The Golden Room

by Irving Wallace

  He brought her to the closed entrance to his airtight room. He pressed a button. The door slid open.

  'How clever!' she exclaimed. 'I've never seen anything like that.'

  He nodded. 'As I told you, I want to ensure our complete privacy. Actually, this is my examination room.'

  She was in the room, surveying it. 'Cosy enough, but not a window.'

  'Nobody to pry,' said Holmes. 'Take off your robe and hoist yourself on the examination table.'

  She did as directed. He watched her, hypnotized by the lushness of her alabaster body.

  'What are we going to do?' she asked. 'Are we going to do what we did this morning?'

  'If you don't mind.'

  'Don't mind? I love it.'

  She spread her legs as he knelt on a step. She grasped his head and brought him closer.

  She closed her eyes and arched her back as he licked her vulva.

  At first, she began to moan. As he continued, she wanted to scream, then repressed the impulse. 'Can… can anyone hear me?'

  He lifted his head slightly. 'We're alone.'

  He ducked down to pleasure her again, and now she screamed lustily.

  This excited him. His mouth pressed harder, his tongue probed deeper.

  Suddenly, she shook, lifting herself with such force that she almost threw him to the floor. This time he was sure of her orgasm, a noisy and prolonged one.

  When it was done, she sank down, breathless, gradually opening her eyes to find him.

  'That was something,' she said. 'What about you, Herman?'

  'I'm ready when you are,' he said. He stood up over her, stripped off his underwear. His penis was hard as a rod.

  She took it expertly in her hands, pulled it to her mouth, and then closed her lips around it.

  Blinking down at the nape of her neck, he knew that she was a marvel, but what was most marvellous about her was the back of her neck. He was glad that she could enjoy herself so much before losing her head.

  The thoughts of her head, her neck, excited him even more. As she went on, he tried desperately to contain himself. It was impossible. The witch was relentless.

  Then he came and came.

  When he was limp, she toyed with him, laughing, 'You had a good time, didn't you, Herman?'

  'I'll never forget it.'

  'Neither will I,' she said.

  Holmes pulled free of her, and snatched up his underwear. 'I'll be right back.'

  'Where are you going, Herman?'

  'Just want to freshen up. I'll be right back. You'll find a towel on the end of the table. You can tidy up too.'

  He went off through the open sliding door, and pushed the button to shut it.

  Before it closed, he heard Greta's voice calling out, 'Hey, why are you closing the door?'

  'Never mind,' he called back. 'I'll be with you shortly.'

  The door slid shut.

  Pleased, Holmes went to his office, pulled on his union suit, his shirt and trousers, then his stockings and shoes. He knotted his tie. Then he started for the row of levers, prepared to turn on the gas.

  He was halfway to the lever when he thought he heard the front doorbell ring. He halted, listened again, and heard the bell ring more distinctly.

  Holmes detoured out of his office and headed for the foyer, wondering who the unexpected visitor could be at this hour. He still had much to do after he turned on the gas. There would be great joy in cutting up Greta's plumpish body. Definitely orgasmic.

  He put his hand on the knob of the front door and pulled it wide.

  The doorway was filled by a huge middle-aged man with plastered hair, a full moustache, an expensive suit, and carrying a cane.

  He had a calling-card in his free hand, and he offered it to Holmes. 'I am William A. Pinkerton, supervisor of the Chicago branch of Pinkerton's National Detective Agency,' the man announced. 'I'm here at the instigation of Miss Minna Ever-leigh, your employer, who feels you may give me some help in a matter I'm investigating.'

  Glancing at the calling-card, Holmes said graciously, 'To be sure. Please come in.'

  Leading Pinkerton to his office, Holmes cast a sidelong look at the sliding door. It was tightly closed, and if Greta was still voicing her confusion, she could not be heard.

  After seating Pinkerton in his office, Holmes took his own place behind the desk.

  His posture one of hospitality and relaxation, he said, 'What can I do for you, Mr Pinkerton?'

  Pinkerton was not one to delay. 'Miss Everleigh is distressed because three of her girls have disappeared in the last two weeks. This is something that has never happened at the Club before.'

  'I'm sorry for her. Of what help can I be to you?'

