Chapter 13

The Philadelphia murder occurred just at the moment when the Gartrey case was beginning to lose some of its first impetus in the press for lack of fresh fuel. On the following morning it blazed anew across the headlines of America in four-inch type. There was a kind of ghoulish joy in the reporting of the news. To the newspapers it was like a gift from heaven.

The printed description of the killer reminded everybody of Al Yohe, and the public (led by the press) instantly made up its mind that Al had added this second murder to his first. The police were roundly abused for allowing so dangerous a man to remain at large. A threatening undertone was heard in the angry mutterings of the street crowds. The electric chair was too good for such an inhuman wretch. Citizens who ought to have known better, expressed themselves in the newspapers to the effect that anybody who might come face to face with Al Yohe would be performing a public service by shooting him down.

Lee, reading all this, thought: "If Al were to call me up today, I would not dare advise him to give himself up."

He made up his mind to go and see Charlotte as soon as he had breakfasted. Lee's heart was very tender for the little wife. The poor thing had been through such frightful trials during the past few days that these hideous stories might well finish her.

It was about ten when he alighted in front of the flat on Park Avenue. He was very thankful that no hint of Charlotte's existence had as yet got into the newspapers. There was no crowd on the sidewalk. Upstairs the door of the apartment was opened to him by a plain-clothes man with an eager expression. The man's face fell when he saw who it was, and Lee smiled.

"Did you think your bird had come home to roost?"

"Well, I was hoping it might be something in the shape of a clue," the man grumbled.

"I want to talk to Mrs. Yohe."

"She's up on the roof with the kid. Go right up."

The last flight of stairs brought Lee out on the roof. It was a beautiful morning and warm for the season. His eyes took in the false floor protecting the roof proper; the posts and the lines strung from side to side for the tenants' washing. On either hand, an immense modern apartment house rose to the sky; a murmur of traffic came up from the street.

Charlotte was seated on the coping of the low wall that separated the roofs of the two smaller houses. The baby slept in his gocart before her. The girl did not immediately perceive Lee. She was knitting some sort of little garment of blue wool, and to Lee's astonishment her face was calm. Yet she had read the newspapers, for one of them lay at her feet. On the other side of the roof sat another plain-clothes man, bored and yawning. Lee thought: Wants to make sure she gets no message by carrier pigeon. All of Inspector Loasby's men knew Lee by sight, and this officer made no attempt to interfere between him and Charlotte.

Charlotte arose at Lee's approach, smiling delightfully, and flushing pink with pleasure. "Mr. Mappin! What a nice surprise! How good of you to come and see me!"

Lee was more than a little taken aback. She looked adorable. "Well...I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm all right," she said with a lift of her chin. "I have to keep cheerful on Lester's account. The little fellow feels it when I give way...I don't like to go down in the street," she continued, "because the neighbors know that this house is being watched by the police, though they don't know why. I don't want anybody to connect it with Lester and me. Lester gets good air up here, and I can order anything I need for the house by telephone. Of course, it's a bore to have the police around all the time, but they're not bad fellows. They make it as easy as they can for me."

"Hum!" said Lee, caressing his chin. He sat down beside her. "Will it wake the young fellow if we talk?"

She shook her head. "No fear! He will sleep until his hour is up, though the heavens fall!"

"Hum!" said Lee again. "I see you've read the newspaper."

She poked it with her foot. "Yes. Such stuff!"

"I came to tell you," said Lee, "that I know, and the police know, that Al had nothing to do with what happened in Philadelphia last night."

She turned pink again. "It was kind of you to think of me, but as far as I'm concerned the assurance wasn't necessary." She smiled suddenly and bit her lip as at some humorous recollection.

Lee wondered what was going through her mind. "Even so," he said, "these ugly stories about Al must have distressed you."

"Oh, I don't pay any attention to what I read in the papers, Mr. Mappin. I knew that Al couldn't have been in Philadelphia at six o'clock last night."

"How?"

She laughed outright. "Because he was with me in New York until after four!"

Lee stared. "Excuse me," he said, "but I'll be damned!...Where could you have seen him yesterday?...No, don't tell me," he quickly amended, "for after all, I'm working with the police."

