GREG'S RIVAL
The nine hours had worked a great change in Hickey. Gone was the
dashing air; he drooped in every line of his loose clothes. But he was
still grinning. It was a shamefaced, impudent and appealing grin that
he bent on Greg.
"H'are yeh?" he said, sidling towards him.
Greg hardened himself against the grin. "By God, you have a cheek!"
said he.
Hickey jerked his head towards the flivver. "What have you done
with--you know--It?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"It's disposed of," said Greg grimly.
"And a good job too!" said Hickey with undisguised relief. "I knew you
had a head on you," he added propitiatingly.
"Oh you did, did you? You and I have got a long account to settle, old
fellow!"
"Aw, be nice," said Hickey cajolingly. "What have you got to grouse
about? You've got the flivver, haven't you? I've got nothing."
"Where's the two hundred you got from me?"
Hickey blew into the empty air. "Gone! Just like that! I'm cleaned
out."
"Booze?"
"No. Craps."
Greg shrugged.
"Oh, I know I'm a fool," said Hickey with a kind of cheerful despair.
"You don't have to tell me. Every man has his own special kind of dam
foolishness. Mine's the little bone cubes." He snapped his fingers.
"Come you little lubly seben!"
"You've got a nerve to show yourself around here."
"Only place I had to come to," said Hickey simply. "Besides somepin
told me you wouldn't be hard on a poor mutt like me,"--this with his
inimitable insinuating grin. "Let me sleep awhile in the flivver, will
yeh? I'm all in."
In spite of himself Greg began to relent. "If you want to square
yourself with me you've got to tell me the truth about how you came by
that body," he said.
"You didn't think _I_ croaked the guy, did you?" said Hickey.
"No. But I want to know all the circumstances. A lot has happened
since you unloaded it on me."
"Ain't got much to tell," said Hickey. "I see by the papie last night
that the _Allianca_ from Central American ports was sighted off the
Hook and was going to dock about ten o'clock. Well, when one of them
little vessels docks at night it gives us fellows a show, see? for the
swell drivers won't come down-town for it. So I goes to the pier and I
draws two of them dagoes; one was him that I threw in with the flivver,
see? and the other was a small slender fella with a little black
mustache. The old guy couldn't speak no English; the young fella
talked for him. He told me to take them to Jersey City by the
Twenty-third Street ferry, see?
"Well, I drove up West and up Eleventh Avenue and I was almost to the
ferry when I hear a funny noise in the cab behind me, a scrabbling sort
of sound. I looked around, and it looked to me like the old boy was
having a fit. So I pulled up beside the curb and opened the door.
That was in front of the Brevard House where I met up with you later.
"The old fella was hanging over all limp-like with his hands hanging to
the floor, and the young guy was trying to pull him up. Say, that
young guy was scared, he was. He was so scared he was green. He says
to me as well as he could for his teeth chattering: 'My friend is took
sick,' says he, 'real sick.'
"Well, I didn't need anybody to tell me that. It seemed natural for
the fella to be scared. I helped him boost the old dago up on the seat
comfortable. 'Hold him up a minute,' says the young guy, 'and I'll run
in here and ast where's the nearest doctor guy.'
"Innocent as a baby, I was. Oh, yes, soft as a rotten orange; soft in
the head. I stood there holding the old fella up and the little
slender guy he scampered like a mouse into the bar of the Brevard
House. I soon saw the old guy was all in. I waited one minute, two
minutes, I dunno, and then it come to me like a clap that I'd been
sold. I pulled the old guy's legs out a little so's he wouldn't fall
over on his face, but then darned if he didn't slide out of the seat on
his back and crumple up on the floor. But I slammed the door on him
and run into the bar. I ast the bar-keep for the little slender guy.
'Just walked through,' he says, 'went out by the side door.' Say, I
was sick!
"Well, that's all there is to it. It give me such a nasty turn I lost
me nerve. I couldn't just bring myself to go back to the flivver with
that pore old soft floppy corp in the back. Him walking around on two
legs as good as myself, not a half hour before! I stood there lappin'
up whiskeys and then you come in. We talked--say, maybe I wasn't glad
to have somebody to talk to! and one thing led to another, and I had an
impulse to sell the whole outfit to you and like a fool I did. I had
ought to have carried the corp direct to the station; they didn't have
nothing on me. But I always was an impulsive guy. It has been my
ruin!"
Greg saw no reason to doubt any part of this story; the details were
convincing; moreover they fitted with what he already knew. Evidently
the actual murderer, de Socotra's agent, had been thrown into a panic
by the cabman's unexpected discovery of the crime. He had fled, and
thus de Socotra's plans had been momentarily upset.