  'Miss Everleigh thought it might be useful if I questioned you for some clues to their whereabouts.'

  'Who are these girls?'

  Pinkerton extracted a pad from his pocket, and flipped the pages. 'Miss Fanny Spenser, Miss Avis Kaufman, Miss Greta Ryan. They are all young prostitutes employed by the Everleigh sisters. Do you recognize their names?'

  Holmes bobbed his head. 'I think I do. While I never knew their last names, I do recognize the first names. Fanny, Avis, Greta. Yes, I've medically examined them.' He seemed to recall something. 'As a matter of fact, now I do remember. I missed Fanny and Avis on my last visits to the Club. I meant to ask Minna where they were, but it skipped my mind.'

  'Then Greta. She was one of the girls Miss Everleigh housed in the Tremont House Hotel. She checked out late this morning. What is unusual is that neither she nor the other two informed Miss Everleigh that they were leaving. They just left without word as to their destination. They simply vanished into thin air.'

  Holmes shook his head sympathetically. 'Too bad. Still, why would Minna have you question me about them?'

  'Because you were the one person who saw them regularly and intimately, and Miss Everleigh hoped that you might

  have heard from one or all of them – about any plans they might have had.'

  'I see, I see,' said Holmes. 'Well, there is some conversation when I'm examining the girls, but rarely anything meaningful. Let me concentrate on the last times I saw these girls. Fanny, you say?'

  'Fanny Spenser.'

  'The last time I saw her was a few weeks ago. I can't remember anything noteworthy that she had to say. Oh, something about being displeased because her income would be reduced for a while. One might say she was complaining about this, and hinting that she had heard of a few houses in Nashville and San Francisco that paid as well as the Everleigh Club and guaranteed work regularly.'

  ' Nashville and San Francisco,' repeated Pinkerton, making notes. 'We'll check around.'

  'As to Avis,' continued Holmes, 'I do recollect that she mentioned being tired of prostitution, and planned to one day give it up to take on some other line of work.'

  'Did she speak of what line of work? Or where such a job might exist?'

  'I'm afraid I can't recollect. My memory for names isn't what it used to be.'

  Pinkerton looked down at his notes. 'Greta Ryan.'

  'You know I examined her early this morning at her hotel,' Holmes said openly.

  'I know you did,' said Pinkerton.

  Holmes shrugged. 'She seemed quite satisfied with her lot. I had the impression that she was pleased with her vacation. She spoke of catching up on her shopping. I think she mentioned seeing some kind of garment that she wanted to purchase at Carson, Pirie, Scott. That is the most I can remember, I'm afraid.'

  'Yet, she did not go shopping today, because she packed her bags and checked out of the hotel.'

  'I am truly surprised,' said Holmes.

  Pinkerton lifted his big body out of the chair. 'I appreciate your cooperation, Dr Holmes. If you can jog your memory to recollect any more, I wish you'd give me a call with any information, no matter how seemingly insignificant. You have my card with the telephone number. Do phone me if something comes to mind.'

  Holmes was on his feet. 'I will, yo
u can be sure. We must help Minna get her girls back.'

  He preceded Pinkerton to the front door and showed him out, securing the lock firmly behind his visitor.

  Returning to his office, he chuckled. He'd done a smooth job, and that fool of a detective had swallowed it whole. No one, anywhere, was smarter than Herman Holmes, and no one more clever and deceptive.

  Still chuckling, he crossed his office to the levers and brought up the top lever, turning on the gas.

  Goodbye, dear Greta. When he had his scalpel in hand, he would have another orgasm with her – the most exciting one of all. He could almost hear the gas hissing into the airtight room. It was a wonderful day, wonderful.

  Once back in his own cluttered office, safe behind his own cluttered desk, William Pinkerton fished about in his jacket for a notebook, found it, and turned to the pages on which he had scrawled during the Dr Holmes interview.

  On his way to the office, he had intended to phone Minna Everleigh and inform her that nothing had come of the meeting with Dr Holmes. But now, finishing with the notebook, he had second thoughts.

  Pinkerton telephoned the Everleigh Club, and waited patiently until Minna Everleigh came on.

