‘Why—I guess it sounds a little hard—but—of course I’m sorry for Frimbo and all—but death is such a common experience to me that I suppose I take it as a matter of course. What I meant was that at least he didn’t die in our debt.’
So bald a statement rendered even the illusionless Dart silent a moment, while Dr Archer audibly gasped. Then the detective said:
‘Well—evidently you didn’t know Frimbo as well as I had hoped. You knew no one who would want him out of the way?’
‘No. And whoever it was certainly didn’t do me any favour.’
‘You were here earlier this evening, weren’t you, Mr Crouch?’
‘Yes. I left about nine o’clock. From then until a few minutes ago I was at the Forty Club around the corner playing cards.’ He smiled. ‘You can easily verify that by one of the attendants—or by my friend, Si Brandon, whom I plucked quite clean.’
‘Tell me—could any one get into this room and out without being seen by people in the hall or in the waiting-room?’
‘Indeed I don’t know. This is the first time since Frimbo came that I’ve been in here.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even when you collected rents yourself, you never had to come in here?’
‘No. I used to wait in the hall there. Frimbo’s man would tell him I was here for the rent and he would send it out. I’d hand the receipt over to the man and that was all.’
‘I see.’
‘And there are no concealed passages in this house by which some one could get about undetected?’
‘Not unless Frimbo put ’em in himself. I never bothered him or nosed around to see what he was up to. His lease required him to leave things at the end as he found them at the beginning and I let it go at that. But in a room like this I should think a lot of undetected movement would be easy for anyone who put his mind to it. The darkness and those wall drapes and all—’
‘Of course. How long did the lease still have to run?’
‘Three more years—and at a rate considerably higher than I’ll be able to get from anyone now in this depression.’
‘Was there anything peculiar about your lease agreement—special features and such?’
‘No. Nothing. Except perhaps the agreement about heating. I paid for the coal and he paid for the labour. That is, he had his man keep the fires. There’s only one boiler, of course.’
‘His man would have to pass through your part of the house quite often then to tend the fire, put out ashes, and so on?’
‘Yes—he did.’
‘Well, Mr Crouch, I suppose that’s all then for the present. Except that an apology is due you for making use of your parlour downstairs without permission. Dr Archer here moved the victim down there to examine him better—before he knew he was dead.’
‘Oh, is that you there, doc? Look like anybody else in the dark, don’t you? Don’t mention it—glad to have been able to help out. Perhaps if you’d tell me the circumstances, officer, I might run across something of value. Unless, of course, you have reasons for not disclosing what is known so far.’
‘Don’t mind telling you at all,’ decided Dart. ‘The victim was stunned by a blow with a hard object—a sort of club—then stifled by a handkerchief pushed down his throat.’
‘Judas Priest!’
‘We have the handkerchief. The club is being examined for finger prints. It was last seen—prior to Frimbo’s death I mean—shortly after ten-thirty, resting in its apparently usual place on the mantelpiece in the front room. No one admits seeing it after that time until we found it here on the floor beside this chair, in which Frimbo’s body was discovered. Testimony indicates that Frimbo was alive and talking as late as five minutes to eleven. The club was removed therefore by someone who was in the front room after ten-thirty and used by someone who was out of the front room by five minutes to eleven. Presumably the person who removed it was the person who used it. This person, of course, could have hidden until five minutes to eleven in the darkness or behind the drapes of the walls. But certainly he was one of the people who passed from that room into this room during that twenty-five-minute period.’
‘Say—that’s a swell method. Beats a maxim silencer, doesn’t it?’
‘Well—I don’t know. Leaves more evidence, apparently.’
‘Yes, but the more the evidence the more the possibility of confusion.’
‘True. But if the two clues we are studying—the ownership of the handkerchief and the identification of the finger prints—coincide, somebody’ll be due for a toasting. On a specially designed toaster.’
‘I don’t think you’ll find any finger prints on your club though.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ll bet the chap handled the club with the handkerchief.’
‘Hm—that’s a good suggestion. But we’ll have to wait for the results of the examination of the club to check that.’
