Lady in Peril

by Ben Ames Williams

  She said thoughtfully: “Why, two or three were about his size, I should think. One of the men who worked the machine guns . . .”

  “We’ll go again tonight,” Tope proposed. “You sit out front. I’ll get Dave Howell to take me back. I want to see how the time figures in this; how long it took to shoot the guns; how long after that before Hammond and Miss Cyr would get to her dressing room, and so on. And you watch the people on the stage. If you spot Peace, you can send word back to me.”

  “I’ll try,” she agreed.

  “Don’t think about his looks,” Tope warned her. “He could change them, a lot. Just the size, and the voice, and the way he moves his hands and feet.” He hesitated, added: “But of course, it’s probably someone else. A fellow like this Doctor Canter, he’d make a lot of folks sore at him, living the way he did.”

  “A woman tried to kill him, out West,” she remembered. “I don’t know what her name was . . .”

  “We’ll find that out,” he promised. “I’ll telegraph.”

  The telephone rang again, and Clint looked toward them. But Miss Moss this time lifted the receiver. After a moment she said, in a faint surprise:

  “Oh, it’s for you.”

  So Inspector Tope took the phone; and he heard Dave Howell’s voice on the wire. He listened, thereafter, for a minute or two; and he said at last:

  “Fine, Dave. And Dave, I’ll want to see you. Meet me outside here in ten minutes, will you, son.”

  So he returned the receiver to its hook, and looked at Miss Moss, and wagged his head. She asked:

  “What is it?”

  “I’m admiring you, ma’am,” he told her amiably. “Why?”

  “You mind, you asked me to check up on this Doctor Canter’s bank accounts, and all that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” said Tope, “Dave Howell has been working on it. He’s got something.” He hesitated, added then: “Here it is. Two years ago, Peace gave Doctor Canter ten thousand dollars; and a year ago, Peace gave him twenty-two thousand more!”

  Miss Moss exclaimed in a quick triumph: “Of course! If Doctor Canter helped Mr. Peace deceive the world about his injuries, he would have to be paid. How did Howell find out?”

  Tope explained. “It comes in a funny way,” he said. “Dave got it from the Income Tax people. You’re not supposed to know that, of course.” She nodded with a faint smile.

  “What happened,” Tope went on. “Doctor Canter didn’t return these amounts on his income tax. But Peace did. He put them in as doctor’s fees, and professional expenses, because he was on the Trust business at the time he was hurt. The Income Tax people checked up on him because his expense account was so heavy, and he told where the money went. So they got after Canter; and Canter claimed the money was a gift instead of a fee. Afterwards he and Peace got together on their stories; but the mistake they made, they didn’t fix it up beforehand. That would have saved all the trouble.”

  Miss Moss nodded; and Tope added thoughtfully: “The twenty-two thousand was on last year’s returns. This year’s returns aren’t in yet, so we don’t know whether Peace paid him any more. But there it is. It proves our guess was right. Peace did fake his bad foot and his busted head, and paid Doctor Canter to back him up. It had to be that way!”

  Miss Moss watched him, till suddenly he looked at her. “And Peace might get tired of paying his bill in instalments like that,” he suggested in a low tone.

  The woman nodded. She said: “He found a way to get out of the Booth Theatre once without being seen. I wonder if he could use the same way to get in . . .”

  Inspector Tope was late for his rendezvous with Dave Howell outside the Jervis Trust offices; and when he did come down the dingy stairs to meet the other man, he did not tell Dave all that was in his mind. It seemed to him that he and Miss Moss could name the murderer of Doctor Canter; but to do so was useless until Peace was found. So when Tope met Dave Howell, it was not with information but with questions.

  “You sure about that stuff on Doctor Canter?” he asked; and when Dave said he was sure, Tope asked, with a side-wise glance at the other man:

  “What do you make of it, Dave?”

  Howell told him: “Why, Peace must have paid Canter to keep his mouth shut about his foot and his head.”

  Inspector Tope hesitated; he said at last: “Dave, if we lay hold of the man that killed Canter, we’ll be close to the man you’re after, too.”

