“Wait!” Gerty yelled. “Wait up! Hold it! Hold everything! Oh, boy oh boy, hold it! Did this red feather thing have like a red plume, dripping off from one side? Did it?”

  “I was gradually working up to that, yes. It was the climax. Oh, by the way. It caught on one of the hooks the wire-caged light bulbs hang on—Gerty, don’t succumb yet! Gerty, do you know her? If you recognize the hat, you must. There could not be a duplicate of that hat!”

  Gerty laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. She laughed so hard that she finally began to cough. Mario and Freddy thumped her on the back and fed her sips of water.

  “I—oh, I can’t! It’s too—” she straightened up suddenly in her chair and stopped laughing. “Gee, Bill. My God! The hat is funny. You’d think so if you ever seen it. But the rest! Zowie! From now on, boys and girls, we get serious!”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Yes,” Gerty continued, “from now on—oh, my God, why couldn’t it of been someone else?”

  “Suspense,” Leonidas said, “is an admirable thing, but it can on occasion be carried to extremes. Gerty, who is the woman?”

  “She’s the second in command of North’s museum,” Gerty said. “Her name’s Langford. Maria Langford. And if you’ll pardon my English, Mrs. Jordan, she’s the son of a bitch.”

  “Your biology is weak,” Agatha said, “but I see what you mean. Are you quite sure it’s she, Gerty?”

  “Sure? Say, I could tell that hat blindfolded. I could tell it if you was to put it in your pipe and smoke it. She got that hat last spring, and she clings to it like it was the only lid ever come out of Paris. Where the hell that woman gets her hats, I don’t know! Morgan Memorial, probably. God, they’re awful! I couldn’t go wrong on that red feather hat. It ain’t possible there’d be another.”

  “But—”

  “There ain’t no buts, Bill. I’ll tell you what she looks like and you can check up. Gray eyes. That sort of gray-blue that looks at you and it seems like they seen you, but you might as well be a tin pie plate for all she cared. You know what I mean?”

  “M’yes. I noticed that. Impersonal. Dispassionate. Calculating.”

  “And a hard voice. Dot and Mrs. Jordan, now they got voices that got class. But hers was like she’d come from the wrong part of the town once.”

  Leonidas nodded. “Exactly. It takes a woman, Gerty, adequately to describe another.”

  “Aw, I suppose she can’t help the way she is. Anyway, she’s got a short nose that’s almost a pug, and her hair’s jet black and stringy, like a lot of shoe laces. Well, that’s about all.”

  “And I should say it was fully enough,” Dot said. “Does she have bobbed hair?”

  “Yes. Curled. Not waved, see. Curled. She done it herself, I guess. It looked that way. Like she done it up on rags, or something. She’s in the late forties, but she looks at lot older. All the time she goes off to this island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and looks at some gang of niggers. Last time she came back, she’d got a brand new thrill. She kind of wandered off the beaten track and picked on snails to look at instead of niggers.”

  “Snails,” Leonidas said, “snails? You mean, Gerty, those things that crawl?”

  “Yeah, snails. She and North, they got quite clubby over ’em. She found out on this island where she goes there was a lot of land snails. They was—honest, this is crazy!” She giggled. “There was right-handed snails and left-handed snails, and the right-handed snails, they ate up more than the left-handed snails—”

  “You’re making this up as you go along!” Agatha said accusingly.

  “Honest, I ain’t. The right-handed snails ate more than the left-handed snails. That’s straight.”

  “What,” Freddy asked facetiously, “what made the white horses eat more’n the black horses?”

  “Aw, go ahead and laugh, you big gorilla! Anyway, she knows all about the niggers on this island, and she’s gone there for years and years, and dug up all their old folks, and pried around into their goings-on and poked her nose into everything she could find. Always calls ’em her people, like she’d been the mother of the whole gang. North used to be the same way about this crowd. Called ’em my Indians.”

  “Possibly,” Leonidas said, “she wanted money for her expeditions just as North wanted money for his. I’d gather that this Pacific island is remote and probably neither easy nor inexpensive to get to. M’yes. Gerty, where does the sinister element come in?”

