Читать книгу A Self-Made Thief - Footner Hulbert - Страница 8

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WHEN he awoke Heberdon's clock was striking six, and the little park below his windows was bright in the sunshine. He lay aghast at his recollections of the day before and hugging his sense of present security. The whole affair seemed like a dream now—a hideous dream at which he shuddered and tried to put out of mind. How cozy and charming his little rooms were! Every object how inexpressibly dear to him!

He was presently aroused to the fact that he had lain down in his damp clothes, and that his pleasant rooms were contaminated with a faint odour of sewage. Cursing himself for his folly, he hastened to bathe and to dress himself in his proper garments. On the clothes of the bank robber he poured benzine that he had provided for that purpose, and burnt them in the fireplace. He sprayed his atomiser around the room to sweeten the air.

He was keenly curious to see the morning paper—and not without apprehensions. It was delivered at his door at eight o'clock. He had no doubt that it was already waiting downstairs. But he did not care to betray too great an eagerness for news to the hall-boy. Finally when it dropped with a swish outside his door he waited until the receding footsteps had passed out of hearing, then pounced on it.

The hold-up of the Princesboro Bank occupied a prominent position on the front page. Heberdon read the story with a queer thrill. A pang of chagrin went through him when he learned the amount of cash that had been in his possession for a minute or two—twenty-seven thousand dollars. First, he hastily skimmed through the story and was reassured; the thief had got away clear, it was stated, and the police were with out clues. Then he read it more carefully, his vanity deliciously tickled by references to the desperado's cool nerve and resourcefulness.

He eagerly read of the girl who had aided him. She had been arrested and later arraigned in the magistrate's court. It had naturally been supposed that she was an accomplice of the thief, but she stoutly protested that she had never seen him before, and had simply yielded to an impulse of compassion, seeing a human creature hunted by a mob. A cloud of witnesses appeared in her behalf—storekeepers of Princesboro, her fashionable friends, a faithful old man-servant.

Evidently she had made a conquest of the newspaper reporter; he was for her through and through, and indeed the whole court-room must have fallen under the spell of her beauty and candour. The magistrate had discharged her with a reprimand that scarcely veiled a compliment. Her name was Miss Cora Flowerday, and she lived at No. 23 Deepdene Road, Greenhill Gardens, an outlying part of Princesboro. "An orphan, with means of her own," so ran the story, and many a poor young man's mouth must have watered at the phrase.

"Splendid girl!" Heberdon said to himself—but not so warmly as on the day before. He was glad she had got off so easily, since it cost him nothing, but he had no desire at the moment ever to see her again. That incident in his life, that nightmare, was to be sponged off clean. Never again, he told himself, would he willingly set foot on the streets of Princesboro. Oh, blessed was respectability and all its works! He thought of all his solid and respectable relatives with positive affection. How could he ever have thought them dull? He decided to go see the Pallisers that very day. And yet—'way deep down in his consciousness, unheard and unacknowledged, there was a little nagging voice: "If only that cursed tyre had not burst!"

His breakfast was sent up as usual by the housekeeper of the apartment house. Heberdon lingered over it, tasting the satisfaction of a safe and ordered life with every mouthful. Never again would he call existence dull. He had a fleeting picture of himself in the grip of the chauffeur, and shuddered. He had had his fill of excitement. Anyway, it was high time he settled down.

He would think about that offer of a berth in his uncle's office—tremendously important firm. And his cousin Ida Palliser wasn't so bad by lamplight. Anyway, a man who wanted to get on couldn't afford to marry for youth and beauty. Solid family connections were the thing.

After breakfast he telephoned down to the hall-boy. As landlord, Heberdon enjoyed rather better service than the other tenants in the building.

"Thomas, what time do the first editions of the afternoon papers come out?"

"About ten o'clock, sir."

"Get me one, and bring it up."

"Yes, sir."

When it came, Heberdon read the usual rehash of the earlier story—but in another part of the paper there was a paragraph that caused the skin of his scalp to prickle and his palms to become moist. The blessed sense of security was stripped from him; a chasm yawned at his feet; the old sickening hunted feeling came winging back.

"In connection with the hold-up of the Princesboro branch of the Wool Exchange Trust Company at midday yesterday, an extraordinary story has been told the district attorney by a young man whose name for the present is withheld. This young man claims to be employed as bell-boy or waiter in one of the best-known clubs in the city. About a month ago, he says, four prominent young members of the club became involved in a discussion as to the ease with which crimes might be committed. In waiting on them he overheard much of their talk, he claims, and the upshot of the argument was that one of the four bet the others that he could hold up a New York City bank, single-handed, and get away clean. The police and the district attorney do not place much credence in the story, suspecting that it may be the invention of a notoriety-seeker who sees his chance of breaking into the newspapers. But, of course, it will be investigated."

