WHEN AUNTIE CRASHES IN
You know Forty-seventh Street and Broadway, the northwest corner? Say,
would you judge there was a specially foolish streak runnin' across
town about there? No, I don't see why there should be; only it was
exactly on that spot I was struck by the hunch that this kidnappin' act
of Auntie's was a joke.
Now, look. A freckle-faced parlor pirate with no more credentials than
a park pan-handler blows in from nowhere particular, and tells a wild
yarn about buried treasure on the west cost of Florida. First off he
gets Old Hickory Ellins, president of the Corrugated Trust and
generally a cagey old boy, more or less worked up. Mr. Ellins turns
him over to me, with orders to watch him close while he's investigatin'
the tale. Then, when I'm gabbin' free and careless about it to Vee,
her Auntie sits there with her ear stretched. She wants to know what
hotel I've left the Captain at. And the next mornin' he's gone. Also
on other counts the arrow points to Auntie.
There I was, too, on my way back to Old Hickory, figurin' whether I'd
better resign first and report afterwards, or just take my chances that
maybe after he'd slept on it he wouldn't be so keen about seein' this
Captain Killam again. Then the whole thing hit me on the funnybone.
Haw-haw! Auntie, the sober old girl with the mixed-pickle disposition,
suddenly comin' to life and pinchin' Old Hickory's find while he's
tryin' to make up his mind whether it's phony or not. Auntie, of all
people! More hearty haw-haws.
When I finally does drift into Old Hickory's private office and he
motions me to shut the door, I'm still registerin' merry thoughts.
"Well?" says he, snappin' it out crisp.
"You'd never guess," says I, smotherin' a chuckle.
"Eh?" says he, shootin' a puzzled glance at me from under them
overhangin' eyebrows of his. "Who wants to guess? What about Captain
Killam?"
"That's just it," says I. "He's flitted."
"Wha-a-at!" snorts Old Hickory. "You don't mean he has gone?"
"Uh-huh!" says I. "Been lured away. But say,"--here I indulges in my
most comic open-face movement,--"who do you suppose did the trick on
us?"
Old Hickory stares at me and waves his cigar impatient. "Go on," he
growls.
"You know Miss Vee's aunt," says I, "Mrs. Cornelia Hemmingway? Well,
she's got him. Yep! Just naturally kidnapped him, I expect. I had my
suspicions of her the minute I found the Captain was gone. So I chases
right up there. She's out. The maid admits she went away with a party
answerin' Killam's description. I wouldn't have been sure, though, if
I hadn't found a map of Florida on the lib'ry table and Nunca Secos Key
marked on it. Now, what do you know about that? Auntie! Ain't that
rich?"
No hilarity from Old Hickory--not even one of them cracked concrete
smiles of his. He just sits there glarin' at me, missin' the comedy
cue altogether.
"Young man," says he, "just a moment before we get any further off the
track. How did Mrs. Hemmingway happen to learn about Captain Killam?"
"Why," says I, "she had her ear out while, I was tellin' Miss Vee.
Would you believe, though, that an old girl like her--"
"I would," says he. "Humorous as it may seem to you, I should credit
almost anyone with wanting to dig up several million dollars, if they
could find where it was hidden."
"But--" I begins.
"Besides Miss Verona and her aunt," goes on Old Hickory, "how many
others have you made acquainted with what I was doing my best to keep a
secret?"
"Not a soul," says I. "Honest!"
"Temporary paralysis of the tongue, eh?" he asks. "It's a wonder you
didn't have it published in the morning papers. Quite thoughtless of
you. Hah!"
And say; next time I think I have a joke for Old Hickory I'll go down
to Thirty-third Street and try it first on the statue of Horace
Greeley. If he rocks back and forth in his bronze chair and lifts the
roof off the L station above, I'll know it may do to pass on to Mr.
Ellins. Yep! That's just the way I feel about it.
