World's Greatest Sleuth!

by Steve Hockensmith

  • a copy of the book Phrenology and Its Application to Education, Insanity, and Prison Discipline, in which had been wedged a single turkey feather;

  • a fruitcake with what appeared to be bits of gravel baked into it in place of the customary candied cherries and slivers of orange peel;

  • a shattered bust of Queen Victoria (Diana recognized the subject from the combination of crown and jowls);

  • and a small box containing a torn ferry ticket, several snail shells (shriveled-up dead snail included), a clove of garlic, and a yellow-brown lump my brother identified as rancid butter.

  Once we’d sorted through it all—and managed to get our popping eyes back in our skulls—Old Red stepped back a ways and looked first at the trash can, then up at Curtis’s window, then back at the can, then back at the window.

  “You’re thinkin’ of Mrs. Jasinska’s thump in the rear,” I said.

  “Yup.”

  “Excuse me?” Diana said.

  “The noise Mrs. Jasinska heard last night,” Gustav explained. “The crash in the alley.”

  Diana followed my brother’s line of sight, nodding. “Yes. Of course. It would’ve been a straight drop into the garbage can from Curtis’s room. So that settles it. The killer has been in the hotel. He was up there last night.”

  “Yup. Chucking all this out the window.”

  “A brilliant deduction,” I said. “Only what is ‘all this’?”

  “Damned if I know.” Old Red looked over at the lady, then whipped his gaze away again just as fast. “I mean darned if I know.”

  For a second there, Diana seemed to be stifling a smile.

  “Unfortunately, we can’t be sure this is everything that was thrown out,” she said. “In a big city like this, you’ll have vagrants picking through the garbage every night. Anything valuable or edible would’ve been scavenged by dawn.”

  “So for all we know, half our clues are gone,” Gustav said glumly.

  “You really think we need more?” I asked him. “This here’s the mother lode. It’s just too bad not a one of them makes any kind of sense.”

  “Everything makes sense,” Diana said. “You simply have to find the right way of looking at it.”

  She turned to my brother for confirmation. He gave her a rueful shrug instead.

  “I used to think that,” he said. “I still might, on a good day. But I can’t say this one’s been especially—”

  At that moment, the back door to the hotel opened, and the not-so-good day got even worse.

  Sergeant Ryan stepped out into the alley, a big uniformed bull right behind him.

  “Hello, there,” the sergeant said. “You looked like you were having so much fun back here, we just had to join you.”

  “What grand timing,” I said. “We were just about to run and fetch you, weren’t we?”

  Diana nodded. Old Red didn’t bother.

  Ryan cocked his head, eyes a-twinkle. “How fortunate it is we should come along and save you the trip. Now … what’s that you’ve got there, hmm?”

  I peeped over at Gustav for the go-ahead, and he gave it to me with a single downward jerk of the head. So I told the sergeant of Mrs. Jasinska’s thump in the night and the curious curios we’d discovered under Curtis’s window—omitting the fact that we’d discovered them by falling on them.

  As I spoke, Ryan nodded in a pleasant, friendly, interested sort of way, though I got the feeling he’d be nodding just the same if I were telling him I was the king of the pixies. When I was done, he turned toward the pebble cake and the tuxedoed squirrel and the rest of it.

  “So you found all this, you say?”

  “Yes. He did just say,” Gustav growled.

  “Hmm. Very cluey, these clues of yours.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Diana asked. She didn’t growl like my brother, but she sure wasn’t purring, either.

  “Well,” Ryan said, “this is exactly the kind of thing one would read about in a detective story, isn’t it? You know—‘The Case of the Purple Jawbone’ or ‘The Turkey Feather Mystery’ or the like. That you should be the ones to stumble upon such singular evidence strikes me as … ironic.”

  “You ain’t suggesting we put these things here, are you?” Old Red asked.

  “Oh, no. Why would you do something like that?” Ryan rolled his eyes heavenward and tapped a finger against his chin, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Aside from the publicity, of course. You are here to make names for yourselves as detectives.”

  “If you’re gonna call me a liar, I wish you’d just speak it plain,” I said.

