“Who? Oh, sure, sure. Wait a minute.” The receiver was placed down, and Ronald heard the same man say, “Dixie, your call’s here.” If there had been any lingering doubt in Ronald’s mind that he might not have been talking with Orlando the evening before, it now vanished completely. Obviously, Orlando had been expecting this call, and Ronald reflected that it was just like a Short Vincent character to ask for money for locating himself. He considered for a moment using the magic words “red jelly beans,” but decided against it. On Short Vincent you didn’t tell everything you knew.
“Hello?” said Orlando, using a similarly guarded tone.
“This is Ronald Wilford.”
“Who?”
“Ronald Wilford.”
“You must have the wrong number. I don’t know anybody by that name.”
Orlando was playing hard to get, and Ronald called upon his reserve of patience.
“I’m a reporter for the Star.”
“Oh,” said Orlando, as though giving this information careful consideration while still refraining from committing himself.
“I wanted to ask you something about Barry Knight. You know him, don’t you?”
“Oh, sure, sure. But look, I can’t talk now. Some other time—”
“Sure. How about my coming down to Costain’s Grille and talking with you?”
“Here on Short Vincent? You crazy or somethin’? You want to screw everything up—me bein’ seen with a newspaper reporter?”
“Well, I’ve got to see you someplace right away. How about meeting me at the public library?”
“Nix!” said Orlando in a hoarse whisper. “They got guards there—frisk you when you come out.”
“The soldiers’ and sailors’ monument?”
“Nix! Nobody ever goes there. We’d be too conspicuous.”
“The terminal, then? Everybody goes there.”
“Well, O.K., then. In the lobby, just inside the first door. But you get there first. I can’t take a chance on hanging around too long. How soon will you be there?”
“In forty-five minutes sharp,” Ronald assured him and hung up.
He had only waited two minutes in the lobby of the terminal before a short man in a slouchy overcoat stepped out of the stream of traffic and addressed him out of the side of his mouth without looking at him. If there is any person more conspicuous in a crowd than a furtive man, Ronald didn’t know who it might be.
“Wilford?” he whispered.
“Orlando?” Ronald whispered right back.
“Yeah. Make it fast. What you want to ask me about Knight?”
“I want to know where he is.”
“What’s the matter, you his baby-sitter or somethin’?”
“I just want to know where he is,” said Ronald patiently. “We’ve got a paper to get out, and need reporters to do it with, so we kind of like to know where they are and what’s going on.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
Ronald carefully corrected his terminology. “Can you tell me where he went?”
Orlando’s eyes seemed to be fixed on the clock, as though carefully gauging the time until the departure of his train—another pose, Ronald decided, for it wasn’t likely Orlando had a train to catch.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Well, where did he go?” As Orlando did not attempt to answer, Ronald found his patience snapping, but made an effort to control himself. “Look, you’re a friend of his, aren’t you?”
“Why, sure I am,” said Orlando firmly, looking at Ronald for the first time. “I’d do anything for that guy. He did something for me once. It wasn’t a big story—it would have been just an inch of type to him—but it would have ruined me for life. And he didn’t use it. Never asked anything of me back, but I’d do anything for him.”
“I’m sure of that,” Ronald agreed. “Now don’t you see that this may be your chance to do something for him? We don’t know where he’s gone or why. Maybe he’s in some kind of danger, and I can help him. Now you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”
This seemed to be too long a speech for Orlando to absorb all at once, so he took it a step at a time. “He didn’t say anything to me about being in danger.”
“No, but are you sure he would tell you something like that?”
“No.” Orlando thought it over. “Did he tell you he was in danger?”
“No,” Ronald admitted, “but the evidence points that way. If he wanted to quit his job, he would have done that. If he intended to come back soon, he would have told us that. The way it looks, he didn’t know whether he was coming back or not.” He waited a few moments longer. “Well, haven’t you anything to tell me? It had something to do with Walter Desmond, didn’t it?”
“Knight’ll be awfully sore at me,” Orlando stalled.
“How can he get sore when he isn’t here?”
Orlando considered this point and apparently decided it rang true. “Say, that’s right. But what if he comes back?”
“But he hasn’t come back. That’s the reason I’m so anxious to find him.”
“I don’t know for sure where he went—”
“But you know something,” Ronald reminded him. “Knight was inquiring for you at the precinct station.”
“That was all right,” said Orlando quickly. “You can always try the police station if you want to, but don’t ever ask after me down on Short Vincent. Knight knew better than that.”
“Did he find you that day?”
“What day?” asked Orlando, as though puzzled.
“The Thursday before Christmas.”
“Oh, that day. No, he didn’t find me. But he got my message.”
“And what was your message?”
Orlando’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure that’s all you want out of me—just the message? I don’t want Knight to get sore at me.”
“Just the message,” said Ronald firmly.
The man took a deep breath. “All I told him was: ‘Desmond left for Union City,’” and Orlando strolled off, making a great show of comparing his wrist watch with the railroad clock and shaking his head dubiously.
