A Charm of Powerful Trouble (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 4)

by Robert Bruce Stewart

  “It seems he was a friend of Ernie Joy’s. He just visited with Carlotta a little while ago.”

  “Is that why he’s here?”

  “Well, that’s where things get confusing. You see, I saw Ainslie the other night at the White Rats’ meeting and he seems to have jumped to the conclusion I was a spy for the theatre syndicate. Ironically, he may have come to see why I was coming to Weedsport.”

  “Did he see me?”

  “I can’t say, but I think you’re safe enough.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Trying to get back to Syracuse.”

  She was looking a little unsettled, so I suggested a trip to the barroom for a glass of brandy. We found Thibaut there entertaining the company with his menagerie. A little later Carlotta came in and sat down with us.

  “When you saw Mr. Ainslie, did you tell him about me?” Nell asked her.

  “No, I didn’t go that far down the cast. I had trouble enough remembering things.”

  “Nell’s a little worried,” I said.

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about Cliff. He just talks rough.”

  “You didn’t mention you were going on the road, Carlotta,” I said.

  “Well, I needed work bad, with Jimmy’s place closed. When I got to the agent’s, he said he needed someone for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday matinee. But it had to be at least a double. So I jumped on it, told him I had a sensational new partner. Of course, I didn’t really. So when he asked who, I was caught for a second. Then I thought of Thibaut. ‘The Frolicsome Frenchman,’ I said. Then I described a whole act, just off the cuff.”

  “And he liked the idea?”

  “Sure. Thought it sounded swell. Said he had the perfect spot for us. The way he was talking, I thought we were up for something big. ‘Where’s the show?’ I asked him. ‘Weedsport,’ he says. ‘Three days in Weedsport?’ I says. ‘You’ve got something better?’ he asks me. Of course he knows I don’t. Then he tells me not to be so proud. ‘Oh, I’m not proud,’ I told him. ‘I don’t mind doing a show in some jay town and catching the night train out. But to wake up in Weedsport….’”

  She just shook her head.

  “Well, at least you’re the top of the bill,” I said.

  “Yeah, that’s somethin’.”

  “What is your act?” Nell asked.

  “Well, I’m an American girl who’s come to Paris to see the sights. I hire a cab to take me around, Thibaut being the cabby. But when we get to the zoo, it’s closed. The cabby feels real bad and so he acts out all the animals. Then we go to the wax museum. It’s closed too, so now he does Napoleon and Joan of Arc.”

  “Thibaut does Joan of Arc?”

  “Burning at the stake! It’s great. Then we do some bits from my old act, the bad-shot sharpshooter, that sort of thing. Thibaut’s a big improvement over the last guy I worked with.”

  She made us promise to come to the next day’s matinee and then called Thibaut to the table. He greeted me like a long-lost brother and gave Nell an affectionate kiss. Then he and Carlotta began communicating with a combination of American slang, elementary French, and exaggerated gestures. I tried following this personalized patois for a while, but it was exhausting enough just to observe it. Nell seemed to have come to a similar conclusion and sat staring at her brandy.

  “Could I have another, Harry?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  She drank three more in quick succession but they improved her mood only slightly. While Carlotta and Thibaut carried on their animated conference, she leaned toward me.

  “Tomorrow we need to take action, Harry.”

  “Do we? In any particular direction?”

  “We need to find out what Mr. Ainslie knows.”

  I handed her the newspaper story Carlotta had given me.

  “Apparently, he was headed to Syracuse to confront Mrs. Twinem. He only came here because he wanted to see what we were up to.”

  “I see.” A moment later she excused herself and went up to her room.

  By then, a sleepy Thibaut had pushed his chair up against Carlotta’s and she more or less enveloped him. They certainly were an odd-looking pair—her being about twice his size, and him always looking as if he’d just hopped off a moving freight train. They were past talking now, leaving me feeling ancillary. I slipped off quietly for bed.

  The next morning, I was woken by Nell’s knock on my door.

  “He’s gone, Harry.”

  “Ainslie?”

