The Harold Lamb Megapack

by Harold Lamb

  “I’ll have to get in touch with a business transaction,” he told his aunt—“and I have an engagement for dinner this evening.”

  Convinced, as he had suspected, that there was no note left for him in the apartment, he left the two women to restore order in the place, and carried his bag to a nearby French hotel on Fifth Avenue. From there he took the subway to the downtown office of the News.

  Running through his mail, he came upon a memorandum sheet left on his desk by one of his companions in the office.

  He read:

  A. Hollis (Personal):

  Chinese customer was in Saturday. Wants to buy an ivory curio that you own. Did not leave his name, but will call up Wednesday. Seemed quite anxious to buy.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Two Points of View

  On a side street in one corner of Greenwich Village a painted emblem of a green pig points the way downward to a curtained tearoom in the cellar. The name, Green Pig, is spelled backward, as evidence of eccentricity to attract the wayward tourist. Around the wall, green and pink benches provide seats for a number of small, round tables, minus cloth or paint. A row of impressionistic sketches, for sale to the unwary, surmount the benches. Doll-like manikins hang from the ceiling above the heads of the literati of Washington Square. Hollis, who was used to the makeup of the village, took possession of a corner table in the Green Pig at half past seven. A glance showed him that the blond woman of the sleeper was not among the few inmates of the place on his arrival. He ordered a dinner for two, and sat back, lighting his pipe.

  His curiosity had grown during the afternoon. So there was a Chinaman in the market for ivory elephants! Apparently, since his visit to Wong Li’s, the ivory animals had been in active demand. So much so that after a glimpse of one of the beasts in the Boston train, a blond woman and a brunette Chinaman had gone through his bag to get possession of it.

  What puzzled Hollis was the fact that, judging by the expression of the Oriental in the smoking compartment, the man had sighted something of great value. Also—he checked off the point methodically on his fingers—either the Chinaman or the woman, or both, must have followed him in his dash for the train. A second point: the valuable Ming elephant had contained a secret compartment, which proved to be empty.

  In spite of all this, the woman in question had undoubtedly searched his apartment—for something. And the Oriental, or another one, was now offering to buy the very elephant that had been placed in his bag. A fifth point: he had forfeited, through no fault of his, the good opinion of Ruth Carruthers. That item was beginning to loom large.

  Hollis rose as a tall and well-dressed woman, with blue eyes and a hint of makeup, approached his table. She seated herself with a nod to him and a self-possessed glance around the room.

  “Quiet place this,” she smiled. “These tourists won’t bother us.”

  Hollis kept silence, waiting for her to speak. When they were half through dinner she leaned forward, chin on hands.

  “I figure it’s about time we got together, Hollis,” she observed. “It may save you some trouble.”

  “On the contrary, Miss—” He paused suggestively, but she vouchsafed nothing—“as I figure it, you’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble as it is.”

  “That’s nothin’ to what’s coming your way,” she said calmly. “But maybe I can help you.”

  “After helping yourself to my bag and my apartment, and causing my landlady to regard me with unwarranted suspicion, I am curious to hear your further offer of assistance, Gladys. I think that’s what the police on the Boston train called you.”

  Gladys produced a cigarette and took one of her companion’s matches.

  “How d’you get that way, Hollis?” she asked calmly. “After all the trouble I’m taking to do the first-aid act for you? I had to shake one of my crowd to keep this date with you, and you don’t like it.”

  Hollis met her gaze squarely.

  “I came here, Gladys, to hear what you had to say to me—if it’s worth while. If not, I have other things to do.”

  “Is it worth while,” she asked slowly, “to keep out of prison?”

  “To some people, yes. Suppose you show me what you have on your mind.”

  The girl puzzled Hollis slightly. She was no ordinary adventuress, plying the blackmail game. Yet she seemed sure of her ground. What was her purpose in seeking him? He had little money; certainly he was not good game for her kind.