"I don't mind telling you," she said, "because we won't meet again in the same place. It was in Central Park."

"What about your watchdogs?"

She laughed. "There was only one of them. I gave him the slip."

"How were you able to make a date to meet Al?"

"There was no date. It was this way. We were out of money and Al had gone out to get some."

"Where was he going to get it?"

Charlotte's lips closed tight. "I mustn't tell you that."

"Well, go on."

"There is a certain unfrequented spot in the park that Al and I call ours. I kept thinking that he might come there to look for me, so I asked my watchdogs, as you call them, if I could take Lester for his usual walk up and down the avenue, and they said yes. One of them carried Lester downstairs for me. Well, when we set off I took care never to look behind me, but I knew perfectly well that the man was following me. At Eighty-sixth and Park there is a big store that has two entrances, one on the avenue side, one on the street. At the avenue side I lifted Lester up and went in, leaving the gocart at the door. Outside the other entrance there's a taxicab stand, so I just got in a taxi and told the driver to take me in Central Park. He had to drive back to Park Avenue before he could turn and I saw my policeman watching the gocart and knew I was safe from being followed. So I went to our certain place in Central Park, and sure enough, Al came along..."

"Good God!" ejaculated Lee. "Disguised?"

"A little bit. But I knew him at once." Her laugh sounded. "Oh, it was clever! Nobody but Al would ever have thought of anything so simple!"

"Was he alone?" asked Lee grimly.

She hesitated. "I don't think I'd better answer that."

Lee thought: Then he was not alone!

"He sat down beside me," Charlotte continued, "and we talked. He was mighty thankful to see me. He gave me money and also the key to our safe deposit box. He told me how to cut some coupons if I needed more money. Lester was so glad to see his daddy, too. Al wasn't so much disguised but the baby knew him. He adores his father. I wouldn't let Al stay but a few minutes. We weren't far from Eighty-sixth Street and there was just a chance that one of the watchdogs might stumble on the spot. I drove back to the side entrance of the store in another taxi and when I came out of the Park Avenue entrance, there the man was, still watching the gocart. I made out not to see him. The whole thing didn't take more than half an hour, so I walked the baby up and down the street for a while before taking him in."

"You're a clever woman, my dear," said Lee soberly. "I am sorry to see you playing a losing game." Charlotte merely looked obstinate.

"Al can keep up this merry game of hide-and-seek for a while, but it can only have one end."

"Aren't you working for him?" she said.

"I am working to discover the truth."

"Well, if he didn't have anything to do with this Philadelphia murder, doesn't that prove that he didn't..."

"Robert Hawkins was probably killed by some friend of Al's who supposed that Hawkin's death would help Al."

"You mean that woman," Charlotte said coolly. "You are right, of course. And it was she who killed Jules Gartrey. I am surprised that you can't see that."

"Why should she?" asked Lee mildly.

"Because it was hateful to have to live with him. He hampered her liberty...And by his death she becomes one of the richest women in the country and free!"

"If she hired a man to put Hawkins out of the way, she was putting herself in the murderer's power for life."

Charlotte shook her head. "No. Because the murderer wouldn't dare say anything. And, anyway, she's a beautiful woman; she's able to reduce men to a slavish obedience."

"I'm not saying you're not right," said Lee.

There was a silence. The endless murmur of traffic in Park Avenue came up to them, ceased abruptly as the lights changed; commenced again. Lee watched a skywriter, a black speck against the blue, darting, turning, spinning out his gigantic white script. Charlotte's needles twinkled and clicked. Her lips were tight. She said at last:

"Do you know what I think? I think the story of Lester and me ought to be published in the papers."

"Good God, no!" cried Lee involuntarily.

"If that woman learned that Al had a wife and baby, it would put her in such a fury of rage that the truth might come out."

"But, my dear child, think what it would mean! Life would become impossible for you and the baby!"

Charlotte's chin went up again. "I could stand it. As for Lester, he's too young to know what's going on, thank God!" She bent over the gocart. "He still thinks the world is full of kindness and love."

