Without comment the inspector read on: “ ‘Wired Anthony woman’s bank. She’s mailed as high as a thousand dollars at a time to be deposited to her account since she landed at the Richelieu. She must be B.M.’ ”
“Good heavens!” I whispered.
The inspector frowned me into silence and continued:
“ ‘Anthony’s getting her share of the take all right, but can’t believe she’s B.M. Crooks stick to their own last. It’s more likely she’s working B.M. for her part of the booty. She may have thought up some of the stunts or copped them off her Broadway pals, but it’s not her stripe to risk burning herself by pulling her own chestnuts out of the fire. Not that dame! Note - Who’s doing her dirty work?’ ”
I think I should explain that each sentence after the key word ‘note’ was heavily underscored. Evidently they stood for points which the private detective considered important enough for immediate attention and investigation.
The next entry was in the same vein. “ ‘The Anthony dame’s getting her rake-off and getting plenty, but she’s not doing any of the rough stuff herself, and I’d bet on it. Can’t figure what guy she’s got on the string. Doesn’t act sweet on any man here. I think she’d like to give that federal dick, Lansing, a run for his money, and they say he’s got it all right. But she shies off him for some reason. Note - Why’s he here? Never heard of the G man being detailed on a blackmailing rap.’ ”
Stephen made a grimace. “He had me ticketed.”
“Along with everybody else,” I groaned.
The next day James Reid had received a report. “ ‘Wired Jones in Washington. He wires back it’s the gossip that Lansing’s working on a white-slave trick. What the hell! I haven’t run onto anything like that here, barring a hint of it in the case of the Mosby trail.
Note - Is girl snatching another one of B.M.’s little rackets?
He’s beginning to sound like one of these here master crooks you read about. It’s screwy to expect a guy of that calibre in this little two-by-four burg – or is it?’ ”
“He’s beginning to suspect what he’s up against,” muttered the inspector.
“Yep,” said Stephen grimly. “He’s loaded his hook for a minnow and got caught on the wrong end of a shark.”
James Reid continued to be plagued by Hilda Anthony. “ ‘Maybe it ain’t a man who’s sweet on her,’ ” he wrote. “ ‘Maybe it’s someone she’s got a club over. Note - Find out what Cyril Fancher’s doing in this rural hide-out, married to an old woman. He’s got Times Square wrote all over him. The kind of nice boy who used to hang out at Child’s Forty-seventh Street Restaurant after 1 a.m. Maybe he and the Anthony woman are old side-kicks. Maybe she followed him off down here or he sent for her. Maybe the money she’s mailing back is her drag from what he’s lifting off his fat slob of a wife.’ ”
“This is getting on my nerves,” I whispered. “It’s like-like a séance.”
“The voice from the dead,” quoted Stephen and shook his head.
We were neither of us prepared for James Reid’s abrupt switch in the next entry. “ ‘Run into something funny today, wasn’t even looking for it. The Adair woman’s a sneak thief.’ ”
I could not get my breath, and Stephen’s fingers tightened on the pencil in his hand until his knuckles were a shiny white.
The inspector glanced from one to the other of us, whistled softly to himself, and then went on in a dry voice. “ ‘I caught her in the act today. She lifted a red glass clip off the buzzum of that stiff necked old maid, the Adams cat.’ ”
I gasped and then by main strength produced a grin. “He ticketed me all right,” I stammered ruefully.
Stephen did not raise his eyes, but the inspector smiled faintly before he resumed reading. “ ‘The old gal didn’t even know the jewel was gone. Not till the Adair girl realized I was hep. At that she covered up like lightning. Old hand at it, I guess. “You dropped your clip, Miss Adams,” she said as cool as a cowcumber. But it was lucky for yours truly that looks can’t kill. Note - What’s the attraction in this place for a smart shoplifter and her cub? My God, is this the criminals’ Grand Hotel or a crooks’ convention or what? Anyway, those two court watching!’ ”
“Oh!” I gasped.
Stephen never looked up and to my relief James Reid’s next entry tacked back to Cyril. “ ‘The Anthony woman’s got something on Fancher all right. Heard her tell him yesterday that he’d better sit up and do his little trick cute or she’d mention him in her next letter to Spute Madigan. Fancher turned whiter than a toad’s belly.
