Rich Crooks/Chapter 13
XIII
I FOUND an hour, or maybe not so long a time as that, of Thursday afternoon quite interesting. There were one or two little variations to my plans, but nothing of importance.
Joseph Cornwall arrived before any of my other guests. He came with two or three private detectives and a lawyer, obviously intending to trap me in a little game of blackmail. I knew that was in the air almost as soon as I saw him creeping from the automobile, solicitously assisted by two fellows who could no more have proclaimed themselves detectives if they had worn their tin badges as shirt studs instead of concealing them under their coats.
An experienced blackmailer like myself understands pretty much the risks he must take. In spite of my assurance that I would not meet him unless he had previously delivered one hundred and thirty thousand dollars into my hands, he came, and I had not yet received the money. I really hadn't expected to get it, for one must demand a great deal more in this world than one hopes for. I mean I had not expected to get it in advance, for Joseph Cornwall, being a certain kind of rich man, would not part with money without some hope not only of getting what he bargained for, but of getting back what he paid.
His two detectives and the lawyer—not the same little flunkey-like lawyer person that had called on me, but another, a more important-looking legal person—whispered in the lobby for a moment, then followed the bell-boy who came forward and offered to show them to Suite C. The bell-boy was intelligent and attending to business, as I noticed from my place behind the palms.
Joseph and his party were scarcely out of sight before Steve Ellis came in nervously, looking a little lost but having made up his mind to see it through—whatever it might be.
I went up to him and asked him to sit down and wait a minute. I told him that Governor Walsh had already arrived and was in his room, that the governor would be down in a few minutes looking for me, as I had sent up word that I was waiting. I asked Ellis to receive the governor for me and—I glanced at my watch—
“Bring him up to Suite C in just eight minutes.”
“But I thought”
“Don't think,” I told him. “It isn't necessary today. Have the governor up there in eight minutes.”
I left him and hurried up-stairs.
I met Jack watching for me in the hall. He was excited but trying not to be.
“I'm afraid the nervous shock—” he began.
“What? A Richmond afraid?” I taunted him. “Don't worry. Your own doctors have told me it would be all right. Besides, Dr. Lingard has a proper dramatic sense—rather unusual in a physician.”
I had no sooner said that than Dr. J. C. Collins of the Children's Hospital—a tall, alert, tense fellow with a kind of sad humor in his eyes, always in his eyes—elbowed Jack aside and almost trembling in excitment said:
“Look here,; Don Everhard. Are you sure we're not going too far this time? If I should be arrested—scandal—hurt the hospital you know. Need the money, but”
“Have you got your machine ready? The driver's ready to go? All set?”
“Yes, but”
I silenced him with a gesture and said:
“Every bed in your hospital is a battle-field. Are you going to run the chance of losing a lot of battles there for fear of a little risk here, now?”
That touched his weakest spot. He was really a fanatic over his children and he did need money. Had he had billions, that lover of children, that crusader against treacherous, cowardly diseases that attacked babies and children, would still have needed money. He clinched his long, sensitive surgical fingers and said tensely:
“Go on! I'll go through with it!”
I STEPPED into Suite C and closed the door. In my most business-like manner I faced the little delegation and cast a quick look at the burly-faced detective who lounged idly against the table, his elbow on a large dictionary.
Joseph Cornwall was sitting in a deep plush chair, and the rather pompous legal person was close beside him, whispering into the nervous old millionaire's ear.
“The money!” I said bluntly.
The lawyer person glanced right and left at the two detectives. They straightened up and took a step forward—waited—then he began to speak. That is, he cleared his throat, paused impressively and then began to say that he represented his client.
“The money or the cashier's check—now, or I go out of that door. You should have sent it before.”
The lawyer—his name was Parsons—began to ask me if I was sure that I really wanted the bargain to go on.
I cut him with a dozen words, saying that if I had wanted his advice I would have engaged him.
That made him angry and he puffed. The determination to make me regret my impudence came over his face and stayed there.
“You will kindly sign this receipt,” he said, offering me a piece of paper.
“I sign no receipt until the money is paid.”
“Yet,” he said with a swelling of his chest, “you expect my client to pay his money out without being assured of receiving the object of purchase.”
“He can have the object all right.”
“How do we know, sir?” demanded Parsons with further expanse of chest.
“Because I said so.”
“Oh!”
It was an insulting as he could make it.
“The governor of Utah is in this hotel. I meet him in five minutes. If I haven't your money by that time, you, Cornwall, will probably go to the penitentiary for perjury and conspiracy—for sheltering a guilty man when you knew that Steve Ellis was innocent of the murder of his wife!”
That was a turn in the affairs that had not been expected. Cornwall started out of his chair shivering, and his thin hands gestured frightenedly as he said—
“Pay him—pay him—quick!”
Mr. Parsons handed me a check, a cashier's check for one hundred and thirty thousand dollars, and held out the receipt.
The check was made out, as I had insisted, to J. C. Collins. Parsons thought it was my alias or one of them.
I scrawled a signature of some kind onto the paper, but my eyes were on the detectives.
No sooner had I dropped the pen than they, awaiting their cues, stepped forward.
“The box, sir!” demanded Parsons.
“Look up the word box in that dictionary,” I taunted them. “It's there.”
In a sort of stupid bewilderment all eyes turned toward the large book.
“I might have known it, I might have known it!” Cornwall squeaked. “All is lost!”
“All is not lost,” cried the Parsons person Napoleonically. “That scoundrel—” he leveled an accusing finger at me—“shall pay for this! Officers, do your duty!”
