THE COINS AND THE CHINAMAN
On their way to the station, and during their long journey to New York,
Nora drew back from any attempt of Garth's in the direction of
sentiment. Frequently he stared at her with a whimsical despair. It was
clear enough that he was not distasteful to her. He fancied, moreover,
that he had through his very persistence softened perceptibly the girl's
regret for Kridel; had remodeled to an extent her earlier attitude of a
widow. Would he, however, he asked himself, be able to go the whole way?
Now she wished to talk of trivial things, to make a lark of their
luncheon in Boston, to get as far away as she could from the dangerous
and uncertain profession which had taken Kridel from her, and which
might, even before she could resolve her own feelings, involve Garth in
some fatal accident. Once he recurred to the gray mask, and spoke of
Slim and George, whose trial would soon begin. She trembled slightly, he
thought. She wouldn't let him go on. Her fear, he was certain, was not
for herself. That much encouraged. Yet this rivalry with one who had
been for some time dead often brought him a sensation of complete
helplessness; for Nora was not one to pose. She was honest with herself,
with Garth, with the dead man. Perhaps some grave sacrifice would
resolve her doubts. He felt himself capable of that. He fell into her
mood at last, and found the journey home too short. In retrospect it
assumed an increased value. During a long period he saw practically
nothing of Nora.
For a month or more he found no comfort in his work. Headquarters, he
remarked many times, was a rest cure for anybody who wanted one.
All at once that altered, as such things happen, without warning. He had
spent an hour or so on an unimpressive case, and it was nearly midnight
when he turned south from the frontier of Harlem.
From time to time a light snow fell, and always there was a vaporous
quality about the cold night air which added to the waywardness of his
unexpected experience.
He walked for a long time, scarcely aware of the landmarks of the
neighbourhood, rehearsing thoughts which, these last few weeks, had
grown familiar and unpalatable. Now, as always, they failed to guide him
to any explanation of Nora's abrupt abandonment of her routine. His
recent visits at the flat had thrown him into the hospitable hands of
the inspector, who, however, had maintained an incomprehensible silence
as to his daughter's whereabouts. Garth could read in this attitude no
antagonism to his own ambitions. He was confident that the result of
his campaign for Nora's heart depended wholly on the girl herself.
He realized it was growing late. Absent-mindedly he turned into a side
street, intending to reach Third Avenue and climb the steps of the
nearest elevated station.
It was the discreet murmuring of a motor that routed finally his
preoccupation. A limousine of an extravagant type had halted close to
the curb at the end of the block. It pointed a contrast which stirred
the detective's curiosity. The street, he noticed now, in common with
many this far up-town, was inadequately lighted, but, in spite of the
veils placed by the snow and the haze over the few gas lamps, a glance
informed him that fashion had not invaded this far. The buildings, with
high stoops and sunken areaways, were of a depressing, tasteless
similarity--doubtless cheap boarding-houses or dreary converted
apartments. He wondered what such an automobile did here, unless,
perhaps, the chauffeur, alone, had some object. But he saw that, while
the chauffeur retained his seat, the door was opened from the inside and
a tall man, in a high hat and a fur coat, which exposed an evening
shirt, stepped with nervous haste to the sidewalk.
Garth slackened his pace. He kept to the shadows near the house line. He
watched with increasing interest while the man crossed the pavement,
and, instead of climbing the steps, stooped to place an object on the
ground. He saw him rise then and take something from his pocket which he
tossed in the air. He was not surprised when the man failed to catch
it. He heard it, whatever it was, strike the sidewalk, clicking
metallically.
The man dropped to his knees and with wide gestures searched
the flagging and the gutter. After a moment the chauffeur
exclaimed--angrily, Garth fancied--then descended from his seat and
joined the hunt.
Garth, speculating on this unconventional performance, stepped casually
into an areaway, as if, indeed, it was his destination. From this
shelter he observed the outcome.
The chauffeur picked up something which he thrust into the other's hand.
After glancing quickly around he sprang to his seat while the man in
evening clothes straightened, returned to the limousine, and closed the
door. The car rolled almost silently up the street.
What, Garth questioned, had been left with such care on the sidewalk in
front of the corner house? What object, probably similar, had occasioned
the search?
When the car was nearly opposite him the man inside tapped on the pane.