Note - Wire Bim in New York about who and what is Spute and why is he poison to Fancher.’ ”
I sighed. “So Hilda Anthony was back of it all.”
“She had a killing coming to her,” muttered Stephen.
The inspector read on: “ ‘Madigan boss of mob, known as a killer. Fancher’s real name is Roger Tuttle. Member of Madigan’s mob for years. Did all the little routine jobs no one else would do. Sort of office boy for the gang. Tried to break away several times. Madigan thought it funny to yank him back. Shot at him three four times. Scared Fancher silly. He was a nervous wreck when he tipped the police off to Madigan.
“ ‘Fancher claimed it was his only chance to get free. Claimed he’d tried to go straight again and again, only couldn’t for Madigan. Madigan sent up for twelve years on Fancher’s testimony. Swore he’d kill the squealer if he ever got out. Madigan paroled last year through political pull. Fancher promptly took a run out powder. Madigan back on Broadway, says he’ll kill Fancher if he ever catches up with him. Madigan and Anthony woman old cronies.’ ”
“So that’s why,” I cried huskily. “She devilled Cyril into it!”
“She furnished the brains while he did the work,” said the inspector, “and she got most of the profits.”
“And finally she was ready to turn on the poor louse, so he killed her. Is that the theory, Inspector?” asked Stephen.
The inspector nodded. “It fits,” he said and read on: “ ‘Adair woman snitched a green blouse out of the Lawson girl’s room today. Stood on a chair and hooked the thing over the transom with the handle of an umbrella, like she was fishing.’ ”
“Oh God!” I groaned to myself.
“ ‘B.M. has overlooked one bet,’ ” went on James Reid. “ ‘Guess he figures the Adairs haven’t got it. He doesn’t know what I know. The old maid is rolling in coin, and the Adair girl is the daughter of Adams’ old beau. I heard the Adair woman say so tonight while I was listening outside their door. They come down here to chisel off the Adams’ bankroll. Note - Might pick up something on the side for myself. The Adairs ought to pay all they got to keep me from spoiling their play with Adams.’ ”
“Oh!” I cried.
The inspector looked at me sharply, frowned and then glanced at Stephen’s bowed head.
Keeping his eyes down, Stephen murmured wearily, “You said Reid wasn’t above a little left-handed blackmailing of his own, Inspector.”
The inspector did not answer, but his expression darkened as he continued with the notes. “ ‘Approached Adair girl this morning,’ ” said Reid. “ ‘Claimed to know all, and she broke down and blew the works. Mother’s been in the pen for theft. Out now on parole. Broke it and come down here to work on Adams. Girl flew at me like a crazy woman when I threatened to turn them up to the cops. Said she’d see me dead before she’d let her mother go back to jail.’ ”
“Oh God,” I whispered to myself again, and in Stephen’s hands the pencil snapped in two.
“ ‘I was dumbfounded at her strength. Her fingers went into me like steel bits,’ ” wrote James Reid. “ ‘I told her to put up or else. She said they haven’t any money. Said her mother wasn’t going to live long, said she wouldn’t last a month back in the pen, begged me to be merciful. I laughed in her face.’ ”
“The cad!” I cried.
“The bastard!” groaned Stephen.
The inspector cleared his throat. �
��We come now to James Reid’s last day on earth,” he announced solemnly.
I shuddered, and Stephen muttered fiercely, “For God’s sake, get it over.”
James Reid began his final entry in high glee. “ ‘The rat’s asked for the bait at last,’ ” he wrote. “ ‘And I’ve got what I’ve been waiting for. Mary Lawson has received another note, the first since I’ve been here. She’s to place five hundred dollars in her water pitcher and leave it on the fourth-floor landing of the fire escape tonight at 7:45. Oh boy, and when B.M. collects I’ll be there! In the Adams suite next door where I can get one good look at the gentleman. That’s all I want. Just one glimpse of his face and he’s my meat. Mrs L is going to keep the old maid out of the way, but I’ll have to use the skeleton key again to get in.’ ”
“Oh dear,” I whispered.