  “You think it was Peace?”

  “I’m guessing so,” Tope assented. He added: “But it isn’t any easier to find Peace after he’s killed a man than it was after he stole that money.”

  Howell said moodily: “Are you telling me? I’ve been after him for two months, and him right under my nose!”

  Tope retorted soberly: “The chances are he’s right under our nose now, Dave. May be an actor in that play; may be a stage hand, anything. It wouldn’t surprise me if I’d seen him, talked to him, today.

  “And then maybe not. He got out of that theatre without being seen, the night he disappeared. He could get in again just as easy. All we can do is cover every angle. Here’s what you do. Go over there this afternoon. See Madison. Check over the list of people in the company. Check over the theatre, the doors and windows back stage and all that. Where could a man hide, for one thing? I saw a lot of big pieces of scenery leaned against the wall; and there’s a storeroom on the same floor as the stage; and there must be a basement, and there were galleries up above.”

  “Sure,” Dave assented. “I can do that!”

  “And another line,” Tope added. “A woman out West tried to shoot this Doctor Canter last fall. Find out who she was, and where she is, and whether she had any relatives that might have taken the job on, and where they are.”

  “Sure!” Howell agreed. They were passing a drug store; and he said: “Hold up. I’ll phone in and have that attended to, right now!”

  So Tope waited while the other phoned; and his thoughts were busy ones. He remembered that Miss Moss had talked this morning with Lola Cyr—who was Mrs. Hammond. And so he remembered Hammond; and when Dave came out, the older man said:

  “See here, Dave! Let’s you and me go talk to Hammond, if he’s at home. There was one question that Hagan didn’t ask him last night.”

  And Howell assenting, Tope hailed a taxicab. On the way out to the apartment, the older man explained to Dave what Hammond’s part in the affair had been.

  “He was on the stage when Canter was shot,” Tope pointed out. “So he couldn’t have done it. By his own story—I guess it’s true—he happened to see Canter’s foot sticking out from under the dressing table, and he lost his head and beat it. He saw the gun on the couch; and he saw Canter; but he hid the gun under a pillow, and pushed Canter’s foot in out of sight, and took Canter’s hat and coat and got out of there. I saw him go; and the time fits.”

  He added reflectively: “I’m going to the theatre tonight, Dave, to check up some of those times, while the show is on. But why did Hammond come back? How did he get his nerve back so soon? Most generally, when a man starts running, he keeps on.”

  “I don’t know,” Howell confessed.

  Tope smiled at the other’s tone. “Neither do I,” he agreed. “And that’s the question Hagan didn’t ask him, last night. We’ll ask him, if he’s home.”

  And thereafter silence held them till they pulled in to the curb at the apartment. A light snow had begun to fall; and a young man was busy with a broom, clearing the sidewalk in front of the door. A rawboned Scandinavian stood in the vestibule; and Howell said:

  “That’s Michelsen, the superintendent. I saw him when I came after Peace, the other day.” He introduced Michelsen to the Inspector; and Tope asked amiably:

  “Got a new janitor, Michelsen, since Burke left you?”

  “Yah,” said the big man slowly. “I got a man to run the furnaces. His boy helps. That’s his boy, sweeping the walk out there.”

  “Married man, e
h?” Tope assented. “You’ll find them steadier.”

  “Sure,” Michelsen agreed. “He lives over on Maynard Street.”

  The two Inspectors passed inside, and Howell turned to look at the names on the panel in the lobby; but before he could ring, Tope said:

  “We’ll go along up, knock on his door.”

  The elevator swung them upward, and they found the apartment corresponding to Hammond’s card below, and knocked. Annette, the French woman who served Lola as maid, opened to them; and she watched them gravely, and Tope asked whether Hammond were at home. Then the man himself appeared in the passageway behind her, and he recognized Tope and bade them in.

  Annette disappeared, and Hammond led the way into the living room of the apartment. Tope, on his heels, saw the slight uncertainty in the man’s step; so he was not surprised to discover a bottle, and a glass, and a siphon on the table by the great chair where Hammond must have been sitting.