‘Well,’ Crouch rose, ‘if I can think of anything or find anything that might help, I’ll be glad to do so. I’m easy to get hold of if you need me again.’
‘Thank you, Mr Crouch. I won’t detain you.’ Dart called to the bluecoat at the hall door: ‘Pass Mr Crouch out. Or did you say you had something to do downstairs, Mr Crouch?’
‘Well, I did, but it can wait till morning. I might be in your way now—searching around and all. Tomorrow’ll be time enough—last few touches you know. Easier to handle a dead face than a live one—I’ve found that out.’
‘Interesting,’ commented Dart. ‘I never thought of an undertaker as a beautician.’
‘You’d be surprised. We can make the dark ones bright and the bright ones lighter—that seems to be the ambition in this community. We can fatten thin ones and reduce fat ones. I venture to say that, by the simplest imaginable changes, I could make Doc Archer there quite unrecognizable.’
‘The need,’ murmured the doctor, ‘may be present, but I trust the occasion does not soon arise.’
‘Well, good luck, officer. Good-night, doc. See you again sometime when things are brighter.’
‘Good-night.’
‘Good-night, Crouch.’
‘Why,’ asked Dr Archer, ‘didn’t you let him know his wife was still here?’
‘She was here when the thing happened. I may need her. If I’d told him she was still here he’d have wanted to see her and she’d have wanted to leave with him.’
‘You could keep him too, then.’
‘Had no reason to keep him. His story checked perfectly with his wife’s in spite of my efforts to trick him. And I can easily check his previous whereabouts, just as he said—he wouldn’t have been so definite about ’em if they couldn’t have been verified.’
‘He could pay liars.’
‘But he actually wasn’t here. Brown, Jenkins, Mrs Snead, or his wife—surely one of them would have mentioned him.’
‘That’s so.’
‘And Frimbo was a goose that laid golden eggs for him.’
‘If it was anybody else besides Martha, I might be suspicious of—’
‘Of what?’
‘What she might have laid for Frimbo.’
‘Doctor—spare my blushes!’ Then seriously, ‘But you’re sure that she’s an irreproachable character. And I’m just as sure Frimbo was not interested in women. That all argues against any outraged husband theory. There’s absolutely no basis for it and even if there was, there’s nothing that could possibly incriminate Crouch.’
‘You’re right. But don’t forget to check up.’ The doctor fell to ruminating in his wordy and roundabout way. ‘And keep your pupils dilated for more evidence. I have an impression—just an impression—that bright plumage oft adorns a bird of prey. Curious fellow, Crouch. Bright exterior, genial, cheerful even, despite his doleful occupation; but underneath, hard as a pawnbroker, with an extraordinarily keen awareness of his own possessions. Imagine a man congratulating himself on acquiring an extra month’s rent before his tenant
came to grief.’
‘Well, I don’t know. Suppose a patient of yours died during an operation for which you had already collected the fee. Would you give back the fee—or would you be glad you had got it first?’
‘I would desire with all my heart,’ murmured the doctor, ‘to reimburse the bereaved relatives. But since that would resemble an admission that my operation was at fault and would hence endanger my professional reputation, no course would remain except to rush speedily to the bank and deposit the amount to my credit.’
‘Self-preservation,’ grinned Dart. ‘Well, we can’t blame Crouch for the same thing. He spoke bluntly, but maybe the man’s just honest.’
‘Maybe everybody is,’ said Dr Archer with a sigh.
CHAPTER IX
MEANWHILE Bubber Brown, riding beside Officer Hanks in Detective Dart’s touring car was evincing a decided appreciation of his new importance. Over his countenance spread a broad grin of satisfaction, and as the machine swung up the Avenue, he reared back in his seat and surveyed his less favoured fellow men with a superior air. The car swung into 135th Street, pulled up at the curb in front of the station-house, and acquired presently a new passenger in the person of an enormous black giant named Small, who managed to crowd himself into the tonneau. As it drew away, Bubber could contain himself no longer.
‘Hot damn!’ he exclaimed. ‘In power at last!’ As the little five-passenger car started off again—‘Y’all s’posed to follow my directions now, ain’t you?’
