There was a Crooked Man

by George Worthing Yates

  “Ah?”

  “When I think of going home to bed, I remember that my home and my bed are gutted. I shan’t keep you, Mr. Bennett. I’m off to the hotel. No, I shan’t go up to see those people at the Roof again. Ann knows I’m going, and she’ll sign the check for me. Have you a taxi?”

  “Thank you,” said Bennett. “I have.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “YOU’RE VERY LATE, SIR,” said Hope unnecessarily.

  “Dash it, I know I’m late. Down with the luggage. I shan’t change, go just as I am.”

  “Mrs Christien telephoned, sir. Very urgent, sir.”

  “Damn. Go away. Her number?”

  “It’s written on the tablet, sir.”

  “Of course.”

  Mrs Christien was at the hospital. The hospital found Mrs Christien in. They put her on.

  “Hello? Paula?”

  “Geoffrey? I was afraid you’d gone.”

  “Going now. Freddy?”

  “Not badly off. Fawke seems more hopeful.”

  “I was afraid...Hope said ‘urgent.’ Hope, you know, is a reincarnation of my dissolute hither, and I can’t give him the sack. What is it, my dear Paula?”

  “Something very dreadful. Our chauffeur telephoned from Southampton. We’ve been sent a trunk.”

  “Trunk?”

  “Trunk. Box, luggage, steamer-trunk, you know. A small one, with no name on it, I believe. It came by express this evening, and—the police took it.”

  “The police?”

  “It had clothes in it, things that belonged to the dead man.”

  “Oh, damn!”

  “It’s horrible, Geoffrey.”

  “Did you tell your lawyer?”

  “I got him right away.”

  “Have the police asked questions?”

  “They asked me, and they came to the house in Southampton.”

  “Any theory?”

  “They think that crippled man must have been coming to stay with us. They think we know who he is. The trunk came from Grand Central Station by express, and—they’re trying to trace it, I suppose. They think I should be able to tell them where he came from.”

  “Don’t say anything, will you?”

  “No. But—”

  “I’m practically under arrest, Geoffrey. They have another policeman here, watching me. I can’t go out.”

  “You were out between ten and eleven, weren’t you?”

  “I went for a walk at nine, but I was back by eleven. I hadn’t been out all day.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “You mean, don’t go—”

  “I mean, my dear, that things may come thick and fast. Please remember. Have a friend with you. Keep a nurse about. Sleep publicly, if you can. Beastly, but quite necessary. I must go, Paula. Will you telephone your lawyer in the morning, and ask him to meet my train from Washington on Friday. I’d stay, believe me, if it were advisable—but I think not. The police have the trunk, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Had your chauffeur opened it?”

  “No. He was there when they did open it, though.”

  “Anything found in it? Identification of any sort?”

  “I don’t think so. He didn’t say.”

  “Of course not. Good. A few more days, Paula, of this wretchedness. That’s a good girl. Goodbye...”

  2.

  Bennett, followed by Hope, followed in turn by the stolid Bauer, followed in his turn by one of the blotting-paper secretaries, descended to the ground floor. There Norman Podham-Jones, the polished and discreet young man from the Embassy, fretted with an eye on his wristwatch, “Will your lordship—”

  “Bennett. If you please. Whatever it is, yes.”

  “We must hurry, sir. The bar entrance? The reporters are looking for you, sir.”

  “Do a bunk, as they say? Good. Pub-crawling along the way.”

  Hope had whisked off with his own fish to fry, instructions for the hotel and such matters. He came back with an envelope.

  “For you, sir. Special delivery, sir.”

  “Thank you. Go on, please. All of you. Don’t like being followed.”

  The procession in dignified haste took the direction of the bar. Bennett could see a few faces beyond the commissionaire, outside the glass of the hotel door. Reporters. Like thwarted fish in an aquarium, they moved in a school, and stared after Bennett as he disappeared.

  The note said:

  DEAR MR. BENNETT,

  I hope you will not think me forward in asking you to tea at my apartment Sunday next, four o’clock. You must get so many invitations. Please say nothing of this to my niece. Tell H. Raymonds to speak out. Sometimes he is very shy.