  Gerty shivered. “Gee, Bill, it’s sort of hard to explain. There’s a lot about her that’s funny, like her hat, and the way she is about some things, but those eyes of hers—well,” Gerty shivered again, “there was something about her that always scared me. I can’t explain. It’s just that she don’t seem human, somehow. North was always a little afraid of her, too. He started to tell me some things about her once, but he—well, maybe he was just listening to the sound of his own voice. She couldn’t be—well, anyway, she ain’t the sort you play with like a kitten.”

  “Is she famous?” Leonidas asked. “I don’t seem to know her name.”

  “Sort of, I guess. They always called her doctor. She’s written dozens of big heavy books all about her niggers. I read one once in parts, all about how some of her men carried on when they got to be of age, or something. Just like when someone at college joins a club, it was. I told her I read it, and it was like that, and she got sore.”

  “And you say that she was second in command of the museum. Hm. I’d half intended to ask you, Agatha, to see if you couldn’t exert some of your powerful influence to get in touch with Martin and to elicit a few details from him, but I think that we have all we need. Apparently Maria Langford is well up in her subject, has a doctor’s degree. M’yes. Probably felt she deserved to be head of the museum instead of North. All women seconds-in-command are absolutely positive that they should be commanders-in-chief. M’yes. Motive, first of all, jealousy. Then she reads those volumes and sees in her suspicion of what actually happened to the bonds a chance to put North in an awkward position and, possibly, to become head of the museum herself. Then when she realizes the full possibilities, her motive shifts from jealousy to greed. She, too, can use the bonds. She must have thought quickly and realized how watertight her position was when she killed North. M’yes, I may be wrong in detail, but I rather think that that’s the way it went.”

  “What do we do?” Freddy demanded. “She’s got them pages. Prob’ly the map of where the bonds is. Maybe by now she’s got ’em and beaten it.”

  “Not right off, Freddy. Not if she’s as intelligent and clever as I think she is. She’ll wait a few days, anyway, just to make sure that she’s not under suspicion, and not being watched. She won’t go dashing off to the bonds, if those pages of Volume Four contain directions for any such a dash. She’ll wait. I think we’ve time to do a little planning before we set out after her.”

  “Tonight?” Dot said. “You mean, like now? Bill, my watch stopped at two-thirty, and that was weeks ago!”

  “Drink another cup of coffee,” Gerty advised. “Freddy likes to work at night, too. What’s the dope, Bill?”

  “I’m considering. Obviously we cannot repeat the formula we used with Agatha and Harbottle. It’s not only too late to call formally, but she would recognize Dot and me instantly and become suspicious. And at this point, I think it is exceedingly unwise to arouse her suspicions. It’s always seemed to me part of the path of wisdom to keep one’s adversary in the dark as long as possible. At the Academy I learned that one quick fatal blow was far more unnerving to the boys than constant bickerings over small infractions of the rules. Better to wait and to pretend ignorance, and then to strike swiftly. Possibly the first step might be to learn where she lives, if she is at home, and that sort of thing. D’you happen to know her address, Gerty?”

  “Malden, somewhere.”

  Freddy brought forth a telephone book disguised by a Florentine leather cover. He wrote down the street number and the telephone number.

  “Shall we give her a buzz to see if she’s in, Bill?”

  “M’yes. My voice, however, is rather precise. I feel she might recognize it. Were I in her shoes, I know I should. Dot, I think it might be well for you to call her. Ask for Miss Langford and engage her in sprightly conversation. Then demand if she’s Mary Langford and be profusely apologetic when she says she’s not. You might murmur something about a party.”

  Dot smiled and went to the phone. She toyed with Dr. Langford fully ten minutes before she brought in the party and the fictitious Mary. A sharp click sounded as the doctor rang off.

  “And was she like to boil over! Lady’s got the hell of a temper, and Gerty, I know what you mean when you say she scares you. Bill, there’s a sinister note in that voice of hers which I don’t even pretend to like! Anyway, she’s home. How do we go about getting her out? I assume, of course, that Freddy’s going to enter the picture once she is out?”