‘Yep,’ said Hanks. ‘Where to now?’
‘Henry Patmore’s Pool Room—Fifth Avenue and 131st Street. And do me jes’ one kind favour, will you Mr Hanks?’
‘What?’
‘See that red traffic light yonder?’
‘Yep.’
‘Run on past it, will you please?’
Shortly they reached their objective, got out, and, with Bubber expansively leading the way, entered Patmore’s well-known meeting-place.
Patmore’s boasted two separate entrances, one leading into the poolroom proper, the other into the barroom by its side. These two long, low rooms communicated within by means of a wide doorway in the middle of the intervening wall, and also by means of a small back gaming-room into which one might pass from either the speakeasy or the billiard parlour. It was into the poolroom that Bubber led the way. He and his uniformed escort paused just within the entrance to survey the scene. Two long rows of green-topped tables extended the length of the bare wooden floor. Players in shirt sleeves moved about, hats on the backs of their heads, cigarettes drooping from their lips; leaned far over the felt to make impossible shots, whooped at their successes, cursed their failures, thrust cue-points aloft to mark off scores, or thumped cue-butts upon the floor to signal an attendant.
One of these gentlemen, seeing the entrance of Bubber’s familiar rotund figure flanked by two officers of the law, called sympathetically:
‘Tough titty, short-order. What they got you for this time?’
‘They ain’t got me,’ responded Mr Brown glowing with his new importance. ‘I got them. And you get fly, I’ll get you, too. Now what you think o’ that?’
‘I think you jes’ a pop-eyed liar,’ said the other, dismissing the matter to sight on a new shot.
Bubber asked the manager, standing nearby, ‘Say, boy, you seen Spider Webb?’
The one addressed looked at him and looked at the policemen. Then he inquired blandly, ‘Who’n hell is Spider Webb?’
‘Damn!’ Bubber murmured, pushing back his hat and scratching his head. ‘You boogies sho’ get dumb in the presence of the law. Listen, this ain’ nothin’ on him—jes’ want to get some dope from him, that’s all. Y’see, I’m doin’ a little detective work now’—he produced one of the cards he had shown Detective Perry Dart—‘and I want Spider’s slant on a little case.’
‘So I got to know him?’ bridled the other.
‘You did know him.’
‘Well, I done forgot him, then.’
‘Thanks, liar.’
‘You welcome—stool.’
Ordinarily Bubber would have resented the epithet, which was much worse than the one he himself had used; but he was now in such lofty spirits that the opinion of a mere poolroom manager could not touch him.
‘You all wait here,’ he suggested to the officers. ‘The Spider might try a fast one if he feels guilty.’
But before this expedition had started, Hanks had caught a sign from Detective Dart that Mr Bubber Brown must be brought back as well as those whom Mr Brown identified; and so now Hanks offered an amendment:
‘We’ll leave Small at the door,’ he said, ‘and I’ll come along with you.’
So it was agreed, and Bubber with Hanks at his heels made his way to the back room of the establishment. As they approached it, Bubber saw the door open and Spider Webb start out. Looking up, Webb recognized Bubber at a distance, stopped, noted the policeman, stepped back and quickly shut the door. Bubber reached the door and flung it open a few seconds later, but his rapid survey revealed a total and astonishing absence of Spider Webb.
‘Where’d that boogy go?’ inquired Bubber blankly.
‘Who?’ said the house-man, sitting on a stool at the mid-point of one side of the table, running the game.
‘Spider Webb.’
The house-man looked about. ‘Any o’ you all seen Spider Webb?’ he asked the surrounding atmosphere. The players were so intent on the game that they did not even seem to hear. Upon receiving no response, the house-man appeared to dismiss the matter and also became absorbed again in the fall of cards. Bubber and his policeman were decidedly outside the world of their consideration.
