The Man with the Magic Eardrums

by Harry Stephen Keeler

  I nodded. Though I couldn’t see what connection they all had with skulls!

  He continued. “But you put it, Mr. King: ‘the man who is going to take your livelihood away.’ And I guess you didn’t hear me correct that verbally to—to was. No! I see, though, that you at least suspected there was to be some secret star witness who was to appear in November for the case-for-abolishment. But since Father’s never published a book about his life study—which has just been an avocation with him—I suppose you, and the other bookmakers in America, didn’t have much to guess on. However, it came out fully in that story that ran all over the country 13—no—12 days ago—about the forthcoming suit of this chap Soo Ching, the Chinese laundryman of Buffalo, against the Buffalo Trust and Savings Bank. Which you’ll remember—”

  “Wait,” I told him, mentally figuring back 12 days and realizing that it must have been approximately that date when I had had that abscessed tooth in San Francisco, with pain so bad, at least until it was drawn, that I hadn’t been able to do anything but walk the floor for 48 hours. “When that story broke, I wasn’t reading even—even—that is, you see, I was in—that sanitarium.”

  “Yes, of course. I forgot that utterly—for the second. Well, the reporters, it seems, had long ago picked up a hint from Washington—possibly from Senator Copebrooke himself—Lord only knows where they did pick it up—that the name of the star hidden witness was Steen or Stein—or something like that—and that the facts, figures and statistics he would present before the Senatorial Committee would sweep horse-race betting out of America entirely. That’s absolutely all they could get hold of at first. Then, much much later, my client Soo Ching busted into print. And understand me, Mr. King, I don’t mean the first time 5—no, 6—weeks ago—when the praecipe of his suit was filed—for we soft-pedaled completely then on what we had—even had Soo file tentatively as his own lawyer. With the results that the newspapers all over the country treated it just as a ‘nut’ story—Chinese ‘nut’!—and only gave it a half dozen lines or so. I’m speaking of the last story—the one you haven’t seen. Though I’ve a copy of it here. Which I’d be more than glad to show you. This was the story that ran when Soo’s suit was set for hearing by Judge Emmanuel Karten. Since we had to give the basis for our suit, in order to have it set for trial, I naturally had to come out in the open, as Soo’s attorney, and with our facts. The reporters naturally descended on me for the fuller facts. And that’s how they stumbled—like the beggars always do!—on a tie-up between me—and that Senatorial Investigation, i.e., Father. They probably quizzed somebody who knew me—maybe in the Brisbane Building there—to try and see whether I was living high—and in line to pluck Soo Ching if he won his suit—and found that Father had made a life-study of something—like the horse-race betting evil. I suppose then they had their Washington confreres descend on Senator Copebrooke—and rag hell out of him—and thus got the name of his witness—for then the Buffalo press boys descended on me—put me on the pan—which, Lord knows they did—and worse than I’ve ever put any witness on the pan when I was a criminal lawyer. With the result that when this Soo Ching story blossomed forth into full print—the recent bigger story, I mean—it naturally carried me with it and all the interconnections. About my being the son of Rabbi David Steenburg who etc. etc. etc.” He paused. “But I rather think you know enough about the newspaper racket, Mr. King, to get exactly what happened.”

  “I only get rather clearly now,” I told him, “that your father is to be a voluntary expert witness before those busybody Senatorial grandmothers, for the ‘case-for’; while I, as president of the American Bookmakers’ Association, was to be subpoenaed—as sure as shooting!—to be the star involuntary expert witness for the ‘case-for’; to be forced to admit, by that damn little pepper-pot of an Alfonse Secora, all the evil things we bookies are supposed to do against the bettors in the way of compound mathematics—in the matter of the odds, that is. And the conspiracies we enter into. And the horses we theoretically dope!” I stopped. “However,” I commented significantly, “I’m not subpoenaed yet! Unless maybe, Steenburg, you’ve got one in your breast pocket there for me? Which I rather doubt, as you’re too amiable for a subpoena server!” I paused. “Well, Steenburg, what do you want to see me about, anyway? Is it that skull I own? Or do you want to stake the killing you make off of this Ching-Ching-Soo on a horse? Or what?”