  Hastily yours,

  EMMA WHITTACKER

  Bennett stuffed this in his pocket, and found himself blocked in the passage near the Ladies’ Bar, by an eddy of people, a slight subdued confusion of some party on its voluble way out. A tall young man stood at his side, exactly as if he were expected to be there.

  “I’m back again, sir.”

  “You—Oh, young Raymonds, of course.”

  “I heard you wanted to see me, so here I am. We didn’t get much fixed up last time, did we?”

  “No. Too bad. One over the eight, Raymonds? Well carried, I must say. No, don’t go into it. Can’t stop. Going to Washington at once. Later. Good evening.” Keeping alongside, Raymonds blurted, “Can’t snub me. Send me to Africa, will you?”

  “What?” Bennett paused, and made use of the cold, inquisitorial stare: Raymonds was drunk, however. Raymonds was desperate. He was young. Bennett shrugged. “The Islands? Quite. Sorry, my dear chap, I can’t possibly do it this evening.”

  “Then will you lend me fifty dollars?”

  “I’m damned! Blast you, Raymonds, you’re not that sort, are you?”

  “You know dam well I’m not, sir.”

  “Oh, very well, come have a drink and tell me all about it. No, it’s quite all right, Bauer. Bauer worries, you know. Podham-Jones, I say, there’s time for a drink, must be. Telephone for them to keep the train, will you? Or we’ll go fast in the motor, eh? Ought to be some virtue in the nasty things, speed if not dignity, really. Raymonds, this is Podham-Jones. Now the bar.

  Dare say, Raymonds, there’s some awfully convincing reason for your wanting me to give you fifty dollars, and I’m very much tempted to give it to you as a reward for your unspeakable brass in asking for it, but I think a few preliminary inquiries are justified, eh? Whisky and splash. Thank you.”

  Raymonds seemed to have made up his mind to be nonchalant about it. He said, “Make mine a double, and soda. I’m broke. Can’t get a job. Thought it was a good idea to get away from this town.”

  “Yes. But why come to me?”

  “Little misunderstanding. Sorry I brought it up.” Bennett made a simple deduction, and saw light. “Aunt Emma,” he said. “Damn me. Aunt Emma.”

  “Perfectly right, Mr. Bennett.”

  “Ah. She told you to come to me, of course.”

  “Nice old girl. Gets a little vague, though. Said you were going to give me a job. Said it was arranged, I could ask you for an advance on my salary. I was an awful dope, and I apologize. And many thanks for the drink.”

  Raymonds intended to make a jaunty business of leaving, but he stood clinging to the edge of the bar, subsiding visibly into a miserable apologetic hopelessness before Bennett’s eyes.

  “Broke, you say?”

  “Afraid I am. Sorry. Just a hobby.”

  Bennett snapped his fingers. “A quick one, for Mr. Raymonds. Jones?”

  Jones sighed gracefully over his watch, but nodded. “Health,” said Bennett, over his glass. “No experience, Raymonds. Quite obvious. A green hand at cadging. Takes a bit of doing. No, you’re not the man for that wretched game.”

  “I have to practice up.”

  “Where are you going now?”

&
nbsp; “Young man about town. Take a long walk. Go for a ride on the swan-boats in the park.”

  “You ought to go to bed.”

  “Got no address. That’s why I mentioned the swan-boats in the park.”

  “You’ll be caught up by the police. There’s a fellow watching you, if you remember.”

  But Raymonds scarcely remembered. He dropped his opera hat, retrieved it with exquisite fumbling. His left knee sagged involuntarily from time to time, his jaw got slack, his face seemed whiter than it should be. For all that, he kept his head up rather well.

  His shirt was somewhat worn, his tie was frayed. His patent leather shoes, rubbed to a bright polish, were nevertheless thin and cracked and inadequate. Covertly threadbare, thought Bennett, and very, very decent.

  “A spot too much,” murmured Podham-Jones.