Investigated! With a shiver Heberdon gazed at his timepiece. Ten-thirty; even now an emissary from the district attorney's office might be on the way! With trembling hands he made haste to dress himself for the street. Gone was his delightful feeling of affection for his little flat. His one idea now was to get away from it. As he picked up his hat the telephone bell rang, and his heart turned to water.

He instantly made up his mind what to do. He did not answer the 'phone, but stole out of the flat, and made his way up the final flight of stairs, which ended at a door opening on the roof. In a similar building two doors east, Heberdon had an acquaintance who, like himself, lived on the top floor. In order to save the stairs they had visited each other over the roof, and Heberdon, knowing the way, now proceeded to this other building and descended through it to the street.

Without daring to look back, he made rapid tracks to the east, pausing not until he was safely swallowed in the comfortable throng at the intersection of Broadway and Fifth Avenue. By this time, no one having tapped him on the shoulder, he began to breathe more freely. Entering a cigar-store, he made for a telephone booth and called up Hanwell's office.

Mr. Hanwell was out, his stenographer said. She believed that he might be found at the Chronos Club, as she had lately heard from him there. Heberdon called up the club and presently got Hanwell on the wire. From a slightly tremulous quality in his voice he guessed that the other had read the disturbing paragraph. Hanwell admitted as much.

"You'd better see the superintendent about a certain paper," Heberdon said meaningly.

"I have seen him. I got it from him."

"Good. Have you heard from the other fellows?"

"They're both here. We've got to see you at once, Can't talk about such a thing over the 'phone."

"I'd better not come there. Some one from the—well, we might be asked for there. I'm telephoning from a cigar-store at—" and Heberdon gave the number on Broadway. "You three get a taxi and pick me up at the door. We can talk in the cab."

"There in three minutes," said Hanwell.

Of the conference between the quartet that presently took place in a joggling taxi-cab, it is unnecessary to speak in detail. They all spent a bad quarter of an hour. It was Nedham who finally tried to stop the wrangling.

"Look here, you fellows, this gets us nowhere," he said. "What's the use of recrimination? We're all in the same hole, and we've got to get out of it the best we can."

"I didn't stick up a bank!" growled Spurway.

"Shut up; you were a party to it."

"What'll we do?" quavered Hanwell.

"Deny the whole thing," declared Spurway, "and stick to it."

"But we don't know how much the boy overheard."

"He can't know anything about the paper Nedham drew up. He wasn't in the room then. Anyhow, what's the word of a bell-boy against us four?"

"But the publicity will ruin us even if they can't prove anything!"

"Oh, for God's sake, stop snivelling! Buck up, can't you?"

"Then there's Maynard, too," wailed Hanwell. Maynard was the club superintendent.

"Maynard is safe. For the honour of the club, and all that."

Nedham spoke least, and to the best effect. "Maynard is safe, all right," he said. "But to deny the boy's story is to keep it alive. Admit it, and it will be forgotten."

"Admit it!" cried the other three, staring.

"Sure. Up to a point. Nothing need be said about the memorandum I drew up. Admit it, and turn it into a joke. Say it was all talk."

Heberdon, who had pursued his own line of thought, affirmed abruptly. "Nedham is right. That's what I'm going to do."

Hanwell and Spurway still expostulated. The former suggested that they had all better leave town. Nedham patiently set to work to convince them, but Heberdon lost his temper.

"Hang it all!" he said irritably. "Can't you do what I say without any more argument? I'm the one that's got to be considered in this matter, aren't I?"

"Clumsy bungler!" muttered Spurway. Heberdon turned pale.

Nedham made haste to pour oil on the troubled waters. "Cut it out I Cut it out!" he said. "If we can't stop quarrelling among ourselves we're all done for!"

Hanwell and Spurway finally agreed to Nedham's suggestion.

Nedham asked: "What are you going to do about yesterday, Frank?"

"Establish an alibi," was the solemn reply. "Can you make it water-tight?"

"You leave that to me."

Having reached an agreement, they separated.

