Mrs. Fawcette is Indiscreet
The next morning, Friday, I woke and lay for a moment drowsily
wondering as to the cause of a sort of vague excitement of which I was
conscious. Then recollection of the events of the previous evening
returned, and I jumped out of bed and yelled for Larry and my bath.
Although it went against the grain with me, at first, Larry had
quietly but firmly taken to himself the duties of valet, housemaid,
cook and butler. As a general factotum he was a marvel of usefulness,
but at first I had objected violently to being waited on hand and
foot. Larry, however, had taken these rebuffs quite calmly and had
gone his own sweet way, looking after my clothes, running my
bath-water and bringing me tea in bed in the morning, and I had
gradually drifted into this sort of a sybaritic existence through
sheer laziness. Once or twice he had even tried to help me on with my
clothes, but I had to draw the line somewhere, and he finally gave
that up.
Larry came in grinning as usual. He had a small tray in his hand, with
a cup of tea and some bread and butter on it. For a short time in his
early career he had been valet to an Irish lordling, and old habits
stuck, it seemed.
“Take that tea away, Larry,” I told him. “Is my bath ready? And what
the hell do you mean by letting me sleep so late, you Irish billygoat?
What time is it?”
Larry’s face fell, not at the name I called him—he was used to
that—but at the fate of the tea. But he set the tray down beside the
bed.
“Sure, sor, ’tis just gone eight an’ yer bath’s waiting for ye. Do but
take a drop of the tay, an’——”
I reached for a book and Larry promptly dodged, grinning. “Why didn’t
you wake me?” I demanded again.
“An’ why would I do that same, sor? Sure, if ’twasn’t wishful to be
disturbed ye was, ’tis the whole library would ’ave come me way.”
“Well, you unmitigated scoundrel, I want breakfast in ten minutes, or
you’ll answer for it,” I told him. “And after that I want to talk to
you, so don’t go sneaking away to talk to your little lady friend on
the next floor.”
This, as I expected, was a bolt from the blue for Larry, because I
believe he had no idea that I knew of his growing attachment and
increasing encounters with a pretty little English maid from the flat
above. At any rate he grinned sheepishly and withdrew, taking the tea
with him. For once, a retort of any kind was lacking.
I stripped and plunged into a cold tub, and in fifteen minutes was
seated at one of Larry’s inimitable breakfasts, wondering what I
should do without him, if anything should come of his attachment to
the girl upstairs. Moore had ways of his own of finding things out,
and he had told me of Larry’s conversations on the stairs. One of
Moore’s maxims was: “Where there’s a woman, there’s trouble.” But
neither of us took Larry’s attachment very seriously; there had been
too many of them. Moore only feared that he might become too expansive
concerning our affairs. But that I never even considered. You must
trust somebody, and Larry had shown himself entirely trustworthy.
He stood by until I had taken the edge from my appetite, and then I
turned upon him. “Now then, Larry,” I said briskly, “pull up a chair
and sit down. We’ve got some plans this afternoon that you’re in on,
and I can’t have you making a mess of them.”
Larry grunted. “Twas something else I made a mess of last night, sor,”
he remarked. “An’ small thanks I get——”
“Sit down!” I roared. “And shut up!”
Larry sank into a seat, grinning feebly.
“Now,” I began, after a moment, “you and Moore and I are to have a
council of war this afternoon. I’ll tell you this much, Larry. Moore
is being followed and we’ve got to be careful. His idea is that he
should walk through the Park, and that you and I should take a taxi
and pick him up in some open space, where his shadow can’t get close
to him. What do you think of the plan? You see, they don’t suspect me
as yet.”
Larry pricked up his ears at this. “Who’s ‘they,’ sor?” he demanded.
“Was it that pasty lad with the gun last night?”
“He and his friends, Larry—and a lot of friends he seems to have. But
I think, Larry—_I hope_—that they may know something about my sister.”
“By gorry, sor, gimme the address again—but sure, don’t I know it?—and
I’ll have the heart out av him, ’Tis meself will wring the truth out
av the dog, if I have to sthrangle him.”
