The manager’s eyes looked exclamation points, but the rule was, “The customer is always right” So he bestirred himself.
If he had been looking for Sherlock Holmes, he would have gone to Baker Street, London, where he would expect to find the great man smoking his pipe while he analyzed cigarette ashes, and emptied a hollow needle into himself; but knowing Ray Schindler’s gregarious habit of studying humanity in the mass, he began with the night-clubs. At the very first on the manager’s list he found his man.
Joe E. Lewis, the comedian, had just remarked to his audience:
“There sits Ray Schindler. He pretends to be a detective, but—why, he doesn’t know who killed Cock Robin! As Gilbert White put it, Ray Schindler couldn’t follow an elephant with a nosebleed around Central Park after a heavy snow.”
Nobody laughed harder than Ray, who loves jokes and caricatures of himself almost as well as he loves to do elaborate foot-work in the rhumba. Joe E. Lewis had finally torn himself away from his insatiable audience; the orchestra had just called the sitters from their tables to that form of agitated mucilage which is called dancing nowanights; and Ray was just beginning to match his finest footwork with that of his pretty partner when the hotel manager wormed his way through the jelly-like throng, apologized for cutting in and dragged Ray to the edge of the floor. He said: “Ray, this is serious! In my hotel I’ve got two doctors waiting—a parson and a medic. The murderer gets in on a morning train, and you’ve got to meet him and take his prey away from him.”
In this proposal there was the challenge of the impossible. Ray nodded. Like a doctor dragged away from revelry, he bade his guests a regretful goodnight, told the head-waiter to charge everything to him, and went with the hotel man to a taxicab.
At the hotel he found two middle-aged men of the least imaginable dramatic aspect. They were introduced to him as Dr. Perry Schurtz and the Reverend Dr. Alfred Wishart, both just arrived from Grand Rapids. Dr. Wishart began at the beginning.
“I have a parishioner named Percy Peck. He called on me to say that his father, John Peck, a very wealthy manufacturer, had died in New York the day before, and his body was being brought home by Percy’s sister and her husband. The father had died of a heart attack while visiting his daughter.
“Percy was hardly out of mourning for his mother, who had died six weeks before, also of a heart attack, while on a visit to that same daughter in New York. His sister and her husband had brought the mother back for burial and the sister’s husband, Dr. Waite, had sorrowfully stated that the poor woman’s last wish had been that we should have her cremated. This was done, and the dead woman’s husband, Percy’s father, was crushed with grief for his beloved wife. So Dr. Waite had suggested that it might be well if the poor old man went back to New York to be with his daughter so that they could console each other. And he thought the change of scene would help.
“The old man went to New York and stayed a long while. Now Percy gets word that his father has also died of a heart attack, brought on by mourning for his wife. Once more the daughter and her husband were making a melancholy trip to Grand Rapids. As if the double blow were not heavy enough for Percy, his grief was interrupted by a mysterious telegram that came to him. This is it”:
Dr. Wishart produced, and Ray read, this message:
SUSPICION AROUSED. DEMAND AUTOPSY. DO NOT REVEAL TELEGRAM. K. ADAMS
Lifting his eyes from the yellow sheet, Ray asked the obvious question:
“And who is K. Adams?”
“That’s mystery Number One,” said Dr. Wishart. “Percy has not the faintest idea who he—or she—might be. Percy does not know and has never heard of anybody of that name.”
Dr. Schurtz broke in: “The mere thought of an autopsy is revolting to the layman.”
The clergyman took over again: “Poor Percy, now doubly orphaned, was horribly shocked. Into his sorrow was injected this poison of suspicion—but suspicion of whom? Of what? He had no more respect for an anonymous sender of a poison telegram than anybody else would have; but he was tormented by the strange coincidence. His mother had visited his sister and come back dead; his father had visited his sister and was coming back dead. Percy naturally turned to me, his pastor, for help and advice. I called in the family physician, Dr. Schurtz here. Go on from there, Perry.”
