Читать книгу The Folded Paper Mystery - Footner Hulbert - Страница 6

Table of Contents

The old tenement house had a row of broken letter boxes in the vestibule, but nobody troubled to put names in them. The people who lived in this house gave little work to the letter-carrier. Fin, as before, applied to the sidewalk children for information.

“What floor does Kid River live on?”

Several voices answered at once: “Top floor, front, left-hand door.”

Another said: “He ain’t home.”

“Is there anybody there?” asked Fin.

“Sure, his girl is home.”

Still another voice volunteered: “They had a fight this afternoon. I heard her hollerin’.”

Fin made his way up four flights of dark and smelly stairs, and knocked at the designated door. It presently opened, a crack revealing part of a pale, pretty face not over clean and unmistakably tear-stained.

“What you want?” she demanded sullenly.

“Is Kid River home?” Fin asked pleasantly.

“Nah!” she said, and made to close the door; but Fin had inserted a toe in the crack.

“Aw, don’t be a crab, sister,” he said with his most insinuating grin. “I ain’t no bill collector.”

The girl took another look at Fin’s mirthful blue eyes and white teeth, and opened the door wider. She bridled slightly, and put a hand to her hair. “What do youse want with Kid River?” she asked with a sniff.

“I just want to get a story out of him.”

“A newspaper guy?” she asked suspiciously.

“Not exactly,” said Fin. “I write fiction for the Sunday papers and the magazines.”

“Cheese! the Kid is popular this afternoon,” she said with a sneer. “Youse are the second stranger that’s been after him.”

Fin pricked up his ears. “Who was the first?” he asked carelessly.

“An old guy,” she said indifferently. “Real swell dressed.”

This was certainly not Robespierre. A new factor in the case! “Swell dressed?” he said. “Real swell or Hoboken swell?”

“New York swell,” she answered. “Cheese! you want to know a lot.”

“Always on the lookout for a story,” said Fin grinning. “Whadda ya mean, New York swell?”

“Great big guy,” she said; “pop-eyed. Had a white edge on his vest, and a spiky mustache, and carried a cane.”

“A cane!” said Fin scornfully. “Go on!”

“That’s what I said. And he had one of them single eye-glasses too, but he didn’t put it up, or I’d a give him the razz.”

Thus Fin obtained a pretty good description of the man whoever he might be. “What did you tell him?” he asked.

“Nottin’!” she said quickly. “He was too fresh with his my girl this, and my girl that, and pinching my arm and all. I hate an old freshie! I shut the door in his face and left him standing!”

This sounded as if it might be true, and Fin breathed more freely. Still he was anxious. It appeared there was to be a race for the brass ball. He must make no mistakes.

“Thanks for the hint,” he said facetiously. “I see I gotta watch my step around here.”

She gave him a sidelong look as much as to say that what was “fresh” in an old gallant might be something else from a young one. “You can come in if you want,” she said, leaving the door. “It’s a hell of a dump,” she added with youthful bravado. “I’ve been accustomed to better.”

She did not belie the room. A sordid setting for love’s young dream. To be sure, there was the view over the river, but it is doubtful if they ever looked at it. The girl in her soiled and sleezy silk dress was of a piece with the room. Yet Fin had seen worse looking girls installed in splendour on Park Avenue. There was something touching in the way her half-grown brown hair curled at her neck. This one simply had not had any luck, he thought.

“You’re worth better,” he said.

She gave him an extraordinary look, half-sullen, half-wistful. To her Fin was like a creature from another world. She was wondering, without hope, if this might prove to be her Prince Charming.

It made Fin uncomfortable. “Where is the Kid?” he asked to create a diversion.

“Search me,” she said sullenly. “If I knew I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know who you are. I’m not going to get him into trouble.”

“He don’t seem to have treated you any too well,” suggested Fin.

“That’s all right. Wouldn’t do me no good to have him sent up.”

“Come on,” said Fin, grinning, “on the level, do I look like a cop?”

