Complete works of peter.., p.31
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 31
But lookin' sideways at this Mirabelle she is a nice baby. She is wearin' a very swell suit an' the shirt she has on is made of little lines of frilly tucks an' there is a big sorta jabot round her neck sorta framin' her white face. She is wearin' a little tailormade hat an' the guy who does her hair certainly knows his business because under the side of this hat is all little gold waves and tendrils. I have known plenty fellows would have left home for a dame like Mirabelle, but just how she is breakin' in on this business I do not know, although it looks to me that I had better find out good an' quick because one way an' another you will agree with me that this bezuzus is beginnin' to get slightly involved.
I think I will try some frank stuff, so I talk to her nice an' quiet.
"Listen, lady," I tell her, "I don't know what you are doin' in this business but I reckon that you are all burned up because somebody has bumped off this fiancГ© of yours. I know you wanta ask me a lotta questions, but maybe you an' me can get some place quicker if I ask you some.
"First of all let me tell you how I break in on this job. I am a bond salesman. I come from Mason City an' I've been savin' up for years to have a vacation in New York. About three four hours after I got down here some guy tells me I oughta go around to Joe Madrigaul's. He says it is a good spot an' I go.
"All right. Somebody gets bumped off, an' I happen to be standin' near this guy an' I'm roped in an' taken, down to headquarters an' grilled. Two things are lucky so far as I am concerned. The first thing is that I ain't carryin' a gun an' never have carried one, an' the second thing is that a friend of mine, a crime reporter, happens to be stickin' around an' can identify me an' tell the cops all about me, so they let me go, an' that's all I know.
"Mine you I ain't sayin' that I am not interested in this business. I am; like hell I am. I reckon if you go up to Mason City, the Chief of Police there who is a sorta uncle of mine by marriage will tell you that I am reckoned in the neighbourhood to be better at solvin' mysteries than any other guy, an' this is the only reason why I am interested in this thing.
"I am a guy who is always interested in a thing I cannot understand, an' what is troublin' me at the moment is why a dame like you, a swell dame" an' I lean over close to her an' I look at her as if I was struck dumb with admiration "who is so lovely an' sweet, well it looks a bit funny that such a dame should be worryin' about a guy like Willie the Goop."
She spins round.
"There was nothin' the matter with Charles," she says. "Charles was a good fellow once, an' I happened to love him. Maybe," she says, "you've even heard of women who love men knowing that they wasn't so good."
I grin.
"You're tellin' me," I say, "I can remember a dame who fell for me in France...."
"Were you in France?" she says.
"Have a look at me lady," I tell her, "what would the Marines have done without me?"
"Charles was in France too," she says. "They tell me he was a great man in those days."
"O.K." I say, "will you tell me this? If Charles was such a good guy an' he had a dame like you, what's he want to go kickin' around these night clubs for, contactin' women like Carlotta?"
I pause to see what happens when I mention this dame. I see her mouth tighten.
"He was a fool," she says after a minute. "He was sorta disappointed. He was all right and then suddenly he went to pieces."
She turns round an' she looks at me again.
"Listen, Mr. Rice," she says, "may be I am going to trust you a little bit. Maybe I am in so bad on this thing that I've got to trust somebody. I reckon that whoever shot Charles did it because he knew something."
I look surprised.
"You don't say," I say. "What do you think he knew?"
"I don't know," she says, "that's just it."
She looks round the club an' then she sinks her voice a little.
"This man they found in the telephone box," she says, "the man they say was Harvest V. Mellander. Do you know, Mr. Rice, that this man was a Federal Agent, a 'G' man?"
I whistle.
"You ain't askin' me to believe that, are you, lady?" I say. "Just fancy! So he was a 'G' man. Well, what was he doin' gettin' himself shot in a telephone box. It looks to me as if he wasn't a very good sorta 'G' man."