I held up my hand. “Wait a bit, Larry. Do you suppose, if that would
do any good, I wouldn’t have done it long ago? The trouble is he may
know nothing. Besides, it’s a far bigger thing than just one man, and
it’s the whole concern we’re up against. Now I’ve told you more than I
should, and if you breathe a word to any one of this, my goose is
cooked. Get that well in your thick head right now. Not one single
word, Larry!”
“Sure, I know well how to hold me tongue, if that’s all,” he said.
“Right!” I answered. “Now, what do you think of the plan?”
Larry thought for a moment. “Tis well enough, sor,” he answered
presently. “But if they see him get in our taxi they’ll likely have a
cyar handy and follow.” He was silent again, the effort of thought
wrinkling an ordinarily smooth brow. “But I had a pal for a while,
sor. He is living at the country’s expense at the moment, sor. But we
used to meet on the quiet in the Park. He was being followed and I
wasn’t. So he would go for a walk through the open part, to be sure he
was alone, and then make for that bunch av trees an’ bushes round
about the little resteront near Sivinty-second Street and Fifth
Avenoo. I was waiting there with a closed taxi, and away we wint
before ye cud say knife.” He paused. “Maybe that wud be better, sor?”
“Good idea, Larry. I’ll call up Moore as soon as I’ve finished. Now
bring me the paper. I’m going out this morning, but I’ll be back for
lunch at one, and we’ll start right after lunch. We’re to meet him at
2.30. That’s all, Larry.”
Larry picked up the paper and laid it beside me. “There it is, sor,”
he remarked dryly, pointing to the third column.
This is what I read:
ANOTHER FATAL MOTOR SMASH
Mystery Car collides with L Pillar and two are killed
“The Bowery last night was the scene of another fatal motor-car
smash-up, due, apparently, to the usual cause—reckless driving. A
large touring-car, going probably at about sixty miles an hour,
collided with an L Pillar. Two men were thrown out and instantly
killed.
“Some mystery attaches to the case. No eye-witness of the accident
can be found. But Joe Cschlenzki, a news-vendor, states that the car
passed him a moment before the crash, going like the wind.
“There were three occupants of the car at the time of the accident.
All three were men. The driver escaped death, probably by bringing
up against the steering-wheel. He was unconscious when found, and
was seriously hurt, being badly cut about the face, and probably
suffering from internal injuries.
“The impact must have been terrific, both from the noise and from
the fact that the big car had climbed half-way up the pillar and
hung at an angle of 45 degrees.
“But the accident presents still more curious features. Strangely
enough, the car bore New York number plates, but investigation by
the police showed that the corresponding license had been issued to
John Havenbier, of Yonkers, whose car, a different type, is quite
intact.
“When this fact was discovered, the police tried at once to get in
touch with the sole survivor of the accident. But here again they
were baffled. At the time of the accident, and before the ambulance
arrived, a passing car, a large closed limousine, drove by and
offered to rush the injured man to the Manhattan Hospital. The offer
was accepted by the police and the man was lifted into the car. But
later inquiry at the hospital showed that no one was admitted to
that hospital last night. The police have inquired at all the other
hospitals also, but without result. Apparently the third victim has
disappeared completely. The police did not take the number of the
second car, and none of the bystanders appear to have noticed it.
“The bodies of the other two occupants furnished no clew as to their
identity, as their clothes contained no papers of any kind. There
were no marks on the clothing.
“Owing to the unusual nature of the accident and the mystery
surrounding the wrecked car and its occupants, the police suspect
foul play. It is believed that the fatal smash may have been due to
a struggle going on in the car itself at the time of the accident.
An inquest will be held this afternoon.”
That was all. I looked up to find Larry gazing at me in his droll,
half-apologetic way. “What d’ye think of ut, sor?” he asked.
I thought a moment. “Larry, I think it’s bad,” I told him. “I never
thought any of them would survive a smash like that, did you?”
“Oi did not, sor.” Larry shook his head.