She shook her head.

“When will he be back?”

“I don’t care if he never comes back!” she said with a painful sneer.

“Has he left you flat?” asked Fin.

She made no answer, but her eyes filled with tears—however, they were tears of anger not grief, Fin noted. He saw her thin hands clench.

“It’s a dirty shame!” he said. “A good-looking girl like you!”

With a grievance on one side and plenty of sympathy on the other it does not take two long to reach an understanding. The girl said eagerly:

“I’d tell you where you could find him if you’d promise to hand him a stiff one for me.”

“I’ll do that,” said Fin quickly. He salved his conscience with the assurance that most men would lie to a woman for no reason, whereas this was a matter of life and death.

“All right,” she said. “He’s on a job to-night; I don’t know where it is; but when he comes off a job he always goes to Sheeny Moe’s speak-easy. Sheeny takes the stuff off him and gives him a hide-out if he wants it. Sheeny’s place is the last house on Essex Street by the tracks. An old shanty standing by itself. It’s a bad neighbourhood. Have you got the nerve to go there?”

“I reckon,” said Fin, grinning.

“Sometime near morning he’ll come there.... Knock him down, will you?” she said passionately. “Knock him down, and say: ‘That’s for Milly, you skunk!’ Will you? Will you?”

“Sure!” said Fin, grinning. “What’s the guy look like?”

“He’s your height,” she said, “but slimmer. Walks with a kind of lope like a kangaroo.... Here, I’ll show you his picture.”

From a drawer in the dresser she took a little photograph of the sort you get in a slot machine. It depicted two smiling, comely young faces pressed cheek to cheek, taken evidently before the rift appeared in the lute. Somehow the cheap photograph gave Fin a wrench. It would have been hard to explain. Well, he knew what it was to be young.

Handing it back, he said: “Well, I must be pulling my freight.”

“There’s no rush,” said the girl wistfully. “You won’t find the Kid until near morning.”

“I got other work to do, sister. So long.”

“Will you come to see me to-morrow?” she murmured, lowering her eyes.

Fin lied blithely: “Surest thing you know!”

It was evident from her pale, downcast face that she was not deceived. The young man was attacked by sudden compunctions. She was so pale, so listless in her movements.

“Have you got anything in the house?” he asked diffidently.

She slowly shook her head.

“Oh, Gee!” murmured Fin compassionately. He was always broke, but he could spare a dollar to one who was hungry. He folded the bill up small, and tucked it under the pillow on the bed. It seemed more delicate to dispose of it that way. “So long, Kid!” he cried. “Keep your dander up!” He scuttled downstairs whistling to drive away painful thoughts.... The poor kid! The poor kid! Didn’t look a day over seventeen. How she would bloom out if somebody was good to her!

Fin hustled up Washington Street, seething with excitement. He was on his way back to see how Nick Peters was getting along. His spirits were alternately up and down. Well, he was still hot on the trail of the brass ball; he hadn’t done so badly for a novice sleuth. But—Gosh! there were a thousand things that might happen before he got it safe in his hands. The trouble was, the damn thing was of so little apparent value. Kid River was going to use it for a blackjack to-night. After he had cracked his man on the bean ten to one he’d throw it away. It was maddening.

It suddenly occurred to Fin that it was dinner time and he was as hungry as a hunter. Nick would need to be fed too. He stopped and looked up and down the street for the nearest delicatessen store. When he stopped a man behind him stopped, and by that he learned he was being followed again. This was a man he had not seen before, a cagey individual with two sharp eyes in a face as blank as a death mask. Private detective was written all over him.

Where does he come in? thought Fin. Gosh! what’s the use of asking? There’s an army of them! Is he after me or is he trying to find Kid River through me? If it’s Kid River I’m a lap ahead because I know where to look.

