to get interested in other women. It’s no good! no good! I only come out of it disgusted with myself, and wanting her more than ever.”

  “She’s proud,” said Lee. “You’ll have to humble yourself before she’ll forgive you.”

  “Humble myself! To Cynthia! God! I’d push a peanut with my nose from the Battery to Harlem for her!”

  “I doubt if that would help.”

  “I have too violent a nature,” Siebert said sorrowfully. “But I’ll change. I’ll learn to control myself!”

  “I wouldn’t tame myself too much,” said Lee. “Of course, I don’t know anything about it myself, but I’m told they don’t really mind a little violence.”

  “Ah, now you’re only pulling my leg!”

  “No.”

  Another silence. “Of course, even if she’s awake, it would be a mistake to say anything to her to-night,” Siebert said, begging Lee with his eyes to contradict him.

  “I suppose so,” said Lee.

  “Yet she might think it strange if I went home without even sending her message.”

  “You can send your love by me.”

  “O God, Lee, don’t torment me!”

  “Well, if I could trust you merely to say goodnight …”

  Siebert was electrified with joy. “But if she’s in bed!” he gasped.

  “Fanny’s in there.”

  “Can I? Can I?”

  “If you will promise me not to make a scene, however she may provoke you.”

  “God, Lee, I’ll go in on tiptoe!”

  He was already making for the gallery with four-foot strides; Lee trotted after him and opened the door to the bedroom corridor. “The last door,” he said.

  Siebert knocked. When Fanny opened the door he said breathlessly: “Just wanted to say goodnight to Cynthia.” Fanny, smiling, opened the door wide, and there she lay. “Cynthia!” he murmured, forgetting everything. “I’m in bed!” she said indignantly. “I see you are,” he murmured, confused. “Go away!”

  “All right, Cyn.” But he did not go. Fanny started edging out of the room behind him. “Stay here, Fanny!” commanded Cynthia. Fanny made believe to
be deaf. “Well . . goodnight,” said Siebert. “Goodnight,” said Cynthia crossly. Siebert, like a man in a trance, went halfway to the bed. “I’m so sorry, Cyn,” he murmured. “You can tell me some other time.” He went all the way to the bed then, and dropped to his knees beside it. “I love you so much!” he whispered, not daring to touch her.

  It was sweet to see so big a young man so chastened, and in spite of herself a dimple appeared in Cynthia’s cheek. She looked obstinately away towards the window. “Can’t you forgive me?” he whispered. “Give me a little time.”

  “At least you know now that there is no guilt on me.”

  “I never really believed you were guilty.”

  “You said you did. After all, I’ve got something to forgive, too.”

  Cynthia jerked her head around. “That’s not going to do you any good!”

  “I’ve got to be honest with you,” he pleaded. “I love you too much to flatter you.”

  “What have you got to forgive me?”

  “Because you allowed yourself to believe even for a moment that I could be guilty of such a thing!”

  “Well, you acted like it!”

  “You should have known!”

  “I’m not going to lie here and be scolded by you. Go away.” “Please don’t anger me,” he begged. “I promised Lee that …”

  “Go away! Go away! Go away!”

  Siebert’s self-imposed discipline broke down. “All right!” he cried in a rage. “But by God! I’m going to have a kiss first!”

  He flung his arms around her. It turned out to be a long kiss. Cynthia relaxed and her white arms stole around his neck. “I love you so much!” he murmured.

  “I suppose I love you, too,” she grumbled. “But, Lord! you’re going to be difficult to manage!”

  AFTER his arrest Emmett Gundy appeared to turn completely apathetic, but those who visited him reported that there was a wicked fire hidden in the man. He said he had no money to employ a lawyer, and he rejected all offers to supply him with one. Lee would have been glad to contribute to such a cause, merely for the sake of seeing justice done. A famous alienist interested himself in the case, but Emmett would not submit to an examination. In the end the court assigned one of the thousand-dollar men to defend him. This lawyer could get nothing out of his client. Emmett insisted on pleading guilty, and no doubt the lawyer encouraged it because it saved him trouble. In any case, the evidence for the prosecution was overwhelming.

  When it was all over it transpired that Emmett had left a confession. It was a strange document. Instead of expressing sorrow for his acts, he appeared to glory in them. “I had had it in for Gavin Dordress for a long time.” he wrote. “Every time he gave me money I hated him, because I should have been the one to give money to him. He had everything in the world; fame, money, lovers, friends, and I had nothing. It wasn’t fair, because when we were young men together everybody said I had more talent than he. But he was crafty; he had the art of getting what he wanted out of people. Everybody fell for him. I wasn’t liked because I was too honest. He had no real talent; his plays weren’t any good, but he was a past master of publicity. He milked other men’s brains; some of his best ideas he stole from me. My novels were so good, the publishers were afraid of them. There was a conspiracy to keep me down.

