Wilt Thou Torchy

by Sewell Ford

  CHAPTER IX

  REPORTING BLANK ON RUPERT

  And yet, I've had people ask me if this private sec. job didn't getsort of monotonous! Does it? Say, listen a while!

  I was breezin' through the arcade here the other noon, about twentyminutes behind my lunch schedule, when someone backs away from themarble wall tablets the agents have erected in honor of them firms thatkeep their rent paid. Some perfect stranger it is, who does thereverse goose step so unexpected that there's no duckin' a collision.Quite a substantial party he is, too, and where my nose connects withhis shoulder he's built about as solid as a concrete pillar.

  "Say," I remarks, when the aurora borealis has faded out and I can seestraight again, "if you're goin' to carom around that way in public,you ought to wear pads."

  "Oh, I'm sorry," says he. "I didn't mean to be so awkward. Hopeyou're not hurt, sir."

  Then I did do some gawpin'. For who'd ever expect a big,rough-finished husk like that, would have such a soft, ladylike voiceconcealed about him? And the "sir" was real soothin'.

  "It's all right," says I. "Guess I ain't disabled for life. Nexttime, though, I'll be particular to walk around."

  "But really," he goes on, "I--I'm not here regularly. I was justtrying to find a name--a Mr. Robert Ellins."

  "Eh?" says I. "Lookin' for Mr. Robert, are you?"

  "Then you know him?" he asks eager.

  "Ought to," says I. "He's my boss. Corrugated Trust is what youshould have looked under."

  "Ah, yes; I remember now," says he. "Corrugated Trust--that's the partI'd forgotten. Then perhaps you can tell me just where--"

  "I could," says I, "but it wouldn't do you a bit of good. He's gotappointments up to 1:15. After that he'll be taking two hours off forluncheon--if he comes back at all. Better make a date for to-morrow ornext day."

  The solid gent looks disappointed.

  "I had hoped I might find him to-day," says he. "It--it's ratherimportant."

  At which I sizes him up a little closer. Sort of a carrot blond, thisgent is, with close-cropped pale red hair, about the ruddiest neck youever saw off a turkey gobbler, and a face that's so freckled it lookscrowded. The double-breasted blue serge coat and the blue flannelshirt with the black sailor tie gives me a hunch, though. Maybe he'sone of Mr. Robert's yacht captains.

  "What name?" says I.

  "Killam," says he. "Rupert Killam."

  "Sounds bloodthirsty," says I. "Cap'n, eh?"

  "Why--er--yes," says he. "That is what I am usually called."

  "I see," says I. "Used to sail his 60-footer, did you?"

  No, that wasn't quite the idea, either. That's somewhere near hisline, though, and he wants to see Mr. Robert very particular.

  "I think I may assure you," the Captain goes on, "that it will be tohis advantage."

  "In that case," says I, "you'd better tell it to me; private sec., youknow. And if you make a date that's what you'll have to do, anyway.Suppose you come along and feed with me. Then you can shoot thedetails durin' lunch and we'll save time. Oh, I'll charge it up to thefirm, never fear."

  The Cap. don't seem anxious to have his information strained through athird party that way, but I finally convinces him it's the regularcourse for gettin' a hearing so he trails along to the chophouse. And,in spite of his flannel shirt, Rupert seems well table broken. Hedon't do the bib act with his napkin, or try any sword-swallowin' stunt.

  "Now, what's it all about?" says I, as we gets to the pastry anddemitasse.

  "Well," says Killam, after glancin' around sleuthy and seein' nobodymore suspicious than a yawnin' 'bus boy, "I have found the losttreasure of Jose Caspar."

  "Have you?" says I, through a mouthful of strawb'ry shortcake. "Whendid he lose it?"

  "Haven't you ever read," says he, "of Gasparilla?"

  "Is it a new drink, or what?" says I.

  "No, no," says he. "Gasparilla, the great pirate, once the terror ofthe Spanish Main. Surely you must have read about him."

  "Nope," says I. "That Nick Carter junk never got to me very strong."

  The Cap. stares at me sort of surprised and pained.

  "But this isn't a dime-novel story I am telling," he protests. "JoseCaspar was a real person--just as real as George Washington or JohnPaul Jones. He was a genuine pirate, too, and the fact that he had hisheadquarters on the west coast of Florida is well established. It'shistory. And it is also true that he buried much of his stolentreasure--gold and jewelry and precious stones--on some one of thosethousands of sandy keys which line the Gulf coast from Anclote Light toWhite Water Bay. For nearly two hundred years men have hunted for thattreasure. Why even the United States Government once sent out anexpedition to find it. But I, Rupert Killam, have at last discoveredthe true hiding place of that secret hoard."

