The Oxford Book of American Det (35 page)

Mrs. Bowden’s been doing’ Mary’s work. We didn’t say nothin’ about Mary bein’

sick, ‘cause she might get laid off. An’ Mrs. Bowden’s awful poor.” His voice was a childish, quavering treble.

“Last night, after Mrs. Bowden had gained your confidence, you allowed her to scrub Mr. Norris’s office?” encouraged Colton.

Norris started. “I’d forgotten that!” he ejaculated. A motion from Colton commanded silence.

“Yes,” trembled Mary’s husband. “John opened the door, an’ started to punch his clocks, an’ I stayed in the ante-room, like I allus do, to watch Mrs. Bowden. Then somehow the door got closed. An’ Mrs. Bowden got scared there in the dark. She screamed an’ cried till it was real sad. But John had the key, an’ he had to punch his clocks on the minute, er Mr. Montrose’d be mad when he got the records next day.

An’ I couldn’t leave my place in the ante-room. So I encouraged her, sayin’ that John’ld be back in half an hour an’ let her out. She quieted after a while, an’ didn’t scream so loud, but I could hear her stumblin’ around. Then John had to run to the front door to see who was knockin’, an’ he let these gentlemen in. The burglar-alarm on the safe had rung, they said, an’—“

“Never mind that part,” halted Colton. “One of these men will tell me that part.”

“We was called at seven-eighteen,” began the taller of the two Bankers’ Protective Agency men, “by the safe bell. The safe is connected with one wire, and under the carpet, running all around the safe, is a thin steel plate connected with the other. A man standing near enough to touch the safe forms a connection that rings our gong. In the daytime, of course, we pull the switch. We got here, and found the door locked, an’ we could hear moaning. This guy”—he indicated the one with the straggly beard—

“unlocked the door, and behind it was a woman, her skirt pinned up around her, laying on the floor, frightened to death. When she seen us she jumped to her feet with a little screech, and muttered something about thanking God.”

“You were satisfied that she was frightened?”

“Sure! But we didn’t let it go at that. We snapped on every light, and examined the room. Nothing had been touched. We frisked the woman, gentle, of course, but enough to know that she hadn’t a thing on her. We finally got it out of her that she’d fell against the safe trying to find the door in the dark. She didn’t know enough to snap on a light.”

“She couldn’t have had fifty ten-thousand-dollar bonds on her person?” Both men laughed. “Gee, Mr. Colton,” laughed the short one. “She was so frail you could almost see through her. She couldn’t hardly have hid a cigarette paper without making a hump.”

“What happened then?”

“She picked up the pail she had—it was full of dirty scrub water, and the yellow bar of soap was bobbing around in it—and John, here, took her into the cashier’s cage. We hung around, talking, an’ watching her scrub and weep into the pail until it was time fer her to go home. She was so all in I put her on a car.”

“Urn!” Colton puffed his cigarette in silence; then he turned to Jamison and his partner. “Looks mighty suspicious, doesn’t it, Jamison? I’d advise you to arrest these four men and get the woman. Five hundred thousand is likely to make any honest man a crook.”

“Some kidder, ain’t you?” sneered Jamison. “I know Pete, there, an’ if he says it was all right, it was. We got the guilty parties first off, an’ we’ll get the stuff, too!” The smile went from Colton’s lips instantly. “You arrest them, and we’ll start false-arrest proceedings in an hour!” he warned. “You leave Morris and Miss Richmond here! Any one but a fool detective would know they weren’t guilty.” As he said the last word he jumped toward the safe, ran his highly sensitive fingers over the steel surface, knelt down, brushed the heavy carpet lightly with his finger-tips.

The two hectic spots on his cheeks glowed redder; the nostrils quivered like those of a hound on the scent, even the eyes, behind the great, round, smoked glass lenses seemed to shine. Silently they watched him. He lowered his face almost to the floor, the cane was laid down, and his hand gave the carpet a resounding slap. They crowded closer. One hand went to his hip-pocket, a handkerchief brushed the hard-wood floor under the safe, between the edge of the rug and the wall. He rose, touched the burning end of his cigarette ever so lightly to the linen handkerchief that was now covered with a fine yellow powder.

“See it! See it!” he snapped. “You couldn’t before because it was the same colour as the hard-wood floor.”

