I LEARN A LOT MORE
Frean's last words rendered me speechless, all my old suspicions
regarding Theodore Varney boiling to the surface of my mind. The fact
of my genuine regard for the man wasn't enough to stay them. First
suspicions are hard to dispossess.
"But that's impossible!" I exclaimed at length. "Varney's been
investigated pretty nearly back to Adam, and there was absolutely
nothing to show him guilty of the smallest legal offense, let alone
being head of a crime trust."
Frean looked at me with a sort of pitying expression. "Investigated by
you personally?"
"No, by Blunt, too."
"Then Blunt, being the man he is, may have found out more than he has
told you. As a rule, clients aren't let in on everything till the case
is finished, sometimes not even then."
"I admit that. But why should I get a code message from the King in
Philadelphia, while Varney was at Sea Bright? And where would be the
sense in having Joyce smuggled into the house? And why would Varney
write of himself: 'Varney moves on second?' No, there's no sense in it;
it isn't logical."
"On the contrary," said Frean, "I think if you consider it carefully,
it will appear entirely logical. I believe that those two messages were
meant simply to throw you off the track. How do you know that the first
one actually came from Philadelphia? There was no address, was there?"
"No, but there was the postmark on the envelope."
"And what was to stop them using another envelope, from a letter, say,
that Varney had got that day? I believe that the second message was
even dropped purposely for you to find. Those messages were a bait, if
you ask me; they may have wanted to see what you'd do with them, to see
how much you knew. Haven't you said that they must have known for over
a week before you left that you were an impostor?"
"Yes, they must have, according to Joyce's stay in the hospital."
"Well, and as for Joyce himself, he simply comes back to his master.
There isn't anything to prove your theory that there was a plot to
remove Jules. He may have gone back to the bottle of his own sweet
will, and Corby's drinking with him doesn't show anything. Joyce may
have been planted with Mr. Fremstad for a reason and, his work done,
returns to his master. Mr. Fremstad may be the potential victim."
"That's a new idea."
"Well, of course, I'm only guessing," added Frean. "Fremstad may be a
member for all I know. The one and only positive fact that I do know is
that Varney is the Black King. I can prove it just as I can prove that
Roupell is the King's bishop. But you see what it means? Suffering and
disgrace for Brenda Gelette. Of course, she has no idea of the truth.
For her sake and because I was in fear of my own life--perhaps that was
the stronger reason--I've kept this under my hat. But now it's up to
you, Lawton. You can't hit Varney without hitting his niece, but if you
still decide to go through with the thing, I'm ready to do my bit. I've
the necessary proof under lock and key at home, but if you don't use
it, no one else shall."
"There can be no question of Miss Gelette in this," I said. "These
fellows have got to be smashed, no matter who suffers, but I'll only
believe Varney guilty when I see the indisputable proof. Look here," I
added, fixing my eyes on him, "are you trying to slip anything over on
me? If you're not playing straight, Frean, I'll clean your clock for
you! I'll show you absolutely no mercy."
He made a weary, impatient gesture that was convincing in itself.
"What could I put over on you? Look at that gun and think what I could
have done if I was still your enemy. No, I've come to you for help and
am telling you nothing but the truth. I've no spite against Brenda
Gelette, either; if I had, I could have informed on her uncle long ago
if I cared to face the risk. There's a decent spot in the worst of us,
Lawton, and I'd do a lot to save her from suffering. Surely, if you
knew that Joyce and Corby and I were members of the Black Company, you
must have suspected Varney; otherwise why should we three be in Sea
Bright?"
"At first I suspected him, but afterward I thought there was a plot of
some kind against him, and that you had come down to help it along. Of
late I haven't known what to think, for we could prove no connection
between him and his crime trust. When did you find out, and does he
know? And what are these proofs you mention?"
"No, he isn't aware that I know. I don't wonder you've difficulty in
believing him a member of this gang; I had myself and I've known him
far longer than you. I've known him off and on for the past ten years,
our families having met in the Berkshires one summer. Of course I'd no
idea when I joined the society that Varney was its head."
"But the proof?"
"I've got the best in the world, not only about Varney but Roupell. I
got possession of code messages showing Varney to be the Black King and
Roupell to be the King's bishop; they passed between them via Corby.
These messages also contained a reference to the murder of Ashton.
I obtained possession of them long enough to take photos of them.
They were in Varney's and Roupell's handwriting. I guess that's proof
enough."
Frean had hardly finished speaking, when the desk telephone rang, and,
taking down the receiver, I heard the welcome and well-known lisping
voice of Blunt. It was a fortunate happening, for I didn't know his
private address, and, it being Sunday night, I had been wondering how
to get in touch with him before morning.