"I expect I'm released on this case, then?" says I, after waitin' while
Old Hickory chews his cigar savage for a couple of minutes.
"No," he snaps out. "You've succeeded in losing Captain Killam; now
you'll help find him again. I'll go with you this time. Come."
Seemed too simple for words at first, me and Mr. Ellins startin' out to
hunt New York for a batty stranger in a blue flannel shirt. By
degrees, though, I got the idea. It's the competition that has stirred
him up. Likely enough, he'd have turned Rupert and his scheme down
cold if it hadn't been for that. But when Auntie crashes in, the case
is entirely different; then he's strong for it. Settin' that time-lock
jaw of his and lightin' a fresh perfecto, Old Hickory grabs his hat;
and off we go, with me trailin' along reluctant. His first move is to
hail a taxi.
"Just goin' to cruise around town casual in the hopes of spottin' him
on the fly, eh?" I asks.
"Hardly," says Mr. Ellins. "I'm not going to stand in the middle of
Broadway and whistle for him either, or throw out a hook and line and
troll. I think we will go first to Mrs. Hemmingway's, if you will
kindly give the driver the number."
He can be more brutally polite than anyone I ever saw. I wasn't
enjoyin' that ride so much, and it's a relief when we pulls up at the
curb. I offers to run in and see if Auntie is back yet, but he won't
have it.
"Just lead the way, that's all," says he.
"Oh, very well," says I.
And when Helma, the maid, has used up all her hyphenated English in
assurin' us that "Meesus" is still out, I rubs it in by shruggin' my
shoulders and glancin' knowin' at him.
"Mees Verona, she coom," suggests Helma.
"Good!" says I. "I'd like a word with her, anyway."
Having just finished her canter in the park, Vee is still in her riding
togs; and, take it from me, that's some snappy costume of hers. Maybe
she ain't easy to look at, too, as she floats in with the pink in her
cheeks and her eyes sparklin'. Wish I could fit into a frock-coat like
that, or wear such shiny little boots. Even Old Hickory cheers up a
bit at sight of her.
"Why, Torchy!" says she, holdin' out her hand. "And Mr. Ellins!"
"Morning calls right along for me, after this," says I, sort of walkin'
around her. "It's worth while."
"Old thing!" says she. "Don't be silly. But what is the matter?"
I glances at Mr. Ellins. "Shall I tell?" says I.
"As that seems to be your specialty," says he, "perhaps you had better."
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," says I, salutin'.
Then I turns to Vee. "Seen Auntie this morning?" I asks.
"Why, no," says Vee. "I was up rather early, you know."
"Not so early as she was," says I. "What do you think she's done?
Jumped in on that treasure hunt I was tellin' you of. She's pinched
Rupert, and by now maybe they're on their way South."
Vee stares at me for a second, and then gives one of them ripply laughs.
"How crazy of you to think such a thing!" says she.
"Here's the evidence in the case," says I, pointin' to the map with the
scribblin' on the side. "That's her writin', ain't it? And you
remember her wakin' up and askin' questions, don't you?"
"Ye-e-es," admits Vee; "but I'm sure she hasn't--"
"She and the Captain are missing," says I. "That's what comes of my
gettin' chatty about business affairs. I didn't dream, though, that
Auntie was such a plunger."
"I can't believe it," says Vee. "There's been some ridiculous mistake.
But I can't imagine where she could have gone so early."
"Couldn't have had time to pack a trunk, could she?" I asks. "If not
she'd be coming back some time to-day. Shall we wait here a while, Mr.
Ellins?"
"I think I prefer a meeting on neutral grounds," says he.
So we goes downstairs and paces up and down the sidewalk, watchin' the
avenue traffic sleuthy.
"Course she wouldn't start off without baggage," I suggests.
"I'm not so certain," growls Old Hickory.
Ten minutes we waited--fifteen; and then I spots a yellow taxi rollin'
up from downtown. Inside I gets a glimpse of a black straw lid with
purple flowers on it.
