Читать книгу The Adventures of Detective Barney - Harvey Jerrold O'Higgins - Страница 4

That last was in response to a knock at the door; and a man entered on the invitation, ​nonchalantly, with his hat on, carrying what proved to be a suit of black clothes on his arm. He was a large, dark, breezy-looking, informal sort of individual, about thirty-five; and Barney at once misplaced him as a Broadway type of “rounder” and race-track “sport.” He ignored Barney and proceeded to drape the clothes over the foot of the bed, as if he had come merely to bring the suit. Barney did not guess that because of his presence the man did not speak to Babbing—until Babbing, by a question, indicated that it was all right to talk.

“Any one been to see him to-day?” Babbing asked.

“Not a soul,” he answered. “He ’s been out, this morning, but he did n’t connect.”

“Snider has picked up some more telegrams.” Babbing held out the report to him. “In cipher.”

“Got their code yet?”

“No. If we had that, we ’d have everything. We can figure out a word here and there. ​The names are easy. But that ’s as far as we can get.”

They stood together beside the table, their feet in a patch of sunlight, their backs to Barney, interested in a page of the report which Babbing was showing to his operative. “ ‘Kacaderm,’ for instance. That ’s ‘Murdock.’ He ’s one of the men they ’ve been bleeding, out there. They take the consonants ‘m-r-d-c-k,’ reverse them ‘k-c-d-r-m,’ and fill in vowels. But they do that only with the proper names. For instance, this last one: ‘Thunder command wind kacaderm.’ That can’t be solved by reversing consonants.”

The operative studied the page. “Search me,” he said. “Has Acker worked on it?”

“Yes. It was he that puzzled out the names. It ’s not a cryptogram. They have some simple method of writing one whole word for another. There ’s no use wasting time on it. We ’ll have to make our plant to catch him writing a message.”

“I see.”

​Babbing took off his spectacles and began to walk up and down the room, twirling them by the ear bows. The operative sat on the side of the bed, leaning forward, with his hands clasped between his knees. He removed his derby and gazed thoughtfully into it, as if he hoped to find an idea there. It remained empty.

Babbing stopped in front of Barney. “Young man,” he said, “I ’m going to send you into the next room with a telegram. There ’s a man in there—registered as Marshall Cooper. Remember the name. You ’ll give the telegram to him and say ‘Any answer?’ Watch him. It will be a cipher telegram that will look as if it had been received downstairs. See what he does to make it out. He ’ll probably want to answer it; and if he does, you may have a chance to see how he makes up the answer. He has a writing table over at this window—here. If he sits down at it, he ’ll have his back to you. Try to see what he does. Don’t try to do it by watching ​him quietly. He ’d notice that. Move around and look at the pictures. Don’t try to whistle—or anything of that fool sort. Try to act as you would if you were a bell-boy.” He had taken the suit of clothes from the foot of the bed. “Go in the bathroom and try these on.”

Afterward, when Barney thought of this moment, it seemed to him romantic and exciting beyond all his wildest young adventurous hopes. It seemed to him that he must have jumped to his feet with delight. As a matter of fact, he rose very soberly and took the clothes. His mind was busy with Babbing’s directions which he was conning over and repeating to himself, so that he might be sure to make no mistakes. He was troubled about his ability to do what was expected of him. And he went into the bathroom and took off his Sunday twilled serge, and put on the black uniform of an Antwerp bell-boy mechanically, without thinking of himself as engaged in a Nick Carter exploit. Besides, the trousers ​were too long in the legs, and he had to pull them up until they were uncomfortable.

He heard Babbing answering the telephone, but he did not suspect that the detective was receiving a confirmatory report, from his office, upon Robert Emmet Cook’s record at Police Headquarters and Barney Cook’s service with the Western Union. Barney was not listening to what was going on around him, nor thinking of it. His thoughts were in Marshall Cooper’s room. He was dramatising a scene with that gentleman.

The voices of Babbing and his operative conferred together imperturbably:

“How are we going to send him a cipher telegram. Chief, if we don’t know his code?”

“I ’m going to repeat the one he got last night from Chicago. ‘Thunder command wind kacaderm.’ He has n’t answered it?”

“Unless by letter. And they would n’t get that till to-night.”

Babbing said: “He ’ll not go to the telegraph desk asking questions, because he won’t ​care to identify himself to the man there. That ’s why he goes out to send his messages.”

“Suppose he does n’t let the kid into the room at all.”

