There was a Crooked Man

by George Worthing Yates

  “Everything’s upset, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Yes, of course. Come, Holcomb, where’s this Raymonds fellow? We’re both stagnating here. I dislike being spied upon.”

  “Who’s spying on—”

  “Policeman. Watching everything you do, poor chap. I’m frightfully bored by the way he pretends he isn’t watching what goes on in here. Ah, there, I caught his eye, and he’s embarrassed. Very nice.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  TUSSARD WAS PERFECTLY unchanged in appearance, even to his collar. He said, “I got Raymonds outside. Ready for me to bring him in? I mean, Lord Broghville won’t object if—”

  “Bring him in,” said Holcomb.

  He came when called, this Raymonds, pathetically jaunty in a wrinkled dinner jacket. He smiled uneasily at Holcomb, and said, “Here I am again, sober for a change.” This damp squib of bravado fizzled out, and left the young man nothing to do but dump himself ignominiously in the farthest possible chair in the far end of the room. He sat there trying to dispose of his hands. Holcomb and Tussard put their heads together over a piece of paper.

  Bennett lurked in a haze of pipe smoke like some charitable octopus, and looked at the boy, and decided to like him.

  Raymonds was large; not quite as heroically large as Bennett himself, but something of the same sort. He was not brilliant in appearance, but he was young, and human. He had a slightly crooked nose.

  It wasn’t his size that Bennett liked particularly. What is the quality in a stranger that arrests the eye, wakens the interest, and releases an inward start of sympathy or friendliness? Some subtle mixture, of course, not quickly analyzed. Bennett was reminded perhaps of his own youth, and of men long dead, the bloods of his own day at Cambridge; and perhaps of his first son, now dead too; and of a favorite grandson. Simply, he liked the look of this Raymonds, he liked such a clean and sensitive look in any man, and that was an end to it. He found he was unexpectedly sorry for him, too, now that he thought about it.

  Holcomb and Tussard finished their examination of the paper, and Holcomb handed it over to Bennett to read.

  Having read it, Bennett returned it without comment. Tussard folded it away into a pocket of his coat and remarked, “Well, that’s going to be looked into. Now we want to hear what he’s got to say. Anything you want to ask him, Holcomb?”

  Holcomb shook his head.

  “All right, then,” said Tussard. His voice grew flat and harsh. “All right, Raymonds. Starting all over again. You’re getting a lot of consideration, seeing as how you acted. Now I’m only human, and I know you had a few drinks in you last night, and maybe you didn’t mean all you said. It’s forgotten. Get what I mean?”

  Raymonds said, “I’d like to know what I told you last night.”

  “You said you were Clark Gable, and you were in a picture at the theatre here, and you thought you’d left your new bicycle pump in the employees’ lavatory. You were trying pretty hard to be funny.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “You can help yourself a lot by not trying that again. How long was it you worked here, Raymonds?”

  “Two months.”

  “What job?”

  “Usher.”

  “Fired, weren’t you?”

  Raymonds smiled at Holcomb as he admitted, “I was fired, damn right.”

  “Don’t have to get tough about it, Raymonds. We’re all gentlemen here, trying to clear ibis up. Now, what were you fired for?”

  “Holcomb can tell you that. I didn’t show up for work for two days.”

  “You just quit for two days?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And when you came back to work—?”

  “I didn’t. I came back and got fired.”

  “Ever quarrel with anybody here, any of your bosses?”

  “No.”

  “It seems to me you’re an erratic kind of fellow, aren’t you? When this happen?”

  “I was fired about two months ago, early in March.”

  “I see.” Tussard nodded. His voice took on a confidential tone. “What did you do in here last night?”

  “Wandered around in a fog, I guess.”

  “See anybody?”

  “I remember you, mostly.”

  “What did you come here for? Didn’t you know you shouldn’t come in here?”

  “I’m damned if I know what I wanted to do.” Tussard sighed. He stuck out an admonishing forefinger. He said, “I see. You know, Raymonds, it seems to me you’re kind of a funny young fellow to throw away a good job these days. I was young once, myself, but—”

  He paused, playing his fish, under the impression it had bit.