"Here she comes!" I sings out to Old Hickory. "Yep, that's her! And
say! The Captain's with her. Quick! Dive into our cab."
He's a little heavy on his feet, Mr. Ellins is, and someway he manages
to get himself hung up on the cab door. Anyway, Auntie must have seen
us doin' the wild scramble, and got suspicious; for, just as they got
alongside, she pounds on the front window, shouts something at the
driver, and instead of stoppin' the other taxi veers off and goes
smokin' uptown.
"Hey!" yells Mr. Ellins to our driver. "Catch that yellow car! Ten
dollars if you catch it."
And you know it's just the chance of hearin' a few kind words like them
that these taxi pirates live for. This old coffee mill that Mr. Ellins
had hailed reckless could give out more groans and grinds and produce
less speed than any other fare trap I was ever in. The connectin' rods
was wabbly on the shaft, the gears complained scandalous, and the
hit-and-miss average of the cylinders was about 33 per cent.
But after a few preliminary jack-rabbit jumps she begun to get headway,
and the next I knew our driver was leanin' over his wheel like he was
after the Vanderbilt Cup. He must have been throwin' all his weight on
the juice button and slippin' his clutch judicious, for we sure was
breezin' some. Inside of two blocks we'd eaten up half the lead and
was tearin' uptown like a battalion chief answerin' a third alarm. I
glances at Old Hickory to see if he's gettin' nervous at some of the
close shaves; but he's braced himself in one corner, his teeth sunk
deep into his cigar and his eyes glued on that yellow taxi ahead.
They was wise to the fact that we was after 'em, too. First Auntie
would rubber back at us, and then lean forward to prod up her
chauffeur. A couple of rare old sports, them two, with no more worries
for what might happen to their necks than if they'd been joy-riders
speedin' home at 3 A.M. from the Pink Lady Inn.
Me, I was holdin' my breath and waitin' for the grand smash. If
Auntie's driver had stuck to a straightaway run we'd either caught 'em
or smeared ourselves against a beer truck or something. But after the
first mile he takes to dodgin'. Zip! he goes on two wheels around a
corner.
"After him now!" orders Old Hickory. "I'll make it twenty if you don't
let him get away."
"You're on!" says our speed maniac, and does a carom skid into a cross
street that showed he didn't need any banked turns in his.
In and out we goes, east and west and up and down; now losin' sight of
the yellow taxi altogether, then pickin' it up again; droppin' behind a
whole block when the traffic broke bad for us, but makin' it up when
something got in the way of the other cab.
Our gears was hummin' a reg'lar tomcat chorus, but with the throttle
wide open the motor was hittin' on four most of the time.
Talk about your chariot race! Say, if we'd had Ben Hur aboard he'd
been down on the floor, clawin' the mat. Twice we scraped fenders with
passin' cars, and you could have traced every turn we made by the wheel
paint we left on the curb corners. It was a game of gasoline
cross-tag. We wasn't merely rollin'; we was one-stepping fox-trottin',
with a few Loupovka motions thrown in for variety. And, at that,
Auntie was holdin' the lead.
Down at Fifty-ninth, what does her driver do but swing into Fifth
Avenue, right in the thick of it. That was no bonehead play either,
for if there's any one stretch in town where you can let out absolutely
reckless and get a medal for it, that's the place. Course, you got to
take it in short spurts when you get the "go" signal, and that's what
he was doin'. I watched him wipe both ends of a green motor bus and
squeeze into a space that didn't look big enough for a baby carriage.
"Auntie must be biddin' up on the results, too," I remarks to Mr.
Ellins. "There they duck through Forty-third."
"Try Forty-fourth," sings out Old Hickory. "In here!"
It was a poor guess, for when we hits Sixth Avenue there's no yellow
taxi in sight.
"Wouldn't Auntie's game be to double back home?" I suggests.
"We'll see," says Old Hickory, and gives the order to beat it uptown
again.
