‘What particular decorations or charms did you and he discuss?’
‘None of ’em. Started—but right off he handed me his card and we got to talkin’ ’bout other matters and fust thing I know, there was the flunky ready to show me in to Frimbo. So I went back to my chair, picked up my hat, and follered the flunky. Thought I might see this li’l detective ag’in, but ’stead o’ goin’ out the way I come in, Frimbo tole me to go out by this side hall-door hyer.’
‘Did you see two clubs on opposite ends of the mantelpiece?’
‘Clubs? Uh-uh. Not far as I ’member now. Them funny-faces and things on the wall—I ’member them. Wait a minute—you mean two bones?’
‘Yes.’
‘B’lieve I did. One ’cross one end of the mantelpiece, and one ’cross the other. Yea—sho’ I did.’
‘What did you wish to see Frimbo about, Mr Jones?’
‘Now right there, brother, is where you gettin’ personal. But I reckon I kin tell you—though I don’ want to see it in no papers.’
‘There are no reporters here.’
‘Well, then, y’see it’s like this. I got a wife in Chicago. I figger she gets kind o’ lonesome seein’ me only every other weekend—that is, for any length o’ time. Three four hours in the middle o’ the day is jes’ enough to say howdy and goo’by. So with all them evenin’s full o’ nothin’ ’special to do, I got kind o’ worried—y’ understand? And one o’ the New York boys on the train was tellin’ me this Frimbo could tell the low-down on doings like that, so I figgered I’d come up and see him. So up I come.’
‘Did he give you the information you were looking for?’
‘’Deed he did, brother. He set my mind at rest.’
‘Just what was said when you came in to see him?’
‘Well, I say I was hyer to ask ’bout my wife—was she true to me or f’ru with me. But he didn’ say nothin’ till he got good and ready, and then he didn’ say much. Tole me I didn’ have nothin’ to worry ’bout—that he seen I had murder in my heart for somebody, but there wasn’ no other mule in my stall sho’ ’nough and to go on forgit it. ’Course them wasn’ his ’zack words, but dass what he meant. So I went on—’cep’n’ as I was ’bout to go down the stairs, the flunky ’peared in the hall there and collected my two bucks. Then I lef’.’
Detective Dart turned his flashlight on the table where the blue-bordered handkerchief still lay.
‘Ever see that before?’
The railroad porter leaned forward to inspect the object. ‘Seen one jes’ like it,’ he admitted.
‘When and where?’
‘Tonight. In the front room yonder. That tall feller was wipin’ his face with it when he fust come in. Couldn’t miss it. ’Cose I can’t say it’s the self-same one—’
‘That’s all for the present, Jones. Thank you. Wait up front a few minutes, please.’
‘Yas, suh. And if they’s anything I kin do, jes’ lemme know. Who you reckon done it, chief?’
‘When do you count up your tips, Jones?’
‘Suh?’
‘In the middle of the trip—or at the end?’
‘Oh.’ Jones grinned widely, his round freckled face brightening. ‘I see what you mean. Yas, suh. I count ’em after the train’s pulled in.’
‘Right. This train isn’t in yet. But we know where it’s headed and we know who’s on board.’
‘O.K., brother engineer. But bring her in on time, please suh. I got me a little serious wringin’ and twistin’ to do later on tonight.’
‘I’m getting interested in the servant with the evil eye,’ murmured Dr Archer. ‘Terribly careless of him to disappear like this.’
‘We’ll find him, if it boils down that far.’
‘Are you by any manner of chance beginning to draw conclusions?’
‘Not by chance, no. Getting tired?’
‘The neurons of my pallium are confused but extraordinarily active. The soles of my feet, however, being, so to speak, at the other extreme as to both structure and function—’
‘Brady, bring in Spider Webb and bring along a chair for Dr Archer.’
‘Thoughtful of you,’ said Dr Archer.
‘Excuse me, doc. I forgot you were standing all this time.’
‘I only remember it in the intervals myself. And this is possibly the last. However, better tardy than when parallel lines meet—what’s this?’