  “Now,” Tussard proposed, “let’s say you think the company isn’t giving you a square deal. Say you’re not getting along in your work the way you ought to. You get a grievance against the company. Isn’t that so?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Well, let’s say you work up a grievance—”

  “I can tell you,” said Raymonds, “I went on a two-day binge, and that’s why I got fired. Why I went on the binge is nobody’s business. I never had a grievance to my name. So try another one, will you?”

  “Yes? All right. How do you like this one?” Tussard’s voice speeded up without varying its monotonous tone. “You broke into this theatre last night. Why? No, wait a minute. You busted past the man at the stage door. You ran up the stairs out of anybody’s sight. You were in this place from right after eleven till about half past, till Miss Whittacker caught up with you, and then you were up on this floor, but on the other side of the building. You say you were lost. Lost. Mean to tell me a man who worked here two months is going to get lost? listen, Raymonds, I want to know why you rushed the gate to get into this place last night.”

  “I can’t tell you, I’m afraid. Maybe I smelled a free drink in here.”

  “I’m tired of that line, Raymonds. You weren’t so drunk you didn’t know what you were doing.”

  “All right, then. But what was I doing?”

  “Not out on that terrace, I suppose?”

  “No.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “I wasn’t, that’s all.”

  “This Ann Crofts was sitting in the hall, and you had to cross the hall to get out on the terrace, didn’t you. Now isn’t Ann Crofts a good friend of yours, a close—”

  “Leave her out of it.”

  “Isn’t she friendly enough so she wouldn’t tell if she saw you?”

  “I tell you, leave her out of it.”

  “All right, if you’ll tell me what you were up to in this place last night.”

  “I didn’t come up here and murder anybody, and you know it. I couldn’t. I got that much out of the papers.

  If you want to know what I was doing, ask Aunt Emma Whittacker. She knows me, she found where I was.”

  “I’m asking you. Why did you want to get in here last night?”

  “I can’t tell you, that’s all. What’s the use, Tussard? I’ve been asked that by a cop at least four times every hour since you picked me up last night. I don’t mean to be stubborn about it, I merely can’t tell you any more than I have. I was being simple. Haven’t you ever been simple in your life? Anyhow, I had absolutely nothing to do with that murder. You know it, everybody knows it, and honestly, you can’t do much more than make faces at me, can you? Damn it, why don’t you find old Lutz? My horsing around with the man at the stage door hasn’t any more to do with this murder than—”

  “Hasn’t it? Suppose you didn’t get out there on that roof. Suppose you were kicking up a row to hide something else that you knew was coming off, just for instance? Suppose you and this Ann Crofts were working together on it? You mean to tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this? Suppose the girl says you’re a liar, and puts it all on—”

  “I’m going to get all upset if you don’t leave her out of this.”

  “Tell me what you came here for.”

&nbs
p; “You see right through me. What did I come here for?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “This is getting silly.”

  “Tell me what you broke in here for, and I’ll let you go.”

  “Really, I don’t know, Tussard. I was drunk. And you have to let me go anyhow.”

  “Do I? I’ll have you put away where they make paper flowers, if you keep talking like that. Suppose the company, suppose Mr. Holcomb here, wants to bring charges against you. Illegal entry, my young friend. You went to college, didn’t you? Didn’t they teach you anything there? You’re in a tough jam, young fellow. Didn’t they teach you any sense?”

  “For God, for Country and for Yale. Maybe I did it all for Yale.”

  Holcomb intervened. “We won’t bring any charges, Tussard. I talked it over with the boss. I don’t see how you can figure he had any grudge against the company, and I don’t think it was possible for him to get on the terrace last night, even if he had a reason for killing anybody. And this isn’t getting us anywhere___”

  Tussard’s coup had failed.’Raymonds, in cooling anger and scorn, got to his feet as he asked the policeman, “How about it? Is my time my own? Am I out of hock?”

  Tussard was cheerful enough about it. “Yes, you’re out of hock—for the time being. I’m warning you, watch your step. If you want to be frank with us and come clean, you’ll find the law can do you a lot more good than harm. And it doesn’t ever pay, young man, to get too cocky.”