  Can you beat that for a batty conversation to be handed across thetable, right on Broadway at high noon? But say, take it from me, thisRupert party is some convincin' spieler. With that low, smooth voiceof his, and them buttermilk blue eyes fixed steady and earnest on mine,I was all but under the spell for a minute or so there. Then I shakesmyself and gets back to normal.

  "Say," says I, "you ain't lookin' to put any such fancy tale as thatover on Mr. Robert, are you?"

  "I hope I can interest him in the enterprise," says Killam.

  "Well, take my advice and don't waste your time," says I. "He's a gooddeal of a sport and all that, but I don't think he'd fall for anythingso musty as this old doubloon and pieces-of-eight dope."

  "I have proofs," says Rupert, "absolute proofs."

  "Got the regulation old chart, eh," says I, "with the lone tree markedby a dagger?"

  No, he didn't have a chart. He went on to say how the treasure wasburied on a certain little island under a mound in the middle of amangrove swamp. He'd been there. He'd actually helped dig into onecorner of the mound. He had four pieces of jewelry that he'd taken outhimself; and nobody knew how many chests full was left.

  "Back up!" says I. "Why didn't you go on diggin'?"

  But he's right there with a perfectly good alibi. Seems, if he dug upanything valuable and got caught at it, he'd have to whack up apercentage with the owner of the land. Also, the government wouldholler for a share. So his plan is to keep mum, buy up the island,then charter a big yacht and cruise down there casually, disguised as atourist. Once at the island, he could let on to break a propellershaft or something, and sneak ashore after the gold and stuff at nightwhen the crew was asleep.

  The Cap. explains that to do it right would take more cash than hecould raise. Hence his proposition for lettin' in Mr. Robert tofinance the expedition. No, he didn't know Mr. Robert personally, buthe'd heard a lot about him in one way or another, and understood he wasgenerally willin' to take a chance.

  "Maybe you're right," says I. "Anyway, he shouldn't miss hearin' thislovely yarn of yours. You come back with me and I'll see if I can'tfix it durin' the afternoon. Let's see, what did you say the name ofthis island was?"

  "I didn't say," says Rupert. "I can tell you the old Spanish name,however, which no one on the west coast seems to know. It is NuncaSecos Key--meaning the key that is never dry."

  "Huh!" says I. "That listens better in Spanish. Better not translateif you want to make a hit."

  "I am merely stating the facts as they are," says Rupert.

  He's a serious-minded gink, and all frivolous cracks are lost on himcompletely. He's a patient waiter, too. He sticks around for over twohours without gettin' restless, until finally Mr. Robert blows in fromthe club. First chance I gets, I springs Rupert on him.

  "A guy with a great little scheme," says I, winkin'. "If you can spareten minutes he'll tell you something worth while, so he says."

  "Very well," says Mr. Robert. "But ten minutes must be the limit."

  Say, it was rich, too, watchin' Mr. Robert's face as he listens to thisweird tale of pirates and buried gold. First off he was tryin' to bepolite, and onl
y smiled sarcastic; but when Rupert gets to spreadin' onthe romance, Mr. Robert starts drummin' his fingers on the desk andglancin' at his watch.

  Right in the midst of the recital, too, Old Hickory drifts out of hisprivate office, and stands waitin' with his ear cocked. He has areport or something he wants to ask a question about, and I was lookin'every minute to see him crash right in. But Rupert is in high gear,and goin' stronger all the while; so Mr. Ellins just stands there andlistens. The Cap. had got to the part where he describes thismysterious island with the mound in the middle, when Mr. Robert shrugshis shoulders impatient.

  "My good fellow," says he, "whatever gave you the notion I would beinterested in such rubbish? Sorry, but your time is up. Torchy, willyou show Mr.--er--what's-his-name to the elevator?"

  Which I did as comfortin' as I knew how. Course, he's feelin' somehurt at bein' choked off so abrupt, but he takes it calm enough.

  "Oh, well," says he, "perhaps I can find someone else who willappreciate that this is the opportunity of a lifetime."

  "Sure you can," says I. "Broadway's just lined with willin' ears."

  I'd loaded him into an elevator and was strollin' through thewaitin'-room, when Old Hickory comes paddin' out as slinky as a man ofhis weight can.