  'Miss Everleigh. This is William Pinkerton again.'

  'Yes?' Her voice was eager.

  'I've just come from a meeting with Dr Herman Holmes. While he was cooperative, I'm not certain the meeting was

  productive. I have a few leads on your missing girls, but they are vague. I will pursue them, but if nothing comes of them, I would like to pursue another course.'

  'What course?'

  'It involves Dr Holmes's veracity.'

  'You think he was misleading you about Fanny, Avis, and Greta?'

  'Possibly. At any rate, do you mind if I pursue this investigation a step further?'

  'Will that be expensive?'

  'It won't cost you a penny, unless I get results. Is that agreeable?'

  'I couldn't ask for anything better.'

  'I'll go on then,' said Pinkerton. 'Let's see what happens.'

  SEVEN

  Minna Everleigh summoned Karen Grant to her office. Minna, remaining seated, pointed Karen to a chair.

  'There's something I'd like you to do for me,' Minna began.

  'If it's something I can do, I'll be glad to.'

  Minna shifted in her chair. 'Have you ever been to Marshall Field's department store downtown?'

  Karen smiled. 'He advertises it as "Everybody's Store", so I'm sure everybody has been there. Yes, it was one of the first places I visited when I came to Chicago.'

  'Very well, then, I want you to do me a favour. I had intended to escort my niece, Cathleen, to Marshall Field's to select her wedding gown. I myself spend a fair amount of time and money there. The clerks and managers know me well, and so does Mr Marshall Field himself. Did you see him standing near the door?'

  'No, I didn't.'

  'Well, he may approach and question you as a new customer. If you want to avoid this, you'd better know what he looks like. He's a grey-haired man in his late sixties, pink cheeks, about six feet tall. He's a bit hunched and somewhat bow-legged. He usually keeps the forefinger of his right hand in his vest pocket because it's slightly malformed. Anyway, he always teases me about running a big business too with our Everleigh Club. Well, I realized if I took Cathleen in for her wedding gown, Marshall Field might see me and come over and make some joke about the Club. I could not let that happen in front of Cathleen. You do understand?'

  'I do.'

  'I'm asking you to escort Cathleen to Marshall Field's in my place and help her select her wedding gown. I told Harold

  T. Armbruster when we all lunched with him that I wanted a white satin gown with lace for Cathleen. I'd like you to help her select something along that line. Price is no object. Will you do that this afternoon?'

  'I'd be delighted,' Karen said with enthusiasm.

  Karen had welcomed the opportunity to get away from the Club, where she had begun to feel guilty performing as a spy for Mayor Harrison. It had been all right in the beginning, when there had been only the mayor to satisfy, but now there was someone more important to satisfy – Minna's nephew, Bruce. Karen felt less and less pleased about being responsible for exposing Minna and Aida to their relatives.

  Further, there was another reason that Karen welcomed the opportunity to go shopping with Cathleen. It would be an opportunity to discuss Bruce Lester with his sister. Karen wanted to know everything possible about him.

  Because she was in love with him.

  Because she wanted to find out from Cathleen if he was really in love with her.

  With an effervescent, talkative Cathleen in tow, Karen descended from the electric streetcar at the corner of State and Washington streets.

  Alongside her on the cobblestone street, Karen could hear Cathleen's excitement as they approached the mammoth department store. Marshall Field's was twelve storeys high and it occupied the entire city block between State Street and Wabash Avenue, and between Washington and Randolph.

  They walked to the Washington Street entrance and were greeted royally by the liveried doorman. Inside, they crossed the highly polished black marble floor. House detectives, well-dressed clerks, and floorwalkers with carnations in their lapels blended in with crowds of shoppers.

  Briefly, Karen led Cathleen on a tour of the showcases, pressing forward to see the array of gloves, powder boxes,

  and jewellery illuminated by the pink overhead globes with their new electric bulbs. Karen pointed out the store's library, furnished with green leather chairs and Oriental rugs. They paused to visit the elegant powder room, a spacious expanse of pale-green travertine walls, silver mirrors, and green willow rockers.