  Raymonds marched triumphantly out the door.

  “Well, thanks, Mr. Holcomb. We got to try these things, you know. And I hope I’ll be seeing you later, Lord Broghville...”

  Bennett waved adieu. The door closed on Tussard, hurrying after Raymonds. Holcomb whistled a single ambiguous little tweet, and drummed his fingers on his sleek hair, and said, “Well, that kid’s in for it.”

  “Raymonds?”

  “He’ll be shadowed. Tussard isn’t satisfied. He’s shooting wide, I think, in hopes of bringing down something. If they can find a good excuse, they’ll pull him in again. I know.”

  Bennett said, “This has been very interesting, my dear Holcomb. Glad I came to see you this morning. Ah. What was the young chap’s reason for forcing into the place last night?”

  “He’s funny. Nice kid, but I’m damned if I can really figure him out.”

  “No. I should like to meet Miss Crofts and her aunt. The moral of that is, ‘tis love, ‘tis love! Eh?”

  2.

  Bennett, putting his pipe in his pocket and rising, asked, “Lunch?”

  “No time,” Holcomb complained. “I’ll have to get a tray sent up.”

  “Beastly practice.” Bennett shuddered delicately.

  “Can’t help it.”

  “Perhaps not. I’m keeping you from your hell? Most interesting, Holcomb. I must go. By the way, would Miss Emma Whittacker be at her shop?”

  “Look out for her, Bennett.”

  “Ah? Why?”

  “A nice old soul—but slightly cracked about some things. This is one of the places she’s cracked about. Anyhow, she’ll ask you to help finance her to open a bridge club or a circulating library or a stray-kitten exchange or something in the first five minutes she talks to you.”

  Bennett sighed. “My dear Holcomb!”

  “She thinks she’s a businesswoman. She isn’t. If what Ann Crofts says is true, she’s practically on the rocks. Ann does what she can to keep things going.”

  “Successfully?”

  Holcomb stroked his hair and stared Bennett in the eye, frank as any incorrigible diplomat. After thought, he admitted, “She has her troubles. A tough racket, making money these days. I heard the aunt isn’t above borrowing a little dough where she can, here and there, and not worrying much about how she’s going to pay it back. And I happened to think, you’re the kind of meat she likes. You’re rich, sir, and you’re too much of a gentleman to tell a lady to go to hell when she gets you in a tight corner. Ann tries to keep her straight, and Aunt Emma tries to go crooked. Gives them something to do, anyhow.”

  Bennett listened to this as he crossed the room to the door. Holcomb, in a surge of politeness, jumped up from the desk as he talked, and sprang to the door to open it for Bennett. The door was opened. The comparative calm of Christien’s private office promptly went to shreds, like a bed-sheet in a typhoon.

  3.

  Miss Bannerman was at the heart of the disturbance, juggling a busy telephone over her typewriter.

  “Oh, Mr. Holcomb. I can’t get Hopkins for you. Mr. Levison is taking care of Withers. Mr. Suttro’s office just tried to leave a message, and we got cut off. Trying to get him back. This phone is absolutely crazy. Is there anybody called Lord Broghville here, do you know—?” Holcomb said “What about him?”

  “Calls for him. By the way, Ann Crofts came in a minute ago, she wants to see you, she’s sitting outside in the hall. I was told not to disturb you till the police were through in there.”

  “And Broghville?” said Bennett.

  “A man named Hope called him from the Ritz, and wants him to call back. Are you Lord Broghville? The Civic Committee also called you, and wanted you to get in touch with—”

  “No matter. Others?”

  “A Mr. Podham-Jones asking if he could find you here.”

  “And?”

  “Then the newspapers. Mr. Levison had to talk to them. Three of the calls were from downstairs—“ Holcomb was pushing his head in at Levison’s door. “Hello? Spare a minute, Mr. Levison? Don’t like to disturb you, but—“ Levison came out. “This is Mr. Bennett. Or Lord Broghville. What about the newspapers?