  “Go to Bauer, in the passage,” said Bennett. “Raymonds is going to Washington with us. Raymonds is being followed. Tell Bauer to detain the follower. Understood? Raymonds is engaged as my secretary, or boots or bailiff or anything you like. Wait. Tell Bauer we leave in one minute, precisely. Quickly, now.”

  Podham-Jones vanished. Bennett poured another short drink into Raymonds, flung money on the bar, looked at his watch, calculated, and took the young man’s arm. “Motor outside. Steady. A bit of a dash, and it’s done.”

  They gathered up Hope, Podham-Jones and the secretary, then Bauer, trotting up behind them, as they pushed through the door.

  The limousine stood exactly in front of them. Bennett took command, barked a bit, entered the car last. From the hotel entrance farther down the street, running feet pattered towards them. The dirty face of the female reporter thrust itself towards Bennett. A voice called out in surprise, a hand clutched at Bennett’s sleeve. The doors of the limousine slammed shut in several faces, wheels moved. Hope and the secretary in front with the chauffeur, Bauer on one of the occasional seats, and Bennett, Raymonds and Podham-Jones in the tonneau, all of them rolled smoothly away from the slight disturbance in the street, and left it dwindling and diminishing behind them.

  Podham-Jones told the chauffeur the number of minutes he had for the trip, and prescribed the Twenty-third Street Ferry.

  “That’s the sort of diversion I enjoy,” said Bennett. “What happened to the policeman, Bauer?”

  “He’s at the hotel desk, putting in a telephone call, and keeping an eye on the hall going to the bar.”

  “Telephoning? To whom?”

  “I told buttons to mention Tussard’s name. Gave him a dollar.”

  “The dollar, Bauer. Thank you. Tussard will find out. He’ll be angry with me.”

  “Mr. Raymonds,” said Podham-Jones, “is asleep, or very tight. Do you want me to book a place for him, sir?”

  “Yes, if necessary. He will travel in my carriage. You know, he must not be arrested at the depot.”

  “That’s in Jersey City,” said Bauer. “Authority of the New York Police doesn’t go that far.”

  “Droll,” said Bennett, “but convenient.”

  3.

  Secretary, guard, courier and manservant had gone to bed. The train rocked gently across the State of New Jersey to the sound of a comfortable soft thunder of the wheels. The motion set the ice in their glasses swinging and tinkling.

  “Afraid I’m tight,” said Raymonds. He put his glass down on the floor. He seemed to be balancing his head precariously on the top of his neck. The porter in the doorway yawned.

  “Hungry?”

  “No. This will fix me up.”

  “Eggs, three or four eggs. Bit of ham. Toast. Cold meat? Cold meat, then—and coffee. If you please.”

  The porter said, “Yes, sir,” and rustled off in his starched coat towards the pantry.

  “Whisky,” said Bennett, “on an empty stomach.” Raymonds stripped off coat, waistcoat and shirt, and sat on the couch in trousers and singlet. He stared dizzily at the carpet immediately before him.

  “You’ve been stony for a long time, I think?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Friends have helped you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If Tussard hadn’t set a man to follow you, where would you have slept tonight?”

  Raymonds shrugged.

  “I assure you,” said Bennett, “it’s a matter of importance. Tussard wants to know where you keep, what you do, how you live. Most particularly, he wants to know what tempted you into the Chelsac Theatre last night. You’re a suspicious character, Raymonds. However. I think I can explain you.”

  “I didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

  “No, granted. You went to the Theatre last night, simply because Miss Crofts went there. You followed her. You may have been a bit of a bore to her, but that must gnaw on your own conscience, not mine. Your ordinary sleeping arrangements, I presume, innocently involved Miss Crofts.”

  “If you’re trying to say—

  “No. Not at all, as you should know.”

  “She used to let me sleep in her front room on the couch, because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I wouldn’t like you to tell that to anybody.”

  “No. Thrashing deserved.”

  “The Croftses used to be friends of my family. She’s always been very swell to me, since we were kids. She was too damn decent to let me sleep out in the rain, and I don’t want Tony Suttro to hear about it. He might not understand.”

  “My interest is avuncular. Do you really want to go to the Pamin Islands?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aunt Emma’s suggestion, eh? Miss Crofts won’t be there. Do you really want to go?”