“Well, one of them has, Larry. And he is probably back with his
friends by now. Vining knows where, most likely. What’s more, he
probably knows our license number. Good-night! Maybe we’d better move,
and get rid of the car too. But it’s too late for that. They could
trace me easily enough. The license is registered.” I was thinking
aloud.
“Tis doubtful if they was getting near enough for the loike av that,
sor,” Larry observed. “An’ if he did see it, loikely the smash druv it
out av his head.”
“Maybe, Larry; I hope so, anyhow. Well, you’d better stick around here
this morning. Don’t let anybody in. And if any one calls and asks
questions, you don’t know a thing, but call Moore and get his
instructions after they’ve gone. He’ll be in all morning.”
With that I left the table and went to call Moore myself. I told him
of Larry’s suggestion about our meeting, and he approved of it at
once. We arranged to pick him up at 2.30 outside the Park Casino near
72nd Street. Then I rang off. Time enough to talk to him about the
escape of one of our victims when I saw him.
I had promised to take Mrs. Furneau for a drive that morning. We
started about ten. She was in a frivolous and entertaining mood, and
told me that she had informed Mrs. Fawcette of her engagement to drive
with me. I thoroughly enjoyed the drive, and it was after twelve
o’clock when I reached my apartment again. To my surprise, my
latch-key was not in the usual pocket, and after a short search I rang
the bell, fuming.
To my amazement, however, no one came.
I was furious. I had distinctly told Larry to stay home that morning
and it seemed that he had disobeyed orders.
I waited a few moments, ringing again at intervals, in the thought
that he might be washing up and have his hands full. But after about
five minutes I went back and rang for the elevator, to question the
operator, idly running through my pockets as I waited.
Almost at the same moment that the elevator reached my floor, my
fingers closed on my latch-key, in my vest pocket. How it got there I
have no idea.
“Did my man go out?” I asked the boy. “There does not seem to be any
one there.”
“No, sir, not that I know of. Haven’t you got your key?”
“Yes, I just found it,” I told him. “Has any one been here for me?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you been running the elevator all morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“That’s all right, sir.” The door slammed and the elevator went down
again.
I turned back to my front door and fitted the key in the lock.
I was vaguely uneasy, and it was that, perhaps, that caused me to open
the door very softly, close it again as softly and stand listening a
moment. There was no sound in the place, but after a moment or two I
became aware of the fact that there were faint traces of a lingering
perfume in the air, a scent highly feminine and vaguely familiar. What
on earth could it mean? I wondered. For, so far as I knew, no woman
had crossed my threshold since I took the apartment. Perhaps Larry——
I walked down the hall and into my living-room. It seemed to me, as I
advanced, that there were sounds of hasty movement just before I
reached it. But at first glance the room seemed to be unoccupied and
nothing appeared to be disturbed.
Then I looked again more carefully, and I noticed that the curtain in
front of my window was swaying slightly, although the window was
closed. It was exactly the same curtain, incidentally, behind which my
earlier visitor—and Moore’s victim—had hidden himself. The scent of
perfume was stronger here, however, and I was pretty sure that the
curtain concealed a woman this time.
I began to whistle suddenly and strode into the room. I picked up some
papers on the table and flung them down again. Then I broke into
speech: “Confound that boy, anyway,” I muttered.
After a moment I left the room and tramped down the hall to Larry’s
room. There was no sign of him anywhere. I found his revolver, ready
loaded, slipped it into my pocket, tramped down the hall, opened the
front door again and slammed it—from the inside. Then I tiptoed
silently back to the living-room door, keeping out of sight, and
waited. I felt that it was as important to find out what my
unconventional visitor wanted there as to find out her identity. But
what had become of Larry puzzled me more. It was so unlike him to
disobey orders.
For perhaps five minutes there was absolute silence in the room
outside of which I stood. Then at last I heard a faint rustle and the
swish of skirts. This was followed by the crackle of papers. I stepped
into the doorway, revolver in hand. A woman it was. She had her back
to me and was bending over my table, running through the papers and
letters on it with quick, nervous fingers. Suddenly she turned her
head a little and I started and slipped the revolver into my pocket.