  Miss Bannerman told us——”

  Bennett by this time had got Hope on the telephone. “Hello? Quite safe...Ah, really? Nonsense. Keep away from them...Make those arrangements with Podham-Jones....No, not lunch with anybody, Civic, rural or supernal. My excuses, I’m drunk as a don, lewd as a tom cat, infected with the pox, can’t, won’t, or I’m not here. Very annoying...Nothing else now. I understand your warning. I shall be most careful. Goodbye.”

  Levison took over the difficulty, which was somewhat beyond Holcomb’s ability to cope.

  “I just denied,” said Levison, “that you even existed, sir. The newspaper men know you’re here.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I thought you’d probably feel like avoiding them. You don’t want to be interviewed on the street.”

  “Precisely.”

  “We’ll have to get you out without them seeing you.”

  “Yes. They’re everywhere. At my hotel, too. How can I get away?”

  “I’ll take you, sir.”

  “Why do they want me?”

  “Somebody’s been doing mental arithmetic. They’re figuring from the conjunction of two heavenly bodies, yourself, that is, and this place. They know you didn’t come here to talk about architecture and the weather.”

  “Quite. They want Startling Disclosures, I believe they’re called.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Lunch, Levison? Or dare we go to lunch together?”

  “Better not, sir.”

  “I agree.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Much too bad. Now, if you please, take me away...”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AUNT EMMA WHITTACKER, poor woman, usually had on her hands a few unrented or unrentable flats, and her niece, Miss Ann Crofts, was consequently expected to enjoy these uncomfortable lodgings because she lived in them at no cost to herself. This about the flats was one of the few advantageous aspects of the Whittacker business enterprises.

  Aunt Emma in these days lived at the Plaza. Ann Crofts lived in a gloomy cave recently lathered with fresh pink paint and full of its smell, in awkward narrow rooms with radiators that gave off steam and warmth at unexpected intervals; and a fearful six steep flights above Thirty-sixth Street near Park Avenue. These wonders were tempered by horrible and momentarily fashionable Victorian furniture. The fur
niture was second-hand. It creaked and tapped and groaned to itself, full of its memories, through the still hours of the night. However, Ann was reasonably content with it all.

  The Whittacker business affairs had long been hopelessly involved. Of late, they had grown strangely fickle and upsetting, particularly when bank balances believed to be running into adequate thousands came suddenly grinning in the guise of overdrafts. Ann felt these days that almost any fantastic misfortune might pop out of the next letter she opened, or the next. Besides honey, eggs, the American Lady, real estate, decorating, and an abortive project for supplying children’s parties with cakes baked in the shape of bears, camels, whales and toads, there was the Basque Shop. This alone made a profit. The profit was slight, and perhaps pitiful. Ann herself managed this venture—and watched with despair and vain struggles as the slight, pitiful profit trickled away into the perdition of Aunt Emma’s other schemes. If any quality set Ann Crofts a notch above the other young women not long out of Vassar, it was her steadfastness in the face of this adversity, and the fact that she very seldom wrestled with her soul.

  Now as she hurried across Chelsea Court from Moore House to the theatre, she swung her legs in long strides and squinted up at the bright noonday sun, indulging in a slight mutiny of spirit and avoiding at the same time a perambulator loaded with twins. The mutiny involved a sudden wish to pack up for the Adirondacks and go fishing. Ann was the sort who liked to fish.

  The shadow of Moore House covered her path, her complicated anxieties came trooping back to their places. She had a bad habit of looking out for other people, when she ought to be busy as the devil with troubles of her own, and she wondered why. Then, entering the Executive Office door, she wondered about her nose. In New York, nothing is wondered through to a conclusion. After a smile from the grizzled guard in uniform, she stepped into the elevator, and put her nose in shape on the way up, and thought of the words she would use to get from Levison or Holcomb the information she so badly wanted.

  In this way, it happened that Ann Crofts was waiting in a leather chair in the passage outside the executive offices (exactly where she had been sitting the night before) and tapping a neat shoe on the carpet, and thinking with faint indignation that in business it seemed quite the proper thing to do, to keep a woman waiting. In truth, she was bothered by a fear she had never confessed to herself, and she was working hard to keep it out of her mind.