"What killed the old man?" asked Greg.
"Search me," said Hickey. "There was no mark on him that I could see."
"Would you recognize the young man with the little black mustache if
you saw him again?"
"Would I! Night or day; from in front or behind."
"Our job must be to find him," said Greg. "It'll be worth something
handsome to you if you can run him down."
"Who was the poor old guy?" asked Hickey, "a South American
millionaire?"
"Not exactly. I'll tell you the whole story in time. Can't stop now.
Did you claim my baggage on the pier?"
Hickey shook his head. Diving into his pocket he produced the crumpled
claim checks. "I was afraid you'd catch me if I stopped to claim it."
"Good!" said Greg. "These clothes will come in handy. First of all
I'll drive to the pier and get them."
Hickey put on a make-believe aggrieved air. "Hold on. What do I get
out of this? The clothes are mine, ain't they? Part payment for the
flivver."
"That'll be about all," said Greg grimly. "I didn't contract to buy a
hearse, remember."
Hickey hastily changed his tune. "All right. All right. You needn't
get sore. You can have your old clothes."
"Just the same I'll deal liberally with you," said Greg. "We'll make
the old cab do double duty. When I'm sleeping or busy you can run her,
and vice versa. If we keep her in repair she ought to provide a living
for both. If you'll turn over your takings to me, I'll settle with
Bessie Bickle for your keep and credit you with the balance. When
you've paid back the two hundred you got from me I'll retire from the
concern in your favor. I pay for repairs, and we go halves on oil and
gasoline."
Hickey agreed that this was more than fair.
"All right, climb into Blossom's cab and take a sleep while I'm gone.
Or get a room from Bessie. I'll have to have a room to change in when
I get back. We have a lot to do to-day."
"Do you mind staking me for a little breakfast?" asked Hickey meekly.
"I'll take it outside if it's all the same to you. I'd sooner face a
she-tiger than brace Bessie between meals."
"All right, jump in, and I'll drop you at the first lunch-room."
In half an hour Greg was back at the yard with his baggage. In the
meantime Hickey, following his instructions, had engaged a room by the
week from Bessie in their joint interest, and was even now snoring on
the bed. Greg carried his things up, and opening his bags proceeded to
array himself with particular care. He was bound to remove the
impression of a snuffy owl driver that he must have made on a certain
party. He sighed with satisfaction at the comfortable feel of his own
clothes.
When he was dressed he remorselessly woke Hickey and dragged him to his
feet. Hickey assumed the driver's cap and coat that he had discarded.
When they passed through Bessie's kitchen on the way out that worthy
soul opened her eyes very wide indeed at the sight of the figure of
elegance Greg was making. She came to a stand and planted her hands
aggressively on her hips. Clearly, fine clothes were associated in her
simple mind with questionable conduct. Greg's gloves confirmed her
worst suspicions.
"I'll be back in time for dinner," said Greg airily. "I'm not going to
let you off those spare-ribs."
Bessie pursed up her lips. "My poor kitchen ain't fitting to serve the
likes of you," she said.
"Don't be sore just because I've put on my sporting rags," said Greg.
"Need 'em in my business."
"Fine business, I daresay," said Bessie, sniffing.
"I see you think I'm a confidence man at the least," said Greg. "When
I come back I'll tell you the whole story while we eat. I want your
good will."
"Well, I won't express an opinion on it till I hear it," said Bessie
tossing her head. Nevertheless Greg saw that she was pleased.
He got in the cab. "Where to, sir?" said Hickey, touching his cap with
a grin.
"First to a pawn-broker's," said Greg. "I've heard that Salomon's on
Sixth Avenue is a good place."
"I know it well," said Hickey. He cranked the flivver, and with her
customary preliminary back-fires she was off.
Greg got three hundred on the corsage pin. This he reserved for the
girl's business, of course. He still had a little for his own expenses.
He next directed Hickey to take him to the Hotel Meriden, without
having any very clear idea of what he would do when he got there. He
did not know whom to ask for.
As Greg mounted the steps of that great hostelry two porters in blue
flannel jumpers, laden with hat-boxes, suit-cases, hand-bags and
dressing-cases enough to outfit a fashionable seminary came out of the
door followed by three ladies, a maid and a young gentleman. At sight
of the lady nearest him Greg's heart almost leaped out of his breast.
It was she.