  “All right,” she assented. “I’ll give you some valuable information. I don’t know who you’re workin’ for, or what you get out of this. But you butted into a layout where you ain’t wanted—see? You got hold of something that don’t belong to you. I want it. You know what it is without being told. Come across with it, and I got nothin’ on you—I’m dumb. How about it?”

  “Suppose,” suggested Hollis, “you explain a little further.”

  “Meanin’ you want to know what I know? All right. As I said, this something don’t belong to you; it’s the property of others. And it’s worth something. Hand it over. If you don’t, what I know gets to the police.”

  “What do you know, Gladys?”

  “Something. I saw you beat it out of Wong Li’s Friday when I was goin’ to the train in a taxi—the time Wong was shot. And I saw you take out an ivory curio in the car and look at it. That came from Wong’s—never mind how—I know that.”

  “I know as much as that, Gladys,” commented Hollis, “without looking into other people’s baggage.”

  “All right. But are you wise that the cops are on to you? You work like a greenhorn. They got hold of some evidence you left behind. My story will fit in well with what they know. Look here, Hollis, my testimony will make things pretty sad for you. I don’t want to give it. Hand over what I want, and the cops don’t hear a peep from me.”

  Hollis regarded her quizzically.

  “Then, I take it, you think I have something of yours—that I stole from Wong Li; that the police are looking for the man who shot him, and suspect me. Correct, Gladys?”

  “Right. They have the goods on you. I can help you by keeping quiet.”

  “As it happens, I bought an elephant from Wong. Paid cash for it.”

  “Got a receipt?”

  Hollis was silent. The girl touched his arm.

  “How much did you pay for that elephant?” she whispered. “I don’t see how you got it away from Wong. He knew it wasn’t for sale—and he’s quick with his gun.”

  He grinned cheerfully.

  “So it’s the elephant you want, Gladys? Well, I paid fourteen dollars and a half for it—told Wong to keep the change. Only the compartments in the legs were empty. I suppose you want whatever was in those concealed cavities? What is it?”

  The girl drew in her breath quickly. She carefully studied her companion; then she frowned.

  “Do I look that much like a sucker, Hollis? You know what was in the thing. You shot up Wong to get it. There’s another guy who’s lookin’ for the same stuff I am—tried to get it from you in the train. I don’t know who he is. I’ll give you one more chance. Now you’d better hand over the stuff.”

  Hollis looked up just as Ruth Carruthers, his aunt, and an elderly, well-dressed man entered the room. They took a table on the farther side of the place, yet a certain stiffness in his aunt’s back and Ruth’s elaborate indifference showed him that they had seen him.

  His first thought was to go over to their table. Then he decided that it would be useless. It was a stroke of ill-luck that brought them to the Green Pig, after he had excused himself from dining with them. The other man, he decided, was the Frenchman whom Ruth had intended to meet.

  “Gladys,” he said decisively, “I’m not the man who shot Wong Li. And I have nothing of his. The fellow you want is the man who monkeyed with my bag in the sleeper—a Chinaman. You won’t get anything whatsoever from me. Is that clear?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware that the group at the other table were st
aring at him. He kept his glance grimly fixed on the girl in front of him. Her glance wavered.

  “Say—you have nerve. You talk like you wasn’t headed for the cooler—but you’re the guy they want, all right. And tomorrow they’ll know what I know—see? You’ll put on the soft pedal when they find fifty thousand bucks’ worth of stolen goods on you.”

  Her tone was bitter, and the warmth had died from her blue eyes, leaving them hard and cold. Hollis glanced at Ruth instinctively, hoping that they had not heard what was said. The sight of the trim, quiet figure of the girl at the other table stirred him. She was smiling at something her companion was saying.

  Hollis felt a pang of jealousy. He cursed his unfortunate speech of the other day. Poor relations! The girl was a thoroughbred, and he would have given every dollar he possessed to be sitting in the other man’s shoes that minute.

  Instead, he paid for the dinners and followed Gladys to the street. Outside the Green Pig he stopped her.

  “Look here, Gladys,” he said, “you may be right, and I may be in the devil’s own mess over this ivory elephant. But I have one card up my sleeve you don’t know about.”