  “A writer of dime novels? Pass along anything but the unvarnished truth? Perish the thought! Believe me, I’m ever so grateful you brought all this to my attention, and you can rest assured I’ll give it all the attention it deserves. Now, if you’d let me get to it.”

  Ryan stepped to the side and swept his arm out toward the door he’d come through a few minutes before.

  We were being invited to leave—without our evidence—and the way the copper behind Ryan glared at us, it was clear the invitation was going to become an order right quick.

  Gustav just glared at the two men a moment.

  “Come on,” he finally sighed, and he started for the door.

  “You gonna let it go that easy?” I said as Diana and I started after him.

  “They got the badges … dammit.”

  As we passed Sergeant Ryan, he gave us a genial tip of the hat.

  When we stepped inside, we found ourselves in a long, dark corridor leading to the lobby of the Columbian Hotel. The big cop closed the door firmly behind us.

  “It’s too bad we didn’t get more time with them clues,” Old Red said, “but it ain’t like we got nothing to do.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. We know exactly where Curtis’s killer’s gonna be in ten minutes. Heck, he might even be there already.”

  “There,” Diana said, pointing ahead to the lobby. “Waiting to hear what Pinkerton has to say.”

  My brother nodded. “What say we join him?”

  17

  THE PROFESSIONALS

  Or, Old Red Tries to Pin Down Some Suspects and Gets Needled Instead

  When we got to the end of the hall, I leaned out for a cautious peep around the lobby. Only two of our colleague/competitor/suspects were already there: Eugene Valmont and Boothby Greene. They were sitting next to each other about fifty feet away, seemingly deep in conversation.

  When I reported what I’d seen, Diana said it was time for us to part company again.

  “I understand,” I replied with a sullenness I found both embarrassing and impossible to squelch. “You can’t have it gettin’ back to the colonel we been workin’ together.”

  “Yes, there’s that,” Diana said. “I was also thinking it would be to our advantage if the killer didn’t know it.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Good point.”

  “What’s more, a lady can’t take a tumble in the trash and get away with it. I need to freshen up.”

  “When will we see you again?” I asked. “I mean, not just see you. Be with you. To talk to, I mean. About the—”

  “Can you shake the colonel and meet us again tonight?” my brother butted in.

  Diana nodded. “The Japanese Ho-o-den. Nine twenty.”

  “We’ll be there,” Old Red said firmly. He waited till the lady was gone to ask, “What the hell’s a Ho-Ho Den?”

  “Some kinda church, I think. In the White City. The guidebook says it’s a ‘temple,’ Japanese style. It’s out on that island in the middle of the big lagoon.”

  “Good. Sounds like the perfect place to meet on the sly.”

  “I just wish it didn’t have to be on the sly.”

  “And who do we have to thank for that?”

  “Well.” I cleared my throat and held out an arm toward the lobby. “Shall we?”

  “In a tick. There’s something I wanna talk over with you first…”
/>
  A moment later, we were sidling up to the settee Valmont and Greene were sharing.

  “Afternoon, gents,” I said. “Waitin’ for the big powwow?”

  Both men stared at me blankly.

  “The big pa-WOW?” Valmont said.

  My brother eased himself into a shabby old armchair the color of a tombstone. “The meetin’ Pinkerton called,” he explained.

  There was another divan next to the one the Frenchman and the Englishman were sharing, but I could see why Gustav hadn’t settled his American rump upon it: It looked like it had, until all too recently, resided in the nearest dump, and there was no telling what smells—or occupants—might still be lingering in the vicinity.

  I chose to stand.

  “Yes,” Greene said. “We were just speculating as to what Mr. Pinkerton will say.”

  “Afraid he’s gonna call off the contest?” my brother asked.

  “It might seem disrespectfell to M. Curtis, but … yes,” Valmont replied. “We have come a long way to be here, M. Greene and I. To lose this opportunity because of an ill-timed axy-dawn would be most misfortunable.”

  “And then there’s Mr. Curtis himself to think of,” Greene added. “He saw his involvement in the competition as a tribute to his fallen hero. I rather think he’d want us to carry on.”