He was almost bowled over. He had much ado not to stop and stare like
a booby as they passed. He had told himself of course that she would
look very different in her proper clothes, still he was not prepared
for this. She seemed to have changed her very soul with her outer
attire. In boy's clothes she had been boyish: in girl's clothes she
was intoxicatingly feminine. French hat, rich furs and artful-simple
suit; coiffure, filmy veil, cunning little boots--much money and more
art had been expended to create that perfect effect. And the whole was
enhanced by the rose-leaves of youth and the shine of eager eyes. Her
hair was dark red and it was her greatest beauty.
Greg was momentarily intimidated by so high a perfection. Girls, if
they wish an imaginative lover, should beware not to turn themselves
out too much like princesses. She passed him with not a foot between;
she must have recognized him, but her glance passed over him as if he
had not been. It hurt Greg shrewdly. Surely she might have given him
the merest flicker of an eyelash without danger. She was chattering in
Spanish.
Next to her was a handsome matron who might have been the girl's
mother, only she looked like a Spanish-American, and the girl looked
American without the Spanish. At the sight of the third lady Greg was
more astonished than ever. It was none other than the vivid dark
beauty who had deceitfully made love to him while he lay bound in the
Ninth Street house. She recognized him; there was no doubt about that,
though she betrayed it by no more than a startled contraction of her
glance. From Greg her eyes went with lightning swiftness to the other
girl, and Greg forgave his friend for cutting him.
Greg looked hard at the young gentleman of the party. A hot little
flame of jealousy scorched his breast, for a subtle deference in the
young man's air informed Greg that he was not a member of the family.
Which girl was he after then? He had not been among those in the Ninth
Street house. In his way he was perfection too; exquisitely slender,
arrogant, assured; an Olympian youth. He looked like the slightly
exhausted scion of a long Castilian line. Greg's intuition told him
that this proud youth would aim higher than the dark-haired beauty who,
beside little auburn hair, looked common; and Greg's honest, democratic
heart hated him at sight.
All this happened in a breath of course. The party passed to the
sidewalk, and Greg went into the hotel.
He went to the desk. To the clerk he said with an offhand air: "I just
passed a young lady on the way out who recognized me, and I can't place
her. A little lady with dark red hair; she was with two other ladies
who looked Spanish."
Greg's appearance was a sufficient warranty to the clerk. "Oh yes,
Señorita Amèlie de Socotra," he said.
Greg's heart went down. "De Socotra," he repeated like a man trying to
remember. "And who were the other two ladies?"
"Señora de Socotra, her mother, and Señorita Bianca Guiterrez, a
relative, a cousin I believe."
"Ah yes, now I remember," said Greg. "Are they of the family of Señor
Francisco de Socotra?"
"Why yes, his wife and daughter."
Greg's brain whirled a little. He couldn't reconcile this with what
the girl herself had told him. He suddenly became aware that the clerk
was staring at him.
"Of course," he said, "I met them in Havana. Are they leaving?"
"Yes. Señor de Socotra was called to Peru last night."
"Peru?" said Greg, dryly. "Peru in Irving Place," he thought.
"And the ladies decided to go up to the Marsden Farms Hotel in
Westchester County to await his return."
"The Marsden Farms Hotel; thank you very much."
As Greg turned away from the desk he perceived the Castilian youth
reëntering the hotel. So he had just been putting the ladies in the
cab. Greg kept the tail of an eye on him, and when he presently
strolled into the bar in his languid high-born manner, Greg followed.
The young man with a condescending air ordered a Bronx cocktail.
"Our drinks are scarcely good enough for him," thought Greg bitterly.
Greg himself, a few feet distant from the other, ordered a drink he did
not want, and continued to nourish his hatred with watching the other.
The young man sipped his drink quite unconscious of the violent
distaste he had engendered in the one near. He asked the bar-tender a
question. His English was poor and he had difficulty in making himself
understood. It appeared that he wanted to know how long it would take
him to drive to Thirty-Sixth Street, as he had an engagement there, and
did not wish to start too soon.
Greg intervened and gave him the information he wanted. The young man
recognizing a gentleman in Greg, unbent a little, and they fell into
chat. He mentioned that the address he had spoken of was the office of
the Managuayan consul. Greg pricked up his ears.
"You are from Managuay?" he asked.
The young man nodded.
Greg impelled by his burning curiosity said: "I met two ladies from
Managuay once. It was in Havana at the Palacio Presidential."
"Ah yes," said the other, "we all go to Havana in the winter."
"Señora and Señorita de Socotra," said Greg, watching him close.
"Ah," said the other languidly, "my fiancée."