Calamity Jane 10

by J. T. Edson

  Despite their apparent conviction that Tinville was the guilty party, it had been obvious to Ballinger that the actress and the priest were not eager to help bring about his apprehension. Nor, if he should be located, had they wanted him to be taken alive and able to answer questions. Their joint description was anything but helpful and “Father Devlin” had been quick to prevent the production of a photograph which could make identification less difficult. Lastly they had said how dangerous the missing man might be and hinted that detectives would be advised not to take any chances when attempting to arrest him.

  A less experienced man might have announced his misgivings and demanded to be told the truth, but Ballinger was aware that he must go warily when dealing with a minister of a church. What was more, the rumor he had received about the purpose of the entertainment and the presence of Branigan and his toughs implied that Father Devlin had influential political associations. Further proof of this had been given by O’Halloran’s obvious eagerness to avoid doing anything which might not meet with the priest’s approval. So the lieutenant knew he would need strong evidence and not unproven suppositions before casting doubts on the Father’s veracity.

  Being cognizant of that necessity and wanting to avoid warning the people at the theater of his suspicions, Ballinger had elected to return with the captain instead of accompanying his sergeants to the County Clare Hotel. They were capable of handling any situation that might arise there without needing his supervision. From what little had been said so far, he doubted whether he would learn anything useful from O’Halloran and any attempt to probe more deeply might result in a warning of his interest being sent to the priest. So he decided that he would pay a visit to the Streetville Municipal Hospital as soon as his subordinates had rejoined him and supplied him with a means of transport without allowing the captain to know his intentions. On his arrival, he would see if he could question a person he knew who could tell him what had happened in the theater’s basement. By doing so, he might discover why a “good and saintly man” had been so determined that the truth would not be revealed.

  Six – If He Lives, He’ll Talk

  ‘Ballinger didn’t come here because O’Halloran asked him,’ Phineas Branigan announced, on returning to the dressing-room after seeing Vera Gorr-Kauphin leave for the Streeterville Municipal Hospital. He had spoken with, among others, the manager of O’Malley’s Grand Emerald Isle Theater. ‘Which means he came because he’s heard something and what he’s seen ’n’ heard’s made him even more sure something’s wrong.’

  ‘How can you be so sure of that?’ “Father Matthew Devlin” inquired. ‘He seemed satisfied with what we told him and didn’t question any of it.’

  ‘No more’n he mentioned that young Gorr-Kauphin was kicked down the stairs when he was asking about the razor and you told him what you thought’d happened,’ Branigan replied, sounding just a trifle worried by having to contradict a “priest”. ‘Because that was how he got hurt and not by jumping away from it, then falling.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t know,’ the impostor suggested.

  ‘He knew all right, Father,’ Branigan countered. ‘It was himself’s found it out. And I thought he stopped Molloy from saying something while he was asking about Shamus getting jumped in the alley. I tell you, he’s suspicious and, unless he gets Tinville—which none of us wants him to—he’ll be going to the hospital to ask the lady’s brother who put him there. And that could be as bad as him laying hands on Tinville.’

  ‘Vera won’t let Colin say anything he shouldn’t,’ Raoul Fourmies protested.

  ‘She won’t,’ “Devlin” agreed, but with reservations. ‘Providing she’s there when he’s being questioned.’

  ‘If she isn’t,’ Branigan growled, ‘from what I’ve seen of him, he’ll be saying the wrong things.’

  ‘That’s more likely,’ the impostor concurred. ‘If Ballinger could fool me, he’ll have no trouble doing it to that stu…—to the likes of him.’

  ‘And he knows everything we’re up to,’ Branigan remarked pensively.

  ‘Everything,’ “Devlin” conceded, but did not mention this would include matters he had no wish for the local man to learn about. Instead, he looked from one to the other occupant of the room and continued with great gravity. ‘Neither of you needs telling what’s at stake and how he could spoil it.’

  ‘Can’t your friends stop Ballinger from interfering?’ the artist asked petulantly.