  They took an elevator to the top floor, where a salesman proudly informed them there was a cold storage vault that held 25,000 fur coats. Then they went down to the floor that sold muffs and hats, and after that to the lace counter, where they saw ruffled parasols in white, black, and ecru. Finally, they toured the yard goods section, wandering through endless aisles of silk, cotton, woollens, and chiffon with hand-sewn beading.

  When they reached the display of lavish wedding gowns, a tall, regal saleswoman with bunned, grey hair piled atop her head, introduced herself.

  'I am Mme Judith. May I help you?'

  Karen nodded. 'My name is Karen Grant, and this is Cath-leen Lester. Cathleen's the bride-to-be.'

  'Congratulations, Miss Lester,' said Mme Judith. 'May I bring you our newest styles?'

  'Oh, that won't be necessary,' Cathleen exclaimed. 'I see the gown I want.'

  She reached out her hand and touched the gown draped on a waxen store mannequin. The gown was made of heavy white satin and trimmed with rose point lace. A train of satin and lace flowed from a crown of orange blossoms set upon the mannequin's head.

  'You have the best taste,' Mme Judith stated. 'This is our finest import from Paris.'

  'I only hope Alan likes it,' said Cathleen.

  'He'll adore it,' Karen assured her.

  Mme Judith was removing the wedding gown from the form. 'I think this is your size, young lady,' she said. 'Why don't you try it on?'

  The saleswoman carried the gown into die fitting room, and Cathleen and Karen followed. As Cathleen removed her outer garments her eyes remained fastened on the gown. 'It's beautiful. I was just thinking how lovely it would look on you.'

  'On me?' said Karen. 'I haven't got anyone to marry.'

  As Karen assisted her in getting into the gown, Cathleen said, 'I know someone who would like to marry you.'

  'Who?'

  'My brother Bruce.'

  'He hasn't shown the slightest interest in me.'

  'Oh, he cares for you,' said Cathleen. 'He's always speaking of you when we're together.'

  'Why doesn't he speak to me?' said Karen.

  Cathleen was adjusting the gown. 'Maybe because he feels he can't. Maybe because he realizes he's in big financial trouble.'

&n
bsp; 'You mean trying to raise money for your father?'

  'Yes, that first. And then he must figure out how he can provide for a wife and himself.'

  'You're trying to tell me he may consider marrying Judith Armbruster to – to take care of everything.'

  'Well, unless something else works out.'

  'What else can work out?'

  'His long shot hope is the race,' said Cathleen.

  'The what?'

  'The American Derby day after tomorrow.'

  Karen shook her head. 'Everyone thinks his horse can't win.'

  'Bruce hopes he will, but I too believe it's a long shot.'

  'I'd bet the winner is the odds-on favourite, Judith Armbruster.'

  'We'll see,' said Cathleen.

  She primped in front of a mirror. 'What do you think?'

  'Gorgeous,' said Karen. 'It makes me happy for you.'

  But it made her more miserable than ever for herself.

  The morning of the American Derby was warm, but the sun stood high and clear and the temperature rose steadily. By afternoon it was hot. Just what Snapper Garrison had earlier hoped for and even predicted, Bruce Lester reminded himself as he walked into the stable area, accompanied by Karen and his veiled Aunt Minna.

  Frontier was in front of his stall, placidly chewing some lumps of sugar as Snapper Garrison kept circling him, carefully supervising the trainer saddling the colt. Garrison watched while the saddle was placed on a cloth over the withers, then secured with a leather cinch belt. As the belt was threaded and tightened through the buckle, he turned to greet Bruce, Karen, and Minna.

  'Welcome,' Garrison said. He mopped his brow. 'Perfect day. Couldn't ask for a better one.'

  'You wanted it hot,' said Bruce. 'Why?'

  Garrison's smile was enigmatic. 'You'll see, boss.'

  'How does he ride?' asked Bruce. 'You've been working with him.'

  Garrison patted the horse's flank. 'He's fast – too fast at the break,' said Garrison. 'By the time he reaches the mile he begins to wear down.' He grinned. 'I hope to change all that in the Derby.'

  Bruce was not optimistic. 'Apparently no one else thinks he has any chance. The odds on Frontier are fifteen to one. The odds on The Picket are three to five. The Picket's an overwhelming favourite.'