Carden, Crook Comedian/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
A NARROW ESCAPE.
BACK at police headquarters, Detective Sam Marter asked for the assistance of another detective named Jones, who often had worked with him, and it was granted. He took Jones aside and told him the entire thing, and they began formulating plans for the capture of Joe Carden when he had the marked bills in his possession.
“He said noon, and so we’ll be on the job as early as ten o’clock in the morning,” Marter said. “We don’t want to slip up on this, Jones, and so we’ll take nobody else into our confidence. We’ll not even speak to the general delivery clerk beforehand. Either Carden or Nifty Burke will call for that mail, and we know both of them by sight. Here is where we get the crook comedian.”
Later in the day, Marter telephoned both Belcher and Razelus and made sure that the money had been put in the mail. Marter was well satisfied with the way things were going. He had a vision of Joe Carden being sentenced to the big prison up the river, of brother officers saying they were sorry they laughed when Carden had made a fool of him before.
But he might not have been so satisfied had he known everything that was in Carden’s mind. The crook comedian was not a man to leave things to chance. He was up at an early hour the following morning, and had a long talk with Nifty Burke, who immediately went into the little dressing room and put on clothing that caused him to look anything but “nifty.” When he appeared before Joe Carden again he had the appearance of a down-and-outer.
Burke received further instructions, and then he left the place and hurried uptown. He approached the general post office cautiously, yet not in a manner to arouse suspicion. He loitered across the street, walked around the block, and came up from an opposite direction. And shortly after ten o’clock he saw Detective Marter, and Jones not far away.
Nifty Burke knew them both, and he was careful that they did not recognize him. He watched them for a time. Marter and Jones were on guard, yet Burke was able to tell, within a short time, that they were not at the post office accidentally. He hurried to a telephone and called Joe Carden, and gave him the news.
“I half expected it, Nifty,” the crook comedian said. “Belcher called him into the case, I suppose. So you go ahead with those plans I told you, and watch for me exactly at noon. Careful now, Burke.”
“I getcha, boss!” Burke said.
He felt no fear for Joe Carden, for the comedian had demonstrated on several occasions that he could care for himself. And Burke liked this game with Marter and others of the police, liked close calls and narrow escapes. He got another taxicab and journeyed downtown to a district where men could be hired for small amounts to do anything, including murder. He searched for some time until he found the men he desired, and then he talked to them carefully, and finally gave them their instructions.
One was an elderly man and the other a common-looking thug. They grinned when told what was expected of them, and their eyes bulged at mention of the money they were to receive. They were given to understand, too, that they would have to carry out the program, else incur the enmity of one powerful in the underworld. Nifty Burke mentioned no names, but his manner carried conviction.
As for Joe Carden, he did an amazing thing after receiving Nifty Burke’s message of warning. He went into the dressing room his usual self, and emerged again an old man, stooped of shoulder, with shaggy hair, dressed in a rusty suit that made that of Razelus look like the latest in gentlemanly adornment.
He slipped from the house through the alley, hobbled down the street, and got on a surface car. It took him considerable time to reach the post office, and when he did approach it, he did so with extreme caution.
Nifty Burke passed him on the corner.
“Marter inside the door, tryin’ to hide by the big desk, and Jones on the front steps,” Nifty whispered from one corner of his mouth.
“Exactly at noon, Nifty!”
“I getcha, boss!”
They passed; Nifty continued around the block and Joe Carden went up the street. It lacked half an hour of noon. Carden turned his back on the post office building and went slowly along the avenue through the crowds, like an old man with small interest left in life.
Five minutes to noon he was back at the post office corner, and saw Nifty Burke standing at the bottom of the steps. He saw Detective Jones loitering at the top of the flight, but he did not see Marter. Nifty signed to him that he was ready.
Joe Carden went up the steps of the side entrance and stepped just inside to fumble in an inside pocket, as though searching for a letter. He looked over his spectacles, and saw Marter. The detective was not far from the general delivery window, standing so that he could dodge behind a pillar.
“Wants to nab me all by himself, does he?” Carden mused, chuckling a bit. “Marter is growing too ambitious. And we all know what happened to Cæsar when he got ambitious.”