  “Oh say, Mr. King—don’t say that. About my killing! Here—by golly!—I want you to read that Soo Ching story. It’s very short at that. I want to get it to you right off the bat that I’m not playing to grab cash—from anybody.” He was fumbling in his breast pocket as he spoke. If a subpoena were coming forth—well—it would have to come forth! But none came. Came, instead, a folded piece of printed newspaper. From which, as he unfolded it, a smaller piece dropped out. He handed the latter to me.

  “This smaller item here is the first thing ever published on Soo Ching,” he explained. “It hasn’t the Buffalo headline—for it’s one of the A.P. stories run all over the country, I guess—a friend of mine in another city mailed it to me—a chap who knows I do real estate work today—with the joking suggestion that I grab Soo’s case. Little did he know that I was already Soo’s lawyer!”

  I took the small item from his fingers and read it quickly. It ran:

  CHINESE SUES BANK FOR REAL ESTATE

  Buffalo, N. Y. September 13 (A-P): Soo Ching, a Chinese laundryman living at 574 Riley Street, filed today the praecipe of a suit against the Buffalo Trust and Savings Bank, naming himself tentatively as attorney, and claiming possession of the land under the skyscraper. It is thought the Chinese is mentally unhinged, but he cannot at present be located, probably being concealed by well-meaning relatives in Chinatown.

  I handed the tiny item back to Steenburg, puzzledly. Being an Associated Press item, it had probably been in one or the other of the Frisco papers I had read at the time it was printed. But it was so small that even I myself, back there in early September, had never seen it.

  Steenburg handed me the other clipping now. Again speaking.

  “But here, Mr. King, is the story I’ve been talking of. This one, too, is one of the syndicated versions—without the Buffalo headline—for it was mailed to me, the day after it appeared all over the U.S.A., by the same friend I just spoke of, and with just a sheet of paper on which he wrote: ‘Holding out on me, weren’t you, Sol?’”

  I leaned back and surveyed it. The ever-hungry press hadn’t got a picture of Soo Ching—for, like all Chinamen, he had been too elusive. But they had got one of Sol—and I didn’t doubt that Sol himself, not averse to a bit of advertising, had given them the very photograph—or else pose—that was reproduced in halftone here. He was there, in the one-column-wide picture, in fact, exactly as he was in front of me now. Striped suit, rakish hat—for the hat, just now on the hatrack across the room, was atop his head in the picture—silk handkerchief dropping from handkerchief pocket, even the violet in the buttonhole. Evidently he was never without that violet! Underneath the picture it said just: “Sol Steenburg, Buffalo attorney who prosecutes unusual million-dollar suit for Chinese laundryman.”

  And still hopelessly mystified—although after I completed the reading of the story I was to learn exactly how it fitted into the curious web of my life—I proceeded to peruse the clipping slowly, and painstakingly, memorizing it as nearly as I was able, by that odd faculty of memorization which has been mine since birth; and so that, if anything in it dealt with matters to be brought up later by Steenburg, I would not have to refer to it again.

  And in its words there was added—as it were!—to certain drama already existing within the Family King, other drama existent within the Family Steenburg—and still other drama in the Family Soo!

  CHAPTER X

  The Soo Ching Story

  CHINESE LAUNDRYMAN’S SUIT FOR MILLION-DOLLAR BUSINESS SITE SET FOR TRIAL

  His Attorne
y Presents to Newspapermen,

  for First Time, Facts Upon Which

  Unique Suit Is Based

  Buffalo, N. Y. (Oct. 10):A-P:—The case of Soo Ching, Buffalo Chinese laundryman who 4 weeks ago filed suit against the Buffalo Trust and Savings Bank for title to the expensive plot of land lying underneath the bank skyscraper, has been set for opening by Superior Judge Emmanuel Karten for October 23, 9:30 a.m. Soo Ching’s claim to the skyscraper site is based upon a conveyance made 55 years ago, to his grandfather, Soo Long, also a laundryman, and whose direct and only descendant he is. The conveyance was executed by a customer of Soo Long’s, Christopher Schurz of Buffalo, who became so enraged at the sawtooth edges put on his detachable cuffs by the laundries of that day, that he deeded to Soo Long, the first laundryman who did up his shirts and collars and cuffs satisfactorily, the vacant plot of land today occupied by the Buffalo Trust and Savings Bank skyscraper. The site, at the time of its being thus deeded, was worth at best only a few hundred dollars.