Ronald could almost have smiled. He felt he was beginning to understand a man like Orlando—a man who conducted his business with a great air of mystery to hide the fact that he had no business, who couldn’t stand to be frisked because somebody might find out he didn’t carry a gun, who for all his underworld affectations apparently could walk into a police station and walk right out again—for where else had he found out Ronald was looking for him? And Ronald wondered how many more characters like this there were down on Short Vincent.
Returning to the office, Ronald found that Carole was not at her desk. She had left a note for him, saying she was out tracking down another lead. Ronald went on to the editor’s office and found him with a few free minutes. He felt it was necessary to review his progress to date and get the editor’s permission for his next step. For Ronald had already decided that he wanted to go on to Union City.
Ronald had only recently come to recognize that a newspaper’s reportorial staff is shaped to a considerable extent by the character of its editor. It wasn’t that Burnett very often told his men what they ought to write or how they ought to write it. The process was much more subtle than that. If a reporter spent several days on what he thought was a hot story, only to find it reduced to a single paragraph on an inside page when it finally appeared, then he knew that he had considerably exaggerated the importance of the story in his own mind, and wasn’t likely to make the same mistake again. And if he found the masterpiece over which he had slaved for hours completely rewritten as it appeared in print, he would carefully compare his own version with the printed version and decide where he had gone wrong. All this was done without a single word from the editor. Ronald had benefited from both types of correction himself.
It took a lot of courage to publish a story that would arouse the anger of an important advertiser, but Burnett had done it many times
and would do it again if the circumstances warranted it. “I don’t want them to advertise unless it’s profitable to them,” Ronald had heard him explain, “and it wouldn’t be of benefit unless people had come to respect our paper, including the advertising in it.” And while Burnett had no objection to giving dignified publicity to worthy persons, organizations, or products, he watched with an eagle eye for the publicity plant. He once tossed out a humorous story Ronald had written, because he recognized the hidden publicity motive that Ronald, in his inexperience, had overlooked; and after getting over his initial disappointment, Ronald respected him all the more for it. Burnett was highly regarded in the newspaper profession, and Ronald counted himself fortunate to be working under such a chief editor and the competent staff associated with him.
Burnett listened without comment until Ronald had finished his summary.
“Knight’s father?” he said at last. “You wouldn’t expect a fine man like Knight to come from a background like that.”
“I don’t think his father had very much to do with raising him,” Ronald explained, “at least, judging by the way the story was told to me.”
“Well, maybe so, maybe so. You haven’t given this fellow any money, have you?”
“No.”
“Well, see that you don’t. It can lead to embarrassing complications. What’s your idea of what to do with him now? Are you going to leave him at your place while you go to Union City?”
“No, I don’t see how I can do that. I have a roommate to consider, even if I trusted Mr. Knight fully, which I don’t.”
“You’re sure he’s not a phony, Wilford?”
“He’s probably as phony as they come, but I really do think he’s Knight’s father. That’s why I thought maybe I’d let him come along with me, if he wanted to. That way, even if he was up to something, I could keep an eye on him.”
“Well, don’t put him on the newspaper expense account, Wilford. It’s not the money I’m thinking of, but the principle. Let him suggest it if he wants to go along, and let him figure out how he’s going to meet his expenses—that ought to be interesting. After all, if he were really Knight’s father he could come to the paper and explain his circumstances, present his credentials, and we’d see what we could do for him. There isn’t much we can do as long as he wants to deal on an individual basis.”
“O.K.,” Ronald agreed. “Another thing, I’ve got a kid brother lives out near Union City, and I wondered how it would be if I got him to come along, too.”
“On the expense account?” asked Burnett quizzically. A highly honest man himself, Burnett liked to pretend that he thought everyone else was dishonest. For him the pose accomplished a useful purpose, for he was always pleased when he found he was wrong, and wasn’t disappointed when he found he was right.
“Oh, no,” said Ronald in confusion. “That is, he might be of some help to me. He’s interested in newspaper work. Besides, he had a broken ankle that tied him up all summer and hampered him during the fall, so it might be a good vacation for him.”
“You’ve sold me, Wilford. And I was only kidding about the expense account. Handle it however you think is fair, depending on whether he really is useful. I imagine I’ll be meeting your brother before very long, when he takes over your job—after you’ve taken over mine.”
He spoke jestingly, but Ronald knew there was a more serious purpose underlying his words. This was his way of telling Ronald that he thought the reporter had a good future in the newspaper business.
It had rather been Ronald’s hope that he might find the nerve to invite Carole to a movie or play some evening, but now that he was leaving town that day, there wasn’t time for that. But at least he could invite her out to lunch, and when she telephoned, he summoned up all his resolution, trying to think what he could say if she turned him down.
“Where are you now, Carole?” he asked of her.
“Oh, way out past South Euclid, miles from anywhere. All on a wild goose chase, and I’m frozen and half starved.”
“Why don’t you have lunch with me?” asked Ronald, trying to make his voice sound casual. “I’ll come out and pick you up, if you want me to.”
“The lunch would be fine, Ronald, but don’t bother picking me up—I imagine I can make it faster on the bus than you could drive it both ways. You didn’t have Short Vincent in mind?”