Carden looked up at the big clock on the wall. It was within a minute of twelve. He stepped to a window and glanced down at the street and as Nifty Burke looked up, Joe Carden passed one hand across his eyes.
It was the signal for which Nifty Burke had been waiting. He immediately faced in the other direction and made a similar signal. Two men started up the front steps from the street—the two Nifty had engaged. Each man had fifty dollars in bills in his pocket; Nifty had presented the money.
Up the steps they went, approaching each other, going directly toward Detective Jones.
Inside the post office, Joe Carden shuffled down the wide corridor toward the general delivery window.
The men on the steps did not act as though they knew each other. They met just before the swinging doors, and within six feet of Detective Jones, who had given them a single glance and then had turned away.
And suddenly a brawl started. The elderly man, who carried a stick, struck at the one who looked like a thug. Blows fell thick and fast. Detective Jones sprang forward, and the thug thrust him away and caused him to go whirling down the steps. Marter, looking through the window, saw it.
Marter acted on impulse. It flashed through his mind that Jones was at the mercy of Nifty Burke, or perhaps Joe Carden himself. Marter sprang through the door to grapple with the fighting men, just as Jones charged up the steps again.
At that instant, Joe Carden stepped to the general delivery window.
“Any mail for George X. Z. Brown?” he asked.
Carden was a bit nervous about it, and the delivery clerk seemed very slow. But presently he tossed out the two letters, and Joe Carden thrust them into his pocket and hobbled on through the corridor.
Marter, at that instant, seeing that he knew neither of the men who had been fighting, sensed a trap. He whirled around and dashed into the building, hurried to the window, and exhibited his shield.
“If anybody asks for mail for George X. Z. Brown” he began.
“He just got it—an old man,” the clerk said.
Marter whirled around again. Joe Carden was almost at the end of the corridor. At that instant he turned and knew that Marter was after him. He did not think that Marter had recognized him, but he guessed the detective had just spoken with the clerk. And he did not want Marter to be sure that the old man and the crook comedian were the same.
Joe Carden threw aside his old-age manner and charged up the steps toward the second floor, Marter shrieking and taking after him. In the corridor above, Carden dashed like the wind for the other end, and went down the steps there just as Marter reached the second floor.
To the street Joe Carden hurried. He darted around the corner to where Nifty Burke had a taxicab waiting, jumped into it, and the chauffeur, who had his instructions, drove rapidly away. Nifty Burke walked nonchalantly down the street to the next corner, there to get a cab of his own.
Detective Sam Marter met Jones as he emerged from the post office, but Jones had seen nobody answering the description of the old man.
“He’s put one over on us!” Marter cried. “He can’t be far away. Old man—rusty coat—stooped shoulders. I’ll bet he’s the comedian—or else Burke. Take that side street and I’ll take this, and watch the exits!”
They searched for fifteen minutes, and without result. Roger Belcher, who had been waiting with Razelus not far away, put in an appearance, for he was to have identified Carden.
“Got away, did he?” Belcher roared. “And with our money, too! You’re a hot sketch of a detective!”
“Oh, we’ll get him, all right,” Marter said. “Where’s your car? Signal the chauffeur. I know where he lives, and we’ll go down there right now and take him in!”
Belcher signaled, and his big car drew up to the curb. They all got in—Belcher, Razelus, Marter, and Jones—and Marter issued orders to ignore traffic regulations, and gave the chauffeur the address.
But Joe Carden had had a good start, and so had Burke. Carden left his cab a block from the house, paid the chauffeur handsomely, hurried through the alley, and let himself into his rooms. His wig came off, also his trousers and his old coat, and all went into the dumb waiter and were sent below. Carden got into his usual things quickly, and then took the two letters and hid them in a place that he knew was safe.
Burke came rushing in, changed his clothes, and put the old ones in the dumb-waiter.
“Good stuff!” Carden said. “I’ll bet they’ll be here in a few minutes. I have a hunch, as you might say, Nifty, that Marter knows where we live. And that reminds me that I have something yet to do.”
He went into the bathroom and closed the door. Burke could hear the water running. And when Joe Carden came out again, he was grinning.
“Now we are ready for them,” he said. “Everything natural, Burke, please.”
“I getcha, boss!”