  He shuddered, and said, “No.”

  “You never saw the crippled man, while you stopped at Miss Crofts’s flat?”

  “No.”

  “Truth won’t hurt her, you know.”

  “He never came near her.”

  “A reference to him? Might she have known of him, even remotely?”

  “I’ve known her since we were kids. I know everybody she knows. I never heard of him.”

  Bennett smoked his pipe, and let Raymonds brood. Raymonds said nothing, and the conversation seemed to have been dropped. When the monotony of the train’s rumble was interrupted by sharp chattering as the wheels swept over a series of switches, Raymonds at last stirred, and rubbed his face, and looked at Bennett.

  He said, “You know what’s the matter with me. I don’t think I’m tight. I’m crazy about her. Crazy, crazy, crazy. I’m a plain damn fool. You knew that this morning, when they had me up in Christien’s office. I’m crazy. Sometimes I wonder, Mr. Bennett, what the hell am I going to do about it?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE COFFEE, when it came, was hot and aromatic; the eggs and Med ham, very beautiful. Raymonds ate methodically, and his eyes watered.

  Bennett leaned back reflectively in his armchair, smoked and held his peace. He expected the food to do much more than words. It did. When the cup and plates had been emptied and taken back to the pantry, Raymonds accepted the cigarette Bennett offered. He listened to the gurgle of the old man’s pipe for a while. He began then of his own accord.

  “I’m not feeble-minded about everything, or at least, I didn’t use to be. The only thing that’s the matter with me, is that I’m crazy about Ann.”

  “Um.”

  “It’s hard to explain, because it’s so very nearly funny, and it’s so rotten, really. I can look at myself objectively. I know I’m good for something, and still I know I’m practically paralyzed because of her. I can’t see past it, I can’t get past it. It’s an obsession.”

  “Ah?”

  Suddenly the young man leaned forward in an access of bitter earnestness. “I’ve got to have her, Mr. Bennett. I’ve got to be near her. I’ve got to think of her, every minute. I can’t help it, I can’t do anything. Do you know what that means? Do you know why I do crazy things, run after her when she has dates with other men? I can�
��t help it, that’s all.” He shook his head, smiled apologetically at his own vehemence. He smoked his cigarette for a moment. He smiled, and continued more quietly, “She isn’t exactly the first girl in my life. I’m not in my second year at New Haven, exactly. I argue with myself, but I know it’s final. I can’t live with my neck broken. I can’t live without Ann. Quite honestly, I think I’m insane.”

  “Really?”

  “Nothing I take,” he said, “seems to do me any good. Do you think I ought to have an operation?”

  Bennett asked, “Has this been a permanent condition? Since childhood?”

  “I’ve been half in love with her since we were kids. But I’ve only been crazy for a year. I got a job so she’d marry me, I gave it up when she was engaged to Suttro. I’ve stayed sober for a couple months, I’ve got drunk for a couple months. I’ve tried to go away, I’ve come running back. I follow her like a starving dog, and I hate myself for doing it.”

  “What will you do when she marries?”

  “I’ve wondered. I don’t know. Just this, I suppose.”

  “Unsatisfactory, isn’t it?”

  “What else? I wouldn’t mind pulling Suttro to pieces, but he’s done nothing to me, and she likes him. Oh, I could kill myself, but there are several old family scruples in the way. God, it’s in my arms and my legs and my guts and my brains—and there it is. Sorry. Wrestling with my soul in public.”

  “A drink?” said Bennett.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  He collapsed listlessly on the couch, with one bare arm dangling towards the floor. Bennett rang for the porter.

  2.

  Bennett sipped his fresh drink, drew on his pipe, and relapsed into the Court Martial or Old Warhorse voice.

  “You are employed. What can you do?”

  Raymonds said, “Bit of everything. Banking, chemistry, a nice lot of Latin. I’m pretty good around horses, I’m young, healthy, and willing. Anything you say, sir.”

  “Take hold of yourself?”

  “Make a decent try, sir.”

  “Assume your duties tomorrow. Devilish little opportunity to see Miss Crofts.”