"Have you discussed this with Al?" asked Lee.

"No, indeed. He would never consent to such a thing. He wants to spare me. But if I was sure it was the right thing to do, I would act without consulting him."

Lee laid a hand on hers. "No, my dear, no! Your position is difficult enough as it is!"

Lee continued on to his office. There he found Fanny Parran and Judy Bowles holding court for a dozen newspaper reporters. Ordinarily, the sight would have pleased him, for he was proud of the attractiveness of his office assistants and he liked to see them enjoying themselves. Lee insisted that he was an amateur and, as such, he said, no speeding-up process was necessary in his office. Consequently, Fanny and Judy adored their jobs. But this morning the gay wise-cracking back and forth made Lee sore. He thought ruefully: This damned case is spoiling my sunny nature!

Tom Cottar of the Herald Tribune acted as spokesman for the others: "Mr. Mappin, what do you think of this Philadelphia murder?"

"What a foolish question!" said Lee sharply. "A brutal, cold-blooded crime! What would you expect me to think of it?"

"Do you believe that Al Yohe had a hand in it?"

"I never express an opinion as to a man's guilt until after he is tried."

"Nobody but Al Yohe had any interest in Hawkins' death."

"The officer who saw the killer asserts that it was not Al Yohe."

"Maybe the cop was just trying to save his face."

"Maybe. But there is also another possibility."

"We are aware of it," said Tom Cottar dryly, "but we're not allowed to say anything about that." Lee shrugged.

He got rid of them at last. They went away and each cooked up his own story of the interview in which Lee had not admitted anything.

Fanny was as sweet as peaches toward her employer this morning. She was a little uneasy, Lee saw, and keen to find out what he was up to. She said casually: "I called you at eleven, Pop, but Jermyn said you'd been gone for an hour."

Lee kept an impassive face. "What did you want?"

"Inspector Loasby phoned to say he had returned to New York and would like to see you at his office. Or, if that was not convenient, he'd come up here."

"I'll go down to Headquarters," said Lee.

Loasby gave Lee the gist of his findings in Philadelphia. Robert Hawkins had been poisoned with cyanide. Cyanide, of course, would betray itself by its taste, but Hawkins, like all men who took their whisky straight, had swallowed it at a gulp and tasted it too late. No fingerprints had been found except Hawkins' own. Mrs. Quimby reported that Hawkins had received a letter on the morning of his murder. She had taken notice of it because he received so few letters. A plain, white envelope without any printing on it, posted in New York. Addressed in an ordinary kind of hand, like a clerk's. The maid had handed it to Hawkins, and after reading it the old man had remarked: "From a young man I used to know." He had then sent word down to Mrs. Quimby that he would have his dinner out that evening. Neither letter nor envelope had been found in his room, the killer evidently having taken care to remove them. Nobody in Mrs. Quimby's house had had a sight of Hawkins' visitor the previous night.

"There is nothing in Philadelphia to furnish a clue to his identity," said Loasby. "I am working at this end to discover Hawkins' former associates. He was registered at the Tuckerman agency before going to work for the Gartreys. I'm also having the sales of cyanide traced."

Lee stroked his chin. "There's one odd feature of the situation. If the killer made a date with Hawkins to meet him at the restaurant, why should Hawkins have been 'surprised' to find him at the door?"

"I asked O'Mara about that," said Loasby, "and he stuck to it that Hawkins did not appear to know the young man when he greeted him."

"This is the way I would explain it," said Lee. "Somebody was looking for a man to liquidate old Hawkins. It is hardly possible that a man could be found who knew Hawkins and was willing to take on the job of rubbing him out, just like that. It is likely that they signed the name of one of Hawkins' acquaintances to the letter and gave the job to a professional killer. This one explained to Hawkins why he had come instead of the friend he expected, made friends with the unsuspicious old man during the meal, and afterwards suggested going to Hawkins' room for a drink."

"That's the way I figure it," said Loasby.

While Lee was at Headquarters, Fanny called up to say that Mr. George Coler of Hasbrouck and Company was trying to get in touch with him.