“It’s wood-polish powder, used for cleaning the varnished wood,” sneered Jamison, stepping forward. “We don’t want—“

“Smell it, then!” The blind man thrust the handkerchief under the central-office man’s nose. “Do you recognise it now? It’s sulphur. Ordinary powdered sulphur. The thing that would tell any man how the bonds were taken out of the office. Go to a drug store and find out what sulphur is used for.”

He thrust the handkerchief into his coat-pocket, brushed off the knees of his trousers, and picked up his stick.

“Come, Sydney,” he said quietly. “We’ve finished.”

Before the astonished men could make move or protest he hurried from the office, automatically counting the steps. He jumped into the waiting machine, Sydney Thames followed, and as Simpson and Jamison ran to the door, he snapped: “Home, John!” to the Irish chauffeur, and the machine sped away.

Around the first corner he leaned forward.

“Sixteen hundred Third Avenue—quick!” he ordered.

“You don’t think those two old watchmen guilty?” asked Thames, in surprise.

“No!” The tone was almost brusque. “Merely an unimportant detail I want to clear up,”

“You certainly left that crowd in the office at sixes and sevens.” Thames laughed at the recollection.

“I intended to. That’s why I went into all those details. I wanted to leave every one up in the air, especially the two detectives. They’ll begin to think now. And they won’t let any one get away before we have made this call. I want to think, now.” Sydney Thames knew the moods of the blind man; knew he could expect no explanations, or even replies, until Colton was ready to give them; so they sped in silence to the upper East Side.

Soon they were on upper Third Avenue. Overhead the clanking ‘L’ trains pounded their din into the two men’s ears. The streets were crowded with their heterogeneous mass of men, women, and children. The rusty fire-escapes staggered drunkenly across the dirty, red tenement-fronts.

The look of tense concentration left Colton’s face.

“A far cry from the luxurious, staidly conservative Berkley Trust, eh, Sydney?” He smiled, leaning back in the cushions, puffing his cigarette as though untroubled by a serious thought; his eyes, behind the smoked library glasses, seemingly fixed on the narrow strip of blue sky overhead.

The car came to a stop.

“Is this it, John?”

“Th’ saloon on th’ corner is fifteen-ninety-four, sorr.”

“Lead the way, Sydney.” Again the twin red spots glowed in Colton’s white cheeks, he jumped to the sidewalk, his slim stick tapping his trouser-leg eagerly.

Thames stepped along beside him, close enough for his coat-sleeve to touch that of Thornley Colton. And with that slight touch to guide him the problemist followed; for Thornley Colton was a trifle sensitive over his blindness, and nothing made him angrier than an attempt to lead him. Sydney found the entrance, between a second-hand-clothing store and a pawnbroker’s shop. As he stopped to make sure of the weather-dimmed, painted number the clothing-store proprietor popped out, rubbing his dirty palms together, and coughing apologetically.

“On which floor does Mrs. Bowden live?” asked Colton sharply.

“Der fourf, front. You maybe like some clo’es?”

“Is her husband watchman at the Berkley Trust Company?”

“He’s dead. You means Mrs. Schneider, across the hall. Her man watches. Dere boarder also. You like a elegant skirt for der poor vimens. Such a—“ Thames opened the door, and they left the clothing man in the middle of his sentence.

In the dark hall Sydney made his way cautiously. Colton, cane lightly touching the heels of the man ahead, followed unhesitatingly. The journey up the rickety steps was torture to Colton. To his doubly acute ears and sense of smell the odours, the squalling of half-starved babies were terrible, but his brain automatically counted the steps so that he would have not the slightest difficulty in finding his way back to the automobile.

“Schneider first,” whispered Colton, as Thames stopped in the fourth-floor hall.

In the dim light Thames saw that they were standing between two doors.

“I don’t know which it is, but I’ll take a chance.” He knocked on the one at his left.

The one behind immediately popped open.

“Mrs. Bowden’s gone away,” shrilly proclaimed a tottery old woman, bobbing her head.

“Could you give us her address?” asked Colton, doffing his hat and bowing politely.

“Laws!” The woman’s fluttering hand set her spectacles farther askew, in a hurried effort to straighten them. “She’s gone to spend the day with her sister in Brooklyn.

Them boys of mine pestered her till she’s near sick. And she bein’ so delicat’ an’ out late last night washin’ dishes at the church sociable.”

“Are you Mrs. Schneider?”

The darkness hid the smile the reference to the “boys” had caused.