And, sure enough, just as we gets in sight of the apartment house,
there's the other taxi, with Auntie haulin' Captain Killam out hasty.
Before we can dash up and pile out, they've disappeared in the
vestibule.
"Looks like we'd lost out by a nose," says I.
"Not yet," says Old Hickory. "I intend to see what those two mean by
this."
And after 'em we rushes.
But the one elevator was half way up when we fetches the gate. Old
Hickory puts his finger on the button and holds it there.
"They've stopped at the fourth," says I. "Now it'll be comin'-- No;
it's goin' all the way to the roof!"
There it stayed, too, although Old Hickory shoots some spicy commands
up the elevator well.
"No use; he's been bought," says I. "What's the matter with the
stairs? Only three flights."
"Good idea!" says Mr. Ellins; and up we starts.
He wouldn't break any stair-climbin' records in an amateur contest,
though, and when he does puff on to the last landin' he's purple behind
the ears and ain't got breath enough left to make any kind of speech.
So I tackles another interview with Helma.
"No," says she; "Meesus not coom yet."
"Ah, ditch the perjury stuff, Helma," says I. "Didn't we just follow
her in?"
"No coom yet," insists Helma in her wooden way.
That's all I can get out of her, too. It wasn't that she'd had orders
to say Auntie wasn't at home, or didn't care to receive just then.
Helma sticks to the simple statement that Auntie hasn't come back.
"But say," I protests; "we just trailed her here. Get that? We was
right on her heels when she struck the elevator. And the Captain was
with her."
"No coom," says Helma, shakin' her head solemn.
"Why, you she-Ananias, you!" I gasps. "Do you mean to tell me that--"
"I beg pardon," says a familiar acetic acid voice behind us--and I
turns to see Auntie steppin' out of the elevator. "Were you looking
for someone?" she goes on.
"You've guessed it," says I. "In fact, we was--"
"Madam," breaks in Mr. Ellins, "will you kindly tell me what you have
done with Captain Rupert Killam?"
"Certainly, Mr. Ellins," says Auntie. "Won't you step in?"
"I should prefer to be told here, at once," says Old Hickory.
"My preference," comes back Auntie, "if I must be cross-examined, is to
undergo the process in the privacy of my own library, not in a public
hallway."
Well, there was nothing else to it. We could either stay out there and
stare at the door, or follow her in. So in we goes. And maybe Vee's
gray eyes don't open some wide as she views the procession streamin'
in. She glances at me inquirin'. I throws up both hands and shakes my
head, indicatin' that it was beyond words.
"Now," says Auntie, liftin' her purple-decorated lid off one ear and
tuckin' a stray lock into her back hair, "I will answer your question.
I have just sent Captain Killam back to his hotel."
"The Illington?" demands Old Hickory.
"No," says Auntie. "It was my fancy that Captain Killam deserved
rather better quarters than those you saw fit to provide. So I found
others for him--just where, I do not care to say."
"But he came in here with you a moment ago," insists Old Hickory. "How
could you--"
"I'm next!" says I. "You smuggles him over the roof and down the
elevator in the next building. Wasn't that how you gave us the slip?"
Auntie indulges in one of them lemony, tight-lipped smiles of hers.
"You have exposed my poor strategy," says she; "but a little late, I
trust."
Mr. Ellins makes her a bow.
"Mrs. Hemmingway," says he, "my compliments on your cleverness as a
tactician. But I fail to see how you justify your methods. You knew
that I was negotiating with Captain Killam?"
"Oh, yes," says she.
"And in spite of that," goes on Mr. Ellins, "you induce him to break
his word to me and you hide him in another hotel."
"Something like that," admits Auntie, squarin' her jaw. "Why not, Mr.
Ellins?"
"Why, Auntie!" gasps Vee.
"Verona!" says Auntie, shootin' over a reprovin' look.