“Oh, no, you’ve fully convinced me I ought to stay away from Short Vincent for a while.”
“Then let’s say the Flambeau at twelve?”
“That sounds good to me,” Ronald quickly agreed.
When he met Carole at the restaurant, she explained her errand. “I came across something—a young man who had once threatened Knight’s life. But when I came to look him up, I found out he’s safely in prison and likely to be there for a good many more years.”
“A member of a gang?” asked Ronald alertly. “Maybe someone else might carry out the threat.”
“No, I don’t think so. He seems to have been a lone worker—young kid from a good family, but gone bad for some reason. I often wonder why it sometimes happens that way.”
Ronald smiled. “We reporters must be different from normal people. What you found out this morning is really good news, but that makes it bad news to us because it spoils a story for us.”
Then he brought her up to date on his own part in the case, and she expressed once more her distrust of Mr. Knight.
“How did he find where you lived, Ronald? Bratenahl isn’t a large place, but it isn’t so small that you can go to the first apartment house and find the person you’re looking for.”
“He said it was more or less by chance.”
“And why couldn’t he have called you, anyway? Even though you’re not listed, he could get the number from the telephone operator, as long as it isn’t a private number, or he could have called you at the newspaper office.”
“He said he didn’t know I worked on the paper. Could he have got my address from the telephone operator?”
“I don’t think so—they’re pretty careful about giving out addresses in that fashion.”
“You may be right, Carole,” said Ronald slowly. “It is a little strange the way he found me, but I don’t think his motive is strange. I think he wanted to talk to me in person instead of over the phone, in order to work on my sympathies a little.”
They gave their orders, which were presently filled, and though they talked easily throughout the meal, their conversation did not have very much to do with the strange disappearance of Barry Knight.
Upon returning to his apartment directly after lunch, Ronald explained about his plans to Mr. Knight.
“Is it some clue you’ve got to my son?” asked Mr. Knight quickly. “If it is, Mr. Wilford, won’t you take me with you? I’m so anxious to meet my son—it means more to me than I can say.”
Ronald shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind, Mr. Knight, except that I simply couldn’t afford it. I can’t put you on my expense account, and I just couldn’t meet your expenses myself. My brother Ted will be coming along, too.”
“I’ve got my railroad pass,” Mr. Knight reminded him quickly, “and I think I’ll be able to pay all my own expenses. Fact is, I’ve got a pension check that’s sure to come along the first of the month.”
“You’re sure about that pension check?” asked Ronald keenly.
“’S gospel. Are you going to pack a trunk, or just take a suitcase?”
“I think just one suitcase will be enough. I want to travel light.” But I’m already taking along some excess baggage I could just as well do without, he added to himself.
“That’s fine. I’ll take a suitcase, too. I’ll just run down to the shop and get a few little things I need,” and he hurried out.
A strange picture of destitution, Ronald thought—yesterday he said he didn’t have a dollar, but now that he wanted to travel he appeared to have money once more. It was no great surprise to Ronald—men like Mr. Knight usually have
a little more money than they care to admit—and at least his guest’s temporary absence gave him a chance to put through a call to Ted.
CHAPTER 9
Ronald and Ted Confer
It was Ted who answered Ronald’s call, and he showed surprise as soon as he recognized the voice.
“Ron!” he exclaimed.
“Right on the nose,” Ronald replied.
But Ted was all attention, knowing that these were long-distance rates, and that it must have been something rather important for Ronald to call so soon after his visit home.
“Ted, I’ve got something that’s too long to explain over the phone, but what it amounts to is this: how’d you like to take a little trip with me?”
“Why, that sounds great, Ron.”
“Sure it won’t interfere with your New Year’s Eve celebration, or anything like that?”
“Oh, no, we didn’t have a party planned, and I’ll be getting together with the gang soon, anyway.”
“Did Mom have anything planned for the holiday?”
“Well, I think she sort of wanted to go for a visit to Aunt Alice’s, but she didn’t like the idea of leaving me here alone. This’ll all fit in swell.”
“All right, then, Ted, listen. I want you to meet me in Union City sometime tomorrow. It’s just a small town, so I imagine there’ll only be one hotel. If you get there first, and I think you will, you can get us rooms. Make sure you get two bedrooms, because I’m going to have a man with me.”
“Hadn’t we better get reservations in advance?” said Ted cautiously. “It’s the holiday season.”
“I’ve never had any trouble in a small town, Ted. If the hotel’s full, they’ll probably know of some private family that will take us in. Anyway, I doubt if I have time to confirm a reservation, and rooms or no rooms, I have to be there.”
“Then I take the rooms for the week?”
“No, no, I don’t know how long we’ll be there—not long, I hope.”
“What’s it all about, Ron?” Ted added hopefully. “Some sort of investigation?”
“Something like that. I’m looking for a man, and I’m not sure he even exists at all. Sound intriguing? I can’t go into detail now, but I thought this would give your curiosity a little something to work on. See you tomorrow, then, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
The Star Reporter Mystery Page 7