“I’m her. Be you the Associated Charities? Mis’ Bowden said she’d asked fer help.

She came here two weeks ago, after losin’ her job in the department store on account of her weak lungs. She had to take in odd day’s work. Asthma, she calls it, but I ain’t fooled on consumption. Two of my—“

“And you helped her by pretending you were ill?” interrupted Colton.

“I was sick fer two days.” The woman hastened to set him right. “But she was so powerful glad to earn a few cents fer her asthma snuff, not that it is asthma. My sister’s brother—“

“Of course she left the key with you until her return?” Colton left the sister’s brother in mid-air.

“Yes; but—“ There was just a shade of suspicion in the voice.

“As agents of the Associated Charities we must make an examination of the room, to prove that she is really in need of financial help,” assured Colton gravely. “We can wait until she returns, of course, but this is the last application day for this month.”

“Laws! I’ll get it right away.” She darted back into the room with surprising agility, and returned a moment later with an iron key tied to a broken-tined fork.

“There’s no need of bothering you, Mrs. Schneider,” declared Colton earnestly, as Thames took the key.

“Laws! Soon’s I get these pataters on I’ll be right with you. My boys had to go down to their bank—“ The rest of the sentence was lost, for as she turned to the stove Colton had jerked Thames from the door.

“Quick!” he whispered. In an instant the key was in the lock, and the door was open.

Colton pushed his way in, his cane touching the scarred, tumbled bed and the one broken chair. “Where’s the trunk?” he queried, cane feeling around.

“No sign of one, nor a case.”

“Damn!” snapped Colton. “The bureau drawers! See what your eyes find.” Thames had the top drawer open almost before he had finished. He whistled in amazement. “Nothing but an empty pill-box, with no druggist’s label, three quills with the feathers cut off, and a tuft of cotton. What the—“

“Those are what I want! Put them in your pocket!” The tenseness went out of his voice; it became politely ingratiating, for his keen ears had heard the woman coming.

“There is no doubt that Mrs. Bowden is in need of our assistance, Mrs. Schneider,” he said smoothly. “Er—is that some of her asthma snuff in the top bureau-drawer?” She ran past him, and bobbed her head over the open drawer. “Yes, sir; there is a little sprinkled over the bottom. You got mighty powerful eyes, mister.” She nodded vigorously at the blind man. He had not been within five feet of the bureau. “She’s dead set on it bein’ asthma, but my sister’s brother was—“

“Do you know anything against Mrs. Bowden’s character?” Again the sister’s brother was left dangling.

“Laws, no. She’s that frightened she’s afraid of her own shadow. I’m the on’y one in the house she took to, an’ even me she kept at a distance.” Another vigorous nod.

“An’ so modest! Laws, she wouldn’t ha’ come into the halls half dressed, like some of the other women does. An’ clean! Laws! She lugged all her clo’es over to her sister’s in Brooklyn today, to be washed in their Thirtieth Century Washer; not that I - “

“Ah, thank you, but we have four other calls to make.” And, bowing gravely, Colton backed from the room, and hurried toward the head of the stairs, followed by Thames and the shrill-voiced encomiums of the woman.

They took their places in the car silently, and it was not until they had left the noise of the avenue for the quiet of the side-streets that Colton spoke.

“What do you think of it, Sydney?” asked the problemist gravely.

“I’m completely at sea,” confessed Thames, with a shake of his head. “It looked awfully bad for Norris when we arrived at the bank. Then that South American boat business. How did you know she had received a message?” he asked suddenly.

“Didn’t. But I knew Miss Richmond, or rather Mrs. Norris. Common sense would have told any one that could be the only reason for her presence at the dock. Jamison and his kind don’t use common sense. They use the old policeman’s formula; arrest the logical suspect and then convict him. With persons like Norris and his wife, each half doubting, half suspecting, either would have confessed to save the other. It was an ideal arrest, from the police view-point.”

“Then you seemed to involve the two watchmen and the two men from the protective agency. Jamison will have a whole waggon-load.”

“He’ll take no one,” answered Colton. “I know him. He’ll spend the rest of the day trying to find out what I was talking about. Then he’ll telephone to headquarters, and they’ll send men to find out who sent the message to Miss Richmond, and to locate Mrs. Bowden.”

“There’s the woman, Thorn!” Thames spoke nervously, excitedly. “She took a dress-suit case, presumably full of clothes, to her ‘sister’ in Brooklyn. The bonds—“