  ‘Nobody stops Ballinger,’ Branigan replied, although the question had been directed at the bogus priest. ‘Once he gets his teeth into a case, they’re there until it’s finished and there’s devil the few he hasn’t solved before he’s done with ’em.’

  ‘This might be one where he fails,’ the impostor pointed out.

  ‘So it might,’ Branigan concurred, but without conviction or hope. ‘But, even if it is, word of what we’re doing could still get out and then there’d be no sense in going on. It’ll be hard enough without them knowing we’re coming.’

  ‘Then there’s only one thing for it,’ the bogus priest stated. ‘If Gorr-Kauphin’s sister is around to stop him talking out of turn, all well and good. But if she isn’t, we’ve got to know for certain that he can’t talk. And there’s only one way we can be sure of that, my sons.’

  ‘How?’ Fourmies wanted to know, the word popping from him like a pistol shot.

  ‘Call it divine providence, if you will,’ “Devlin” answered and the priestly raiment he wore seemed to increase rather than detract from the sinister malevolence of his expression. ‘Badly injured as he is, he might well die before his time. Especially if he should be smothered by the pillow of his bed getting over his face.’

  ‘The pillow…?’ the artist gasped, staring with a lack of comprehension. ‘But how can we be sure it will happen?’

  ‘Easily enough,’ the impostor replied in the same chillingly unemotional fashion. ‘All you have to do it put it there and push down on it until he’s gone to join his maker.’

  ‘M … Me?’ Fourmies almost squealed.

  ‘You wouldn’t be asking the lady to do it to her own dear brother?’ “Devlin” demanded in mocking tones. ‘It wouldn’t be a Christian, nor manly thing to do, now would it?’

  ‘N … No!’ Fourmies croaked, fighting down an inclination to ask, ‘Why not?’. ‘B … But why m … me?’

  ‘Sure and aren’t you the best man for the job?’ “Devlin” answered, eyeing the artist with a mixture of contempt and derision. ‘I can’t go, having more urgent business elsewhere as you know. And Mr. Branigan and all his men’re too well known, they’d be recognized if they tried it.’

  ‘But so would I!’ Fourmies wailed, indicating his mass of bushy black beard.

  ‘There’s something in what you say,’ the impostor admitted, but the manner in which he made the comment warned the artist that the subject was not yet at an end.

  ‘Excuse me, Father,’ a voice called and one of Branigan’s men appeared at the window. ‘That feller from Canada’s just come and he’s got two more like him with him.’

  ‘Tell them to come in,’ “Devlin” ordered and, after the man had withdrawn, swung his sardonic gaze at the frightened-looking Fourmies. ‘Well now, that’s lucky for you—but I wouldn’t say it was for Miss Gorr-Kauphin’s poor dear brother.’

  ‘Welcome to my humble abode, sir,’ Belle Boyd said, closing the door of the room she had entered at the Carrick Hotel. ‘Please take the chair.’

  ‘By gad, dear girl,’ Captain Patrick Reeder answered. ‘I didn’t realize this was to be so formal a meeting.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ the Rebel Spy corrected, tossing her parasol on to the bed and starting to remove her Kerry coat. ‘But there’s only the one chair.’

  Although Belle and the Remittance Kid had remained in the alley and watched Colin Gorr-Kauphin being taken to hospital, they had not continued their discussion of the subject uppermost in their minds. Nor had they attempted to go nearer t
he theater and learn what other developments were taking place. Instead, seeing one of the men who must be a detective coming with a patrolman and questioning the onlookers at the rear of the building, they had concluded the time had come to leave the area.

  Reaching the small, but clean and respectable establishment at which the Rebel Spy was staying had presented time-consuming difficulties. It was not the kind of place where an unmarried female guest could entertain—no matter how innocently, or for what worthy a cause—a member of the opposite sex in her room after night had fallen. Her unconventional attire had ruled out the possibility of them hailing one of the few cabs they had seen in the comparatively low-rent district they were traversing. Instead, they had behaved—with the Kid resuming his Irish accent—like an ordinary couple out for a stroll. If the way they had kept in the shadows, avoiding other pedestrians, had been noticed as they were retracing the route by which she had made her way to the theater, it aroused no comment and was probably thought to be for another reason. On reaching the hotel, they had been compelled to wait outside until granted an opportunity to slip in unobserved.