On a subdued note the chauffeur exclaimed again, then pulled the car to
the curb and stopped it.
Once more the well-dressed man left the limousine and crossed the
sidewalk. For the second time he bent and placed something carefully on
the ground. It lay within Garth's reach, but just outside his line of
vision. In fact, Garth could have grasped the other, so close was he;
and he could see, in spite of the inefficient light, that he was young
and probably good-looking. His inspection, however, was limited, for the
other arose, breathing harshly, as if he were labouring under an
unfamiliar excitement, and returned to the car.
As the driver set his gears and let the clutch in Garth reached through
the areaway railing and fumbled about the sidewalk for the object. His
fingers found it--round, flat, hard--not at all puzzling in itself, yet
completely unintelligible as a clue to the young man's motive in placing
it there. It was a piece of money.
Garth slipped from the areaway. He held his find up to the nearest lamp.
The piece of money was a five dollar gold piece. He glanced along the
street. The automobile had just swung from sight. He started quickly
after it, because it had occurred to him that if such a performance were
repeated in Park Avenue, his curiosity would make him stop the machine,
would suggest a number of questions to the young man in the fur coat,
would seek an explanation of the chauffeur's furtive impatience.
When he turned the corner he was not surprised to find the limousine
halted again, to see the young man returning from a third excursion to
the house line where, doubtless, he had with an extreme anxiety placed
another piece of money.
Garth broke into a run. The chauffeur glanced over his shoulder and
muttered quickly to the man, who sprang in. As soon as the door was
closed the car started with a speed almost affirmative of flight.
Garth held up his hand with the gold piece and shouted. The car went
faster. He hastened to read the license number on its rear. As he wrote
it in his pocket book he watched the red of the tail light diminish and
disappear.
He walked over and picked up a twenty-five cent piece. Why then had the
young man left five dollars around the corner? He stared at the two
coins, his bewilderment growing. What could be the explanation of this
trail of money, left with a scrupulous care on New York pavements? Of
what abnormal diligence could such an eccentricity be an echo? How
pronounced was its significance?
Almost certainly another coin lay close to Lexington Avenue where the
car had first stopped. It was not probable that a third exhibit would
reflect any light on the affair, still he wanted to learn the
denomination of that coin, and evidently it was the final goal of his
curiosity to-night.
As soon as he turned the corner he saw that he would be too late. The
discovery heightened his interest. Breathlessly, he slipped into an
areaway and watched.
A singularly small figure of a man shuffled across Lexington Avenue and,
as if with an assured purpose, made for the corner stoop. The arc light
down there, while it emphasized few details, sharpened Garth's wonder at
the size and shape of the newcomer. He was inclined to explain him as a
small boy, masquerading in mature clothing. Yet there was about the
shoulders a thickness and a curve which did not belong to youth. The
face was concealed by the turned-up collar of a diminutive overcoat and
by a felt hat, drawn low over the eyes. Even at a distance the figure
projected an air of the lawless and sinister.
The man bent and picked up the coin. Afterwards he continued towards
Garth, not, however, in a straight line. He shuffled stealthily, his
feet scarcely leaving the ground, in a series of zig-zags across the
sidewalk. And always his shoulders remained bowed, the eyes lowered, as
if he examined with a vital solicitude every inch of his path.
It was obvious to Garth that there was some connection between the young
man in the limousine and this stunted, clandestine figure who followed
his trail with such anxious vigilance. Therefore he felt justified in
setting a small trap. If its issue involved him in a mistake a laugh
would extricate him. But he foresaw no mistake. The deformed thing
approaching was not to be explained as a peaceful, if tipsy, citizen,
bound for home. So he placed the five dollar gold piece just outside the
railing. He removed his gloves. He took his pocket lamp from his coat
and held it ready. If the other saw the money and tried to pick it up he
would be quite at the mercy of Garth's lamp and hands.
That would happen, for the man had evidently caught the pallid gleaming
of the gold. Without increasing his pace he shuffled across and
stooped, stretching out his hand. Up to this point the other's activity
had worn an established air. Garth proceeded to rout its complacence. He
reached through the railing, and as the hand was about to close over the
money grasped it with all his strength.
He had been prepared for fright, for a struggle, but scarcely for the
shrill, animal cry that greeted his surprise, nor for the violent and
unnatural strength that quivered through the little body as it tried to
break away.