However, the next entry, written about noon the same day, had changed in tenor. “ ‘Must be getting jittery in my old age,’ ” Reid wrote. “ ‘Ought to be feeling set up over the juicy little melon I’m going to cut myself, thanks to the Adairs. Ain’t like me to get steamed up over a hot headed little filly with a mother who’s more than half batty. But the way the girl stared at me after I called the Adams’ attention to her spectacle case this morning wasn’t healthy. The expression on the old maid’s face was funny though. She can’t figure how it got downstairs. If she had eyes, she’d have seen it fall out of the Adair woman’s handbag when she dropped it. Someday it will dawn on Adams to wonder how I knew it was hers. It’s a good thing for me she doesn’t know I’ve been through her suite with a spy glass, along with everybody else’s.’ ”
“The sneak!” I gasped.
The inspector read on: “ ‘If I scared easy I’d lay off the Adairs; that gal is plenty desperate. I think she meant it when she said she’d see me dead before she’d let me turn in the mother. It is to laugh. After the wild Arabs I’ve handled in my day I can protect myself from a chit of a girl.’ ”
I could not get my breath and, like Stephen, I did not dare lift my eyes, but I could feel the inspector’s grim scrutiny before, clearing his throat, he went on to the last entry in James Reid’s sordid case history.
“ ‘Well, the fireworks went off this afternoon, and I don’t mean perhaps. The Adair gal asked me up to her room and told me straight out that she’d get me if I didn’t let her mother alone. She put the federal dick onto me, too, for he called me up later and warned me to stop snooping on the Adair women or he’d knock my block off. Anybody can see at a glance he’s sweet on the girl.’ ”
Stephen’s face turned perfectly white under the inspector’s prolonged regard.
“So,” said Inspector Bunyan softly, “that’s why neither you nor Miss Adams has played fair with me, Lansing. Each had your reasons for doing everything in your power to prevent my uncovering a lead to the Adair girl.”
Stephen made no reply, but I could not be silent. “The mother is a kleptomaniac, Inspector. She – it’s a disease. She’s not responsible.”
“A taint of madness,” murmured the inspector softly.
I bit my lip. “She only takes things, pretty, colourful things, for the girl whom she adores. Kathleen invariably returns them.”
“Yes?” murmured the inspector sceptically.
“She wouldn’t steal if Kathleen had everything she could possibly want,” I said desperately, “and from now on she shall have; I’ll see to that. There was no point in our telling you this tragic story about the Adairs. I am going to take care of them. I’ll see to it personally that the mother never has either the temptation or the opportunity to steal again. She can’t live long, Inspector. It’s an unnecessary piece of cruelty to send her back to the penitentiary. Naturally” – my voice faltered – “had they been connected with the murders, both Stephen and I should have felt compelled to tell you everything. But their unhappy problem has no part in the – in the crimes here.”
“I wonder,” said the inspector in so silky a tone I shivered.
“Is that all of the notes?” asked Stephen hoarsely.
“No, Mr Lansing,” said the inspector, looking very grim, “there is more to come.”
I remember I instinctively clenched my teeth as he began those last damning lines. “ ‘I put a crimp in the Adair girl all right,’ ” Reid wrote, “ ‘when I informed her that it would do her no good to rub me out, because I’ve got it all down in black and white. She looked like she could kill me when I warned her that, if anything happened to me, my notes would land her on the gallows. Come to think of it, I’d better find somewhere else to hide them. Beneath the carpet ain’t so hot when you’re dealing with big-time crooks, and that dotty mother of hers is entirely too smooth about lifting things out of people’s rooms. If I stick them under the lining in my spectacle case I can always, if necessary, palm it off on the Adams snoop-cat. She’d never know the difference unless she saw the two together. And, anyway, I’ll be in her rooms for quite a spell tonight. I can pick it up then unless I still have this damned weird feeling that eyes are following me about, boring into my back; only when I turn around, there’s nothing there.’ ”
“Then B. M. had seen through him!” I cried. “Cyril Fancher knew what Reid was up to and had him marked for death even then.”
“It doesn’t sound like it,” said the inspector dryly and read on:
“ ‘Of all people in the house I’d never have picked the guy who is actually doing the rough stuff. It’s hard to believe even after the Anthony dame spilled the dope.’ ”
I gasped and so did Stephen, but the inspector went impassively on with James Reid’s confession of his own abominable treachery.
