Schiller’s expression changed for a moment, a passing face of sadness. “I met the man, yes. A sad case. Too bad, his wife was lovely. She took his place among the Merchants. But I have never spoken to her.”
“You say a sad case? I heard he had a problem with drink.”
Schiller glanced over his shoulder, through his office window at the workshop. He clearly wanted to end the talk. However he said, “Drink? Ja, sometimes. But I think it was something else. He seldom looked drunk. But he became strange. His mind was far off. I think he used opium. Maybe.” He stood up.
“You must excuse. I have to go beat those lazy workmen of mine. Was there anything else?”
Georg also rose. “Thank you for your time, Herr Schiller. Can you think of anyone to tell me more about Mattias Sutliff?”
Schiller paused, looking thoughtful. “You might look up Jeremiah Fox. Just a moment.” He pulled open a desk drawer, rummaged a moment and found a calling card. “Here is his address. I believe he was one of Mr. Sutliff’s best friends. They knew each other through the Free Masons. Personally, I never had time for that sort of mumbo jumbo. Now, if you will excuse me.”
Georg took the card. “Thank you, sir.” He followed Schiller out of the office. He left through the front door while Schiller was yelling in German at one of his workers.
14
Fox
Fox was not an easy man to see. Georg found his house on a street off Union Square. It was a substantial dwelling, though not one of the city’s biggest mansions. He rang the bell twice before a butler answered. Georg told the man why he was there. The butler shut the door and returned two or three minutes later to tell him Fox wouldn’t see him.
Georg, frustrated, returned to Greek’s house. After thinking it over, he asked Greek to write a polite note for him, explaining why he wanted to see Fox. He would deliver it in person tomorrow.
He also wanted to see Genevieve. He wanted to ask her about Mattias. But mainly, he wanted to see her. He waited till evening, then walked to the print shop. She didn’t know he was coming, so he didn’t expect a meal or to spend the night. He felt only a need to see and speak to her for an hour or so. He timed his visit to arrive about the time she closed shop at six.
It was only at the last moment that he glanced through the front window and noticed the red scarf hanging in the middle. He kept walking without slowing down. Turning a corner, he looked back. There were two men in rumpled suits lounging in a doorway across the street. They looked bored.
Of course the police had no pictures of Georg. He had never been charged, and they had never taken a photograph. All these cops had was a description. They were waiting for someone who looked like him to knock at the shop door.
Georg thought, if they hadn’t forgotten him by now, they must be getting desperate. He found his way back to Greek’s without stopping.
The next day he went back to Jeremiah Fox’s house. He presented his letter to the butler. The man took it and told him to wait. This man had perfected the skill of maintaining a perfectly neutral expression, in voice and face.
This time Georg waited nearly ten minutes. He was about to give up and leave when the servant returned.
“Mr. Fox will see you at four p.m. tomorrow. Please do not be late.”
“Of course. Yes. Thank you.” Georg felt vaguely surprised. He guessed Fox must have a lot of business on his mind.
Later he told Greek about it. “How did Jeremiah Fox make his fortune, Greek? What sort of business is he in?”
Greek spread his hands. “All sorts, from what I hear. He’s what they call a capitalist. He invests in things like mines and banks. They say he’s old money from back east. Third degree Mason, leading citizen and all that. Far as I know he’s never actually worked at anything. He just knows how to make money. But like I said, I never personally met the man.”
15
In the Cell
Later that day a different guard showed up at his cell door. It was one he recognized, the one who had been on duty during his previous escape. He had another man with him. They both wore scowls, as if they were in a bad mood.
“You’re that escape gent.”
Georg got to his feet. “Excuse me, sir?” He remembered the guard’s name was Thurgood.
Officer Thurgood was unlocking the door. “You got me in a deal of trouble.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Officer. I did not mean to inconvenience you.”
Thurgood gave him a glare. “Suspended me ten days, they did. I lost pay.”
Georg shook his head and made a tsk tsk sound. Thurgood said, “I’m here to inconvenience you!” He shook his right arm and an object slid out of his sleeve into his hand. A glance told Georg it was a rubber truncheon. The other guard, in the corridor, looked around and stepped back.
“You sound like one of them college boys. Maybe you need another lesson.” His right arm whipped back and then straight toward Georg’s head. His eyes were bulging.
Georg was ready. He had been in a few brawls at sea, some of them involving belaying pins or other weapons. He had learned to be fast. And he had a strong grip. As the truncheon descended toward his head, Georg’s left hand met Thurgood’s wrist.
For a moment nothing happened. Thurgood’s hand stopped dead, still gripping his club. His face got a look of surprise, eyes popping even more. He began turning red. Then his other fist balled and began to rise.
Georg didn’t move or try to block the fist. He squeezed. Thurgood gasped and tried to yank his hand free. The truncheon fell to the floor. Watching Thurgood’s face, Georg squeezed until he felt something pop.
Thurgood screamed. The other guard merely stared, as if not understanding what had just happened. Georg let go and Thurgood grabbed his own wrist, then stumbled out of the cell.
“Lock that door! Lock the bastard in!”