The physician went on: “Of course, it was natural enough that an elderly father should follow an elderly mother into the grave that gets us all; but I had been the family doctor for years and had never noticed a trace of heart trouble in either of them. Yet the mother’s death had been certified as due to heart failure by a New York physician—who was not, of course, Dr. Waite. He is actually a dentist and a distinguished one.
“I said to Percy, ‘An autopsy can do no harm. If it proves that your father did die of a heart attack it will put your mind at ease and it will be the best answer to that peculiar telegram. If you don’t have the autopsy, you will be tormented with suspicion all your life. Your sister can surely have no objection. You owe it to both of them to clear them of any doubt. It’s just possible that the sender of the telegram really had some information that you ought to have.’
“That’s what I told Percy, and he agreed with me. He gave me authority to arrange the necessary formalities, and I got permission from the authorities for an autopsy. We all went to the train to meet Dr. and Mrs. Waite. The body was in the baggage car of the same train.”
He waved to the clergyman, who proceeded: “Percy’s sister threw herself into her brother’s arms and they wept together, while Dr. Waite, who is a tall, finely preserved man, put an arm about each of them and did his best to comfort them, though all he could say was, ‘Be brave! He is at peace. He has gone to join his beloved wife.’
“When she was calmer, Percy’s sister asked if arrangements had been made for the funeral and Dr. Waite added: ‘Your father wanted to be cremated so that his ashes could rest beside the urn of his beloved.’
“It took no little courage for Percy to say to his sister: ‘I have arranged to have father’s body sent to the undertaker’s first.’
“His sister gasped: ‘But why, dearest? Why?’ Percy did not want to let Dr. Waite know of his plan to have an autopsy performed, so he did not mention the matter, but stubbornly insisted on the removal of the body to the undertaker’s.”
Ray broke in: “How did Dr. Waite take this news?”
Dr. Schurtz answered: “I kept my eye on him and though I think he suspected our purpose, he made no objection except to say: ‘Percy, your poor father died peacefully. Here is the certificate of a New York doctor that he died of a heart attack, just as your poor mother did.’
“He produced a certificate in the regular form, but it was signed by a different physician from the one who had certified the mother’s death.
“Percy was shaken, but he held firm and went home with his sister and her husband, leaving me to take care of things.
“The autopsy revealed not even the faintest trace of any heart disorder. But the intestines were in a state of acute contraction and they were fiery red. There was also evidence that the victim had undergone violent spasms of vomiting.”
Ray Schindler’s long practice and experience had taught him all too much about autopsies, and he had been closely associated with Otto Schultz, a leading expert in medical criminology. So Ray forestalled the doctor’s next remark:
“You suspected poison, of course. Which form of poisoning was it?”
Shaking his head with regret, Dr. Schurtz answered: “I am sorry to say I am not an expert in that field. Nor is there one in Grand Rapids. So I removed the vital organs and sent them by special messenger to an expert in the neighboring city of Ann Arbor.”
“And what did he report?” Ray demanded.
His face fell when Dr. Schurtz answered: “I haven’t had his report yet. But I returned the body as nearly as possible to its former appearance, without letting anyone know of what I had found. Dr. Waite tried to open the coffin to s
ee if an autopsy had been performed, as he suspected, but he was not permitted to lift the lid. The funeral was held and the body was cremated. When we learned that Dr. Waite and his wife were to return to New York at once—owing to important engagements—Dr. Wishart and I—at Percy’s request and expense came at once to New York. And here we are. Dr. and Mrs. Waite are taking a midnight train tonight for New York and are due in the forenoon. And now you know as much as we know. What do you propose to do?”
Ray’s first answer was a profound silence; but his brain was clicking on all six cylinders. Dr. Schurtz felt that a little further justification of his act might be called for. He said:
“The autopsy on the father was justified by that telegram. I couldn’t perform one on the mother because she was by now only a little heap of ashes in a little urn. But I was further worried by a remark of Dr. Waite’s when he said to me: ‘Dr. Schurtz, I wish you would take a special look at my poor wife while she’s here. You’ve known her since infancy. She’s so prostrated by losing both her mother and her father that she says she doesn’t want to survive them long. And I am afraid for her. When there’s little will to live, you know, the battle for life is already half-lost.’ ”
All these coincidences combined to arouse suspicion. But a motive is of vital importance in any theory that a crime has been committed. Ray looked up from the notes he was making to ask a very natural question:
“Do you know anything about a will? Did Mr. Peck have any important money to leave to his son and daughter?”