"I don't know what he was doing," she said. "Charles and I had quarrelled. We hadn't talked to each other for some time, but he telephoned me on the day he was shot. He told me that he realised he had been a fool. He told me that he was going to turn over a new leaf, but he said that he had something to do first. I questioned him. I asked him what he meant, but he wouldn't say. All he would say was that he had to meet a Federal Agent that night, a man he'd seen before.
"Since he was shot I've checked up on everybody in that club and it seems that the only persons that Charles had been seen around with or talking to during the days previous to the shooting, were Rudy Saltierra and this man Mellander. Well everybody knows that Saltierra is a racketeer, so it looks as if Mellander must have been the 'G' man."
"It just shows you, don't it?" I say. "An' they say romance is dead. Well," I go on, "I think this is all very interestin' an' I am certainly gettin' a kick out of it, but it don't get us no place. Listen," I say, "you tell me somethin', what's your idea in usin' these two mugs from this Davance Detective Agency, an' what was they tryin' to find out?"
"I'll tell you," she says. "When I was having that conversation on the telephone with Charles, he told me he'd written somebody a letter, that everything depended on that letter. After he was shot and the police seemed to be doing nothing about it, I went to the Agency to see if they could help me. You were the person they suspected most, and they said if they could get you around some place where they could get at you, they'd probably discover something."
She smiled.
"Well it seems they weren't quite so efficient as I thought they were," she says.
"I don't know about that," I say, "that tough guy certainly gave me a coupla wallops, but as far as I am concerned I haven't got any letter from anybody."
I try a new line.
"Look here, lady," I say, "I don't know anything about this, but this is how it looks to me. It looks to me like this Charles of yours finds out somethin'. Whatever it is he finds out burns him up. He feels he's got to do somethin', so he writes somebody a letter, this letter being a very important document. We don't know who he wrote that letter to (I wink to myself as I say this because I reckon the letter she's talkin' about is the one that Willie the Goop wrote to Carlotta, the one she gave to Saltierra, the one I found in the tuxedo pocket at the Club), an' you reckon he wrote this letter to this guy Mellander, who you think was a Federal Agent? Well, where do we go from there, ain't you worryin' yourself unnecessarily? What does it matter to you what letters Willie the Goop wrote? He's dead anyhow, an' you can't get him back again. Mark you," I go on, "it's a cinch mat you want to find out who bumped him off, that you wanta have this guy fried. I reckon I'd be feelin' the same way myself, but what's the good of you stirrin' up all this stuff?"
She don't say anything, because she ain't got any answer.
I'm in a funny position about this dame. I'm half ready to believe that she's told the truth, an' yet when I look at her, it looks as if she might be holdin' out on somethin'.
After a minute she turns round again, an' she goes on:
"Maybe there is something I can't tell you, Mr. Rice," she says, "maybe I'll be able to tell them to you some time, and then you'll know more about it."
"Why don't you cash in, lady?" I say. "Two heads are always better than one maybe. After all, I got brains. Maybe I can advise you."
She shakes her head.
"I'm trustin' nobody at the moment," she says.
I tried a fast one.
"Not even that cousin of yours," I say, "the guy who's in the U.S. Assay Office?"
She looks at me like I was bats.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says.
She sorta clamps down. She sets her lips an' I reckon she ain't talkin' any more.
"O.K. Miss Gayford," I say. "Well, all you've gotta remember is this. There ain't anybody can say that Perry C. Rice wouldn't give a woman a hand if she needed one. I gotta go now, but you give me your telephone number, maybe I'll call you; maybe you an' me can have another little talk some time."
She nods her head, an' she gives me the number. Then I finish my drink an' I shake hands with her an' I scram, because it looks to me that there ain't any more business doin' around here. Outside I have a look around just to make certain I haven't got anybody on my tail. I get a cab an' I drive round a bit, then I tell the driver to go on to the Hotel Delamere.
When I get there, up in my room I find the letter from old man Harberry Chayse. Here it is, an' it looks a honey to me:
The Mulberry Arms, Park Avenue.