The second guard, looking confused, fumbled with his keys and shut the door. Then he disappeared. Georg looked out and down the corridor. He said, “You forgot your truncheon.” But he didn’t say it aloud.
Early next morning, Genevieve Sutliff appeared. Georg had just finished eating his bowl of cold oat meal. A different guard was with her. She asked him to unlock the door, but he refused. He did provide a stool for her to sit on, then disappeared.
“I didn’t know where you were. I thought you might be staying away for some reason. I know they were watching my shop. I should have guessed when those men went away. But there was nothing in the papers about your arrest. If I had known I would have come at once. Should I hire a lawyer for you?”
Georg observed her expression. She looked genuinely worried.
“Mr. Fox said he would send me a lawyer. I’ll wait and see. Why didn’t you tell me you know Thaddeus Penworthy?”
“What? I don’t. What makes you think I do?”
“Mr. Fox told me your husband had dealings with him. Something to do with antiques and collector’s items.”
She nodded. “Yes, I believe that is true. That is, Mattias didn’t always discuss these things with me. I believe they did know each other from the Merchant’s Association. Or they may have met at the Masonic Temple, I don’t know. But that doesn’t mean I know Thaddeus.”
“Then I was mistaken. Did Mattias sell the Chinese dagger to Penworthy?”
At this she blinked, a flash of alarm in her face. She hesitated before responding. “That’s possible. I don’t know for sure. Mattias did show it to me once. He said it was stolen goods, worth maybe ten thousand to a collector. But obviously he couldn’t advertise it. Don’t ask me how that dagger ended up in Alexander’s heart. They say the blade was cursed.”
“Alexander stole it from his dad. He had Douvet hold it for him, in case his father got a search warrant. Then Douvet was to meet Alexander on my car. I think Douvet probably used the knife. A coincidence that you were there.”
She shook her head. “No, not coincidence. I’m sorry I have not explained to you before. M’sieu Douvet sent me a not
e asking me to meet on that car. He said it might be important to me, but he didn’t say why. Then that riot erupted, and it was all confusion. You know the rest.”
“Mattias was involved with Alexander somehow. Did he owe him money?”
At this she shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. Mattias toward the end was growing more secretive. I told you he had a problem with drink.”
“As well as with opium.”
“Yes, that too.”
“One other question. Do you know where Mattias got that knife in the first place?”
“No, what difference would it make?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe none. Just say I’m curious.”
She appeared to think for a few seconds. “I believe he obtained that knife from a rather shady dealer in rare artifacts. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time. But if he ever told me the name, I’ve forgotten it.” She hesitated. “If it’s important, I could look through Mattias’s old correspondence. I saved some of it as it relates to business. There might be a letter or note somewhere.”
“Please humor me and do that, Jenny.”
The guard returned. “Time’s up, ma’am. Sorry, it’s orders.”
She rose and pressed against the bars. He kissed her with the guard watching. She said, “I won’t leave you here.” Then she was gone.
Later in the day a man wearing a black suit and tails came to the cell. He carried a briefcase as black as his beard. Georg thought to himself, lawyer.
The guard unlocked the door and the fellow entered. He showed no desire to sit down.
“My name is Roger Heywood, attorney at law. And you would be Mr. Georg Vintner. Mr. Fox has asked me to represent you.”
“I am indeed the Vintner in question.” Georg sat back on his bunk, hands clasped behind his head. “It’s kind of you to come.”
“Yes, well. I’m only doing this as a favor to Mr. Fox.” He opened his case, removed a notebook, flipped it open, stared at it for a moment. He spoke without looking up.
“You’re being held illegally. You should have been arraigned by now. Frankly, I don’t think they could even make the charge of jail breaking stick, since you were not technically under arrest. I have spoken to the Commissioner. I threatened to file a writ. I’m getting you out of here today.”
“Thank you. As I said already, you’re kind.”
“Mr. Fox is kind. I’m a lawyer.” He put down his notes and looked at Georg. “The Commissioner is getting restive. He wants an arrest and conviction in this murder case. We have dozens of killings a year at the Barbary Coast, but Penworthy Senior is an important citizen.
“The County has given up trying to tie you to Denis Kearney. They can’t find any connection, and Kearney has lawyers of his own. But you’re the only suspect they have.”
“And why am I a suspect, sir?”
“Because you’re the only one they can identify who was on your streetcar at the time. With the exception of Mrs. Sutliff, of course. It might help if you could name someone else who was there. Perhaps you may have recognized a few of your regular passengers? Could you give up a name or two?”
Georg screwed up his face, in apparent deep thought. He didn’t want to mention Douvet without more evidence of his guilt. He knew that if he did, the police could be trusted to bungle the investigation.
“No sir, I’m afraid not. I spend my working days watching the hind end of a horse. I don’t have time to look closely at the riders. Wish I could help you.”
Heywood put away his notes. “All right. You’re free to go. Just don’t leave town or try to hide out. You will be getting another court summons, probably from the Grand Jury. You must let me know at once. Where can you be located?”
Georg gave him the address of Greek’s house. He got slowly to his feet, feeling stiff from not having moved for so long.