Fin foresaw hot work during the coming night, and a mouse with cold feet scampered up and down his spine. It would provide the test of his nerve that every young man dreads a little while he welcomes it. He thought desirously of a gun he had hidden in the bottom of his trunk in New York, but he would not turn in his tracks to fetch it, because it seemed important not to let his trailer know he had been spotted. So he kept on his way. Entering a delicatessen store he bought the makings of a supper for two, and carried it on to Nick Peters’ without another glance behind him.

The store contained literally nothing but Nick’s work bench and stool, and a kitchen chair for waiting customers. During Fin’s absence Nick had cleaned up as well as he was able, and one could never have guessed from his calm face that anything had happened. He was working under pressure to make up for the time he had lost. He was wearing a black skull cap to hide the abrasions on his bald poll. A gaunt little man with deep-sunken eyes, when he screwed in the watchmaker’s glass he had the look of a kindly gnome.

As Fin entered Nick dropped the glass from his eye, and glanced with strained intensity in the young man’s face. Seeing instantly that Fin had not brought back what he desired, he put back the glass and resumed work with a bitter half-smile. He had expected nothing better.

Fin, reading that look, said: “Just the same I’ve got a clue.”

“What’s that?” asked Nick eagerly. He spoke excellent English, but with an accent Fin had never been able to identify.

“Lock up for half an hour and let’s have some supper,” said Fin. “You’ll be needing it. I’ll tell you everything while we eat.”

Before they sat down in the rear room Fin took care to see that the door on the hall was locked and the window on the air-shaft. He pulled down the blind to discourage spies. Nick looked on at these precautions with his bitter smile.

“What matter if they come again?” he said. “The prize is gone.”

“Sure,” said Fin, “but we’ve still got our skins to save.”

Nick shrugged apathetically. “You have,” he said. “You are young. You got your life before you.” His deep-sunken eyes dwelt on the young man with wistful kindliness. “You’re a good fellow,” he went on. “Keep out of this. Stay away from here.”

“A fat chance!” said Fin, more moved than he cared to show.

As they sat down to leberwurst, salad and rye bread Fin said with a touch of resentment: “You wouldn’t tell me anything, but I found out a few things for myself.” He described the lantern-jawed individual who had followed him away from Nick’s place earlier.

“I know him,” murmured Nick.

“If you know him, why don’t you have him arrested?”

“It’s not so simple,” said Nick.

“At first I thought he was back of it all,” said Fin; “but later I got on the track of one who seemed to have more sense. This one suspects there may be something in the brass ball.” Fin described the fat man. “I reckon he’s the main guy.”

Nick slowly shook his head.

“Then who is?”

“A great personage,” murmured Nick.

Fin stared at him. “But you know this fat man?”

“I think I see sometime in this street watching,” said Nick, “a new man. There are so many! I notice this one because he is American. So I call him to myself ‘the American.’ ”

“Good God!” cried Fin amazed. “So many of them! And all pitted against you!” He looked around the bare little room as if seeking the answer. “What does it mean, Nick?”

The little watchmaker shrugged wearily.

“What’s the connection between the fat man and Robespierre?” demanded Fin.

“No connection. There are two parties.”

“Two parties!” echoed Fin.

“One look for the brass ball to save it,” said Nick coolly; “one to destroy it!”

“You’re talking in riddles!” cried Fin. “Why should anybody destroy a valuable emerald?”

“There is more in it than an emerald,” said Nick with his quiet, bitter smile.

“Good Lord! why do you tantalise me with hints?” cried the exasperated Fin. “Why not tell me the rights of it?”

“I say no more,” said Nick, pressing his lips together.

“How does a poor man like you come to be mixed up with a great personage?” demanded Fin. “If you had this valuable emerald why do you live so poor?”

“It is not mine,” said Nick. “I keep for somebody.”

“Then you ought to let me go to the police. You need protection here.”

From the first Nick had become agitated at any mention of the police. “No! No!” he said. “If you go to police you get in the newspapers. I got to keep secret. For sixteen years I keep secret.”