Dear Mr. Rice,
I am sure you will forgive me for writing to you over a matter in which I believe you have already been put to some trouble. My excuse is that the feelings of a father whose son has been brutally murdered in cold blood are such that any process for bringing the murderer to justice is excusable.
I do not have to recount the circumstances in which my adopted son was shot to death in Joe Madrigaul's Club Select. You were present. You were I believe one of the individuals in his direct vicinity at the time of the shooting and you were one of the people taken down in the patrol wagon by Police Lieutenant Riessler to Headquarters for the purpose of being questioned.
When I had got over the first shock of hearing of the death of my adopted son, it occurred to me that the apprehension of his murderer would be a matter only of hours. He must have been shot by somebody standing within fifteen to twenty feet of the table, in other words one of these people: Miss Carlotta de la Rue, yourself, one of the two waiters standing behind the line of tables on the top right hand side of the club, the electrician Skendall who was in charge of the lights and who was stationed on the perch behind the wall above the pass door leading from the club to back-stage. The man Saltierra was also taken to headquarters, but it seems an alibi was put forward in his case by the electrician Skendall, who and I must say this could hardly have been the murderer inasmuch as he would not have had time to descend from his perch, pass through the door, dispose of the weapon and regain his position. Also as the spot light on Miss de la Rue was actually moving and being worked by this Skendall this practically eliminates him from the list of suspects.
There were as you know eight or nine other people who were sitting at tables nearest that at which my adopted son was killed, and whilst I agree that any one of these people could have fired the shot yet enquiries have elicited the fact that none of them even knew him.
Apparently so far as the police are concerned the position is a stalemate. My enquiries at police headquarters receive one reply only the matter is still being investigated and there is nothing to report. I have therefore decided if possible to evolve some system under which the murderer may be indicated, and for this purpose I have been forced outside the realm of practical thought.
I ask you not to be amused when I tell you that I have been for years a believer in certaon occult forces and that an individual by the name of San Reima, who has on many occasions given me proof of his extraordinary powers, has told me that under certain circumstances he would be in a position definitely to nominate the murderer of my boy. The circumstances are these:
San Reima suggests that a seance should be arranged in the saloon of my yacht "Atlantic Witch." He suggests this venue because if the boat were taken a short distance out to sea he says he would be sufficiently far removed from any earthly influence in order to successfully carry out his part in the business.
He has ordained that a replica of Joe Madrigaul's Club Select should be built in the saloon of my yacht and that the persons intimately concerned with this business should be present under the same circumstances as nearly as possible as obtained at the time of the murder.
I should tell you that the other persons concerned in this matter have agreed to be present and I ask you in the name of justice and humanity to throw out of your mind any disbelief in the powers of this man and to proceed immediately you receive this letter to the Guyle Wharf, New London, Connecticut where the "Atlantic Witch" is lying.
I enclose herewith five one thousand dollar bills to cover your immediate expense. On arrival a further sum of the same amount will be paid over to you. If you are an innocent man you will take part in this sГ©ance. If not your non-arrival will at least indicate that you have something to hide, possibly that you are the murderer.
I am, Yours sincerely,
Harberry V. Chayse.
I read this letter an' then I sit down an' think about it. It looks like the old man is pretty good an' burned up about Willie the Goop bein' bumped, an' I can see his point of view because, havin' just had a bit of a schlmozzle with Willie over dough I suppose he feels all the more sore because Willie was ironed out before he had time to make it up, which just goes to show that a lotta people would not be so tough if they thought that the people they was bein' tough with was goin' to get a coupla slugs put into 'em soon afterwards.
I look at my watch an' it is seven o'clock. I reckon that the sooner I get down to this Guyle Wharf place an' get aboard this Atlantic Witch the better it is goin' to be for me because here's the way I look at it:
Supposin' this San Reima guy pulls a fast one an' spots somebody as bein' the murderer of Willie. Well this is goin' to create a situation of some sort and the accused guy supposin' he is tied up with the people who did fix the shootin' is going to shoot his mouth. I reckon that it is goin' to be very funny if this guy puts his finger on somebody else instead of Rudy Saltierra who, as I know, was the one who bumped Willie.