Heberdon continued in the cab to ex-Judge Palliser's office. Here, having no appointment, he had to wait for a miserable half-hour in the outer office, still in momentary expectation of a tap on the shoulder. When he was finally admitted to his uncle's sanctum he was paler than usual, and moist in his agitation. The older man, scenting trouble, instinctively adopted a defensive attitude.

"Judge" Palliser, as he was always called, was a typical successful lawyer who has been on the bench. Most lawyers when they ascend to that eminence take on flesh, mellow, and become rotund. It is the exercise of the wits that keeps men thin; lawyers have to think, and judges don't. Judge Palliser had a complexion like port wine, and a figure like a butt of malmsey. In voice he boomed unctuously, if one may be permitted the expression. His grand and single aim in life was to keep at bay the perplexities that interfere with a good digestion.

"Well, Frank!" he cried with the heartiness that he assumed as a cover for all sorts of real feelings. "How goes it?"

Heberdon, knowing his uncle, was not much heartened by the heartiness. "Well enough," he answered with a somewhat sickly attempt to appear at his ease. In his nervousness he plunged directly into the business that had brought him. "Have you read the papers to-day?"

"As much as I ever do," said the judge with a grand carelessness. "What about 'em?"

"That hold-up over in Princesboro yesterday," stammered Heberdon.

"Outrageous! Don't know what we're coming to, I'm sure! Nobody is safe nowadays. But that's nothing in our line, is, it?"

"Oh, no," said Heberdon feebly. "Have you read the evening papers?"

"Evening papers!" repeated the judge, staring. "It's only eleven o'clock in the morning!"

"Yes, I know. But they start coming out right after breakfast."

"Catchpenny rags!" was the scornful comment. "Battening for idle minds! I don't bother with newspapers during office hours."

It was impossible for Heberdon to find the words actually to open the business he had come on. Instead, he took the newspaper out of his pocket, and mutely called attention to the upsetting paragraph. Judge Palliser adjusted his glasses and read it through.

"Scandalous innuendo," he cried. "The newspapers love to start that sort of thing, confident they will never be called to account." Suddenly he looked sharply at his nephew. "Good God, Frank, you—you haven't got anything to do with this, have you?"

"Nothing, really," said Heberdon quickly. "But it's very unfortunate—"

"What do you mean? Don't whine!"

"Well, it's a fact," stammered the young man, "that some friends and I at the club got into an argument about crime one night—and I suppose a bell-boy overheard us—"

Judge Palliser turned pale under the fine network of purple veins that overspread his expansive countenance, and his eyes seemed to protrude a little farther. "And were you the one that took up the bet?" he asked.

"Yes—but—"

"Good God, Frank! You might at least have considered your family!"

"But it was all a joke," said Heberdon. "Only talk. None of us has ever thought of it since."

"Then what did you come to me for?" demanded the judge.

"Well, I suppose I'll be questioned," said Heberdon—to save his life he could not keep the whining tone out of his voice. "It's damned awkward. As it happens, I'm not in a position to establish an alibi for yesterday."

"H'm!" said his uncle, grimly studying him. Heberdon squirmed.

"Where were you yesterday?" demanded the elder.

Heberdon was ready with his tale. "I felt seedy," he explained glibly enough. "I went down to Brighton Beach for lunch and spent the afternoon on the sand. Just as luck would have it, I didn't meet a soul I knew."

"H'm!" said Judge Palliser again. "What can I do about it?"

Heberdon could not quite meet the irate eye. "Well, I thought—" he mumbled. "A man in your position—a word would be sufficient."

"Ah," said his uncle. "I take it you are suggesting that I perjure myself on your behalf."

"Where's the harm?" whined Heberdon. "If I had done anything wrong it would be different. But just an unlucky accident—you surely can't think there is anything in it!"

"Oh, no," said Judge Palliser. Heberdon was unable to decide whether his words concealed irony.

"And it would be damned unpleasant—for all of us, if they were to go on with the thing. I'm only thinking of you and the girls."

"That's kind of you!" This time there could be no doubt of the irony.

There was a silence while Judge Palliser stared grimly at Heberdon, and Heberdon twisted on his chair.

"What is it exactly that you want me to do?" the older man asked at last.

"If it could be shown that you knew where I was yesterday—or, better still, if I was with you—"

"Ah!"

Another silence.

"Where were you yesterday afternoon?" Heberdon ventured to ask.

"I went up to Chester Hills to play golf."

"Did you go up alone?"

"Yes."

Heberdon brightened. "Well, then, how simple—"

"Hold on a minute," said his uncle. "The money was recovered, if I remember aright?"