  “That was my plan. Now, Dot, call Information and see if there’s another telephone listed at that address. Ask for the Langleys at that number. Be very querulous and say you’ve called Dr. Langford’s number, and that you’re perfectly sure that your friends live there.”

  Dot bickered amiably with Information for some time.

  “Curiously enough,” she reported as she turned away from the phone, “there are no Langleys there. There were some people name of Stanislaus but their phone was removed last week. New number in Newton. Only one phone in the house now.”

  “Good,” Leonidas said. “Good. Then we can assume that it’s a house with two apartments and that she is the only occupant at present. Hm. I wonder if a fire at the museum would move her?”

  “Splendid,” Agatha said. “The distance between Malden and Boston proper—”

  “Why Boston proper?” Dot laughed. “Isn’t it always?”

  “Boston proper, my dear, is the city proper. Where were you brought up? Well, the distance ought to assure her absence for a goodly period. Half an hour to Boston if she drives or takes a cab, and years and years on the subway. Does she have a car?”

  “Yeah,” Gerty said. “She’s got one, but she keeps it a long ways from her house. I often heard her beef about it.”

  “Then, on a frigid night like this, the chances are that she’ll take a cab. Half an hour going, ten minutes to spend in fruitless investigation, half an hour back. Admirable, Bill.”

  “But if she doesn’t rise to the bait?”

  “Then you’ll be reduced to the ignominy of sending a fake telegram. From a near relative.”

  “She’s an orphan,” Gerty said. “She ain’t got no near relatives. I heard her tell North she didn’t know what to do about making a will.”

  “She must have a friend,” Dot said. “She must! But why not go there, call from nearby, wait and see if she falls for it, and then think of something else if she doesn’t.”

  “I prefer to have something else on hand,” Leonidas said, “before we set out. Er—I gather that she has no sense of humor?”

  “Not an ounce. Of course no one burbles with delight at being raked out of bed for a false alarm phone call on a night like this. But I detected no gleam of humor in her.”

  “Nor did I this afternoon. Dear me, there really seems no adequate—Gerty, would you know who gave her or North the largest sums of money for their respective investigations?”

  Gerty thought for a moment. “Yeah. A man named Alison. Sydney Alison. He was at North’s house once or twice, and—”

  “I know him,” Agatha interrupted. “That is to say, I know who he is.” Her tone implied that there was a vast difference. “His real name is Sydney Levinson. His father made a fortune out of wrecking slum property on the lower East side of New York. Now Sydney spends his time building up foundations. Peace, good-will, and all that sort of thing. All kinds of foundations. As a matter of fact he was mentioned at dinner tonight at the Lorimers’. He was to speak at some charity banquet here.”

  “You mean, in Boston?”

  “Exactly. He flew over this afternoon.”

  “M’yes. That’s the trump card if she won’t go to the museum,” Leonidas said. “One of us calls as his secretary, says that Alison is flying back to New York, and to come to see him immediately at the East Boston airport before he leaves. Ah, that’s good. Not allowing quite so much time as the burning museum, but fully as powerful if not more so. Now, Freddy, I think it might be wise to arrange for a bodyguard this trip. I do not believe that Bat spent much time in jail. He’s probably out by now and hot on your trail again. And—er—did you do anything about Mr. Bugatti?”

  “Spud? Sure. I had some of the boys get him out of Maguire’s.”

  “Then I suggest Spud. And several others. To follow at a discreet distance in another car.”

  “Sure.”

  “And if Bat or any of his companions see fit to annoy us further, I hope you will arrange it so that our rearguard acts.”

  Freddy’s eyes glittered. “They will.”

  “Good. Now, Freddy, this is my plan. To enter Dr. Langford’s house while she is away and to discover if the first three volumes of Twitchett are in her possession. If they are, I shall check my suspicion regarding North’s penciled comments which might have led her to the root of all this.”

  “What about the missing pages, huh?”

  “If we find them, I think that the wisest plan is to copy them off and to see if we can’t find where North hid the bonds he stole. At that point, Freddy, you take your share—”

  “What?” Agatha interrupted. “What’s this?”