Mind you I reckon that all this clairvoyance an' occult stuff is a lotta hooey, but at the same time there is a lot more things flyin' about than we know of an' you never know this San Reima palooka may be an honest to goodness best bet.
But it is stickin' outa mile that my main reason for goin' down is to see if Rudy is goin' to be there an' Carlotta, an' it looks to me that they have agreed to go as otherwise this Harberry Chayse would not have got in touch with me.
After a bit I put the letter in my pocket an' I go downstairs an' I have a little talk with the reception clerk who is a nice sorta cuss. I ask him if there is any people stayin' in this Hotel Delamere who come from Connecticut an' he tells me yes, there is a travellin' salesman called Sam Yarthers who is along in the bar. I get along an' buy myself some rye an' after a bit I pick a casual sorta conversation with this Yarthers an' I do a lotta stuff an' get him interested an' then I get him talkin' about Connecticut. After a bit I ask him if he knows anything about some family called the Gayfords an' he knows a lot an' proceeds to shoot his mouth.
It looks like Mirabelle is pretty well known in that State an' that she is the big social bet around there an' is absolutely stuck so full of dough that she don't know what to do with it.
This Yarthers guy also knows about the fact that she was engaged to Charles Chayse, but of course he don't know that the Charles Chayse he is talkin' about is Willie the Goop who was bumped.
Altogether I get a pretty good mental picture of this Mirabelle before I am through with this travellin' salesman, after which we have just one little one for the road together an' then I say so long an' go back to my room. I pack my bag an' stick the Luger in its holster under my left arm, after which I scram downstairs an' pay my bill. The reception clerk tips me off where I can hire a fast roadster an' puts a call through to the garage to send it round pronto.
Then I sit around down in the hall lounge an' smoke a cigarette an' do a little quiet thinkin'. After a bit the roadster comes around an' I go an' take a look at this car an' see that she is right for the road because I reckon that I have got to step on it plenty.
Then I go back into the hotel an' I go into the call box near the reception an' I put a call through to Mirabelle Gayford at the number she gave me.
A dame who sounds like a French maid answers, an' when I tell her that I am Perry Rice she tells me to hang on an' while I am waiting I am doin' some very rapid thinkin' an' wonderin' whether I am entitled to take the chance that I am proposin' to take.
But it looks to me that you have just gotta take a chance sometimes an' in this case it is worth it because if it goes the way I think it will then I am goin' to prove something that I want to prove right now.
Just then Mirabelle comes through. Has that dame gotta swell voice or has she? Carlotta's voice is low an' rich an' sorta soothin' but Mirabelle's is a sorta young voice with a lilt in it.
"An' what can I do for Mr. Rice?" she says.
"Listen, honeybunch," I tell her. "This is Perry Rice comin' to you by the courtesy of faith hope an' charity with bells on. An' he is goin' to tell you a little bedtime story that is guaranteed to make you think plenty."
She laughs.
"Sometimes I think I like you, Mr. Rice," she says. "I think that you're most amusing. And what is the bedtime story?"
"So you think I'm nice," I crack back. "Well for a dame who's wondering most of the time about whether I bumped her late boy friend off I think that ain't so bad."
I get serious.
"Now listen," I say, "I been thinkin' about things an' I reckon that I can advise you up on one or two late developments in this little game of blind poker that we're all playin'.
"First of all since you are so keen on knowin' all about who bumped Willie, have you thought this: Whoever shot that guy did it with a gun, didn't he? Alright; now listen to this one. When we was all taken down to police headquarters after the shootin' nobody had a gun, an' that means that they musta got rid of it somewhere. It might interest you to know that I went back to Joe Madrigaul's place late that night an' searched it good an' plenty an' there wasn't no gun anywhere, although I found enough evidence to fry Rudy Saltierra for shootin' your young man because, sweetheart, you can take it from me that it was Rudy who did it.