“ ‘Her room is next door to the Adairs. She heard me talking to them and laid for me when I came out. “Didn’t know you went in for a little fancy blackmailing,” says she, “but maybe we could use a wise guy like you.” Then she took me into her own room and opened up. Good Lord, what a brain that woman’s got! Even with the lame duck she’s been working with, she’s a wow! What could she and a bird like me do together! It’s a rank trick to pull on Mrs L, but every dog has to scratch his own fleas.
“ ‘Guess I’ll have to go through the trick tonight though. Can’t back out without arousing her suspicions. Won’t be any trouble to tell her I kept a faithful watch for B.M. but he failed to show. Lucky I haven’t told her her man was on the square. That’s why I always demand a week on the job before I hand in a report. You never know what’ll turn up. But, for that matter, as long as we’ve got the film she don’t dare squeal, whatever she suspects. And that five hundred dollar retainer she paid me looks sick now when I’m due to get half of everything she coughs up. Did I say I’d laid a juicy melon for myself? And how!’ ”
“Oh!” I cried. “Of all the unprincipled scoundrels!”
Stephen stared defiantly at the inspector. “The Anthony woman was going to team up with Reid, so B.M. killed him,” he muttered.
“Doesn’t sound like it,” repeated the inspector as he continued.
“ ‘I had my doubts about how B.M. would take my homing in,’ ” was almost the last thing Reid wrote. “ ‘But the Anthony skirt said he’d never had the guts for the raw stuff, and when she arranged for me to talk to him he all but fell on my neck, the poor fish! Now all I got to do is clip the Adair girl’s claws, and I’m set.’ ”
I was shuddering again, and Stephen’s face was ghastly.
“These are the last lines the dead man wrote,” said the inspector impressively. “ ‘Slipped the spectacle case to the Adams hen, feel safer, though I think the Mosby woman saw me, but she’s as harmless as new milk. If only I could shake off the feeling that crazy eyes are following me everywhere I go!’ ”
The inspector slowly refolded the thin sheets of paper amid a deathly silence, and then Stephen cried, “They fooled him, B.M. and Hilda Anthony! They just pretended to let him in on their rotten business. Soon as they got him on the spot in Miss Adams’ room, one or the other of them polished him o
ff.”
“You think so?” drawled the inspector.
“Probably he opened the door to them himself,” I cried excitedly, “or let them in at the window. He wouldn’t look for danger from them till it was too late.”
“They didn’t know about the spectacle case,” the inspector pointed out.
“Lottie Mosby knew!” I cried. “I saw her peeping out of a room down the hall just after Reid handed it to me. She could have told them.”
“She knew all right,” said the inspector. “That’s what she was after in your suite when she was killed.”
“How did she get in?” demanded Stephen sharply.
“We didn’t mention it, but we found a skeleton key on her dead body. I suppose B.M. gave it to her. It suited his purposes to make it convenient for her to slip in and out of various men’s rooms.”
“Oh!” I cried with a foul taste in my mouth.
The inspector looked from one to the other of us. “There’s no use evading the issue. Painful as it is, it must be faced,” he said at last.
“What-what do you mean?” I gasped.
“I have said before that criminals do not change their habits any more than the rest of us do. It’s still true. Hilda Anthony was a bad egg but not a killer. Neither was Cyril Fancher, as both of you felt instinctively. He played the B.M. role because the Anthony woman forced him to, but he didn’t kill Reid; just as Fancher could never bring himself to kill Madigan, his tormentor back East.”
My lips were terribly stiff. “But he attacked Glory and me in the basement this afternoon. He would have strangled me to death – except for Stephen.”
“In my opinion,” said the inspector, “Fancher with the Wilson girl was gone before you ever entered the basement, Miss Adams, or very soon afterward, fleeing for his life in the truck. I agree, however, that it was he who knocked the Quackenberry girl out, though by her own statement she never saw the face of her assailant. Right, Mr Lansing?”
With a face like death Stephen nodded.
“Fancher probably intended to go back for Miss Quackenberry after he put the other one in the truck, but your scream frightened him off, Miss Adams. Running away from danger is his style of self-defence, not murder, and it was not he who killed James Reid or Lottie Mosby or Hilda Anthony, nor was it he who attempted to strangle you today.”
Murder a la Richelieu (American Queens of Crime Book 2) Page 21