  “Yes, Ainslie. The coward. He didn’t have the nerve to face me.”

  “Face you?”

  “Face us, I mean.”

  She seemed a little more upset than the situation warranted. For my part, his exit came as welcome news. Confronting throat slitters had never been on my list of priorities. When we met later for breakfast, she was still looking a bit distraught. I tried to cheer her up by suggesting we look for the Chinamen.

  “Yes, that will have to do.”

  “Just how did you expect to persuade Ainslie to stand for being questioned?”

  She placed a gun on the table.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “It’s Carlotta’s prop gun. I took it from her trunk last night.”

  “Better put it away. Look, let’s give up on interrogating anyone and just go back to Brooklyn. Emmie’s probably home by now.”

  “We promised to stay for Carlotta’s matinee.”

  “Well, in the meantime, we can just take a nice walk, out along the canal. Maybe turn up the highbinders’ secret hideout.”

  She scoffed at the idea, but did agree to the walk—even arranging for a picnic basket.

  It was a grey morning, but the relaxed pace and bucolic setting offered a serene contrast to the frenzy of the previous few days. After an hour we came to Port Byron, another little burg that could easily have been mistaken for Weedsport. We crossed over to the opposite bank for our return, planning to luncheon at a little glen we’d espied on the way out. It was just about noon when we sat down to enjoy our rustic meal of beer and sandwiches. By then the sun had come out and it had turned into a lovely fall day.

  We sat on the grass chatting, mostly about Emmie. Whatever her shortcomings as a wife, there’s no denying she provides limitless fodder for conversation. And keeping her in mind helped put the kibosh on any lapses into compromising informality. It was, all in all, a blissful scene.

  So you can imagine how unprepared we were when the two Chinamen appeared out of nowhere, both carrying large sticks. And both shouting in a distinctly hostile manner. When we didn’t immediately answer, they started waving the sticks about. I asked for the gun and Nell handed it to me. I fired it in the air. That was enough to persuade the Chinamen to drop their sticks.

  “What will we do now, Harry?”

  “I suppose we’ll have to turn them over to some authority.”

  The idea went against my principles. I’d never been too fond of authority myself. It was fine in theory, but in practice it left a great deal to be desired. Still, when someone comes at you with a large stick, you can’t spend time philosophizing about the viability of the anarchist project. We marched them off toward Weedsport.

  There we made the acquaintance of Deputy Carson, a big, slow-moving fellow who looked about sixty. He took the gun from me and then had us all sit down in his little office.

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “These fellows seem to feel they have some grievance with us.”

  “What about?”

  “It’s a rather involved story,” I told him.

  “I got time.” He put his feet up on his desk. “I always got time for a good story.”

  Well, he got what he asked for. It consumed most of an hour, with Nell and me taking turns. And the Chinamen periodically providing addenda. Unfortunately, the deputy didn’t feel our account adequately explained why I had been parading two Chinamen into Weedsport at gunpoint.

  “I suppose we ought to hear wha
t these fellows have to say about it. There’s a Chinese laundryman down in Auburn. He speaks some English.”

  He had a wagon hitched up and then the five of us made the long trip down to Auburn and Woo Sing’s laundry. Nell and Deputy Carson had a nice conversation along the way, while I sat in the back trading looks with the Chinamen. When we arrived, the deputy explained the situation to Woo Sing. Then there was a long conversation between him and the elder of our two companions.

  “He say he trying to find his cousin, they all farmers. Say they find him on river, but you get in the way. Sink his boat in river.”

  “I didn’t sink his boat. I rescued them from drowning.”

  “What else did he say?” the deputy asked Woo Sing.

  “They say, he make them think cousin up here, so they buy train ticket. But cousin not here. This man trick them. Leave piece of paper, ‘Go to Weedsport, four o’clock train.’”

  He handed the deputy a piece of paper, who then showed it to us. It was the note Nell had handed me back in Albany.

  “You gave them that, Harry?” she asked.

  “I didn’t give it to them—I must have dropped it and they found it. It seems we all came to Weedsport because an adulterous sheet music drummer had planned an assignation.”