  Soo Ching’s present claim to the land is based upon his recent finding of the deed in question. It was found by him in an old ironing board which had belonged to his grandfather, Soo Long, and which had been kept for years on the wall of his father, Soo Chong, and on his own wall, in turn, as a sacred ancestral memento. The deed was hidden in the cloth wrappings of the ironing board. It shows, by its stampings, that it was duly recorded at the county recorder of docu­ments, under the name filled in upon it, which was S. Long, although for strict accuracy it should have been—under the rule of Chinese nomenclature—made out to L. Soo and have been recorded under the name Soo.

  There is no rule of law, however, decreeing that rules of Chinese nomenclature shall prevail with respect to legal documents. The real complication in the case lies in the odd coincidence that Christopher Schurz, some months later, and just before his death, either forgetting in his debility due to a long illness that he had executed this deed to his laundry­man, or else believing that the latter had accepted it merely in a spirit of friendliness, or else that Soo was ignorant of its significance, re-deeded the same property to a blood neph­ew, Samuel Long, again carelessly filling out the deed under the name S. Long. The nephew, however, lost or mislaid his deed a day or two after receiving it, and Schurtz obligingly executed him a duplicate. After which the nephew, Samuel Long, then found the lost deed, and gave it to his father, Angus Long, to keep for him.

  When finally, after some months, he did send down for recording the substitute duplicate deed he held, it came back to him with the words stamped on it by the recorder: “Already recorded.” He naturally believed that his father, who by that time had gone to Scotland, had recorded for him, in his name, the duplicate deed which Angus Long was holding, and Samuel Long thereafter believed that the property was in his name.

  From Samuel Long the property naturally travelled through many hands, gradually increasing in value, and was finally purchased, 49 years later, for $600,000, by the Buffalo Trust and Savings Bank.

  The defense of the bank against the deed in question will doubtlessly, so says a present real estate attorney, be based upon two points: first, no consideration, i.e. that a deed, based on mere satisfaction at having cuffs and collars without sawtooth edges, cannot be valid; second, that Christ­opher Schurz was insane if he deeded his property on such a consideration. The bank, argues this attorney, will doubtlessly maintain that Schurz’s subsequent correct deeding to his nephew shows recovery of his sanity.

  Soo Ching’s interests are revealed for the first time as being represented by Sol Steenburg, residing at 289 Colvin Parkway, a specialist in land tenure, former criminal attor­ney in Buffalo. Steenburg maintains, in an exclusive inter­view to this press service in which he made available to the press for the first time the foregoing facts, that the only point he will require to establish, in view of the existence and recordance of a valid deed in and to the long-deceased Soo Long, and the fact that Soo Ching can be proved to be Soo Long’s only descendant, is that Samuel Long, the subsequent recipient of a similar paper was, at the time the first valid deed was issued and recorded, in Scotland, and had not then even made the acquaintance of his uncle Christopher Schurz. Steenburg also took occasion to refute certain charges which, he says, have been bruited around and about Buffalo: namely, that he took this case from an ignorant laundryman on a 50-50 basis, and stands to make a half million dollars if he wins it. He declares that he accepted the case from the Chinese Protective Association far a fixed fee of $500, win or lose, and that he took it purely for professional purposes. He showed newspapermen of this news service his contract with the C.P.A. to this effect.

  Steenburg is the son of Rabbi David Steenburg, long a revered figure in Buffalo Jewry, whose life study of the evils of race-track gambling and race-track booking have resulted in his being asked, through the request of his lifelong friend, Senator Copebrooke, to be star witness at the forthcoming senatorial investigation November 10th, conducted by the fiery little prosecutor Alfonse Secora, the full name of the investigation being An Investigation Toward Abolishment by Federal Statute of All Race-Track Bookmaking in America, by Machine, Oral, and All Other Recorded Systems.

  CHAPTER XI

  “MUM’S THE WORD!”

  I looked up from the clipping. In fact, folded it up and handed it back to Steenburg.