  ‘Now,’ Belle said, after her instructions regarding the seating arrangements had been carried out. ‘What do you know about this business, Rem?’

  ‘I haven’t been formally introduced to any of them, fortunately,’ the Kid replied. ‘But I’ve heard the Gorr-Kauphins are well thought of in some theatrical circles. That chappie Fourmies, or some such froggie name, is an artist; although I must say his work’s not to my well developed taste. I don’t know anything about art, dear girl, but I do like a painting to look what it’s supposed to be.’

  ‘Mercy, doesn’t his work?’ Belle inquired, exuding what appeared to be genuine naiveté and feeling certain that, despite his drawlingly bored tones, the Englishman knew far more than he had implied.

  ‘From what I’ve seen of it, I think he’s trying to prove an old saying we have in the Rifle Brigade, to whit, “Bull … excreta … baffles brains”,’ the Kid answered, as if imparting serious information. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about the Colonial priest, but perhaps you can enlighten me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rem, but I can’t,’ Belle said, sitting on the dressing-table. ‘There are priests and even one or two higher in the Catholic Church’s hierarchy actively engaged in supporting Irish Republicans, but I can’t remember having heard his name mentioned among them. Is there any more you can tell me about the others?’

  ‘The Gorr-Kauphins, Fourmies and a Belgian chappie called Marcel Tinville are prominent in anarchist circles in Europe,’ the Kid obliged, having sufficient respect for the girl to accept she had spoken the truth with regards to her lack of knowledge where “Father Devlin” was concerned. ‘When word reached us in Washington that they were coming, it was decided that I should toddle along and see if I could find out to what your country owed the honor. Missed them in New York, though, and when I arrived here, they were associating with our reverend friend. Been loafing around this part of the jolly old city ever since, spending the British tax payers’ money rather lavishly to help me make a few friends.’

  ‘You’d have to spend money to make friends if you will insist on wearing that horrible nose,’ Belle warned with a gravity she was far from feeling. ‘Seeing it was how I recognized you.’

  ‘I’ll have you know, dear girl, that nose has been in our family for generations,’ the Kid protested. Then, with scarcely a change in his tone, he became serious and returned to business. ‘Anyway, it helped me to learn about tonight’s little entertainment and I managed to get myself invited.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’ Belle inquired, thinking how much the Englishman’s dry sense of humor, banter and other sterling qualities resembled those of two young Texans, the Ysabel Kid and the boy whose only name was Waco, 20 with whom she had been involved—not for the first time in either’s case—during the strange events centered around the Island Mission on the Rio Grande which had been responsible for his presence in the United States.

  ‘I’ve had more enjoyable experiences,’ the Kid admitted. ‘Such as the time I caught the Malta Dog—’

  ‘The what?’ Belle could not prevent herself from saying.

  ‘The Malta Dog, dear girl. It’s a nasty little tummy upset one gets in the Mediterranean if one isn’t careful what one eats and drinks. Makes one go very frequently and with a need for haste when it strikes.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t asked.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have needed to ask if you’d ever had it, old thing,’ the Kid stated with feeling, being aware of what it was like to be afflicted by the mild form of dysentery known to British travelers in the Mediterranean as the Malta Dog. ‘Anyway, I sat through a message-impregnated play, which I must say the rest of the audience found as incomprehensible and boring as I did. Its epilogue was what should have been a rousing “hate the British aristocracy” speech by Miss Gorr-Kauphin, except that it was spoiled when some blighter pointed out that she happens to be both British and an aristocrat.’

  ‘I always thought you might be a “blighter”,’ Belle smiled, knowing that beneath the levity and almost bored way of speaking, Great Britain had few better, more loyal, resourceful, or courageous servants than the Remittance Kid. ‘Whatever that may be.’

  ‘One does one’s humble best, dear girl. And, having done it, I decided to slip silently away.’

