“Right.”
“Keep close to me. Do what I do. Ought to be over the other side. Call-board’s on this side. Hard to get by it. But we have to take a chance. There’s an usher on that side.”
At the side of the stage beneath the overhanging boxes, and at the bottom of the sloping aisle, there was a patch of impenetrable shadow. Hobey led them into it. He groped a moment. A door opened, and they filed through. The door closed silently after them. They stood in a bare, half-lighted passage leading ahead. “Backstage,” Hobey told them.
In passing that hidden connecting door, they had stepped beyond the spell of suave luxury and quiet. Deep carpets, great spaces that hushed the sounds of human movement, had given place to stone floors on which their shoes clicked harshly, and a complete lack of adornment.
“Wait a minute,” said Hobey. “We don’t know who may be up ahead. Stand here, and I’ll take a look.”
He left them. Almost at once, he returned, buttoning his black overcoat across his glaring white shirt.
“I guess you can smoke,” he said. “It’s against the law, but we’re not figuring on getting caught.”
“This, I presume, is the way the crippled man came, on his way to the terrace last night?”
“Must have been.”
“Good. Go on.”
“Some carpenters are working on a stage set,” he warned them. “Just walk by. Act as if you owned the place. If anybody stops us, don’t say anything. I’ll talk. You can back me up if you have to. All right.”
They came out at the edge of an open, deserted expanse of twilit stage. Within a square cage, a room with transparent walls of invisible glass, stood the gleaming call board, a lighted panel of buttons, switches, dials and telephones. From it could be operated with a mere touch all the elaborate theatrical miracles of the house; rising and revolving stages, fountains, curtains of mist, showers of real water from above, clouds, shadows, illusions of light, the wild magic for a Wagnerian poem of visions.
It was on this panel, too, that the small round glass port representing the hospital had lighted the night before, and betrayed the movements of the murdered man. Now, sitting on a stool before these controls, in the shelter of his house of glass, a middle-aged man in blue denim was reading a tattered copy of a western story magazine by the light of a shaded lamp. As the three men passed his post, he never lifted his head.
Beyond the panel there hung an immense translucent screen across the opening of the stage. It flickered grotesquely with the movements of the cinema. Through it came an eerie, wavering gray light that filled the space of the stage itself. The three men passed a group of silent carpenters working in this dusk with rubber hammers, setting up a large, indescribable structure to be used in a new ballet. Hobey led them on past folded hangings of velvet, and under the lofty steel bridges which held, almost invisible in the deeper darkness above, the looming darkened spotlights. Hobey Raymonds opened a steel door. They found themselves at the bottom of a stone stair.
After a long time of seemingly purposeless climbing, since each landing was exactly like the one below, Raymonds opened another steel door, and showed them into a long, empty, lighted corridor. He stopped, caught his breath and wiped away the sweat on his face, and said, “Now what?”
“Where the devil are we?”
“We’re there. Here’s the hospital, and down at the other end is Mr. Christien’s office. If you go through the hospital, you’ll get out on the terrace. That chair is where Ann Crofts sat last night.”
“If we open this hospital door, will it set off an alarm?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How can we get out on the terrace, then?”
“Through Miss Bannerman’s office, where the light shows. Somebody must be working in Levison’s or Christien’s office tonight. Make it as quiet as you can, going out the window, if you don’t want them to hear you...” Hobey led the way out the window of Miss Bannerman’s office to the terrace. They found themselves in the damp night air with a clouded sky over their heads.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BAUER SEEMED to be a little surprised at Hobey, who, though elegant and apparently accustomed to the Ritz, still had no money and was forced to ask for a cigarette when he wanted one. Bauer contributed the cigarette. If the Bauer eyebrow lifted, that gesture lost itself in the darkness. Hobey turned to Bennett. He saw an uncompromising and inscrutable profile with a pipe sticking out of it.
“What now, sir?”
“Find the corpse.”
“Whose?”
“The watchman’s. If it’s here.”
“But they did look,” said Hobey. “The cops have been at it all day.”