  “It was his secretiveness that gave me the idea of rubbing him out. He would never tell anybody what he was writing. As soon as I made sure of this, I began to lay my plans to get his play. Sitting in his studio one day, looking out of the window, I saw how easy it would be to come down from the roof of the building next door. Every time I went into the sunroom I saw the key to the garden door hanging there, and I knew that nobody went out in the garden after summer was over. So one day I prigged the key and had a duplicate made. Afterwards I returned the original key to its place without its ever having been missed. I got the suicide letter out of him a couple of weeks before I was ready to use it.

  “I spent a lot of thought and time on my disguise. As I would have to pass through the next building, firstly to get the lay of the land, and secondly to pull the trick, I had to make myself look completely different from my usual self. At first I couldn’t see through the thick glasses I put on, but I trained myself so that I could look around them. I shaved off my moustache and practised with false hair until I could apply one exactly like it. Thus I was able to go clean shaven when disguised.

  “My opportunity came on the night Gavin gave a dinner party. I left the party early, changed to my disguise in the Penn Station, and got to the roof of the building next door. I lowered myself to Gavin’s roof garden by means of a thin, strong rope ladder I had made. I could see into the penthouse through the windows. His man was still there and I waited. Meanwhile I took off my disguise. I had on a black overcoat under the yellow one and a hat in the pocket, and I fixed up to look like my ordinary self as well as I could in the dark.

  “As soon as Gavin was alone I let myself into the sunroom, crossed the lobby and went out into the elevator hall without his hearing me. I had a little mirror, and in the hall I fixed my moustache. All these details were planned in advance. I rang the apartment bell. Gavin came to the door. He was surprised to see me back. I told him I was so nervous I couldn’t sleep; I wanted somebody to talk to. He couldn’t very well turn me away. He took me in the studio and offered me a drink. While he was away getting ice I put a glove on, and got his gun out of the desk drawer and dropped it in my pocket. I kept my gloved hand out of sight. He suggested a game of chess to quiet my nerves. This suited me all right. While he was sitting in his chair arranging the men on a little tabourette in front of him, I came up at one side and shot him.

  “I took my time to fix everything. In a drawer of his desk I found the script of an old play. The fire was about out. I burned the script page by page to make sure it was completely destroyed, and then laid the half-burned title page of The Changeling on the hearth. I strapped the rest of The Changeling script around my waist. I put away the chessmen and moved the tabourette. I laid the farewell letter on his desk, left the lights burning, and got out. Resumed my disguise in the garden; climbed the rope ladder and pulled it up after me; tied it around me under the overcoat. I had a little difficulty getting out of the building next door, because it was closed up for the night, but by listening carefully, I could keep tab of the watchman on his rounds, and I finally made my way down to the ground floor and let myself out into the street.

  “Amos Lee Mappin, being ah intimate friend of Gavin’s, was the greatest danger I ran, but I had to chance it. Mappin is a slippery customer, and a criminal at heart. He always had it in for me. The police were satisfied as to suicide; they never figured in the case until the end. Only Mappin insisted that it was murder; he saw good publicity in it for himself. I made Louella Kip swear to an alibi for me that night. She never knew that I had put Gavin out. She just thought she was saving me inconvenience.

  “When I read that Mappin had found a little bruise on Gavin’s forehead and had sketched it, I was worried. I knew Gavin must have got it from striking against one of the chessmen, and I expected Mappin would find the chessmen next. I thought there might be a speck of blood or skin on one of them. So I assumed my disguise and returned to the penthouse that night. When I got down to the roof of the lower building, I found to my surprise that Mappin and the girl were staying in the apartment, but that didn’t frighten me off. I waited until they went to bed, and let myself in and replaced the chessmen with a different set. On the way out the girl saw me in the dark and screamed, but luck was with me. She fainted, and while Mappin was bringing her to, I made a getaway.

  “The rest is pretty well known. Everything went wrong after the play was produced. The girl made believe to recognise the play as Gavin’s work. She couldn’t have known it was his play; it was only a notion that she insisted on. And Mappin backed her up, of course. So I was unable to cash in on any royalties. I had to give up my room at the Vandermeer. In the first place, i
f Gavin’s death had been accepted as a suicide, I had intended to come out after a bit and acknowledge the play as mine. Then I could have lived easy for the rest of my life. But Mappin spoiled all that. It was only by a fluke that he caught me in the end. My plans were perfect. But I was too daring in going to his apartment that night.

  EMMETT GUNDY.”

  THE END