But the newly appointed champion of the law now caught sight of the door at the other end of the room leading into the bar which parallelled the poolroom. With more speed than consideration for those he swept past, he bustled along to the far end of the chamber, opened that door and burst forth into the long narrow barroom. Hanks was but a moment behind him, for Hanks was as concerned with keeping close to Bubber as Bubber was with overtaking Webb. The barroom, however, was as innocent of Spider Webb as had been the blackjack chamber, and Bubber was still expressing his bewilderment in a vigorous scratching of the back of his head when the gentleman pursued appeared. He came through the wide doorway by which the barroom communicated directly with the poolroom. He came, in other words, out of the poolroom. The mystery of how he managed to appear from a place where he certainly had not been—for had not Bubber and Hanks just traversed the poolroom?—was submerged in the more important fact that he was proceeding now very rapidly toward the street door.
‘Spider! Hey, Spider!’ called Bubber.
Mr Webb halted and turned in apparent surprise. Bubber and the policeman overtook him.
‘What’s on your mind?’ inquired the Spider quite calmly and casually, quite, indeed, as though he had not been in any hurry whatever and had no other interest in the world than the answer to his question.
‘How did you get in yonder?’ Bubber wanted to know.
‘How,’ inquired Webb, ‘did you and your boy friend get in here?’
Bubber abandoned the lesser mystery to pursue his interest in the original one. ‘Listen. Somebody put that thing on Frimbo tonight. We all got to get together over there and find out who done it. Everybody what was there.’
‘Put what thing on him?’
‘Cut him loose, man. Put him on the well-known spot.’
‘Frimbo—’
‘Hisself.’
‘Killed him?’
‘If you want to put it that way.’
‘Good-night!’ Spider Webb’s astonishment yielded to a sense of his own implication. ‘So what?’ he inquired rather harshly.
‘So you, bein’ among those present, you got to return to the scene of the tragedy. That’s all.’
‘Yea? And who knew I was on the scene of the tragedy?’
‘Everybody knew it.’
‘Reckon the
police knew it, huh? All they had to do was walk in, and they knew I’d been there, huh? The peculiar perfume I use or somethin’?’ There was somber menace in Spider’s tone.
‘Well,’ admitted Bubber, ‘you know I been doin’ a little private detective work o’ my own, see? So I’m helpin’ the police out on this case. Naturally, knowin’ you was there, I knew you’d want to give all the information you could, see? Anything else would look like runnin’ away, y’understand?’
‘I see. You’re the one I got to thank for this little consideration.’
‘I’m givin’ you a chance to protect yo’self,’ said Bubber.
‘Thanks,’ Webb responded darkly. ‘I’ll do the same by you sometime. Be watchin’ out for it.’
‘Let’s go,’ suggested Officer Hanks.
They went into the poolroom and with Small, returned to the car at the curb.
‘Know how to drive?’ Hanks asked Bubber.
‘Who me? Sho’. I can drive anything but a bargain.’
‘Take the wheel—and plenty o’ time.’
Bubber obeyed. Shortly the expedition arrived at its next port of call, the Hip-Toe Club on Lenox Avenue. Leaving Small and the ominously silent Spider Webb in the car, Officer Hanks and Bubber left to seek Doty Hicks.
‘How you know he’s here?’ Hanks said.
‘His brother runs the place. Spats Oliver, they call him. Real name’s Oliver Hicks. Everybody knows him, and everybody knows Doty. Doty’s been up for dope-peddlin’ coupla times—finally the dope got him—now it’s all he can do to get enough for himself. This is his hang-out.’
‘It would be,’ observed Hanks. They had passed under a dingy canopy and into a narrow entrance, had negotiated a precipitate and angular staircase, and so with windings and twistings had descended eventually into a reclaimed cellar. The ceiling was oppressively low, the walls splotched with black silhouetted grotesqueries, and the atmosphere thick with smoke. Two rows of little round white-topped tables hugged the two lateral walls, leaving between them a long narrow strip of bare wooden floor for dancing or entertainment. This strip terminated at a low platform at the far end of the room, whereon were mounted a pianist, a drummer, a banjo-player and a trumpeter, all properly equipped with their respective instruments and at the moment all performing their respective rites without restraint.
The Conjure-Man Dies Page 8