My unconventional visitor was Mrs. Fawcette.
The blood rushed to my head. It was too much of a coincidence. It
was to Mrs. Fawcette’s house that Margaret had gone that terrible
day. It was Mrs. Fawcette’s friend that served drugged tea to—I
winced—beautiful young visitors. It was common knowledge that the
woman herself took drugs, though no one knew exactly what. And now she
was here, searching my rooms.
For a moment I wondered whether I could startle her and perhaps
frighten the truth out of her. But I decided that she was far too
clever a woman for that. Besides, the whole thing was too big, and it
would be better for our search if I could disarm her obvious suspicion
instead. I leaned against the doorpost and coughed quietly. I could at
least hear what she had to say.
My visitor whirled about with a suppressed scream, her face as white
as chalk and her eyes black and wide with terror. “You!” she cried.
“My dear Mrs. Fawcette,” I answered, bowing. “This is awfully sweet of
you. But I’m afraid that it is a little indiscreet.”
One hand flew to her heart and she leaned back against the table. For
a moment I thought that she was going to collapse. But she conquered
her momentary faintness and forced something approaching a smile.
“You frightened me so,” she gasped. “When—when did you come back?”
“Just now,” I answered. “I’m terribly sorry if I frightened you. But I
was so surprised to see you, you know. And what in the world has
become of my man?”
She hesitated and glanced around the room wildly for an instant as
though searching for a chance to escape.
“I—I don’t know. I found the front door was open and I came in to find
you. But there was no one here at all.”
“I see,” I answered gently. “Now won’t you sit down and tell me what I
can do for you? Surely we’re too old friends for you to be so
frightened now?” I paused. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Oh, would you?” She raised a trembling hand to her mouth and her eyes
searched my face. “It’s not the fright you gave me,” she ventured at
last, in a low tone, “it’s the—way you found me.”
As I stepped to the decanter and poured her out a stiffish drink of
whisky I reflected that this was coming to the point with a vengeance.
The woman certainly had nerve and wits, for all her fright. I wondered
what sort of a tale she could possibly give me. But she was equal to
the occasion.
“Well, what about the way I found you?” I smiled, as I handed her the
drink.
She drained the whisky at a gulp, and some of the color came back to
her face. I took her arm and helped her to a chair, and although she
hesitated for an instant and drew back, she sank into it finally and
seemed grateful. The interview promised to be interesting.
“You see,” she answered, “it’s an old story, really, and one of which
I am terribly ashamed. That is why you startled me so.”
“Don’t tell me if you’d rather not,” I answered gently.
“Oh, but I must,” she insisted. “I must make you understand or I don’t
know what you will think. You see, when I was a young girl I was very
nervous. It is a failing that takes strange forms sometimes, as you
probably know. With me it took the form of wanting to—wanting
to—take—other people’s things—sometimes.” She dropped her eyes.
“Kleptomania?” I ventured.
She nodded. “I thought I had conquered it entirely,” she went on. “But
finding myself alone, in here—the apartment so silent—and—and
everything—brought it back, I’m afraid. So you found me picking over
the things on your desk, hardly knowing what I did. But—I didn’t take
anything!” she concluded piteously.
“My dear lady,” I answered heartily, “I don’t care whether you did or
not. You’re welcome to anything there is there,” I finished, laughing.
She drew a long breath at that, looking at me closely the while,
however. “Oh—you are—good to me!” she breathed. “But I knew that you
would be.” She rose slowly to her feet and looked up into my face.
“May I—may I go—now?” she finished pathetically.
“But of course,” I answered, “if you must. But why go so soon? You
haven’t told me why you came yet.”
She walked slowly toward the door into the hall, and I followed a step
or so behind her. But she did not answer until she had reached the
front door and I had opened it for her. Her head was bent. “Can’t you
guess?” she murmured.
I took her hand gently and pressed it. “Then you must not go,” I
urged. “Come back!”