  “What’s Johnson have to do with it?” Deputy Carson asked.

  “Nothing, really. Just a vague resemblance to another fellow.”

  “Well, then, why don’t you all just go back to New York?”

  “That would suit me fine,” I said.

  “These men have no more money,” Woo Sing explained. “Spent last dollar on ticket to Weedsport. Because of his trick.”

  “Maybe you could help them get back to New York?” the deputy suggested.

  “Why should I pay their fare?”

  “It would just make things go a little easier all around. That way I won’t have to bring you up for making a false arrest.”

  “He trick them,” Woo Sing repeated.

  “You did in a way, Harry,” Nell added.

  “Oh, all right. But no more waving sticks at us.”

  10

  Deputy Carson drove us back to Weedsport and then on to the depot. He watched as I bought four tickets for the evening train and handed two to the Chinamen. Nell complimented him for his wisdom in the matter, and then asked if he could return the prop gun she had borrowed. He did so, and then charged me three dollars for the rental of the horse and wagon. Why is it the preferred solution to every dilemma ends with me paying costs?

  We’d missed Carlotta’s act again, but listened raptly over dinner as she described another stage triumph. Then Nell bought some sandwiches to give the Chinamen, her attitude toward the erstwhile highbinders having mellowed a good deal.

  Catching a glimpse of her healthy bankroll, I asked to borrow twenty dollars of it.

  “All right, Harry. But you really should learn to live within your means.”

  A little later, Carlotta, Thibaut, Nell, and I boarded the evening train and found a pair of empty seats facing one another. Just before the train left the station, the two Chinamen came on board. By then there weren’t many seats left, and when they tried to sit across from two women, they were shooed away.

  “We need to make room for them,” Nell insisted.

  She sent Thibaut to entreat them to join us. They were a little wary, but finally sat down on the seat beside Nell, with Carlotta, Thibaut, and me wedged into the seat opposite. Nell handed them the sandwiches and they were devoured in short order.

  “They look as if they haven’t eaten in days, Harry.”

  “I didn’t realize it was incumbent on me to provision my pursuers.”

  “They’re only looking for their cousin. Just as you’re looking for Emmie.”

  “And about as effectively.”

  “Aunt Nell’s RIGHT, Harry,” Carlotta interjected. “You should be helping each other.”

  “The blind leading the deaf and dumb? You’re forgetting we don’t speak the same language.”

  “I bet Thibaut could talk to them. What do you want to know?”

  “Why did Lou Ling run off to the canal boat?”

  That simple question took about five minutes to convey to Thibaut. Then he played a form of double charades with the two Chinamen for a good five minutes more. Then another five minutes of patois with Carlotta.

  “The cops came to the farm twice the day after the shooting, so his cousin told him to take a boat trip. He says the cops never believe a Chinaman.”

  “Why that particular boat, the Sophie Arnould?”

  This went relatively quickly.

  “It’s the boat that brought him down from Canada. Something about champagne. Do they bring champagne from Canada?”

  “Champagne?” I was beginning to realize just how wrong we’d been. “Could it be Lake Champlain?”

  The older fellow nodded on hearing it. I turned to Nell.

  “And could the town frequented by Mrs. Stanton that began with a ‘W’ have been Whitehall?”

  “Yes! That’s it. Where’s Whitehall?”

  “Whitehall’s on the Champlain canal. It’s a lumber town. The Chinamen she smuggles into New York must be brought down from Canada. She meets them on Lake Champlain, then picks up the lumber for the Steinway Company in Whitehall. The farm on Bowery Bay is just a few blocks from the piano factory, making it an ideal way-station.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Go to Whitehall, I suppose. The Sophie Arnould must have to spend some time there loading up.”

  “Sounds like fun. But Thibaut and I have to go on to New York,” Carlotta told us. “We have a new turn beginning tomorrow.”

  At Syracuse there was a twenty-minute layover and Nell got off to stretch her legs. The two Chinamen followed her and then Carlotta moved opposite me.