“Follow me, Mr. Vintner.”
So Georg found himself on the street again. Heywood offered him a ride in his cab, but Georg turned him down. He needed a walk.
16
The Dagger
He began walking with no particular destination in mind. He considered heading for Sutliff Printing or Greek’s house. He decided to visit his rooming house and Mrs. Costello. By now he owed her some back rent. She was probably worried about him.
She was overjoyed to see him, throwing her arms about him for a warm Italian hug. He apologized for being so filthy. Then he went to his room to find some clean clothes and rent money. After that he left and went to spend an hour at the bath house. He had decided not to stay at Mrs. Costello’s because he didn’t want her troubled by police, or perhaps worse.
After thinking it over, he went to see Monsieur Douvet.
“You did not tell me everything.”
Rocelyn had served tea and biscuits to both of them in Douvet’s office. Today there seemed no customers hanging about. Douvet left his door open. Rocelyn seated herself at a high desk in the shop, a large book planted before her.
“Such a scholar,” Douvet smiled. “She reads more than I did at her age. I long to send her to Paris for more education, if I can scrape up the gold.” He fussed with his pipe.
“You didn’t tell me everything.” Georg sipped the tea, which he found delicious. He wanted to ask where to buy some.
Douvet’s smile faded. “I did not? What did I leave out?”
“Genevieve – Mrs. Sutliff – tells me you were to meet with her on my streetcar.”
“She told you that? Then I confess. I preferred not to mention this fact, in order to protect her.” He raised his head, glancing toward Rocelyn as if to make sure she was out of earshot.
“Alexander Penworthy was a blackmailer. It was not just that I owed him money. It was his intent to apply every leverage possible over me. He knew my background as a French convicted criminal. And now he had the fact I was harboring stolen goods for him. He could have made all this public. He could have ruined my reputation in business.
“He even threatened legal action to have Rocelyn taken from me as an unfit guardian. That might have killed both of us. I needed something I could use in my defense.
“My intention was to enroll Mrs. Sutliff, for I knew she hated Alexander as much as I did, perhaps more. She was to witness my transfer of the Chinese dagger to him, in plain and public view. Then we would both go and testify to his father, proving Alexander the thief.
“I am not sure what his father would have done. He could not have his son arrested, since that would be to admit he had purchased the dagger illegally. But I know he would have taken action. He had the full force and power of the Masons behind him, which is a force to reckon with. I guess Alexander would have been sent away somewhere, perhaps to South America, never to be seen again. A fate too kind for the bastard.
“That was our plan. It was disrupted by a civil riot and a murder. I am only sorry you are involved, M’sieu. Would you have more tea?”
Georg stared. He wondered how much of this story to believe. It seemed to become more complicated the more questions he asked.
He shook himself. “Your tea is delicious. Yes, I should enjoy a second cup. Where did Penworthy obtain the dagger in the first place?”
Douvet blinked. “I believe I told you before it came originally from a dealer in Hong Kong. That information came from Alexander himself, who heard it either from Mattias or Alexander’s father, I don’t know. I was able to verify this because I wrote to the dealer, asking for assurance the item was genuine. He responded that it is. However, he would neither admit having sold it or having it stolen.
“That was all I could find out. It somehow came to the hands of another dealer in this city, but I was never able to determine who. Penworthy would not tell me.”
“Thank you, M’sieu Douvet. You may inform Rocelyn she makes magnificent tea.”
Georg decided to spend the night at Greek’s. After supper he talked the whole thing over with him. Greek listened without comment. When he was done, Greek said, “Alexander had found
a suitable buyer for the dagger, then?”
“I assume so. That must be why he wanted it back. I guess there are plenty of men in the city who have more money than they need.”
“I wonder how much he thought he could get for it?”
Georg picked up his coffee cup in both hands, breathing the aroma. It reminded him of the sea and the brew he had drunk on cold mornings in the Bering. He said, “Good question. If it was really valuable some men might get desperate for it. But I wonder why Douvet used it on Alexander, instead of something cheaper. I suspect there’s some meaning here I’m not seeing.”
“You think Douvet did it, then.”
“Of course. He had motive, opportunity, and the weapon. Not that I blame him. I guess he had good reason. Nor do I blame Genevieve for trying to protect him.”
“What will you do now?”
Georg finished his coffee and stood up. “Get some sleep in a real bed. Tomorrow I will see Genevieve. I’m curious if she’ll tell me where that knife came from. Maybe I can find out how much it’s really worth. I have a feeling that’s a missing piece.”
Next morning he arose early, had breakfast at a nearby lunch counter, and walked to Sutliff Printing. He could have ridden most of the way on the new steam dummy line, but he had a deep distrust of those noisy, smoking machines. He supposed they would eventually replace the horse cars, but he would hate the idea of working on one.
He found Genevieve talking to customers in her shop. She flashed him a smile without breaking off her conversation. He sat down to wait. The walls were decorated with elegant examples of the printer’s art. There were handbills, cartes de visite, greeting cards and certificates of one sort or another. They meant nothing to Georg, being unable to read them, but he liked the colors and styles.
The Driver Page 8