“Well, he opens the door. The boy gives him the telegram and asks ‘Any answer’? He reads it and sees it ’s the same message that he had last night. That ’ll make him forget the boy. He ’ll be trying to figure out what has happened. And the boy can stand at the door and watch him. It ’s worth trying anyway. Go and get the telegram ready, Jim.”

“What is it, again?”

“ ‘Thunder command wind kacaderm.’ Unsigned.”

“ ‘Thunder—command—wind—kacaderm.’ ”

“Have you the envelopes?”

“Yep. Billy has everything in there.”

“Don’t seal it till I ’ve looked it over.”

“All right. Chief.”

The operative—whose name was Corcoran—departed with the unbustling celerity of a man accustomed to quick and noiseless ​movement. Babbing went to the bathroom door. “That ’s not so bad,” he said of Barney’s uniform. “Turn around.” He settled the coat collar with a tug and a friendly pat. “Wipe off your shoes with a towel. The halls of the Antwerp aren’t as dusty as all that.” Barney looked up smiling, and found the detective’s eyes kindly, amused, encouraging. “I ought to send you out to get a new pair,” Babbing said, “but there is n’t time. Come in here, now, and let ’s go over this again. I have an improvement to suggest.”

He went to the window and stood looking out. Barney waited in the center of the room, excitedly alert. “You ’re a bell-boy recently employed here,” ^said. “The man at the telegraph desk has said to you: ‘Take this up to Mr. Cooper, room eight-eighteen, and see that he gets it, this time. It ’s a repeat.’ That ’s not according to Hoyle, but it will have to do. Cooper won’t know any better, anyway. So when you deliver the telegram at Cooper’s door, you say: “I was to be sure that ​you got this, this time. It ’s a repeat.’ Step inside when you give him the message, so that he can’t shut the door. And then watch him, as I told you before.”

He stopped. He eyed Barney skeptically. “You couldn’t possibly be as innocent as you look, could you? Because you ’ll have to do some quick lying, you know, if he suspects anything.”

Barney looked sheepish.

“Here,” Babbing said, suddenly. He took a letter from the table and gave it to the boy. “Go into the bathroom. No. The door opens in. I ’ll go in the bathroom, and you can come to the door and deliver this telegram. Let ’s see how you do it.” And he went into the bathroom and shut the door on himself.

Barney turned the letter over in his hands. He frowned a moment at the door. Then he went up to it and rapped. There was no answer. He knocked more loudly. A voice, disconcertingly gruff, asked, “What is it?”

“A telegram, sir,” Barney answered.

​“Put it under the door.”

Barney smiled to himself—the cunning smile of a child in a game. “They said I was to see that you got it, this time. It ’s a repeat.”

The door was opened a few grudging inches. “What ’s that?”

“They said I was to see that Mr. Cooper got it, this time. It ’s a repeat.”

“Well, I ’m Mr. Cooper. Give it here.” He put his hand out, still blocking the half-opened door. Barney gave him the letter. The door shut in his face.

Barney blinked at the panels. Then he knocked again sharply. Babbing opened the door.

“Well, what is it?”

“They did n’t give me a receipt form,” Barney said. “Will you sign the envelope an’ give it back to me?”

“Have you a pencil?”

“No, sir,” Barney said.

“Well, wait there till I find one.”

​Barney tried the door slyly. It opened. He edged in, over the threshold. “If you want to send an answer, sir,” he said, ”I can take it.”

Babbing caught him by the ”cowlick” that adorned his ingenuous young forehead. “Get out of here,” he laughed, “or I ’ll have you arrested.” And Barney, as startled as if he had been wakened from a dream, grinned confusedly. “That ’s all right,” Babbing said. “If you do it as well as that.”

“Was I all right?” Barney cried, exulting. “Was I?” He knew that he was; he could see it in Babbing’s face; but he wanted to hear it. And he spoke in the voice of a boy playing with a boy.

Babbing changed his expression. “Yes, but this ‘Nick Carter’ stuff,” he said, pointing to Barney’s coat on a hook, “you must n’t destroy your mind with that sort of thing. That must stop with your cigarettes.”

It returned Barney instantly to the hypocritical schoolroom manner of a pupil ​reproved by his teacher. “Yes, sir,” he promised.

“Well, we ’ll see.” Babbing was non-committal and unenthusiastic. “You 've a lot to learn, yet.”

Barney asked, shyly: “What ’s he been doin’?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Cooper.”