  He tucked it away carefully, almost pridefully, in his breast pocket, and commenced talking.

  “Now, Mr. King, I’m going to be absolutely frank with you. Which I can be, in view of two specific facts: One of which is, of course, that we’re all alone. And of which fact I’m assured now, completely so. The other reason is that they call you Square-Shooter King. And—”

  “—and also ‘Bring-a-Friend’ King,” I put in. “And likewise ‘Camera-Shy’ King. And, again, those who drop their rolls on one of my books, call me ‘Lucky King’.”

  “I knew,” he said curiously, “that you were known as ‘“Bring-a-Friend” King’—but never why. Do you mind telling me? Or—”

  “Not at all,” I assured him. “Whenever I’ve given a party here—I’ve always made it an absolute condition that each guest ‘bring a friend.’ In that way I’ve been enabled to enlarge my social sphere, ever larger. Which is the sphere I’ve preferred to enlarge—not the track sphere. In short, when a party is going full swing here, over half the guests are virtual strangers to me.”

  “But,” he expostulated, “in the usual party, guests are swarming all over one’s house. And aren’t you afraid, with strangers in the place, that—”

  “In the first place,” I interrupted him, “none of my friends would ever bring anybody here but a—well, the old slang term ‘right guy’ is the idea I’m trying to convey. And in the second place—” I grinned a bit, and nodded toward the safe in back of him—“in the second place, we’ve always locked up everything really valuable—or put such well away!”

  He grinned himself at my back-action expression of absolute faith in the friends of friends of the Family King!

  And now we both grew serious again.

  And I spoke.

  “And you were say—”

  “Yes,” he broke in, “I was saying I was going to be quite frank. And am.” He paused. “Well, as you can guess from that story I just showed you, Mr. King, as criminal attorney in years back, I was mixed up with lots of shady transactions—as such, at least, would later turn out to be! Which couldn’t be helped. That was my business, you see! But my father, now—well, he’s one of the finest old men who ever lived. There isn’t a breath of scandal that’s ever been attached to his name. Ever! And it isn’t necessary to tell you how much I love my father. Indeed, I dropped the practice of criminal law—and took up real-estate practice solely because he begged me to. I might have been making more money today—yes—if I hadn’t dropped criminal law. But I’m not grousing. Myself—and the old man—we’re just like this.” He held
up two fingers, pressed close to each other. “He brought me up,” Steenburg went on. “No mother to help on that, either! And did we have a tough time! Rabbis don’t always live on the fat of the land, you know! But he managed to send me to college—when he didn’t have the tail of a gefüllte-fish to put in his own belly. And he—but we’ll leave all that be. Sufficient, Mr. King, for me to say that the old man values his good name more than anything else he has in life. And—well—suppose I tell you that Father isn’t going to appear—November 10th—before that Senatorial Investigation?”

  “Not—appear?” I asked. “But—why?”

  “Well, frankly, Father has been thinking it all over. And he’s concluded, after poring over a lot of the old books of Moses—which I’ve never even read myself!—that he’s going contrariwise to the tenets of our faith in deliberately creating a lot of enemies against the Jews by interfering in what, after all, doesn’t concern him except as a social study. Senator Copebrooke may think he has an unconditional promise of Father’s to appear—but if he gets it out later and reads it more carefully he’ll find that it’s purely a conditional affair. For I dictated it! And so—Father is simply going to Europe—on November 7th—to Palestine, in fact. There isn’t much possibility of his ever being subpoenaed, prior to that, by the little Secora bird—or the animated pepper-pot, as you rightfully term him!—who’s practically certain to conduct that investigation. For Senator Copebrooke has undoubtedly assured Secora that he holds Father—in the bag. And after November 7th Father will be beyond all subpoenas—even if they come. For he’ll be aboard a British liner—the Queen Mary—in mid-ocean; and nobody but the three of us, Mr. King—you, he, and I—know that fact—in advance.” Steenburg paused troubledly. “But do you have any idea of what the world would say, Mr. King, if, after that investigation takes place—without the really star witness—it should ever come out that Sol Steenburg, Dave Steenburg’s only son, was closeted here with you—in the late hours of the evening—on the night of October 22nd—alone? What would the world say, Mr. King?”