"What's that got to do with—" Heberdon began, but changed his mind under the look in his uncle's eye "Yes," he said meekly.

"And his pistol, when they took it from him—"

"Was unloaded."

"But he might have unloaded it after the hold-up."

"He had had no chance."

"Frank," said Judge Palliser severely, "if you had some serious work to do and weren't loafing about all day, you wouldn't be needing my help now. Some time ago I made you an offer to come into my office. How about it?"

Heberdon thoroughly understood the implication in this speech, and began to breathe more freely. "I had already decided to accept it, and thank you," he said quickly.

His eagerness caused an expression of caution to appear upon the judicial countenance. "Let me see, what figure did I name?" he said.

"Twenty-five hundred to start," answered Heberdon with a sinking heart.

Judge Palliser shook his head heavily. "Sorry, won't be able to do it!" he said. "Money's so tight. I'll make it two thousand to begin. Promotion rests with you, you know."

"I'm satisfied," rejoined Heberdon with a wry smile.

"Then there's Ida," said the judge with a fond, parental smile. "A fine girl, Ida, so intellectual; the pick of my brood! You and she have been going together since your school days. Now that you're going to settle down, I hope you'll soon—eh? Make us old folks happy?"

Heberdon swallowed hard. "I'll ask her to-night to name the day," he said.

"Good!" exclaimed Judge Palliser. "Now let's go into the details of this foolish little other matter."

When Heberdon got home a young man was waiting for him in the hall downstairs. To Heberdon's satisfaction, he was a very young man, not altogether sure of himself, and visibly impressed by Heberdon's superior style. Heberdon, as a result of his interview with his uncle, had quite recovered his usual self-possession.

"Mr. Heberdon?" the young, man asked diffidently.

Heberdon bowed.

"I called earlier, but you were out. I went to your office and to your club, but could not find you. May I have a few words with you?"

"Certainly. Sorry to have put you to so much trouble. Won't you come upstairs?"

In Heberdon's sitting-room the young man said: "I'm from the district attorney's office."

"Bless me!" exclaimed Heberdon, laughing. "What am I wanted for?"

"Haven't you read the evening papers?"

"Not yet. I haven't had time."

The young man stated his errand, and Heberdon indulged in a hearty laugh, in which the other joined.

"I need hardly say that we do not believe the boy's yarn," the young man explained hastily. "The district attorney sent me to you just as a matter of form to ask about it."

"But the boy's story is true," said Heberdon smiling. The young man stared.

"So far as it goes," added Heberdon. "It is true that my friends and I had a discussion about the ease with which certain kinds of crime might be committed. Possibly we even went through the form of betting each other—I do not remember. But fellows are always doing that without meaning anything. None of us has given the matter a thought since. Fancy anybody taking it seriously!" He laughed again.

The young man, reassured, laughed too. "It is too bad to trouble you about such a thing," he remarked. "But would you mind describing your movements yesterday—just as a matter of form. That will silence all gossip."

"Not the least objection," said Heberdon. "I didn't go to my office yesterday morning because I had a brief to prepare, and I wanted to write in the greater quiet of my room here. In the course of my labours a knotty legal question presented itself, and I telephoned to my uncle for advice—Judge Palliser, you know."

"Of course," said the young man, much impressed.

"It was then about noon," Heberdon went on. "Judge Palliser said he was leaving to play golf up at Chester Hills, and if I'd ride up on the train with him we discuss the matter on the way. I was tickled to pieces to have the advantage of my uncle's very considerable experience, of course—"

"Naturally," murmured the young man.

"So we took the twelve-thirty from Union Central, arriving at Chester Hills at one-twenty, I think. My uncle invited me up to the club to lunch, but I thought he wanted to be with his friends, so I declined. I found there was no train back from Chester Hills for over an hour, so I trolleyed to Yonkers and got a train there. Got home about three, and spent the afternoon finishing my brief. Dined alone at Mellish's, and in the evening I went—"

"That is more than sufficient," interrupted the young man. "At the time of the robbery you were on the train with Judge Palliser."

"Yes, lucky for me, isn't it?" said Heberdon with a laugh.

"Oh, I'm sure it would have been all right, anyway," said the polite young man. He rose, "Thank you for being so frank, Mr. Heberdon."

"Not at all," said Heberdon, with a wave of the hand. "By the way, in order to lay this yarn in its grave once and for all, you'd better stop and see my uncle, hadn't you?"

"With you permission, I will," replied the young man. "Thank you, again, Mr. Heberdon. Good-morning."