"Well, that's something," I said, and rose. "When you report to him
please don't mention that I've been in."
"There will be no more reports," said Dongan shortly. "We'll return
his money."
"If you want to make up to me for the trouble you've put me to, make
him one more report," I suggested. "Simply tell him that upon learning
that I was a detective, Mr. Dongan directed that the business be
refused."
"I will do that," Dongan said.
"When would you ordinarily report to him?" I asked.
"This morning," the young man replied. I guessed from his foolish
expression that a lurid account of the last night's proceedings had
already been written.
"Good!" I said. "Will you please send it right off? I want to watch
the letter box."
Dongan agreed.
I hastened to Oscar Nilson's shop. An hour or so later I issued from
under his hands, as perfect a specimen of the snuffy old man, the
shabby genteel, as you could have found in any public reading-room from
Chatham Square to Cooper Union. Oscar is a wonder.
By noon I was at Station W, which is away uptown on Columbus avenue.
Peeping through the glass front of Box 229 I saw that the letter from
Dongan had not yet arrived, at least the box was empty. A little while
later I had the satisfaction of seeing the letter with the ----
Detective Agency imprint on the corner shoot into the box.
For a weary two hours thereafter I made believe to amuse myself with
the store windows of the block, up and down, both sides. Since I was
the very picture of a harmless old loafer, my movements attracted no
notice.
At last he hove in view on foot. There was no danger of overlooking
this man in a crowd. I spotted him nearly two blocks away. He came
dipping down the street with his vast cutaway spread to the breeze and
his feet slapping the pavements, just as the different operatives had
described him. With a shape and peculiarities so marked, a crook must
needs be doubly clever to keep out of the toils. I suspected I was up
against a good one. There was little of the crook in his appearance.
His fat, rosy face bore an expression of good will to all men.
He issued out of the post-office with the open letter in his hand, and
looking not quite so good-natured. He started North again, still on
foot. Walking at that rate it was impossible for an apparently
decrepit old man to keep up his character, so I was presently obliged
to get on a car. It was an open car and I could keep track of him for
several blocks. Indeed, with the stops, we travelled very little
faster than he did. When I got too far ahead, I got off and let him
overtake me.
He turned West on One Hundredth street and disappeared in a cheap
apartment house, one of a long row. When I came abreast of the stoop I
saw him in the vestibule, poking his fat fingers in one of the letter
boxes. Marking the position of the box I passed on.
Returning presently, I saw that the box belonged to Apartment 14. The
name upon it was R. Winters. I do not, however, mean to tax your brain
with any more of Fatty's innumerable aliases. From one of the reports
I learned that his nickname was "Jumbo." Hereafter I shall call him
that.
I loafed up and down the street debating my next move. It is a crowded
street and I was not conspicuous. Many an old dodderer walks up and
down watching the children's games with a vague glance. I was very
keen to have a look at the inside of Apartment 14. Thinking of Irma
and Roland and the necessity of accomplishing something quickly, I am
afraid I was not content to act with the caution that Mr. Dunsany and I
had agreed was necessary. The most obvious suggestion was to send
Jumbo a fake telegram, calling him out. But in that case, when he
discovered the sell he would know that I was on to him. I wanted to be
sure of a case against him first.
While I was still pondering the matter, Jumbo issued forth again
accompanied this time by a woman of his own age and type who might have
been his wife. From the style of her dress I judged that they were off
on an expedition, and my heart beat high. I made sure that they were
really leaving the neighbourhood, by seeing them on an Amsterdam avenue
car bound down-town.
Returning, I rang the bell in the vestibule several times to make sure
there was no one else at home. The latch never clicked. I took
advantage of some one's coming out to enter, and climbed the stairs
until I came to the door marked 14. I knocked without receiving any
answer. The doors of these flats are childishly easy to open unless
the tenant puts on a special lock. In this case it had not been done.
A calling card properly manipulated did the trick. I found myself
inside.
I shall not go into a lengthy description of the place because there
was nothing to describe. It was an ordinary flat of four small rooms,
and from the look of it might have been outfitted complete by an
installment house. There was nothing to suggest the taste of the
owners, at least not until you came to the kitchen. Here there was an
immense ice chest crammed with the choicest and most expensive eatables
and drinkables. That was where their hearts lay! There was also a
great store of fine liquors and cigars.
One bit of evidence rewarded my search, and only one. There were no
letters, no papers, not a scrap of writing of any kind, except two
lines on a piece of paper which I found under the blotting-pad of the
cheap little desk by the sitting-room window. It had evidently slipped
under and had been forgotten. A clever crook, of course, is no
cleverer than an honest man. He is sure to make a little slip
somewhere. In the two lines of writing I once more beheld the famous
cryptogram. I pocketed it in high satisfaction.
I had got as far in my search as the imitation Japanese vases on the
mantel-piece. I was peeping inside one of them when I heard a slight
sound behind me. I turned around and beheld Jumbo swelling and
purpling with silent rage in the doorway. I confess I was a good deal
shaken by the apparition, though I managed to put down the vase with a
good appearance of composure. He had stolen in as noiselessly as a
cat. No matter how clear one's conscience may be, one is taken at a
disadvantage discovered in the posture of a burglar.
For a while we looked at each other in silence. I cautiously reassured
myself that my gun was safe in my pocket. I saw that Jumbo was making
a tremendous effort to hold himself in, and I realised that he had more
to fear from a showdown than I had. I began to breathe more easily. I
had taken off my hat for coolness, and the wig was sewn inside the
band. He obviously knew me. Perhaps it was as well for me. If he had
supposed me an ordinary sneak thief he might have struck me down from
behind with a blow of that mighty fist.
He began to swear at me thickly and softly. I remember wondering if he
were going to have an apoplectic seizure, and hoping he wouldn't
because it would spoil my case.
"I have you covered from my pocket," I warned him, in case his feelings
got the better of his judgment.
"Yah! I'm not going to touch you!" he snarled. "I don't have to."
He got his rage under partial control. "Go ahead and finish looking,"
he said with a grim sort of humour.
"I have finished," I said.
"Well, what did you find?"
"Nothing."
"You're dead right you didn't find nothing," he triumphantly retorted,
"because there ain't nothing to find! I'm straight, I am! I don't
fear nobody. I don't know what you think you're after, but I'll tell
you this, I'm sick of this spying business! I warn you to drop it, or
I'll crush you as I would a fly! Who are you, you--amateur! I know
all about you. You ain't got nothin' behind you. You're a
four-flusher, a cheap skate! Keep away from me or I'll make you sorry
you set up to be a sleuth!"
All this had quite the opposite effect of what was intended. As soon
as Jumbo began to brag and blow, something told me he was not in the
least to be feared. However, for my own purposes, I assumed an air of
confusion, and looked longingly toward the door behind him. He was not
at all anxious to detain me. He circled away from the door, keeping
his front carefully turned towards me. I in turn backed out of the
door, and he slammed it shut.
As soon as I got home I made haste to translate my find. It proved to
me even more important than I had hoped.
"Received of Jumbo six thousand cash, three thousand stock as my share
of the blue pearls.
"EVAN."
I allowed myself a little feeling of triumph. You will remember I had
learned that Kenton Milbourne's name was Evan Whittlesey. As for the
mention of blue pearls, there were no others but Irma's in the world.
This amounted to real _prima facie_ evidence then, the first bit I had
secured.
Would they find out that it was in my possession? It must have been
temporarily mislaid, they were in all other things so careful. After
my visit perhaps Jumbo would begin to think back. I was not left long
in doubt as to the matter. They struck at me with a boldness and skill
I was little prepared for.
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