Читать книгу Dead Man's Hat - Footner Hulbert - Страница 5

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Dave Westover and Bill Fielder shared the third floor front in Mrs. Bradley’s boarding-house on East Seventeenth Street. It was a large and cheerful room with furniture of the black-walnut and marble-slab period, and a carpet that had been reduced by service to a color that Bill called elephant’s breath.

When they got into bed that night Bill was struck by his partner’s remarkable stillness. “What’s the matter with you?” he said. “You’re as garrulous as an oyster!”

“Don’t want to talk,” said Dave. “Sleepy.”

“The hell you are,” said Bill. “You got something on your mind.”

No answer from Dave.

“All through supper you looked at me as if there was nobody there. My cracks were wasted on you.”

“Oh, for God’s sake stop gabbing!” said Dave, exasperated.

Bill laughed. “It relieves my mind to hear you cuss.... Did you talk to little Wrenn tonight while I was getting the cigars?”

“No,” said Dave, steadily.

“What a chance! You and she alone there together!”

“I told you I knew enough girls already.”

“Just the same, I believe you’re lying,” said Bill. “I noticed you looked a little pink around the gills when I came back.”

“Sign off! I want to go to sleep!”

“Is that so? ... Nice girl, too, but hard to talk to, I should think. The usual line of porridge wouldn’t go so hot with her. Must be fierce to try to charm a doll when you got a sneaking idea all the time that she’s got a better bean than you have....”

Dave was breathing deep and slow, and Bill couldn’t get any answers out of him. Bill soon got tired of listening to his own voice. He yielded to suggestion. His voice gradually trailed away and he, too, began to breathe from the bottom of his lungs.

Instantly Dave sat up in bed, watching him, and listening. Bill never stirred, and Dave put his feet to the floor.

Silently gathering up his clothes, he carried them into the bathroom, where he could turn on the light, and shave and dress with care. He wanted to look his best. When he got out into the street, it still lacked half an hour of one o’clock, and he walked up to Forty-first Street to kill time; through that dark and furtive stretch of Broadway between Union and Madison Squares, and up the spacious emptiness of the Avenue with its quadruple lines of mellow golden globes climbing Murray Hill. Dave and the prowling cats shared the deserted sidewalks.

At Adolph’s all was light and life. Norah, the coat-room girl, greeted Dave warmly. He was an infrequent visitor to the house, for a good reason, but Norah had a soft spot in her heart for a handsome young fellow who gave generous tips because he couldn’t afford it. Norah affected a cute brogue.

“Sure, Mr. Westover, it’s a dog’s age since I seen you. Where you been all this time?”

“To the Springs, Norah.”

“No! French Lick or White Sulphur?”

“Wrong both times. The Bed Springs.”

“Ain’t you a card!”

“I’m expecting a lady shortly. I’ll be up in the bar.”

“What! are you falling for them now? I thought you had more sense, Mr. Westover.”

“Wait till you see her, Norah!”

Adolph occupied a handsome English-basement dwelling that had become an elegant speakeasy with very little alteration. The bar was on the parlor floor in the rear. Dave found the big room full to capacity. There was not a vacant space at the mahogany, and he was obliged to seat himself in the rear of the room at a table already occupied by two keen-faced young men not in evening dress. They had the look of reporters.

There was a sense of excitement in the crowd, and Dave looked around to discover the cause. In addition to the line-up at the bar, and the full tables, he saw a number of hard-eyed men in evening dress standing around the wall, not drinking, but merely watching. The arched opening into the restaurant was filled with diners pressing forward to have a look, some with their napkins still in their hands.

As in a theater, every face was turned towards a man leaning with his back against the middle of the bar, supporting himself on his elbows. The hand that grasped the highball glass was decorated with a diamond that glared like a little headlight. He was slightly tight, and obviously enjoying the center of the stage. Dave’s entrance had interrupted a speech he was making.

“Take the gentleman’s order, Judo,” he said. “I’m treating.”

The roly-poly waiter came bustling up to Dave.