  Hammond was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown; he sat down with a lurch and left them standing; and Tope said: “You know Inspector Howell, Mr. Hammond. An old friend of mine.”

  Hammond grinned. “Give your old friend a drink,” he suggested. “Take one yourself.”

  Yet his lips twisted on the words; and his eyes were darting to and fro, and his fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. Inspector Tope thought he was a man beset by fear, strung taut as a wire.

  Tope chose a chair and sat down, and Howell balanced his hat upon his knee, and Tope looked blandly about the room, looked back at their host again. He knew a faint pity for Hammond. It was hard to believe that his jangled nerves had no other cause than that one which was known to them all. He said in a sympathetic tone:

  “I expect this has been a strain on you.”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Hammond agreed. “Dead for sleep. And a rehearsal this afternoon. Breaking a new juvenile into young Hews’ part.”

  “He’s not back?”

  “Not him!” Hammond spoke in a deep and furious scorn; yet there was in his tone some hint of secret envy, too.

  “Rehearsal this afternoon, eh?” Tope commented. “I might go over with you.” Hammond looked at him in surprise and suspicion; and Tope explained: “I meant to go tonight, to time some of the scenes and find out how long it takes for the shooting and so on. But I could go to rehearsal instead.”

  Hammond shook his head. “It wouldn’t do a bit of good,” he declared.

  “How do you know?” Tope asked sharply; and Hammond started to speak, then changed his mind and was a moment silent before he replied. Sobriety, they saw, began to return to the man, as though his wits were working now.

  “I mean, the rehearsal will be stopping and starting, going over and over some scenes and so on,” the actor explained. “You can’t get the pace from that.”

  “I see,” Tope assented. “And then I expect a new actor will slow things some.” Hammond made no comment; and Tope remarked: “Last night the third act went slower than usual, with Madison in your part.”

  Hammond said with a faint complacence: “Why yes, I do have to keep the pace up, keep things moving.”

  “Reminds me,” Tope remembered. “I can understand your running away, when you saw Canter dead under the table. But why did you come back, Hammond? Why didn’t you keep on running, once you had begun?”

  Hammond hesitated. “Didn’t see the sense of it,” he said then.

  “Something stopped you,” Tope insisted. “Brought you back. What was it? I’m curious to know.”

  And Hammond, after a moment, confessed: “Why, Mayhew phoned me.” Once he had begun, he explained readily enough. “He’s my valet. I skipped out of the theatre and raced home here to grab a bag, to get out of town. He telephoned, told me what had happened, and he said Doctor Canter must have been shot while I was on the stage. So that gave me an alibi, and I decided to go back.”

  Tope nodded. “Always wished I had a valet!” he reflected, chuckling at his own folly. “This Mayhew must have a good head on him, or he wouldn’t have known where to telephone you? Wouldn’t have known where you’d be?”

  “He thought I was sick, had come home,” Hammond explained.

  “A man like that would take good care of your clothes,” Tope reflected. “Mine surely need it. I bust a button every time I take a deep breath, seems to me. And tying your shoes is hard, when you’re old and fat. Yes, sir, if a good fairy was to come along and give me one wish, it’d be a valet I’d wish for.” He was smiling at his own words. “Does he press your pants, and tie your ties, and all?” he asked.

  Hammond shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said impatiently. “I don’t use him at home here; just at the theatre. I have to have him for my changes there!”

  Tope nodded. “Well,” he reflected, “it’s a good thing you went back, Hammond. Hagan would have made trouble if you hadn’t.” He rose. “We’ll see you back stage tonight,” he said in a friendly tone. “Got to move on now.”

  Hammond nodded. “Sure,” he assented. “I’ll be there.”

  He did not rise to see them go. When Tope looked back from the door the man was still sprawling in his big chair. Dave and Tope went out and closed the door behind them; they walked in silence to the elevator; they came to the street and moved aimlessly away.

  They had walked a block or so before Tope turned to the other man.