‘Wait a minute, Brady. Lights, Joe,’ the detective called. ‘Who’s there now? Oh, hello there, Tynes. This is our local finger-print hound, doc. What’d you find, Tynie?’
‘They had some trouble,’ the Spaniard-like newcomer in civilian dress said, ‘gettin’ a man up from downtown, and long as I was hangin’ around—’
‘Glad you were. Maybe we’ll make a killing for our own office. Be nice to carry this through by ourselves. So what’ve you got?’
‘I’ve got one isolated print. Smudgy, but definite. Didn’t even have to bring it out—just photographed it like it was.’
He reached into a small black Boston bag he was carrying. ‘Got the other stuff here, too.’ He brought forth a flat rectangular slab with a smooth metal surface a foot long and three inches wide, and placed it on the table, then a small roller with a handle, which he laid beside the slab. Next he withdrew a bundle wrapped in a silk cloth and handed it to Dart. ‘There’s your bone or club or whatever it is. Next time wrap it in something soft like a silk handkerchief.’
‘Had a handkerchief all right,’ Dart said, ‘but it wasn’t silk.’
‘Anything beats a newspaper—damn near scratched the thing useless.’
‘Don’t hold us up for an argument, Tynie. Bring on your print.’
‘Well, there’s probably lots of old finger marks on that bone—it’s gooey as hell. But this one is new. It’s a little spread, but there’d be no mistaking it.’
He withdrew now a metal cigarette-case. ‘Best thing in the world to carry a moist print in—see?’ He opened it, revealing, beneath either transverse guard, a single photograph of a thumb print. ‘The slight bulge accommodates the curl of the wet paper and the guards hold it in place without touching anything but the edges.’
‘Smart boy,’ said Dart.
‘Smarter than that,’ said the physician, ‘if you can read those smudges.’
‘Now listen, young expert,’ said Dart, ‘hold that here a minute. After I see this next bird, I want you to print everybody here and see if you find a print identical with that one. If you do, there’s a few free nights in jail for somebody.’
‘O.K., Perry.’
‘I hope so anyway—it’ll save sending out an alarm for the tall dark gentleman with the cock-eye.’
‘External strabismus is the term,’ said the doctor gravely.
‘The hell it is,’ said Dart. ‘Douse that light. All right Brady, let’s have the Spider.’
CHAPTER XII
SPIDER WEBB, an alert mouse-faced gentleman, perhaps thirty-five years old, was of dusky yellow complexion, rather sharp yet negroid features, and self-assured bearing. He was decidedly annoyed at the circumstances which had thus involved him, and his deep-set green-grey eyes glowed with a malicious impatience as he sat facing the well-nigh invisible detective.
His curt answers to Dart’s incisive questioning revealed nothing to contradict the essential points already established. But the eliciting of his reasons for coming tonight to see Frimbo opened an entirely new realm of possibility.
At first he surlily refused to discuss the interview between himself and the African. It had been strictly personal he said.
‘No more personal,’ the detective suggested, ‘than being held for murder on suspicion, was it?’
Spider was silent.
‘Or being arrested for number-running? You know we can get you there on several counts, don’t you?’
‘Can’t help that. Whatever you know, you also know I can’t talk. That’s suicide.’
‘So’s silence. Tellin
g the truth, Spider, will get you out of this—if you’re not guilty—out of this and several other counts I could hold you on. You’ve enjoyed a lot of freedom, but this is a matter of life and death. A man has been killed. You’re suspected. You can’t keep quiet but so long. You know that?’
Webb said nothing.
‘Now if it really was a personal matter you came here on tonight, telling me about it won’t affect your—er—professional standing. If it wasn’t, it had something to do with your number game. I know about that already—you won’t be telling me anything new. The only thing talking now will do is clear you if you’re innocent. Silence is equal to a confession.’
Spider’s receding chin quivered a bit; he started to speak, but didn’t.
‘You can get plenty, you know, for withholding evidence, too.’
‘I’d rather go to jail,’ Spider growled, ‘than take lead.’
‘Oh. So you’re afraid of getting shot? Then you do know something. You’d better spill it, Spider, now that you’ve gone that far. Who sent you here to get Frimbo?’