“Precisely. We must look where they didn’t look. Only remains to be decided, where didn’t they look?”
“And where’s that, sir?”
“I don’t know. A watchman would have keys in his pocket, keys to stores and cupboards and rooms. Surely the police thought of that.”
“Probably did.”
“Ah. What would you do, pray, if you had a corpse thrust upon you?”
“I’d be a dope if I didn’t get rid of it. I mean, if I was the murderer.”
“Where?”
“Well, not right here, anyhow.”
They both looked at the level terrace, and the only concealment in sight on it—the opening of the fire escape. Bennett nodded as if Raymonds had made a profound remark. They could see inside the glowing windows of the offices from where they stood. Holcomb in Christien’s office, alone, busy with papers. Levison in his own office, likewise alone, and likewise busy.
Raymonds said, “I wouldn’t go too close. See you. Don’t know what they might do, after last night.”
Bennett shook his head and gave himself up to thought. Raymonds, after shifting from one foot to the other for a time, began counting the lighted floors of De Lancey College over their heads. “Thirty-four,” he muttered, “thirty-five-”
“What are you counting?” Bennett demanded, coming abruptly to life.
“Just a minute. Two, three, four, five, six,...I was just counting. You see that light in the corner office? That one? Yes, that’s right. Suttro’s office. He must be working tonight.”
Bennett turned away impatiently. The three men proceeded silently towards the fire escape, with Bennett leading. Hobey came last. Bauer, he noticed, moved with singular quiet. Bennett was no more than an ambulating shadow ahead. Hobey tried to soften the rasp and crunch of his own footfalls. The hospital windows were dark. At the mouth of the well which enclosed the fire escape, Bennett stopped and put out an arm, indicating caution. On their toes, carefully, they came up to him. He whispered, and they followed his example.
“There were lights last night.”
Raymonds stretched his neck, looked down the stairs. They were dark.
“Should be lit,” said Raymonds.
“Who would be here? This part of the building?”
“Nobody now.”
“Watchman?”
“Not till twelve. Cops quit this afternoon. Painters can’t work yet. Cops won’t let them finish.”
“No one, then?”
“No. This part is all closed up. Nurse had to move out of the hospital.”
“Quite sure, are you?”
“Nurse told Ann Crofts, Ann told me this afternoon.” Bennett nodded, and moved forward. He descended the steps of the fire escape. Bauer kept by his side, Raymonds close behind, stalking this unspecified turner-off-of-lights among the high fire escapes of Manhattan. The darkness was mottled with dim rays from the street below, a deceptive and uneasy glow.
The two men in the lead came to the landing outside the third floor, and immediately stopped. Hobey Raymonds felt his arm seized, recognized the signal as intended to stop him, too. Still on the stairs, he could see nothing of the door connecting with the third floor. He could, however, look down the opening in the stairs themselves, and make out that the bottom lights had been left burning. Only the
second floor, it seemed, and the third, were dark. Then Bennett and Bauer turned, and drove him ahead of them to the terrace above. They stopped when they had got out of close ear-shot of the third floor.
“That floor below,” said Bennett softly, “is occupied.” He put away his pipe and fixed his silk hat firmly on his head. “A dim light inside; match, perhaps, or cigarette lighter. Went out. No other light visible.”
“Nobody has any business there,” said Raymonds. “Precisely. Afraid to try him?”
“No,” said Raymonds.
“Can he be cut off?”
“He has to get out on the fire escape or down the stairs we came up. Elevator isn’t running. It was left just where it was last night, down on the second floor.”
“Good. If you and Bauer will come at him from——”
“No good, sir,” said Bauer. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Damn you.”
“Go ahead. Just the same, I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Then Raymonds. If you will come at him from the stairs inside, we’ll take our post at the door to the fire escape. He’s inside the third floor door now. If we hurry, he’ll be there when we get back to him. Understand, Raymonds? Above all, be careful.”
“I know.”
“Good. Quickly, now.”
Raymonds slipped away to Miss Bannerman’s window, through which they had come out on the terrace. Beyond was the stair down, which would take him to the third floor, immediately outside the fire escape window.