  “Tribute’s a nice way to put it,” I said. “The way Curtis was talkin’ last night, it seemed more like a vendetta … against us.”

  “That’s right,” Old Red said. “He was throwin’ around all sorts of hints about the dirt he had on folks. With you, Mr. Greene, it was something about not havin’ a birthday. And you, Miz-yer Val-MONT … well, I couldn’t repeat it even if I could remember it, but it was some kinda ‘la affair’ in the French papers.”

  Valmont folded then unfolded his arms, crossed then uncrossed his legs, turned his body this way then that.

  His scowl didn’t waver.

  “Hmph,” he said.

  Greene, on the other hand, was all cool amusement. “Come, come, Valmont … we were going to be asked about it sooner or later. The only surprise to me is that Mr. Amlingmeyer beat Miss Larson to it.”

  “Not to mention the po-lease,” Old Red said.

  “It remains to be seen which tack the official inquiry is going to take,” Greene replied mildly.

  Valmont clasped then unclasped his hands.

  “Hmph,” he said again.

  “Fine. I’ll go first,” Greene said. “I assume Mr. Curtis conducted research on all of us before coming to Chicago. The better to unearth our weaknesses. When it came to Boothby Greene, however, he would find none—because he would find nothing at all. Boothby Greene has no birthday because Boothby Greene does not exist.”

  “I ain’t lookin’ at him?” I asked.

  “You’re looking at a man calling himself Boothby Greene, yes—but the name is a fiction.”

  Valmont stopped his fidgeting and hmphing and stared at Greene in naked fascination.

  “So who are you?” he asked.

  “A private inquiry agent of, I like to think, some skill—though that’s not why Blackheath-Murray has high hopes for me.” He gave both hands a voilà flourish just beneath his long, lean, oh-so-Sherlocky face. “I do fit a certain mold. And a highly profitable one, at that.”

  “And your real name is…?” my brother asked.

  The Englishman’s prim smile turned wry.

  “Shlomo Lindenbaum.”

  From Valmont: “Oh.”

  From Gustav: “Ah.”

  From me: “Whoa!”

  Far be it for a fellow named Otto Albert Amlingmeyer to pass judgment on the mellifluousness of another’s name, but it was a safe bet The Adventures of Shlomo Lindenbaum wouldn’t exactly fly off the magazine racks.

  We all gave this revelation a moment to sink in, then one by one we turned—Old Red and Shlomo and I—to Eugene Valmont.

  “So it is my turn?” The Frenchman heaved a heavy sigh. “ ‘L’Affaire des cinq cent diamants.’ That is what M. Curtis was speaking of. ‘The Affair of the Five Hundred Diamonds.’ A great scawn-dell in Frawnce. The details are unimportant—and, for me, unpleasant to relate. But the point essentiel is that the case was bun-GELD and, as a result, I did not simply retire from the Sûreté. I resign-NED in disgrass.”

  “Disgrass?” Old Red said.

  “Disgrace,” I whispered.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Valmont shrugged. “C’est la vie. I am here to start again. Begin a new life, and begin it well. As is Monsieur…?”

  He turned to the man sitting next to him.

  “Let’s just stick with Greene, shall we?” Shlomo said.

  “Of course. As is M. Greene. And you, too, M. Amlingmeyer. It is in all our interests that the competi-shawn continue. M. Curtis’s death is a tragedy, but it need not be an ob-sta-clay.”

  “Ob-sta-clay?” Old Red said.

  “Damned if I know,” I whispered.

  “Obstacle?” Greene guessed.

  “Exactemente.”

  My brother let loose with a hmph of his own.

  “An inconvenience, you mean,” he said.

  Valmont took on a look of doleful dejection. “You make me sound so cold, monsieur.”

  “If the shoe fits,” Gustav said, and his eyes met mine as he brought up a finger and lightly scratched the tip of his prodigious nose.

  He was giving me a signal. One I wasn’t much looking forward to, either. But Old Red had insisted, so I reluctantly reached into my vest pocket and pulled out my watch.

  “Where is everybody, anyway? Must be almost … oops.”

  It was a hunter-case watch without a chain, so when I let the springing of the lid pop it out of my fumbling fingers, the little “accident” didn’t look completely bogus. Only ninety-five percent. Ninety-nine tops.