A little of Webb’s assurance dropped away.
‘Nobody. On the level. Nobody.’
‘The man behind you is Brandon. Did he send you?’
‘I said nobody.’
‘Let’s see now. Brandon has only one real competitor as a policy-king here in Harlem. That’s Spencer. Spider, your silence means one of two things. Either Brandon or Spencer had it in for Frimbo. If it was Spencer, you won’t talk because you did it. If it was Brandon, you’re afraid to squeal because he might find out.’
In the bright illumination of the horizontal beam of light, Spider’s face twitched and changed just enough to convince Dart that he was on the right track. He took a long chance:
‘Spencer has been hit hard several times in the past month, hasn’t he?’
‘How—how’d you know?’ came from the startled Spider.
‘We watch such things, Spider. It helps us solve lots of crimes. Your chief, Brandon, however, has shown no signs of loss. He’s going strong.’
Again Spider Webb’s expression betrayed a touch for the detective.
‘Of course, if you let me do all the talking, Spider, I won’t be able to give you any of the credit. I’ll have to put you in jail just the same—on all the outstanding counts. Understand, the only reason you’re not in jail now is that you might be of value in just such a case as this.’
Uneasily, Spider stirred in his chair.
‘You tried to escape coming here tonight, too, didn’t you, Spider? In Pat’s—when you saw a policeman with a man you had seen here earlier tonight. You tried to duck. I guess you’re our man all right. Brady, put the bracelets on—’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Spider. ‘Is this going to be on the level—no leaks?’
‘Give you my word. Wait, Brady. Go ahead, Spider.’
‘O.K.’
‘Good. You’re only protecting yourself,’ said Dart.
‘This Frimbo was a smart guy—much too smart,’ Spider Webb began.
‘Yes?’
‘Yea. He had a system of playing the game that couldn’t lose. I don’t know how he did it—whether he worked out somethin’ mathematical or was just a good guesser or what. But he could hit regular once a week without fail. And he played ten dollars a day, and I collected it.’
‘Go on.’
‘When he hit the third week in succession, the boss set up a howl. You know the percentage—six hundred to one. Hit for a dollar, you get six hundred minus the ten percent that goes to the runner. Hit for ten bucks, you’re due six thousand minus the six hundred—five thousand four hundred dollars. Well, even a big banker like Brandon can’t stand that—he only collects four grand a week.’
‘Only,’ murmured Dart.
‘And when it happened the third week, it looked bad for me—I was gettin’ six hundred out of each time this guy hit. I been with Brandon a long time, but he began to look at me awful doubtful. But he paid off—he always does—that’s why he’s successful at it. Also he told me, no more bets from this Frimbo. But then he begun to figure, and what he figured was this—that maybe he could use some o’ this Frimbo’s smartness for himself. Smart guy, Brandon. Here’s what he did.
‘First he accused me of playin’ crooked. Runners try that once in a while, y’ know. We have a list o’ names on a slip, with the number and amount of money being played by each person beside the name. Well, the slips are s’posed to be turned in at nine forty-five every A.M., but it takes some time to get ’em in. Ten o’clock, the clearing-house number on which the winner is based is announced downtown. There’s ways of holdin’ the slip just a few seconds after ten, having a buddy telephone the winning number up, say, to the house next door, or downstairs someplace, where another buddy signals what it is by tapping on the wall or a radiator or something. Then the runner adds the winning number to his list beside a fake name, collects the money later, and splits with his buddies. Brandon, of course, knows all them tricks, and accused me of ’em. I showed him I wasn’t dumb enough to try it three weeks in succession. So he had to admit this Frimbo must be just smart.
‘So he figured he could trust me and he told me what to do. I was to keep on takin’ Frimbo’s ten bucks a day, and the numbers he played. Brandon had some of his boys play the same numbers with Spencer—but for twenty bucks. Result—when the numbers hit, Brandon lost six grand to Frimbo and won twelve from Spencer. The rest of his income stood like it was before. Spencer couldn’t stand more than two or three twelve-grand hits—he’d have to quit. That would clear the field for Brandon. Then he could just stop taking Frimbo’s bets and be sitting pretty.’