“Can’t you tell me?” said Fin. “I’m your friend. Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” said Nick, with a quick, warm glance. “You are a good fellow.... But it is too dangerous. If the brass ball is lost there is no use. All better be forgotten.”

“Maybe I’ll get it back!”

Nick shook his head gloomily. “You not get it back. What is a brass ball? It will be thrown away.”

“You might as well tell me,” persisted Fin. “I’m in it up to the ears already. They’ve spotted me. There’s a man laying for me outside now. Why not give me the satisfaction of knowing what I’m up against?”

“I will not tell you,” said Nick firmly. “If the emerald is lost there is no use.”

“But if I bring it back to you?” said Fin eagerly.

Nick considered. “Yes,” he said, “if you bring it back I tell you the whole story—if you wish to risk your life.”

“Risk!” cried Fin, “that’s all that makes life worth living! ... All right, that’s a go! You can depend upon it, I’ll do my damnedest!”

For awhile they ate in silence. “Nick,” said Fin persuasively, “just answer me one question. Which party was it that engineered the attack on you last night? The fat blackguard or the lean?”

“Truly, I do not know,” said Nick.

“I think it was the fat one,” said Fin thoughtfully, “because he suspected there was something in the brass ball.”

“Maybe so,” said Nick.

As soon as they finished eating, Nick returned to his bench. Some of the watches had been damaged in being flung on the floor, and he had extra work to do. Fin sat in the other chair smoking, and they left the blinds up and the door open to suggest to any one who might be watching that they had nothing to fear and nothing to conceal. While they talked a workman came in with his watch to be fixed, and another called for his.

Nick would answer no more questions. Instead, he resumed a conversation he had had with Fin before all this happened. It dealt with his favourite theme; the future of man in the universe. Nick who was no pessimist philosopher (though he had good reason to be, Fin thought) was obliged to concede that man’s present situation in a partly mechanised world was bad; but he had faith in the spirit of man. “When man perfect the machine,” he said, “he master it.”

Fin marvelled at such detachment; such sang-froid. Truly courage chooses strange vehicles. The weazened little man with the watchmaker’s glass screwed into his eye, giving his conscious mind to philosophy and his unconscious to the watch he was repairing, was a first-class hero he considered. Fin, himself, thinking of actual man prowling in the street, was unable to concentrate on man in the abstract.

As it drew on towards midnight Fin got up. “I’ve got to run over to New York,” he said. “I hate to leave you here alone, Nick.”

“I have a gun,” said Nick quietly. “I lock the window to-night. They not catch me so easy again.”

Nick arose and their hands involuntarily shot out. Nick gave Fin’s hand a little shake. The watchmaker’s deep-sunken eyes dwelt on the young man with infinite feeling. Fin was never to forget that look.

“There is much I have not say to you,” Nick said quietly. “Words so poor to express! ... I just say this: I am lucky I have you for friend.”

Fin, deeply moved, turned away his head. “Don’t, Nick, don’t!” he mumbled. “You make me feel rotten.... I want to say you’ve given me something ... something big! .. I mean something ... to measure up to.... Hell! I can’t say it right!”

Nick patted his shoulder and then, when Fin thought all had been said, he suddenly came out with a piece of vital information. “Listen, my friend. In Miss Folsom’s School at Pompton Lakes there is a young girl who look to me for everything. She is called Mariula Peters. She not know her own name, her history. Unless I produce her heritage she must never know. The wolves are waiting to tear her! ... I tell you because ... well, if my skull was not so thick to-night she have no friend in the world. So I am scared for her. I ask you to befriend her. She has noble nature.”

“Gosh, Nick!” faltered Fin, pressing his hand. “I’ll do my very damnedest! ... Why do you stay here alone?” he added with a kind of anger. “Go to a hotel; go any place where there are people; you would be safe amongst people.”

Nick shrugged indifferently. “I safe enough here,” he said. “They know the prize not here now. It is you who will be in danger to-night.”