  ‘Because you’re so humble?’

  ‘Partly. But mainly because I thought it might spoil the effect I’d created if somebody had an opportunity to point out I’m English, if not too aristocratic, myself?’

  ‘What about your aunt, isn’t she the Dowager Duchess of Brockley?’

  ‘Oh, she’s aristocratic all right,’ the Kid admitted, so soberly they might have been discussing a matter of the greatest importance. ‘But, unfortunately, I’m from a very cadet branch of the family.’

  ‘And …?’ Belle prompted, after the Englishman had made the explanation and relapsed into silence for a few seconds.

  ‘And what, dear girl?’ the Kid countered, oozing a lack of comprehension which was almost convincing, but not quite.

  ‘I can understand why you would want to leave before you were identified, dear boy,’ Belle elaborated. ‘But, having seen them helping that man of Branigan’s from the alley and remembering where you were making for when we met, I wondered if you might have been coming to find out whether Tinville had told you the truth about what was in Vera’s dressing-room.’

  ‘I don’t like to raise the matter, old thing, but it isn’t done to call a chap dear boy,’ the Kid warned. ‘It could get him talked about in a rather nasty way. Who’s this “Tinville”?’

  ‘You mentioned him by his Christian name just now,’ Belle pointed out, showing no annoyance at the other’s pretended ignorance. ‘Which is more than I knew about him when we first met. I decided he was worth cultivating when I saw he wasn’t on the best of terms with Fourmies and Father Devlin. It seemed Fourmies and he didn’t see eye to eye on who should be Colin Gorr-Kauphin’s best friend and the Father didn’t appreciate or treat him with sufficient respect. Anyway, to cut a long story short, he offered to sell me information which my “gentleman friend” who’s a burglar could use and fix things so he could get inside the theater to make use of it.’

  ‘Did he tell you what the money was to be used for?’ the Kid inquired.

  Being aware of the Rebel Spy’s ability to make contacts and elicit information, the Englishman was not surprised that she had located Tinville. Nor that she had convinced him of her criminal gentleman friend’s existence as a means of winning his confidence.

  ‘I insisted on it. As I told him, my loving man surely wasn’t about to hand over no thousand lil ole Yankee dollars unless he knew what he was getting into,’ Belle replied, her voice changing to the accent of a Southron from a much lower social level during the explanation and suggesting the part she had played. Resuming her normal tone, she went on, ‘He said it was mone
y collected to help Irish rebels throw the British out of Ireland, but that Father Devlin and Vera Gorr-Kauphin intended to keep it for themselves.’

  ‘He told me pretty much the same, except that he thought I was an Orangeman who was spying on them,’ the Kid remarked. ‘But I got the feeling there might be more to it than he was saying.’

  ‘So did I,’ Belle confessed. ‘And I decided it would be advisable to go and see if I could find out for myself what it might be, rather than frighten him off by trying to make him tell me. I also thought that, if nothing more, I’d be able to take the money away with me; but Colin Gorr-Kauphin came in and spoiled that notion.’

  ‘I had something along those lines in mind myself, old thing,’ the Kid declared. ‘But, being a mere visitor in your fair country, I wasn’t able to equip myself as well as you have done: That was quite a conflagration you started. Would it be impolite if one asked what you used?’

  ‘A Greek fire concoction containing pieces of phosphorous which ignite when exposed to the air,’ 21 Belle answered, having no doubt that the British Secret Service used similar aids to incendiarism, but she did not offer to say from where she had obtained the supply. ‘It’s an effective combination. By the time they managed to put it out, the banknotes would have been destroyed completely and the majority of the coins so badly marked they’ll be easy to identify no matter where they show up.’

  ‘What will the United States Congress have to say when they hear about your little effort?’ the Kid inquired, and the concern in his voice was not assumed. ‘There are members with the Irish vote to consider who might feel you’ve exceeded your authority.’

  ‘I won’t mention it to them and neither will General Handiman,’ Belle replied. ‘Some of your own politicians might not be too happy over what I’ve done, if it comes to that.’