  "Young man," says he, "where is that Captain person?"

  "About the tenth floor by now, sir," says I.

  "Bring him back," says Mr. Ellins, sharp and snappy. "Through theprivate entrance. Understand?"

  I nods and makes a dive into an upbound car that's just makin' a stopat the seventeenth. "Hey, Jimmy, reverse her! I'll square you withthe starter. That's it. Shoot us down."

  So, when Rupert steps out on the ground floor, I'm there to take him bythe arm and lead him back into the elevator.

  "Why--why, what's the matter now?" he asks.

  "Couldn't say," says I. "Only you're wanted again. It's the Big Bossthis time--Old Hickory Ellins himself. And lemme put you hep to this,Cap'n; if that's a phony tale you're peddlin', don't try it on him."

  "But it's all true--every word of it," insists Rupert.

  "Even so," says I, "I wouldn't chance it on with Old Hickory. He's ahard-headed old plute, and that romance dope is likely to make himfroth at the mouth. If he starts in givin' you the third degree, oranything like that, you'd better close up like a clam. Here we are,and for the love of Pete draw it mild."

  You see, I hadn't minded passin' on a freak to Mr. Robert, for he oftengets a laugh out of 'em. But Mr. Ellins is different. The site of hisbump of humor is a dimple at the base of his skull, and if he traces upthe fact that I'm the one who turned Rupert and his pirate yarn loosein the general offices my standin' as a discriminating private sec. isgoin' to get a sad jolt.

  So when Cap'n Killam has been in on the carpet near an hour, with nosigns of his either havin' been let out or fired through a window, Ibegins to get nervous. Once Mr. Robert starts to go into Old Hickory'ssanctum; but he finds the door locked, and shortly after that he shutshis roll-top and leaves for the day.

  It's near closin' time when Old Hickory opens the door an inch or two,throws a scouty glance around, and beckons me mysterious to come in.Rupert is still there and still alive. In fact, he's chokin' over oneof Mr. Ellins' fat black cigars, but otherwise lookin' fairly satisfiedwith himself.

  "Young man," says Old Hickory, "I understand that you have heard someof Captain Killam's story."

  "Eh?" says I, careless like. "Oh, yes; I believe he did feed a littleof that tale to me, but--"

  "You will kindly forget to mention it about the office," he cuts in.

  "Yes, sir," says I. "That'll be the easiest thing I do. At the timeit sounded mighty--"

  "Never mind how it sounded to you," says he. "Your enthusiasms areeasily aroused. Mine kindle somewhat more slowly, but when-- Well, noneed to discuss that, either. What I want you to do is to take CaptainKillam to some quiet little hotel--the Tillington, for instance--andengage a comfortable room for him; a room and bath, perhaps."

  "Ye-es, sir," I gasps out.

  "In the morning," he goes on, "you will call for the Captain about nineo'clock. If he has with him at that time certain odd pieces of antiquejewelry, you may report over the 'phone to me and I will tell you whatto do next."

  I expect I was gawpin' some, and starin' from one to the other of 'em,for Mr. Ellins scowls and clears his throat menacin'.

  "Well?" he growls.

  "I was just lettin' it sink in, sir," says I.

  "Humph!" he snorts. "If it will help the process any, I may say that Iam considering the possibility of going on a cruise South with CaptainKillam--for my health."

  At which Old Hickory drops his left eyelid and indulges in what passeswith him for a chuckle.

  That's my cue to grin knowin', after which I gets my hat and starts offwith Rupert. We'd only got into the corridor when Old Hickory calls mehack, wavin' a twenty.

  "Pay for two days in advance," says he, and then adds in a whisper:"Keep close track of him. See that he doesn't get away, or talk toomuch."

  "Yes, sir," says I. "Gag and bind, if necessary."

  But there don't seem to be much need of even warnin' Rupert. He hardlyopens his mouth on the way up to the hotel, but trails along silent,his eyes fixed starey, like he was thinkin' deep.

  "Well," says I, after a bell-hop had shown us into one of theTillington's air-shaft rooms and gone for ten cents' worth of icewater, "it looks like you had the Big Boss almost buffaloed with thatpirate tale of yours."

  Rupert don't enthuse much at that.

  "As a cautious business man," says he, "I suppose Mr. Ellins is quiteright in moving slowly. He wants to see the jewelry, and he wishestime to investigate. Still, it seems to me that my story ought tospeak for itself."