  “What’s that?” the woman asked, with quick curiosity.

  “A clear conscience,” he grinned. “Good night, Gladys.”

  CHAPTER IX

  Negotiations

  The next morning went badly for Hollis. At the office he found his thoughts straying from trade and market statistics to a dark-eyed, dark-haired girl who treated him with queenly indifference. The sight of Ruth in the Green Pig had made it clear to him that she would never be absent from his thoughts—that he was held fast by the charm of a low, Southern voice and a wonderful pair of frank, friendly brown eyes.

  The telephone at his elbow whirred, and he picked up the receiver.

  “This is Mr. Hollis?” a man’s hesitating voice asked, with a curious lisp.

  “I am Hollis: who is this?”

  There was a brief pause. Then—

  “I want to buy an ivory curio that you own, Mr. Hollis. I am a collector. It is an old ivory Ming elephant with very delicious carving. I am greatly in desire of it. You will sell?”

  Hollis had forgotten the Chinese customer who had promised to call him up. This was he, judging by the twisted, Oriental English of the speaker.

  “I might be willing to sell the Ming elephant,” Hollis assured him, reflecting that his purchase was in growing demand, and wishing to draw out the Oriental further. “What price will you give me? Your best figure.”

  Another silence followed.

  “Five hundred dollars for the elephant and stand,” vouchsafed the voice at length.

  “Not enough.”

  “Six hundred.”

  “I have taken up collecting lately, Mr.—,” grinned the newspaperman. “I also am enamored of the delicious carving. The Ming elephant is a wonderful specimen. I don’t know that I want to sell at all.”

  “Eight hundred dollars. I need it, Mr. Hollis, to complete my series of Ming ivories.”

  “So do I.”

  “One thousand dollars for the elephant and stand.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  Hollis leaned the receiver against his ear and reflected. Obviously the man at the other end of the wire was aware of the secret value of the antique. Gladys had mentioned fifty thousand dollars. Where the great value of the elephant lay Hollis did not know. Certainly he and Ruth had made a thorough search of the curio.

  But the man at the other end of the wire knew the explanation of the mystery. He could tell Hollis—or be made to tell The fact that the ivory elephant reposed on his aunt’s what-not in the parlor at New Hampshire would not prevent him from getting in touch with the Oriental.

  “I might be willing to sell at that figure,” Hollis said slowly. “Suppose you meet me somewhere and we’ll talk it over—tonight.”

  The other pondered over the proposition for a moment.

  “All right, Mr. Hollis. Be at Chinese Delmonico’s, Pell Street, in the upper room. Ten o’clock. You will come?”

  “I’ll come.”

  He hung up as the other started to say something about bringing the elephant with him. Chinatown, reflected Hollis, was an unusual place for curio collectors—which agreed with his suspicion that the other was no collector, but one of the crowd looking for the missing valuables.

  Hollis dismissed the matter from his mind, picked up his hat, and took the subway uptown. He sought Washington Square and the door of his apartment house. He would see Ruth, he thought, and make a clean breast of things.

  At the door of the building, however, he found Mrs. Henderson, who approached him with a worried look.

  “Miss Carruthers says she ain’t to home, Mr. Hollis.”

  He stared at the housekeeper blankly.

  “Is Miss Carruthers in?”

  “Yes, sir. They have a gentleman caller—a fine-lookin’ man in one of them flyaway suits. But the young lady and her aunt said to tell you they wasn’t in, if you called.”

  “Confound it, Mrs. Henderson—do you mean I can’t go up to my own rooms?”

  The housekeeper’s good-natured face clouded sympathetically. Evidently Hollis’s aunt had spoken very plainly.

  “They said if you wanted anything of yours they’d be glad to send it down by me, sir.”

  The humor of the situation struck Hollis, and he grinned. Going to the switchboard by the door, he asked to be connected with his apartment. Ruth answered his call.