The star performer was a man of middle height, still in his thirties, judging by his smooth, unlined face, but already growing corpulent. He was dressed in an elegantly cut tuxedo, and wore a soft black hat with the brim rakishly pulled down over one eye. He had the look of an Italian; small keen eyes under fierce black brows; thick cruel lips. At present the whole fat face was wreathed in a good-humored smile. He looked around at his audience with the confident air of one who knows he has them going, and doesn’t give a rap.

“Drink up!” he said. “All friends here together, and to hell with the reformers. We’re right guys, we are. And ladies!”

“Who’s the generous guy?” Dave asked his table companions.

They looked with pity on his ignorance. One said: “Where you been, fellow? Don’t you know Jim Mann?”

Jim Mann! Dave looked at him with fresh interest. The biggest shot in New York!

Though the reporter had spoken low, Mann heard it. “Yeah, Jim Mann!” he said, casting an eye in their direction. “Everybody knows me! To hear the preachers hollering, a person would think Jim Mann was a devil complete with horns and tail! What don’t they call me—leech, blood-sucker, corruptor of youth! Well, take a look at me, folks. I’m a plain guy like yourselves. I enjoy going home to the missus and the kids and turning on the radio just like any of youse!

“Me, I’m just a business man. There’s a demand for a certain line and I supply it, that’s all. Is that a crime? I don’t ask anybody to come to my houses. Nobody stands at the door and pulls them in. But any customer who comes to me knows he’s going to get a square deal. That’s the secret of my success!”

This speech was received with immense applause. A figure lurched out from the crowd at the bar.

“Jim, we’re all with you!” he said, thickly. “Put it there, old fella!”

“Such is fame!” murmured one of the reporters to Dave.

“Set ’em up again, Cholly,” cried Mann to the barman. “All good friends of mine.”

More cheers. Everybody at the bar crowded around the fat man, trying to take his hand or to clap him on the back. With a good-natured outward thrust of the thick arms he won clear of them.

“I’m going to take a whirl upstairs,” he said. He made the motion of spinning an ivory ball. “Nothing like sampling your own goods, eh?”

As soon as he moved, all the watchful sentinels around the room came to life. They prepared to fall in behind him.

On his way out Mann stopped beside a table where a single figure was sitting. It was a man in evening clothes who was drunk and pretty near all in. His legs were stretched out before him, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his chin sunk in his rumpled shirt-front.

“Now for a little sob stuff,” murmured one of the reporters, cynically.

“Jim Mann plants these down-and-outers so he can show the world what a big-hearted guy he is,” his companion explained to Dave.

“Ain’t I seen you before somewhere?” Mann asked the fellow at the table.

“Reckon you have,” returned the latter, raising a sullen face. “You got every cent I own. I’m cleaned!”

Mann chuckled good-naturedly. “You’re a fool to gamble away your capital, friend. Gambling is only for them who can afford it.” Drawing a thick roll from his pocket, he peeled off the top bill and tossed it on the table. The onlookers murmured when they read the figures on the bill—$1,000. “Put that in your pocket, friend. Take it home to the missus, and for God’s sake stay away from the tables until you make your pile.”

Louder cheers. Mann waddled out, well pleased with himself, his bodyguard at his heels. Most of the crowd followed him noisily, including the two men at Dave’s table. The cynical one said, “We pick up what he drops.” The diners went back to their tables in the restaurant, and the bar resumed its customary quiet aspect.

Presently the doorman came to Dave’s elbow. “Lady asking for you, Mr. Westover. She’s in the dressing-room.”

Dave ran downstairs. He had to wait a moment or two for Paula to appear. Another couple entered the house. Dave caught them staring at him hard. A young fellow of about his own age, very smartly dressed in a cinnamon-colored suit. His ensemble was a little too striking for a man; cravat, handkerchief, gloves, spats, all in harmonious shades of brown. His face was like a dissipated ivory mask with a cigarette drooping out of one side. He had pale blue eyes. His companion, a sturdily built brunette, expressed the last word out of the night clubs. A handsome girl, brilliantly made up; black hair slicked back like wet fur.

Paula came out of the dressing-room wearing a simple blue evening dress exactly suited to her blond beauty. She smiled enchantingly and slipped her hand under Dave’s arm. He instinctively pressed it against his ribs. They started up the sweeping shallow stairway. The other couple exchanged a glance.

“You’re so satisfying!” murmured Paula.