“More than a million dollars,” was Dr. Wishart’s startling answer. “That is the estimated estate. The dear old man once mentioned to me the fact that he had willed his estate in equal shares to his son Percy and his daughter Clara, and in her grief Clara told me how good her husband was to her and said that she had made a will leaving her share to her dear husband, Dr. Waite.”
And now, whether a crime would be revealed or not, a possible motive was clear. A million dollars is a lot of motive.
One thing was plain and undeniable: it was evidently dangerous to be closely associated with Dr. Waite. His mother-in-law and his father-in-law were dead already. Only his wife’s life stood between him and perhaps a million dollars. And he had said that he was “afraid” of his wife’s reluctance to survive them long.
There was no scintilla of legal evidence that Dr. Waite had murdered either of his wife’s parents, or had anything but love for his wife. Yet it could do no harm to protect her against an off-chance. An anonymous—at least a pseudonymous—telegram had caused an autopsy to be made, and this had disclosed that Dr. Waite had told a lie, or had been misinformed, when he telegraphed that his father-in-law had died of a heart attack. Even the death certificate had been shown to be false.
So, without delaying to analyze the situation, Ray glanced at his watch and said:
“Call the son at once. Percy, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Get him on the long distance telephone right away. Tell him he must keep his sister with him at all costs, and let Dr. Waite come on alone.”
“What excuse can he give for holding her there?” Dr. Schurtz asked. Ray improvised a pretext.
“Tell him to tell Waite that Clara must remain to—to sign certain legal documents so as to hurry up the settling of the probation of the will. I think that will satisfy Waite. He’s sure to be interested in getting the will probated as soon as possible.”
Immediately Dr. Schurtz put through the call and luckily found Percy at home. He introduced Ray, and Ray gave Percy instructions, finding him entirely willing to cooperate, for terrible suspicions were now festering in his heart.
When the conversation was finished, Ray turned to the two elderly men, who were as helpless and as terrified by mysterious bogies as the two Babes in the Woods. He spoke with sympathetic serenity and an authority that won their respect and trust.
“You two gentlemen must realize that you have no evidence that a district attorney would even look at. So you come to me. What do you want me to do?”
The clergyman spoke up: “Find out if Mr. and Mrs. Peck were murdered. If so, who murdered them. Then save their daughter’s life. Percy empowered us to engage you at any reasonable fee.”
Waiving this matter, Ray said: “That midnight train takes a little less than twelve hours. It should bring Dr. Waite here before noon. The first thing to do is to go over his apartment —if we can get into it.”
His clients looked at Ray in amazement. Dr. Schurtz said:
“Do you propose to use a jimmy? Or skeleton keys? Or what?”
“I’ll try a little persuasion first,” Ray smiled. “You’d better come along.”
The two men had the number and the street, and Ray took them down to a taxicab. While Ray and his clients are on their long midnight ride, it might be well to apprise the reader of just what sort of adversary Ray was planning to confront. It was not easy to find out all the details of Dr. Waite’s picturesque biography, and some of them took a long while in their disclosure: but it will help to bring the suspect’s life up to the point where he first impinged upon Ray Schindler’s consciousness.
Dr. Waite had known only success. Sometimes his obstacles seemed insurmountable, but he had topped them all. He was tall, dark and handsome; and he had charm enough to have won stardom on the stage, the screen, radio, or in high society. He had begun poor. As a boy in Grand Rapids he had worked his way through high school by delivering papers, of which he stole great numbers; and kept the subscription money. In college he had paid his way by his assiduity in playing poker and his cleverness in cheating at cards. He had perfected his pious appeal by acting as president of the Christian Endeavor chapter.