"Hello, thith you, Mr. Lawton?" came his sleepy, lisping drawl. "Yeth,
thith ith Blunt talking.... Yeth, ith quite all right. Nobody's
listening in; I've theen to that. I'm at the Waldorf, and a taxi with
a couple of my men will call in ten minutes to bring you here. Can you
leave without the houthe detective and my man in front theeing you?"
"Yes, I can go down the back way and leave by the employees' entrance
on the side street. But look here----"
"Wait. I want you to get thith right. The car will wait for you at the
employees' entrance. If possible, I don't want my man to know you've
left; a certain party is watching him, and if my man thinks you still
in, the other party will, too. Thee? Bring Mr. Frean with you----"
"How in thunder did you know----"
"Oh, a little bird told me," he drawled. "We have the case about cut
and dried. Tell Frean that thith ith his one and only chance to square
the game. He can either come with you and face the Black King here, or
wait to be scooped. It's all one to me. Ta, ta! Thee you later." And
the wire clicked as he rung off.
"Lisping Jimmie?" queried Frean, as I hung up the receiver. He was pale
and his voice trembled, though he tried to appear composed. "What's up?
What did he say about me?"
I related the conversation.
"What did I tell you?" said Frean, with a fatalistic shrug. "He wasn't
telling you anything. You can't beat him. He must have old Varney dead
to rights. Well, I've beaten him to it; I've squared the game already,
and he doesn't have to put on the screws. You won't go back on me,
Lawton? You know I told you everything of my own free will before I
knew of this round-up?"
I wasn't so sure that he hadn't known of it, at least suspected its
imminence and made a virtue of necessity. But I said nothing. I
couldn't blame him for trying to get the best out of his unenviable
position. Far better to appear as a voluntary penitent, a savior of
my life and all that, than to await inevitable arrest. He was a born
turner of State's evidence.
I was rather floored by the unexpected and sudden turn of events.
Rather irritated, too. I hate to be thought stupid, and yet I had sadly
underestimated Jimmie Blunt. But resentment at the thought of his
keeping everything so quiet till the last moment was stilled when I
recollected how often I had disobeyed his strict injunctions. I was cut
up, too, about Varney. For all Frean's convincing talk, I had held a
sneaking hope that he was honestly mistaken about the man. But Blunt's
being at the Waldorf, and his words concerning the Black King, admitted
of no other construction.
"I suppose Blunt's waiting to play his big ace, pull off a grand
dramatic tableau. They all do," said Frean, with a sneer. "Well, I'll
play my part; can't do anything else. Mind if I take a slug of brandy?
It's going to be a beastly scene. I'd stay out of it if I were you."
"I hadn't a chance to decline. I suppose I'm a necessary supernumerary."
"Rather you're the necessary angel of the show, and the stage manager
wants to give you full value. You're entitled to a front seat. Well,
you've done some good with your money, Lawton, though Miss Gelette may
not see it that way all at once."
"Forget it, will you? I can think of that part without your help. Are
you coming?"
He nodded, picked up the revolver and threw it on a chair. "Keep it as
a souvenir, Lawton. Remember what I could have done with it, and that
you've sworn to help me."
I had always known him for a secret coward, and now, instead of pity, I
felt a mighty disgust. He was in a state verging on absolute funk, and
helped himself to another hooker before quitting the room.
I was familiar with every twist and corner of the building, and had
left by the employees' entrance more than once in my abortive attempts
to elude the oppressive vigilance of Nast.
"I'm just as glad we're taking this route," said Frean, as we dodged
the elevators and went down the back stairs. He wiped his damp
forehead. "Some of our friends may be watching the front entrance, and
might risk everything for a crack at us. After all, it's something to
have a fellow like Blunt watching over one. I've learned to believe in
the majesty of the law. It's a mighty good thing for me that it exists."
We got down the back stairs and out of the employees' entrance, halfway
down the block, without glimpsing any one but a stray bell boy. A taxi
was waiting with purring engine, and a couple of men were posted on
either side of the open door.
"Mr. Lawton?" queried one, as we approached. "Yes, sir, the Blunt
Agency. The Waldorf, Jack," he added to the chauffeur. "Let her go."
Frean and I jumped in, followed by the two men, the door slammed, and
we were off.
The next moment I stopped a tremendous wallop behind the ear that sent
me to the floor. I heard Frean's half-hysterical giggle, and for a
brief time the closed and darkened car rocked as I tried to put up
some kind of a fight against hopeless odds.
I think at that I might have had some kind of a show but for Frean. He
was half crazy with fear and hatred--a deadly mixture--and he went at
me like a wild cat with everything he had, while he urged on the other
three. For another man had appeared from nowhere.
"Don't give him a chance!" he kept snarling. "Throw it into him, boys!
He'll take more killing than a bull."
Finally some one got an elbow under my chin, my head was forced back,
and a sweetish-smelling sop jammed over my mouth and nose. And so I
quit.