  “Good morning, cousin,” said Hollis amiably. “Hope you had a pleasant night”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hollis,” her soft voice responded coolly. “We did have a right nice sleep. I trust we did not interfere with your—business transaction last night. Professor de Bacourt, to whom I had that letter of introduction, was kind enough to take us out to dinner. The professor is a charming gentleman. Aunt Emma is quite in love with him.”

  Hollis mentally consigned the professor to other regions.

  “It was about last night,” responded Hollis doggedly, “that I wanted to see you, Cousin Ruth. I owe you an apology for leaving you. But I had to see that person. In fact, I‘m involved in quite a serious mess. I may be locked up on a charge of robbery in the next few hours.”

  He waited breathlessly for the girl’s response.

  “Why, that is too bad, Mr. Hollis,” she said coldly. “Aunt Emma had promised that you would show us all over New York, I’ve been wanting to see it for years. Professor de Bacourt has been too kind. He is going to take us to Chinatown tonight. To the—Chinese Delmonico’s. That’s the name, isn’t it? Aunt Emma has a cold, but I reckon I can go without a chaperon just this once.”

  He wondered if he had heard aright. Surely the girl could not be so indifferent to his own plight! And to go to Chinatown alone—

  “Do you think that’s safe, Ruth?” he asked anxiously. “You don’t know anything about this professor chap. He may be all right—but I don’t want you to run any risk, in this city—”

  “Why, Mr. Hollis,” she broke in indignantly, “Professor de Bacourt is a distinguished Orientologist, known to the best people in New Orleans. He is a talented Frenchman and a very charming gentleman.”

  Hollis gritted his teeth and cursed the breed of ivory elephants from alpha to omega.

  “What did you say, Mr. Hollis?” asked Ruth demurely. “It sounded right like a cuss word to me. I don’t think you should use such language. Professor de Bacourt wouldn’t.”

  The newspaperman took a long breath.

  “Look here, cousin,” he demanded. “I’m in trouble, unexpected trouble. Things may break badly for me. I don’t want to spoil your enjoyment of the sights of the town. But I’d like to see you to explain things. I never meant that idiotic remark at Aunt Emma’s to apply to you—and there are a lot of things I want to talk over. I think,” he smiled grimly, “that a lady should give a gentleman a chance to apologize if he asks for it nicely. That’s what they usually do in
New Orleans, isn’t it?”

  “Well—” the girl’s soft voice hesitated. Hollis thought he caught a smothered laugh.

  “And I seem to be mixed in a gang of robbers here,” he added, hoping to enlist her sympathy.

  “Did you see yesterday’s paper, Mr. Hollis?” Ruth’s voice was cold again.

  “Good Lord, no!” he groaned. “What’s happened now?”

  “Mrs. Hoffman,” explained the girl precisely, “offers a thousand dollars’ reward and no questions asked for the return of her sapphire stones. The story in the paper a week ago said that they were worth fifty thousand. You see, it’s a habit of us poor country folks to read your New York papers. And don’t you think it might be well to return the sapphires before it’s too late?”

  Hollis blinked. He had noted the newspaper account of the robbery. And the figure named was fifty thousand dollars—by Gladys and now by Ruth. It was barely possible that the Hoffman sapphires might be the valuables wanted by the Oriental gang and blond Gladys. But how were the jewels connected with ivory elephants; and what in the name of absurdities did his cousin know about it all?

  “I thought,” she went on quietly, “that the information might be of service to your—friends. You see, Mr. Hollis, I don’t know anything about how you-all do things in New York.”

  “Of course not! That is—you don’t really think I’ve got the Hoffman sapphires, do you, Ruth?” His voice took on an appealing note.

  “Why, I don’t guess so, Cousin Hollis,” she drawled. “But you said that you were so involved in a robbery—I—”

  “Great Scott, Ruth! I’m beginning to believe I have them, after all. That is—that Aunt Emma has. No, that couldn’t be. Look here,” he groaned, “I can’t explain all this over the phone. Why can’t you let me see you, Ruth? Shake the professor tonight. I’ll make a counter proposition. We’ll go to dinner at Guffarone’s and to the best show in town afterward.”