  “Why shouldn’t he take his share? Surely Freddy is as worthy as any band of Indians or south sea islanders? Besides, he has my promise. You take your share, Freddy. We take the remaining bond, the hammer with Langford’s fingerprints on it—I’ve treated that with great care and there should be some trace of her on it—and so forth and so on. At all events, we proceed to get Martin out of this difficulty. If neither the books nor the missing pages can be found in her house, we leave. But we leave someone to keep a close watch over her. If we can’t find our way to the bonds, we shall see to it that she leads us. Understand?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “That’s why I’m taking such elaborate and ornate precautions, Freddy. I don’t want to arouse her suspicions. Not if I can avoid it. No matter if we fail in any way, at any point, I don’t want her to guess that we’ve guessed about her. I want her to feel safe so that if we have to, we can let her lead us to the bonds, or let her put the rope, so to speak, about her own neck. Is that clear? Yes? Now, I wonder if you have a spare overcoat, some overshoes and a hat of some sort for me to wear?”

  Overshoes and gloves were quickly forthcoming, but it was harder to find a coat that fitted. The final choice was a heavy collegiate-looking raccoon model. Freddy liked fur coats.

  But headgear was out of the question. All of Freddy’s hats perched lightly on the top of Leonidas’s head. Mario’s gray felt was no better. Although a dozen of the boys were summoned from some mysterious gathering place in the building, not one of them possessed a hat large enough. At last the garage attendant produced a skating-cap of vivid orange bordered with loud purple stripes. There was nothing for Leonidas to do but don it. The tout ensemble of raccoon coat and blaring cap was picturesque to an extreme.

  “Shakespeare!” Dot howled. “Shakespeare in modern dress! Oh, I shall quote, I shall quote you—”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Leonidas’s blue eyes were twinkling as he spoke. “I intend to quote myself, before Agatha beats me to it. ‘Motley’s the only wear.’ Now, let us depart—”

  Down on the ground floor they piled into the big town car again. They slid out of the garage, and behind them rolled another car—Spud Bugatti and another of Freddy’s henchmen.

  Boston was sound asleep. There were few lights in the North End, and fewer cars. The three or four individuals they passed on foot hastened along with chins thrust deep into coat collars. The damp cold east wind blew raucously down the empty streets, banging loose vestibule doors and causing papers to whirl into the air from the gutters. There was something strangely sinister in the rows and rows of old brick houses and in the shadows cast by ineffectual gas street lights.

  The heater in the car did its best, but in spite of it Agatha’s feet began to feel lumpy and leaden. Leonidas yanked his cap farther down over his ears.

  Gerty broke the silence. “I wish this was Los Angeles. It’s only twelve or so out there. I bet it’s as warm as toast out there. I bet it’s day on that island of Langford’s. People running around with grass skirts and a string of beads and a smile. Or just a smile. God, I’m cold!”

  Just as they crossed the last cobblestones beyond the Navy Yard, before running on to the Charlestown drawbridge, Freddy drew the car up by the curb.

  “Flat.” He stuck his head inside the door and informed them. “Din’ you feel it?”

  “Flat tire?” Agatha asked in some surprise. “Why, I don’t see—”

  “Yeah. But don’t worry none. The boys’ll fix it.”

  But it was not as easy as he anticipated. The town car’s spare tires were locked, and no key of the assembled henchmen would open them.

  “Aw,” Freddy said in disgust, “the guy leaves his bus unlocked, and has these kind of non-bust locks on his tires! It ain’t right. Spud, you stay here. The guy we need is Lefty. You,” he nodded towards the other man, “you beat it back and get Lefty here, see?”

  Posting Spud on the front seat, Freddy came in back and squatted on the floor, but after ten minutes he announced that his legs were cramped.

  Just as he stepped out, a policeman on a motorcycle jolted past. Freddy watched him covertly. The officer crossed the bridge, and Freddy sighed his relief. There was enough trouble brewing already without having the police enter the picture.

  He bored futilely at the tire lock.

 

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