The third floor was dark. The fire escape door stared utterly blank, a blackened mirror. Then, beyond its glass, a point of light sprang up. It vanished at once. Bennett, looking in, realized that a thin curtain on the door obscured whatever the light might show. He nudged Bauer.
Bauer, his lips at Bennett’s ear, whispered, “Take it easy. Let me get in front—“ He pulled Bennett away from the door. At the same time, it moved, silently, cautiously, and quickly. It opened almost in their faces. Beyond it, the landing was black as the pit. They felt the stirring of air in their faces. Bennett moved, but Bauer sprang before him. All caution went by the board.
The open door on the fire escape made a vague, luminous blob which Hobey Raymonds could see. The figures of Bennett and Bauer, fleeting and indistinct, crossed it.
“The lights!” barked Bennett. “Put on the lights!”
“Somebody here,” said Bauer, in an oddly flat voice. “Keep back, sir.”
Hobey advanced, with his back prickling, in complete blackness. He groped for the lights, found the switch, flicked it on, off, on again. Nothing happened. Sounds in the dark were deceptive. He reached out his arms as he moved. They touched nothing.
“Keep the stair, Raymonds!” cried Bennett’s voice. Raymonds backed hastily. He had come too far into the landing, he hadn’t thought in time. “Keep back, Bauer, keep at the fire escape.”
At once there came a whisk of movement, a thump and a crash. Clear and commanding, Bennett’s voice said, “Don’t mind it We’ve got him.”
“Light a match,” said Bauer. The match never got lit The threat brought down a bedlam of confusion on them. The trapped man seemed to be flinging everything he could touch in every direction. He might have been anywhere in the black landing.
“Stop him, Bauer!”
“Stand still, sir! Don’t move!”
A grunt, a scuffle. “Here he—“ in Bennett’s voice, then “—don’t!” and a decisive thump. The scrape of shoes, the sound of running. A shape rushed past Hobey, avoided his grasp. He spread his legs, determined to hold the stair behind him against the prowler. Bauer barked an order, the sound of running came again, came close, close enough to reach, and Hobey tackled. He caught an amazing burst of white light in his face. Straight-armed! The legs kicked at him, and melted. They ran away, behind him somewhere. He jumped to his feet, and sprinted after the sounds.
He heard the crash of a shutting door ahead, almost in his face. He, too, crashed in the darkness. His hand was caught. Dazedly, he pulled it free. He felt the closed door he had run into, and he heard, and felt with his hands, a sarcastic swish and hum and vibration. His man was in the elevator. The door had been closed in his face. The hum grew more even, and the man moved serenely away—which way?—down.
His face stung from the straight-arming. His left hand throbbed from being pinched in the door. He was burning angry. He shook his head to clear it, snapped the numb hand, and wheeled about towards the stairs. He felt them with his feet. He faltered a few steps, felt the wall beside him, got the banister rail. He raced down as fast as he could. Below the second floor, the stairs were lighted...
2.
Geoffrey Bennett, Lord Broghville, was wryly amused. He found himself in the most ludicrous and undignified posture conceivable. He could feel the rapid swell and contraction of Mr. Bauer’s sturdy lungs. At length he heard the somewhat anxious voice of young Raymonds calling from the stair outside the landing. He seemed desperately out of breath.
“Hey there!” he called. “Wrong floor?”
“Not at all,” said Bennett. “Are you safe?”
“Yes.” The panting came nearer in the darkness. “What happened?”
“Chased that...damn elevator...Nobody in it .. .
Too late...At bottom when I...got there.”
“Really? Dash the luck.”
“Lights. You all right, sir?”
“Quite. Will they catch him, do you think?”
“Who was he?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. I can’t identify assailants by their scent in the dark. Are they looking for him?”