For his chosen career he had selected the art and science of dentistry. He stole a plate made by another student and turned it in as his own handiwork, thus graduating with distinction. Still not satisfied, he had gone abroad—to Oxford University, no less—for further prestige. There, by forging credits, he had shortened his course and gained his diploma with almost unprecedented speed. Easily he persuaded an English dental firm to send him to South Africa as an office manager. There he had added to his income by travelling about as a dental surgeon.
By his skill at tennis, he had ingratiated himself into the most polite and wealthy circles. In his impatience for quick and easy riches, he had spared neither himself nor the spare parts of automobiles. When he needed any gadgets for his car, he would go to big receptions, then slip out and steal what he needed from cars parked about the home of his host.
Incidentally, of course, he was constantly cheating his employers by manipulating the books, lifting gold fillings and expensive instruments and selling them outside. But even such genius as his had its moments of bad luck, or overconfidence. Eventually his employers stumbled on a shortage of about $20,000 in his accounts. Though he had sent it to a bank in the United States, he was inspired to pretend that he had been lured into speculation and had lost it all. He was actor enough to weep and “repent” and so escape prosecution. He was allowed to leave South Africa with no stigma on his fair name.
Returning to America and his old home town, Grand Rapids, he soon encountered a former schoolmate, the daughter of wealthy John Peck. He soon enchanted her, and he told her parents so many stories of his high achievements that they were glad to welcome him into the family as a son-in-law. They even furnished him capital when he expressed an ambition for removal to a wider field in New York. There he wrote back such glowing accounts of triumphs of dentistry and such distinctions that his mother-in-law visited him and her daughter. His fascinations were such, indeed, that his wife’s aunt, Katherine Peck, begged him to handle her fortune for her. And he invested it so well that it was soon paying her heavy dividends. But, curiously enough, the dividends came to her, not in checks from the corporations, but in Dr. Waite’s own personal checks.
He often told his wife, her sister and their mother how he loved to steal away to Long Island for
the fresh air and to satisfy his love for stray dogs. But he never took his family along with him. It came out later that he used his dogs in certain experiments with various poisons until he decided at last that he was ready to try his skill on a human subject.
Since Katherine Peck loved and trusted him so well and so enjoyed going to church with him, he may have decided that she was near enough to heaven to be helped over the stile. But while she experienced certain strange ailments, she recovered from all of them, and her suspicions were never aroused.
And now the reader knows what there is to know about Dr. Waite up to the death of his dear mother-in-law from a “heart attack.”
When Ray arrived at the apartment house where Dr. Waite lived in state, he had no key, of course. But he learned from the elevator boy that the owner and manager of the apartment house lived in the building and was at home. So, though the hour was late, Ray prepared his most winning smiles and most persuasive speeches and rang the bell.
There was no answer. He rang again. Again no answer. While the two Grand Rapids doctors shifted wearily from one foot to another, Ray rang that bell for fifteen minutes without getting the door opened by so much as a crack.
Suddenly he heard in back of him the cold voice of a policeman:
“What do you fellows want here?”
Naturally, Ray could not explain the nature of his errand, and he and the two highly respectable visitors from Grand Rapids were soon being hustled along the dark street for several blocks to the police station.
When Ray expressed his polite surprise at this treatment, the police captain who knew him by reputation, divulged the fact that the owner of the apartment house had lost $5,000 in a poker game and had paid his losses with a check; but later, suspecting the probity of the players and their cards, had stopped payment on the check. The winner had promptly called him on the telephone and offered him the choice of forking over the five grand or having his heart cut out.
In a stubborn effort to retain both his blood-money and his blood-pump, the owner of the apartment house had locked himself in. When Ray and his two companions appeared in the black of the night and rang his bell, he had assumed that they had come for his money or his life. And he had let them ring while he telephoned to the police to come and get the mobsters before they broke in and got him. It had taken the police only fifteen minutes to arrive and steal up on the gangsters—three of the tamest gangsters the disappointed coppers had ever collided with.
The Complete Detective Page 3