And at first Garth combatted a quick impulse to let go. The quality of
the bare hand in his own revolted him. The fingers were long, slender,
and hard. The skin was dry. It gave him an impression that there was no
flesh between it and the bones it covered.
"Steady, my friend," he muttered. "That's my money in your claw. Let's
have a look at you."
The other's squirming increased. The scream was not repeated. Only a
difficult, sobbing sound came recurrently from the man's throat.
At last Garth managed to twist the small wrist so that practically he
controlled the fellow's movements. Then he pressed the button of his
lamp. The light shone mercilessly upon an abhorrent face.
The skin was yellow, and tight, like parchment, across the high cheek
bones. The tiny eyes lay far back in rounded sockets. In the lamplight
they were deceptively reminiscent of the eyes of a cat. But it was on
the head, from which the hat had fallen, that Garth's glance lingered
with the most distaste. A queue was curled about it. It gave the last
touch to the fantasy of the snow, the mist, the deserted street of old
houses--a fitting setting for the night's vagaries.
For him the coil of hair gleamed like a serpent, carefully poised and
awaiting the most favorable moment for its stroke. As the yellow head
moved spasmodically the coil appeared to writhe. It provoked Garth's
imagination. With quiet eloquence it symbolized a vicious conservatism,
publicly dead. It suggested secret ceremonials in forbidden shrines. In
a broader sense it was the outward survival, properly snake-like, of
unconquerable and scarcely apprehended customs.
Garth shuddered. He found it more difficult than before to cling to that
bony hand. He arose, snapped off the light, and grasped the Oriental by
the shoulder.
"How did you know you'd find this money on the sidewalk?" he asked.
The other shivered, as if for the first time the cold had reached him.
"Talk up," Garth ordered. "Who's the fashion-plate that left it?"
The Chinaman made a last effort to escape. Garth subdued him.
"No talk-ee, eh? All right, little one. Then you'll have a nice free
ride downtown--just as a suspicious character."
For a possibility had occurred to him from which he shrank. Still,
since it existed, it dictated a clear enough duty. He stepped from the
areaway.
"Hustle along, sonny."
The other exploded into a torrent of Chinese. Garth understood not a
word, yet the shrill voice, rising and falling, cried to him a fear and
a despair that were tragic.
"Bluff away," he muttered, "though I don't see what good it will do you.
Plenty of interpreters at headquarters. Point is, are you coming
peaceably, or will I have to wake up a patrolman to get a wagon?"
The Chinaman was on the point of collapse. Garth practically carried him
to the corner. He experienced a feeling of remorse, which, however,
vanished before the recollection of the queue, glistening, serpent-like.
He was relieved to turn his man over at headquarters. He saw him placed
in an empty detention cell.
"Sleep tight," he called as the key turned. "Maybe you'll learn English
by morning."
His own sleep was untroubled, save by his persistent uneasiness about
Nora.
As soon as he was up the next morning he telephoned the Bureau of
Licenses and apparently ran his one clue into a dead wall. The
limousine, he found, belonged to Thomas Black, a young man of more than
ordinary wealth and position. Garth flushed uncomfortably. He began to
suspect that he had been guilty of an indiscretion, for Black, some
years ago, had married the sister of Rufus Manford, whose recent
selection as head of the Society for Social Justice had set in motion a
cumbersome amount of self-satisfied and unusually ill-designed activity
against crime. Still Garth knew that Manford was working with the
inspector now on some urgent cases about which little was said at
headquarters. It was possible, then, that the trail of coins had been
arranged by Manford in the society's office for a purpose which his
interference might have destroyed.
But the growing day diminished the importance of the whole adventure.
That returned to it only when the telephone summoned him as he was about
to leave his rooms.
"Hello!" he called.
The voice that answered was gruff, disapproving, almost reproachful, he
would have said.
"It's Ed, at headquarters. Say, you've got me in bad. Hustle on down.
Inspector's on his ear and wants you."
"What's up, Ed?"
"That pigtail of yours. Can't make out the chief. Might be a member of
his own family."
"What are you driving at, Ed? What's the matter with the pigtail?"
"Dead--that's all."
"Dead!" Garth echoed.
"Yup. Must have done it right after you left. Choked himself to heaven
with his bloomin' queue. Now if he'd had it cut off proper--"