‘So what?’ inquired Detective Dart.
‘So that’s why I was here tonight, that’s all. To get Frimbo’s number.’
‘Did he give you the number?’
‘Sure he did—right from where you’re sitting now.’
‘And the ten bucks?’
‘Nope. He never handles money himself. The flunky collects all the people’s fees as they go out of that door there. So I always got the ten bucks from the flunky. He’d either be waiting there or he’d come out in a moment.’
‘Come out? Out of where?’
‘Out of the back room there.’
‘The back room? Oh. Could Spencer have learned of this and put Frimbo out of the way?’
‘If he was smart enough. He’d be bound to get suspicious, no matter how Brandon played his twenty—it wouldn’t look right. And he’d investigate. He’d check the bets each night before, find twenty bucks of the same number, and trace those players. But he’d have to pay ’em, once he’d taken the money. And he couldn’t tell who not to take beforehand, either, because they could change their names, or if he did find a leak and got the lowdown, there’d be only one way out for him. He’d have to paralyse Frimbo or be ruined himself. Pure self-defence.’
Perry Dart sat silent a moment, then said, ‘You know, doc, there’s one thing that keeps worrying me. All these people agree up to now that Frimbo talked to them—talked to them personally about personal matters. How could a murdered man conduct an intelligent conversation after his death? That’s why I haven’t taken Jenkins already. The victim couldn’t have been sitting here dead in the chair all the time, talking—through a stuffed neck.’
‘True,’ said the physician, ‘but the visitors preceding Jenkins might have found the man dead just as Jenkins did and slipped out without saying anything, to avoid incriminating themselves. Or the assistant might have been doing the talking through some trick or device, without knowing his master was dead. Everyone agrees the servant didn’t come in here. So don’t bank on the end of the conversation as the moment of death. Death could have occurred a half an hour or more earlier, without changing the testimony at all.’
Another silence, then Dart said:
‘Put on that light.’
As the sharp radiance cut the shadow, Spider Webb exclaimed:
; ‘Judas Priest! If I’d known you had all them listeners—’
‘Don’t worry—we’ll see it doesn’t cost you anything. Brady, bring everybody in here. All ready, Tynie?’
‘All ready, Perry,’ said Tynes.
CHAPTER XIII
IN the crystalline underlighting from the glaring extension, a thin brightness through which shot the horizontal beam from Frimbo’s curious illumination, a semicircle of people stood facing the table. Behind it now stood the detective and the physician. The latter was busy with his handkerchief, wiping from his fingers a dark film which had stuck to them while he had been sitting in the chair which Brady had brought. It was a small, erect wooden chair with short arms on one of which he had rested a hand during Spider Webb’s testimony. At the moment he paid the stuff no further attention, considering it merely a sort of furniture polish which had been too heavily applied, and had become gummy on standing.
The detective was addressing the people facing him. ‘I’m going to ask the cooperation of all of you folks. Before doing so, I want you to know just what I have in view.’ He paused a moment, considered, decided. ‘Among the facts brought out by what we have found and by your testimony are these: Frimbo, a man of close habits and no definitely known special friends or enemies, was killed here in this chair tonight between ten-thirty and eleven o’clock. He was stunned by a blow, presumably from this club, and then choked to death by this handkerchief, which was removed from his throat in my presence by Dr Archer.’
He paused again to observe the effect of this announcement. Outstanding were two reactions, quite opposite: Mrs Crouch’s horrified expression, and Bubber Brown’s astonished comment:
‘Doggone! They’s some excuse for chokin’ on a fishbone—but a handkerchief!’
‘There are several possible motives that have come to light. But before following these motives any further, we must establish or complete such evidence as we already have in hand. We have reliable testimony on the ownership of this handkerchief. We must now determine who handled this club. You all know the meaning of finger prints. On this club, we have found a fresh print which will have to be compared with certain of your finger prints. But first I want to give you a chance now to admit having hold of this weapon tonight—if you did. Is anyone here ready to admit that he—even accidentally—touched this club tonight?’
The Conjure-Man Dies Page 11