  “You know, Harry, I still don’t understand why you and Emmie went chasing after Lou Ling. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. What you need to figure out is who switched a real gun for the prop gun.”

  “When did you last use it?”

  “Just the night before. At Jimmy’s.”

  “Then you took it home?”

  “Sure, I can’t afford to lose it. I need it for my act. When that one went missing, I had to borrow another from the property man at Tony Pastor’s.”

  “And you didn’t use it again until you brought it the night Ernie was shot?”

  “Why would I?”

  “So you put the gun in the bunk there. When was that?”

  “I suppose about ten.”

  “You suppose?”

  “I always wait until I’ve changed and taken my place.”

  “So just about any of the Chinamen could have switched the gun between then and eleven, when we showed up?”

  “Sure. I wasn’t watching it every second.”

  We were pulling out of the depot, but neither Nell nor the Chinamen had returned.

  I went off and walked the length of the train looking for Nell. When I returned, the Chinamen were there having an excited exchange with Thibaut. Then Thibaut had an excited exchange with Carlotta, this time forgoing the pantomime act.

  “AUNT Nell’s BEEN kidNAPPED!”

  Every child under five years in that car and the next two began sobbing.

  “Kidnapped?”

  “Yeah. Either that or she was strangled.”

  “What? Where did this happen?”

  “Right on the platform, there in Syracuse. It sounds like Cliff Ainslie.”

  “The White Rat? Why would he kidnap Nell?”

  “To keep you from spying on the Rats!”

  “I’m not spying on anyone.”

  “He thinks you are. He definitely doesn’t like you, Harry.”

  “I can’t say I’m too fond of him, either.”

  “Aren’t you going to do something?”

  “She probably just missed the train. Or these fellows saw someone keep her from jumping on the moving car and just leapt
to the wrong conclusion.”

  “They seem pretty sure.”

  “How would Ainslie know she’d be on the platform in Syracuse at 7:30 Sunday evening?”

  “Maybe he has one of the other Rats following you.”

  The idea that Nell had been abducted was farfetched, but not noticeably more than other recent events. And Ainslie did say he was going to Syracuse to see Mrs. Twinem. If he got there Saturday night, it wouldn’t be surprising that he was waiting for a train out of town on Sunday evening.

  I asked Carlotta to leave word at the depot in Albany for Nell to meet me at the Ten Eyck Hotel, and also to wire me the next morning to let me know if either Nell or Emmie was back at the apartment in Brooklyn. I disembarked in Utica and caught a westbound train back to Syracuse, arriving just after eleven.

  I found the office for the station cops and told the sergeant in charge of Nell’s possible abduction—leaving out the fact the only witnesses were two Chinamen who spoke no English and that I communicated with them via a French pantomime who knew neither English nor Chinese.

  Without much urgency, he took me out to the platform and spoke with a couple of his men. Then he interviewed several of the porters, one of whom thought he might have seen Nell.

  “Was there someone with her?” I asked.

  “She was talking to someone, but it didn’t look friendly. She was crying.”

  “Did she leave with him?”

  “Didn’t see. But I saw two Chinamen watching her. You think the white slavers got her?”

  When I confirmed that there were two Chinamen involved, the sergeant asked me repeatedly if I was sure I hadn’t just dozed off and dreamt the whole thing. He assured me, however, that he’d file a report.

  I caught the next train to Albany and arrived there about four that morning. The message Carlotta had left hadn’t been picked up by Nell. It was possible that on missing the train in Syracuse, Nell went straight to New York. But that possibility wasn’t enough to allow me much sleep. About seven I went down to the desk, then checked back at the depot. Still no sign of Nell.

  There didn’t seem much point in contacting the Albany police, but I felt some further action was in order. So I wired Detective Sergeant Tibbitts, a New York cop I’d generally gotten along with in the past who happened to owe me a favor. I asked him to send out bulletins on Nell and Cliff Ainslie. By then a wire from Carlotta had arrived. There was no sign of either Emmie or Nell at the apartment. I decided the best I could do was take the morning train up to Whitehall and try to find Emmie.