"I'm not far from his office," said Lee. "Tell him I'll be there directly."

Once more Lee was led through the magnificent suite of lofty rooms to George Coler's private office. The beauteous receptionist swam before him as gracefully as a swan. Today, however, the astute banker was far from showing his usual savoir-faire; his high-colored face was mottled in hue and etched with harassed lines; one eyelid twitched nervously; he was unable to keep still. Today he took care to close the door of his office after Lee had entered.

"So good of you to come down, Mr. Mappin. I'm really in no shape to do business today, but I have a dozen important meetings." He attempted to carry it off with a laugh. "I suppose the market would break if I went home."

"What's the matter?" asked Lee mildly.

"It's that damnable murder in Philadelphia last night!"

Lee wondered why the murder of a poor old butler should upset the great and powerful banker to this extent. While Coler railed on against the crime, he quietly waited to find out.

"Horrible!...Absolutely cold-blooded!...The man must be insane!...What's the matter with the police? Is Al Yohe to be allowed to go on killing at his own sweet will?"

"This one wasn't Al Yohe's work," said Lee.

Coler whirled on him. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

"Well, there is certain evidence in the hands of the police that proves it couldn't have been Yohe."

Coler's agitation increased. "Good God, Mappin! Do you mean that the police have information that hasn't been given out?"

"Why, of course. They can't reveal their whole hand."

Coler approached him with his face working. "What sort of information?"

Lee held up his hands. "I couldn't tell you that, Mr. Coler."

"You can tell me! I'm not a newspaperman. I'm accustomed to keeping things to myself. I have a right to know this!"

Lee continued to shake his head. Coler paced the room, biting his lip.

Lee thought: Coler believes that it was Agnes who had old Hawkins rubbed out and that it will be brought home to her. He's in love with Agnes.

Coler succeeded in controlling his agitation. "Mappin, whom do the police suspect?" he asked frankly. "You are safe with me."

"They don't 'suspect' anybody yet. There is no positive evidence."

Coler came close to Lee and let a hand drop on his shoulder. His air of candor was very winning. "Map-pin, you are no policeman," he said. "You don't belong in that galley. You belong with us. I want you on my side."

Lee affected to look blank. "I'm afraid I don't understand you."

"I will be perfectly plain with you. I want you to work for me, Mappin--may I call you Lee? This is your profession and you are at the head of it. In a matter as important as this you can ask me any fee you like. But it's not a question of pay. I know you don't care particularly for money. This affects your own self-interest, Lee."

"I don't quite get you," said Lee.

"You and I belong to the so-called better class. We've got to stick together. We are the rulers and we've got to maintain our position. Numerically we are few and the muckers, the roughnecks, the mob, they are many. We've got to keep them down, by any means. How glad they would be to get back at us, led by the sensational press. We mustn't give them such an opening, Lee!"

Lee continued to look blank.

"Suppose a woman of our class, an infatuated woman, lost her head and...and became implicated in a nasty crime. Think what an opportunity it would give to all the rabble rousers in the country to stir up the masses, to preach hate against the upper class. Especially in a time of excitement like this. It would be a terrible blow to our prestige, Lee!"

"I think you exaggerate the importance of the situation," said Lee dryly. "The newspapers, yes, but they don't cut very deep; they have to be finding new sensations all the time. I can't see it becoming a national issue. And, anyhow, I never could feel that I belonged to any particular class, either upper or lower. I suppose it's a defect in my make-up."

As Coler began a fresh tirade against the unruly masses, Lee stopped him with a gesture. "I see your point, Mr. Coler, but I cannot change my course now. I have handed over certain evidence to the police and in return Inspector Loasby has taken me into his confidence. So you see..."

Coler heard only one phrase of this. "What evidence have you turned over to the police?" he demanded excitedly.

Lee held up his hands.

The interview did not last much longer. It was something new for the powerful banker, accustomed to obedience and subservience from all, to meet with firm opposition and he did not take it well. There was the hint of a threat in his final shot at Lee.

"You are making a serious mistake, Mappin! We are powerful; we know how to defend ourselves; we stand by our own!"

Lee got out.