Babbing turned back to the bedroom. “That ’s my business, not yours. You do what you ’re told—in my office—and don’t ask questions. And don’t discuss cases. That ’s another thing to learn. … Come in,” he called to Corcoran’s knock.

The operative came in, taking a telegraph envelope from his pocket. He gave it to Babbing, cheerfully silent. The detective put on his glasses and scrutinized it. He took out the telegram and read it. He compared the “time received” with his watch. “That looks convincing,” he said. He moistened a finger tip and delicately wetted the gummed flap.

​“We can give it a couple of minutes to dry.” He handed it to Barney. He went through his pockets for silver. “These are tips you 've received. A dollar on account of salary. He may ask you for change. … Now don’t be over-anxious. If this does n’t work, we ’ll find some other way. If he gets suspicious and telephones to the desk—or anything of that sort—just get in here as quickly as you can, and we ’ll protect you. Sit down a minute.” He turned to the papers on his table. “Jim,” he said, “you remember the disappearance case we had in Dayton—the little girl.”

“Yes?”

“Our theory worked out all right. They ’ve got a confession from the nigger and found the body in the bushes where he buried it. Here ’s Wally’s report.”.

Corcoran took the paper and sat down to read it. “I hope they’ll hang the black—” he said piously.

Babbing consulted his watch. “Mr. Bellboy,” he said at last, “you have a telegram for ​Mr. Cooper in eight-eighteen. Go ahead and deliver it.”

Barney had a sensation of peculiar heaviness in the knees as he walked stiffly to the door. (“They said I was to see that you got it, this time.”) Outside, he paused to close the door with unnecessary gentleness and make sure that the corridor was empty. (“It ’s a repeat.”) Where was 818? He saw 819 across the hall to his left. He put a finger down the back of his neck, and eased his collar. He cleared his throat of nervousness. He walked boldly to 818, raised his small knuckles to a panel, and knocked.

There was no answer. He had put up his hand to knock again, when the door opened and a tall man in slippers and bathrobe asked, “Well?”

“A telegram for Mr. Cooper,” Barney said steadily. “They tol’ me to see that he got it, this time. It ’s a repeat.”

Cooper stood back. “Come in.” His voice was pitched low. “What did you say?”

​

It’s a repeat,” Barney said, ‘‘an’ they told me to see that you got it, this time”

​Barney came across the threshold and Cooper closed the door on him. “It ’s a repeat,” Barney said, “an’ they told me to see that you got it, this time.” He held out the telegram.

Cooper took it nervously. He was a gaunt-featured, long-nosed, lean man, with deep lines from his nostrils to the corners of his thin lips. There was a little patch of lather drying on one cheek-bone, and Barney understood that he had been shaving. He wiped his hand on his bathrobe before he took the telegram, and he fumbled over it. Barney found himself suddenly cool and confident. He noticed that Cooper’s hands were very thin and very hairy; and he looked at them and then slowly looked Cooper over with a curious feeling of contempt. It was the contempt that accounts for half the daring of spies and detectives. People are so easily deceived, so easily outwitted. Their attention is so easily caught with one hand while the other goes unwatched. Barney was learning his trade.

​“Why!” Cooper said. “I got this last night.”

“May be you did n’ answer it,” Barney suggested. “It ’s a repeat.”

He puzzled over it. “Well,” he said, “I—” His voice faded out in the tone of abstraction. He turned and shuffled across the room to his writing desk, his eyes on the telegram. Unconscious of Barney’s craning watchfulness, he took a small cloth-bound volume from an upper drawer of the little escritoire and turned the printed pages, comparing the words in the message with words in the book. The code book!

“If you want to send an answer,” Barney said boldly, moving down towards him, “I could take it.”

He did not reply. He sat down to the desk and took a pencil and wrote, and consulted the book carefully with his pencil point on the page, and came back again to the message, and returned to find another page in the book. “No, that ’s all right,” he said, finally. He ​tore the telegram and retore it into tiny pieces. “There ’s no answer.” He made as if to throw the torn paper into the waste basket, and then he checked himself. “Wait a minute,” he said, rising; and Barney understood that he was to have a tip.

Cooper shuffled off to the bathroom in his slippers.

Barney, as pale as a thief, darted to the secretary and crammed the little code book into his pocket.

When Cooper returned to the room, the bell-boy was standing near the door looking up at a framed engraving. He took the dime that Cooper gave him, and said stiffly, “Thanks,” but without raising his guilty eyes. As he went out, he glanced back and saw that Cooper was returning to the bathroom. Gee!