  “Well, Dave,” he asked, “what do you think of Hammond?”

  “A drunken bum,” said Howell.

  “More than that, son,” Tope said soberly. “He’s scared! Scared to death!” He gripped Dave’s arm in an emphatic gesture. “Dave,” he asked, “why should Hammond be scared?”

  “Think he did this?” Dave countered.

  But Tope shook his head. “Not sure what I do think, son,” he confessed. He stopped still, spoke soberly. “You go along, Dave,” he said. “I’m going to walk up and down and let my head settle.” He considered. “You get the stuff I told you about. The woman out West, Madison at the theatre, whatever you can about Canter. I’ll meet you in the Booth lobby at eight. Right?”

  “Sure,” Howell agreed.

  “And if you see Hagan, don’t tell him anything,” Tope suggested. But Dave exploded:

  “I don’t know anything! I’m walking in a fog!”

  The old man nodded his amused approval. “Well, that’s fine, Dave,” he declared. “That’s fine!”

  Howell grinned ruefully and turned away. When he was gone, Tope drifted for a while. The light snow still persisted; the small flakes brushed his cheeks. The air was still so that the snow fell straight down, and it was not uncomfortably cold. So Tope instead of taking cab or subway, walked downtown till he came home again to his room on Boylston Street He kindled a fire in the grate, and when it was burning freely he telephoned the Jervis Trust. Miss Moss spoke with him There was no news of Clara, she said.

  “I was thinking,” Tope suggested, “we might have dinner together, before the theatre. Clint too, if he wants to come.”

  He hesitated. “Unless he’d better stay home and wait for some word from his sister.”

  He thought there was faint mirth in her tones. “Why, yes,” she assented. “I will be glad to dine with you. But Clint will probably stay at home.”

  So he made arrangements for their meeting; and thereafter Tope stayed alone in his room, considering and assorting the disordered facts he had accumulated during the hours since Doctor Canter was found under Lola’s dressing table the night before. He sat in his great chair before the fire, and he was warm and comfortable; so he slept at last and he roused at dusk, and waked to dress hurriedly and go to meet Miss Moss.

  This time, he ventured to buy a corsage for her at the flower shop in the hotel lobby; and when she came in, he presented it with a chuckle.

  “I’m laughing at myself, ma’am,” he confessed. “But I’ve found out one thing, in my time. If you want to do a thing, and can do it, you’d better. Then you’ll have it to remember, and no one ca
n take it away from you. And I kind of wanted to give you these.”

  She was pinning the small cluster of violets at her waist; her cheeks were bright. “I’m glad you wanted to,” she said frankly.

  “Don’t know as I ever did give a lady flowers before,” he admitted; and she smiled at him with amused and mischievous eyes.

  “Don’t know as I ever had flowers from a gentleman before,” she confessed in mimicry of his own tones; and he offered her his arm with an ease which surprised himself.

  “Then it’s time we both began,” he declared.

  They chose to patronize the main dining-room. “Dinner and flowers and the theatre,” he remarked, as they went in. “I’ll have to get us a box of candy by and by. This is a real party, for me, ma’am.”

  But Miss Moss said, almost regretfully: “I’m going to disappoint you about the theatre, Inspector. Clara telephoned. She’s coming home.”

  He forgot all else instantly in this intelligence. “When?” he asked.

  “I had the message when I went home to dress,” she explained. “I do my own work when I’m alone there; and Clara likes fussing around the kitchen, so we have no maid. This was just a message from the switchboard operator downstairs. Clara had phoned that she would be home tonight. That’s all we know.”

  Tope nodded. “I’d like to be with you when she comes,” he suggested at last. “See what she says . . . If you wouldn’t mind. And we’ll let the theatre go!”

  “I was hoping you’d suggest that,” she agreed.

  They ordered dinner; and they spoke of each other for a while and forgot these sober matters altogether. When they had dined, Tope remembered that he was to meet Howell at the theatre; so they stopped there while he told Dave what to do in his absence. Then Tope and Miss Moss drove out to the apartment building on the Avenue.