But she drew her hand away. “No, not now. You frightened me. I——”
“Some other time perhaps?” I ventured.
She rang for the elevator. We stood together in silence waiting for
it. But just before the car reached my floor she looked up into my
face. “Perhaps!” she murmured.
If it was acting, like the rest, the glow in her eyes was the most
consummate part of the whole performance.
But the elevator door slammed and I returned to my empty rooms to sit
down and cogitate, while my visitor presumably repaired to her
luncheon with Natalie and Ivanovitch.
My papers had been disturbed, but I could not find that anything
except a little card-case with a few calling cards in it—and I might
have mislaid that—was missing. However, her visit was serious enough,
if she were connected with the gang, as it showed that I was at last
suspected. In my anxiety over Larry, however, I forgot Vining’s
note-book and did not look to see whether it was still there. And
events followed each other so rapidly after that, that I did not think
of the little book again until several days later.
I had been sitting thinking for some ten minutes perhaps, when the
front door slammed again, and in a moment Larry burst in, grimy,
disheveled and wild of eye. “Thank God,” he cried as soon as he saw
me. “I guessed it was a frame-up, sor, and I thought, maybe, they’d
done for ye, sor, with me not here to look after—that is, I——”
“What happened, Larry?” I answered sharply. “Out with it. I’m all
right.”
“There wuz a woman, sor,” he stammered, looking comically indignant.
“She come to the door and rang the bell, and when I answered she
grabbed my sleeve and says, ‘Oh, come wid me. Please, come wid me! I
think some one is being hurt!’”
His imitation of an agitated woman was supremely funny, but it was too
serious a matter for laughter. “Go on,” I nodded.
“Before I knew where I was at, sor, I was down two flights of stairs
wid her, in frunt av that empty flat below there. She had the key of
the door and I follered her in widout a thought. ‘Why, ’tis impty,’
says she. ‘So it is,’ says I. ‘What do we do next?’”
Larry paused. “Then she grabs me arm again. ‘I know I heard some one
scream in here,’ says she. ‘Won’t you hilp me search the place?’ She
was a grand, handsome woman, sor, beautifully dressed, and I thought
no harm at all. ‘That I will,’ says I, and we set out together, she
clinging on to my arm. The place was as empty as me hand, sor, and
thick wid dust. ‘There’s no feetmarks,’ says I, wondering. ‘There is
not, then,’ says she. ‘But ’twas in here I heard it, I’m sure of
that.’
“Presently she opens a door,” Larry went on. “’Twas all dark inside,
sor. ‘Phwat’s in there?’ says she. ‘I don’t know,’ says I, holding
back. ‘Well thin, go an’ see,’ says she, an’ I went, sor!”
Larry paused indignantly, and I stifled my growing desire to laugh,
with difficulty. “Well?” I demanded.
“Sure, sor, no sooner was I inside than she shut the door on me. An’
it was black as yer hat. ‘Phwat’s that for?’ I asked her. But she
didn’t answer and I felt for the knob, sor; the door was locked!”
At this I broke into shouts of laughter. And the hurt, indignant look
on his face set me off again worse than ever every time I tried to
collect myself.
“Well?” I asked him at last.
“Sure, sor, I called to her. ‘Let me out!’ I says. ‘Get out yerself!’
she says and laughed at me. Then I heard her running down the hall,
and next minute the outside door shut.”
“Well, Larry,” I gasped, between spasms of laughter, “you _are_ an
easy mark! How did you get out finally?”
“Bruk out a panel at last and shot the bolt back. But it was hot work
in that closet. What do you suppose she wanted, sor?”
“Did you leave the door open—our front door—when you started out with
her?” I asked him.
Larry scratched his head and suddenly he pulled a long face. “Now I
come to think av ut, I belave I did, sor.”
“I believe you did too, Larry,” I laughed.
“Has she been in here, sor?” he asked more anxiously, glancing about
the room.
“She has that!” I told him.
For once Larry was completely crestfallen. “Faith, sor, I’ll never
belave a woman again!” he said.