"But see here," protests Old Hickory. "I was arranging with this man
to fit out a treasure-hunting expedition. He had made a verbal
contract with me. Just because you over-heard my plans, you had no
right to take advantage. You can't do that sort of thing, you know."
"Oh, can't I?" sneers Auntie, lookin' him straight in the eye. "But I
have, you see."
And that's one of the few times I ever saw Old Hickory Ellins squirm at
a come-back. He pinks up some, too; but he keeps a grip on his temper.
"Then you--you intend financing this somewhat doubtful enterprise?" he
asks. "A man you know nothing about, too. Suppose he never comes
back?"
"I shall go along myself," says Auntie.
"You?" says Old Hickory. "To dig for buried treasure!"
"I have always wanted to do something of the kind," says Auntie.
"True, I may not look like that sort of a person, and I suppose that I
do lead rather a dull, commonplace existence. Not from choice,
however. Once I was ship-wrecked in the Mediterranean, and I found it
a thrilling experience. Also I once spent nearly a week on a
snow-bound train in the Rockies; I would not have missed that for
anything. And if Captain Killam can lead me to genuine adventures, I
am going to follow. So there you have it! All you saw in his story, I
presume, was a chance to add to your millions. The romance of the
thing, the mystery of that forgotten little island with its long hidden
pirate hoard, never appealed to you in the least."
"Oh, didn't it!" says Old Hickory.
For a second or so he stares over her head at the wall beyond, and
around his grim mouth corners come softer lines than I'd ever seen
there before. Then, all of a sudden, he adds:
"You'll need a roomy, light-draught yacht."
"We were just going to look for one," says Auntie. "I was returning
for my checkbook when you interfered."
"That was a rather lively pace you set for us," almost chuckles Old
Hickory.
"I have never enjoyed a ride more," says Auntie. "My blood is still
tingling from it."
"And mine," says Mr. Ellins. "We nearly overhauled you once. Did your
cab hit anything?"
"Only the hub of an ashcart," says she. "We lost part of a front
fender. And once a traffic policeman tried to arrest us. We rushed
him, though."
"Auntie!" comes from Vee husky, as she drops back on a window seat.
But Auntie takes no notice.
"I say," goes on Old Hickory, "has Killam shown you the jewelry he dug
from the mound?"
Auntie nods. "It is genuine antique," says she, "the Louis Treize
period, one piece. If there is much like that, no collection in the
world can match it."
"Hm-m-m-m!" says Old Hickory. "I am rather interested in that sort of
thing myself. Then there is the bullion. Of course, if it should turn
out to be part of the Louisiana Purchase money, and it became known
that it had been recovered, I suppose the federal government would step
in, perhaps claim the larger share."
"That would be an outrage," says Auntie. "There's no sense in that,
not a bit. You--you mean you would give the information--that is,
unless--"
"I never make threats," says Old Hickory, "even when I think I have
been cheated out of doing something I've wanted all my life to have a
try at."
It's Auntie's turn to stare at him. And hanged if she don't sort of
mellow up.
"Really?" says she. "I--I had no idea. And it would be fun, wouldn't
it, sailing off for that enchanted coast to hunt for a real treasure
island?"
"'Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum!'" roars out Mr. Ellins.
It's the battiest remark I ever heard him make. I was lookin' for
Auntie to throw some sort of a fit. But she don't. She comes nearer
chucklin' than anything else.
"Mr. Ellins," says she, "I think perhaps I have misjudged you. And
I--I suppose I really ought not to attempt such a thing alone. Shall
we--er--"
"Why not?" says he, reachin' out his hand. "Share and share alike."
"Agreed!" says Auntie. "And now, suppose we get the Captain and look
for that yacht."
They was so anxious to get at it that they chases off without a word to
either Vee or me. She just sits there starin' after 'em.
"Did anyone ever hear of anything quite so absurd?" says Vee.
"I don't know," says I. "I never worked in a filbert factory myself.
I'm sure of one thing, though. With them two on the job, it's goin' to
be put up to Rupert to come across."