  The watch hit the carpet and, to my considerable surprise, bounced to a stop between Valmont and Greene’s feet. The surprise being that the thing had actually ended up where my brother wanted it.

  “I’ll get it,” Gustav said, and he slid from his seat and went down on his hands and knees.

  Which was probably what gave it away, seeing as all he really had to do was ask Valmont or Greene to bend down and pick the watch up. There was no need to go to all fours.

  Or linger on them so long.

  Or suck in a quick, poorly concealed sniff.

  “Monsieur,” Valmont said, “are you smelling my feet?”

  “No,” my brother said. “Just picked me up the sniffles since comin’ to…”

  He glanced up and found Valmont and Greene staring down at him, the Frenchman cocking an eyebrow and puckering his lips, the Englishman looking like he was biting his to keep from laughing.

  “Awwww, hell.”

  Old Red pushed himself to his feet and tossed me the watch.

  “Told you,” I said.

  My brother shot me a “Shut up” glare and dropped back into his seat.

  “Yes,” he said to Valmont. “I was checkin’ your shoes. You’ve both had ’em polished since yesterday, ain’t you?”

  “Merde,” Valmont muttered, and if you don’t know French, suffice it to say he was either identifying what my brother was looking for or commenting upon his technique.

  “Your persistence does you credit, Mr. Amlingmeyer,” Greene offered more charitably, “but I would point out that this hotel is several blocks from the fairgrounds. At least twice today, we’ve all had to cross busy city streets—and avoid what the carriage horses leave in them so plentifully. It would hardly have been conclusive should you have found what you were looking for.”

  Gustav tapped the side of his nose. “Remember what this can do, sir. What I’m lookin’ for came from a cow … and I’ll know if I smell it a third time.”

  He threw a meaningful look at the stairs to the guest rooms.

  “A third time? You mean you’ve come across it here in—?” Greene stopped himself and chuckled. “I see. Nicely
played.”

  “Ah! Now this is more impressive than your flouderings on the floor,” Valmont said. “More psychologi-KELL. I approve, monsieur! You suggest that you have uncove-AIRED a new clue in the presence of two suspects so you can then watch for any sign of paneek or perhaps await a telling countermove.” He turned to Greene while waving a lazy hand at Old Red. “It is instructive to observe the process of detection from the oth-AIR side, n’est-ce pas?”

  “I’m so glad to hear you think so,” Gustav shot back, face flushing. “Then you won’t mind tellin’ me where you went after our dinner last night.”

  “Yes, by all means, let my education continue,” Valmont said. “I retur-NED to the White City to prepare for the next day’s competi-shawn.”

  “Prepare how?”

  “I familiari-ZED myself with various notable exhibits, and, when the buildings began to close for the night at nine, I walked the grounds.”

  “Which exhibits did you take in?”

  “Oh, a display of Remington typewriters, the gunboat Niagara, the Tiffany Diamond, a complete collection of the world’s bacteria. I could continue the catalog for fifteen minutes, but pourquoi?”

  “And in all that time familiarizin’, you never laid eyes on Mr. Curtis or anyone else from the contest?”

  “No. I saw no one I recogni-ZED, and I assume no one saw me.”

  “Hmmmm. Alright.”

  Gustav turned to Greene.

  “Allow me to apologize in advance, Mr. Amlingmeyer,” the Englishman said. “I’m afraid my narrative isn’t any more revealing—or self-incriminating—than our esteemed colleague’s. After everyone else left the restaurant, Blackheath-Murray and I headed to the White City so that I might do more ‘familiarizing’ myself. We toured the Fisheries Building, stepped outside for the nightly fireworks, then retired for the night when the fairgrounds closed at eleven. Mrs. Jasinska can confirm that last. For the rest, I’m sorry to say, there is no corroboration I can offer. We didn’t see anyone we knew all night.”

  “What about Miss Larson? She was still with you and Blackheath-Murray when me and my brother walked out.”

  “I’m afraid we didn’t have the heart for entertaining after our little debacle of a dinner, and the lady departed not long after you did.”