  "That's the line," says I. "Stick to that. But I wouldn't chatterabout it to strangers."

  Rupert smiles indulgent.

  "Thank you," says he. "You need not fear. I have kept my secret forthree years--and I still hold it."

  He's a dramatic cuss, Rupert. I leaves him posin' in front of themirror on the bathroom door, gazin' sort of romantic at himself.

  "Not a common, everyday nut," as I explains to Vee that night, when Igoes up for my reg'lar Wednesday evenin' call, "but a nut, all thesame. Sort of a parlor pirate, too."

  "And you think there isn't any buried treasure, after all?" asks Vee.

  "Don't it sound simple?" I demands.

  "I'm not so sure," says Vee, shakin' her head. "There were pirates onthe Florida coast, you know. I've read about them. And--and justfancy, Torchy! If his story were really true!"

  "What was the name of that island, again?" puts in Auntie.

  Honest, I hadn't thought she was takin' notice at all when I was givin'Vee a full account of my afternoon session with Rupert. She never doeschime in much with our talk. And I judged she was too busy with hersweater-knittin' to hear a word. But here she is, askin' details.

  "Why," says I, "Captain Killam calls it Nunca Secos Key."

  "What an odd name!" says Auntie. "And you left him at some hotel, didyou? The--er--"

  "Tillington," says I.

  "Oh, yes," says Auntie, and resumes her knittin' placid.

  Course, there I was, gassin' away merry about what Old Hickory wantedkept a dead secret. But I usually do tell things to Vee. She ain'tone of the leaky kind. And Auntie don't go out much. Besides, who'dthink of an old girl like that ever bein' interested in such wildback-number stuff? How foolish!

  So I wasn't worryin' any that night, and at quarter of nine nextmornin' I shows up at the hotel to send up a call for Rupert.

  "Captain Killam?" says the room clerk with the plastered front hair."Why, he left an hour or more ago."

  "Yes, I know," says I; "but he was coming back."

  "No," says the clerk; "he said he wasn't. Took his bag, too."

  "Wha-a-at!" I gasps. "He--he ain't gone for good, has he?"

  "So it seem
s," says the clerk, and steps back to continue his chat withthe snub-nosed young lady at the 'phone exchange.

  How was that for an early mornin' bump? What was the idea, anyway?Rupert had found a prospective backer, hadn't he? And was bein' takencare of. What more could he ask? Unless--unless someone else had gotnext to him. But who could have heard of this--

  "Gee!" I groans. "I wonder?"

  I couldn't stand there starin' foolish across the register and do thewonderin' act all day, though. Besides, I wanted to follow a clew. Itain't a very likely one, but it's better'n nothing. So I slides outand boards a Columbus Avenue surface car, and inside of twenty minutesI'm at Auntie's apartments, interviewin' Helma, her original boneheadmaid.

  No, Miss Verona wasn't at home. She'd gone for her morning ride in thepark. Also Auntie was out.

  "So early as this?" says I. "When did Auntie get away?"

  "Before breakfast yet," says Helma. "She telephone long time, then agentlemans coom, and she go out."

  "Not a gent with pale hair and plenty of freckles on his face?" I asks.

  Helma gazes thoughtless at the ceilin' a minute.

  "Yah," says she. "Den have funny face, all--all rusty."

  "The sleuthy old kidnapper!" says I. "Could she have pulled anythinglike that? Here, lemme step in and leave a note for Miss Vee. I wanther to call me up when she comes in. No I'll dash it off right here onthe lib'ry table. Here's a pad and--"

  I broke off there, because my mouth was open too wide for furtherremarks. On the table was a big atlas opened to the map of Florida.And on the margin, with a line drawn from about the middle of the westcoast, was something written faint in pencil.

  "Nunca Secos Key!" I reads. "Good night! Auntie's got the bug--andRupert."

  "Vass it is?" asks Helma.

  "I'm double-crossed, that's what it is," says I. "I've had a nice longnap at the switch, and I've just woke up in time to see the fastexpress crash on towards an open draw. Hal-lup! Hal-lup! I know I'llnever be the same again."

  "It's too bad, yah," says Helma sympathetic.

  "That don't half describe it," says I. "And what is goin' to happenwhen I report to Old Hickory won't be nice to print in the papers."

  "Should I say something by Miss Vee when she coom?" asks Helma.

  "Yes," says I. "Tell her to kindly omit flowers."

  And with that I starts draggy towards the elevator.

  Oh, no! Private seccing ain't always what you might call a slumberpart.