“And you ... you’re like a dream come true!” said Dave.

“I meant what I said,” she said, reproachfully. “And you’re just flattering!”

He shook his head dumbly.

“How I wish we had got acquainted before ... before ...” Her voice trailed away wistfully.

“Before what?”

“Oh, when we could just have had a good time together without thinking.”

He led her into the small room back of the main restaurant. It was less crowded. They took a table against the wall. Dave offered her the menu.

“I couldn’t eat anything,” she said, deprecatingly. “What is the most harmless thing I can have to drink?”

“A glass of sherry?” he suggested. For himself he ordered a highball.

“How many did you have while you were waiting for me?” she asked, like a privileged old friend.

“Just one, and I didn’t finish that.”

The young man in the cinnamon-colored suit and his companion entered the room, and sat down across the narrow aisle. Not more than five feet separated the two tables.

“Don’t look right away,” whispered Paula. “Those two followed me here from my place.”

Dave scowled. “Thought there was something funny about them. I’ll punch the fellow’s head.”

“Oh no!” she said, nervously. “That type of man is always armed.”

Dave’s face hardened. “You’re right,” he said. “What the devil are they spying on us for?”

“I don’t know,” she said, helplessly. “I have got caught in a whole tangle of mystery!”

Dave’s eyes searched her through and through. The blue eyes clung to his imploringly, honestly. He was satisfied with what he read there. “Well, whatever it is, I’m for you,” he said. “Spill it!”

“Give me a little time,” she murmured. “You are still strange to me.”

He saw that her hand trembled slightly when she put the wine-glass to her lips. In order to help her out, he began to talk about himself in a light vein—about his folks upstate, his early days on the farm, and so on.

“My brother is to get the home place,” he said. “So I came to the big city to scratch for a living.”

“I haven’t got anybody belonging to me but my mother,” said Paula. “We live together. She worked for both of us until I grew up.”

They found the smallest details of each other’s past lives extraordinarily interesting. They planted their elbows on the table and their heads drew close. There was no end to question and answer. They lost count of the time. Across the aisle the other couple exchanged a glance and a sneer.

“He’s elected,” murmured the man.

Finally a silence fell between Dave and Paula. Dave said:

“Well, you know all about me now. Let it come out!”

She did not answer right away, but looked at him with a smile on her lips and a world of pain at the bottom of the blue wells of her eyes.

“Why do you look at me like that?” he asked.

“I was wondering if you were like everybody else ... hard-boiled; on the make. I don’t think you are.”

“What can I say? Try me.”

Still she did not speak. He took one of her hands in his. “I would do anything for you,” he said. “And count myself lucky to get the chance!”

“They are watching us,” she whispered.

He withdrew his hand with a muttered curse. But his ill-humor soon passed. “I hope it’s something dangerous,” he said, grinning. “I’m fed up with the adding-machines. They caught me young. I never got the breaks.”

“You will!”

Another silence.

“Well, don’t I measure up?” he asked, all ready to be sore.

“Oh yes,” she said, quickly. “But it doesn’t seem fair to drag you into this.”

“To hell with fairness if it’s anything exciting!”

Paula came to a resolution. “I’ll tell you,” she said. “But I can’t do it here. Those two are listening to everything we say.”

“Where can we go?”

“Come to my place.”

“Good God! It’s near two. What would your mother say?”

“She’s an invalid. Day and night make little difference to her.”

“But if you brought me home at two o’clock.”

“I’ll make it all right with her. She’s a good sport. You’ll be surprised when you meet her.”

“Then let’s go!”

Dave paid the waiter and they descended the stairs. While they were waiting for their things in the foyer, the other couple came slowly down, putting on the dog for the benefit of any listeners. Their crude voices gave them away.

“Cheese! there’s no fun around this dump! It’s like a funeral parlor without the flowers.”

“Take me up to Barney’s on Fifty-second, will you? There’s a hot blues singer up there.”

Dave scowled. “Clumsy camouflage!” he muttered. “If they come tailing after us I’ve got to do something about it.”

“No!” warned Paula. “Let’s make out we’re not on to them, until we find out what their game is.”

His face cleared. “You’re right, Lady. As usual!”