“Don’t know. Told the door man. Got a telephone and called him. I hope they—”
The light came on abruptly. Raymonds had merely screwed a bulb tight in its socket. The scene was, as Bennett had observed to himself, ludicrous. Bennett sat with his legs spread and his body upright against the wall. In his lap, warily and protectingly, sat Bauer, holding a revolver in his hand. Their attitude was intimate, affectionate, and, considering the drawn weapon, a little grim. Bauer might otherwise have been an importunate cook sitting heavily on some elegant iceman’s knee. He blushed in the light, and put away his gun, and got to his feet to brush his clothes.
“Thank you,” said Bennett. “I hope you didn’t break my pipe.”
“Was I too rough, sir?”
“Firm, shall we say? We were attacked, I take it. Barged into, rather than attacked. Poor chap didn’t know which way to turn when we came on him so suddenly. Bauer was afraid our little adventure might have had unpleasant consequences for him, if I’d been injured. A sacred elephant, in a way.”
“I knocked you down, sir,” said Bauer, wiping his forehead, “in case anything got started.”
“Yes. Dare say we got between our man and the lift. “What happened then? He opened the door to the fire escape, I’m sure, and was most frightfully annoyed to find us waiting for him.”
“He came at me,” said Raymonds. “I got it right in the face with the heel of his hand. Must have been luck, because he couldn’t see me any more than I could see him. He got in the elevator and started down. I tried to catch him. I feel I owe that guy something. Does it show—my face, I mean, where he hit me?”
“Nose might be called a trifle florid.”
“Feels like a case of the screaming boils. He had all the lights out down at the bottom, too. And he was gone. He must have fixed these lights in advance. I think I’ll use the telephone again if—”
“Don’t. Here’s Holcomb.”
After Holcomb came Levison. After them, several blank, inquiring faces, and then a policeman. Very soon the third floor landing was congested with rescuers, and Bennett was disgusted. He had his pipe lighted. He tried to keep out the fresh crowds, but in vain. By the time a reasonable and responsible police officer had arrived, every last inch of the place had been thoroughly trampled and fingered.
3.
Tussard came last, and brought with
him order and authority.
It was eleven when they took over Christien’s office, and put together the pieces. A large policeman named Markey sat near the door. Bauer and Raymonds rested in the leather chairs beyond the light of the desk lamp. Tussard occupied the desk. He rubbed his tongue over his teeth occasionally, in memory of a hurried late meal he had left unfinished. Bennett paced up and down in front of the desk, and smoked his pipe. His white hair and evening clothes remained quite as exquisite as before.
Tussard said, “You came here for a look around the place, you found somebody prowling on the third floor, and you tried to catch him and didn’t. He got away. Is that right?”
“Roughly.”
“All right, let’s see what we can add to it.”
“In the first place,” said Bennett, “we came to find the corpse for you.”
“And you didn’t find it.”
“Quite the contrary, we did.”
“Where is it?”
“Our assailant took it away with him.”
“How do you know?”
“I say, let’s find out. Ask your man to examine the top side of the lift. He ought to find marks of a body.”
Tussard made a signal to Markey. Markey nodded and left the room.
“Your idea is,” said Tussard, “that the watchman was killed last night?”
“Yes. I was told he couldn’t escape from the building. I was told he hadn’t come home. He hadn’t come to light in the building today. It seemed probable that he was dead.”
“Why the top of the elevator?”
“Where else?”
“He could have left him laying out on the terrace, same as he left the other fellow.”
“This murderer, I presume, wanted to dispose of both bodies. He took the watchman first. He lugged him to the readiest visible place of hiding, the fire escape. Couldn’t drop him there, no. Couldn’t lug him to the street, too far. The third floor he knew to be empty at that hour. In there with the remains, then. Difficult, you know, to drop a corpse in a bright place. Instinct is, stuff it away. Where? Beyond the third floor landing was the lift door. Convenient, ingenious, difficult to discover. Open the lift door, then, and pop him in. Very clever. Even more fortunately, the murderer saw that the lift had been stopped at the floor below, so that the top of the lift stood on a level with the third floor. No need to tumble the man down the shaft. The murderer merely rested him on the roof of the lift, shut the lift door, and returned to the terrace for his next victim, with bright hopes of concealing both crimes. Unfortunately, Christien intervened.”
There was a Crooked Man Page 14