“Yes, officers, do!” I said, for I had seen what was coming as far off as one sees a headlight. “Put up your hands!”
They stepped back, their hands going upward, for there was a gun in each one of mine.
I moved to the door, carefully laid one gun at my feet, opened the door and without looking around thrust out the check.
“Everything's going fine,” I said without looking around. “You've just got time to get to the bank—if you hurry. I don't think they'll want to stop payment on it but you can never tell.”
Dr. Collins had not paused to hear all I said. He was gone. I closed the door, picked up the other gun, swiftly searched the detectives and stood them up where I could watch then with the least effort.
“Cornwall,” I said, “you probably thought you could get the dead woman to have God forgive you if you stole her daughter—took the girl away from a father whom you knew to be innocent of all the crimes that threw him repeatedly into the penitentiary. That is all you know about women, living or dead. Personally, I have an idea that her spirit kept nagging at the conscience of Governor Walsh until he was roused to dare do what he knew was right. No, I'm not religious but I believe in the devil. How can one help it when such things as you, with the protection and aid of fellows like Parsons here and these fat dicks, cumber the earth. Your box is in that dictionary. If you want it, look it up. I promised it and I usually keep my promises, even to rich crooks.”
Parsons, puffing and angry, began oratorically to warn me of what was due to happen to me and to explain how I could not escape. He was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
The door opened and Steve Ellis and Governor Walsh, amazement scrawled across their faces, came in slowly.
“There is one more to come,” I reminded the boy who had showed them in.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then notify Mr. Richmond—you remember?”
“Yes, sir.”
I closed the door and turned around to look with complacence upon my little private drama which was progressing quite well for an impromptu rehearsal.
THE two detectives against the wall had their hands up. That there might not be any mistake as to their identity, when I searched I had taken the precaution of causing them to move their large badges into a more conspicuous position and remarked:
“What a fine advertisement this will be for your agency when it gets into the papers. Everything relating to Cornwall and myself, you know, gets into the papers.” There they stood, nearly bursting with shame.
Joseph shivered in the deep plush chair, and Mr. Parsons rocked back and forth, glaring passionately from toe to heel. He was doing his best to look impressive, though he was a little handicapped by the circumstances.
Governor Walsh was a solid man with something of the typical politician on his face and something more, too—some indication of the man that he might have been had he not for so many years placed career before conscience. I doubted not at all that he had made many compromises, yet to his credit it must be said that though he had not been afraid to attack the Cornwalls openly, he had never tried to make friends with them secretly.
“What is the meaning of this, sir?” demanded the governor with dignity.
“It's a little reception committee, sir. By the way, governor, I have been having a little dispute with these gentlemen over the word box. I believe you are interested in the subject too. Mr. Daniel Cornwall was once sardonic enough to send you a photograph and a key. Ellis, would you mind looking up box in the dictionary?”
Ellis stared at me as if sure that I was crazy, so did the governor and every one else. I may have fancied it, but it seemed to me the detectives stretched their arms a little higher, as if realizing that I was crazy and might shoot, though I had put my guns away and tossed theirs across the room into a closet.
I insisted, though with a certain lightness of tone, that Ellis open the dictionary.
He hesitated, then went forward and laid his hands on the book. The room was silent, all were hushed—so the sudden knock on the door was like thunder. I spoke. The door opened and I called to Ellis—
“That dictionary, man; open it!”
Steve Ellis turned the book and exposed the box. At the same moment my intelligent bell-boy, with a hearty grin and an impudent, “In you go, old top,” shoved the reluctant man through the doorway. The boy pulled the door shut and was gone.
“Mr. Daniel Cornwall, gentleman,” I said, bowing toward the frightened figure, still in his clerical sideburns and black clothes. He carried a satchel in his hand.
That satchel contained an enormous amount of cash, but, as a matter of fact, Daniel Cornwall did not intend it for me. He had, in thinking over the interview of the previous night, decided to get together what money he could,and permanently disappear—or perhaps some time later try to get his hands on his fortune. Anyway, he had that afternoon purchased a ticket when a little, noiseless Chinaman thrust a card into his hand. The card, addressed to Cornwall, advised him that he would be arrested if he took another step in any direction except toward Suite C of the Treborne Hotel.
So it was that surprize after surprize had broken in that room. Daniel Cornwall shuffled furtively and turned toward the door but realized that he could not make a break. Joseph raised himself out of his chair, then fell back whispering huskily—
“Daniel!”
Mr. Parsons looked about, blinking and trying not to appear as if he were dreaming, but it wouldn't have taken much to convince him that he was. Fat, well-fed lawyers do not believe that such things as were happening then do happen outside of nightmares. Steve Ellis crouched slightly and hate leaped to his face. Governor Walsh stared incredulously, for Daniel Cornwall would not have seemed so out of place, so unreal, in his winding sheet as in this clerical dress.
I had no time to waste. Dick Richmond would soon be coming into the room.
“Mr. Cornwall,” I said agreeably, “I have reason to believe that you haven't looked into this box for some time. Will you open it?”
He stared at me dully for a moment, then anger came to his eyes. He realized how completely he had been trapped. I had told him that he could not imagine a more, effective trap than the one which had caught him the night before and it was his own lookout if he couldn't.
“Oh, perhaps you never found the key I flung from the window? Governor Walsh, was it not for some such emergency as this that you were presented with a key? Will you be good enough to use it?”
The governor looked at me hard and his brain worked quickly. He jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled a key ring out, fingered the keys for a moment and, selecting one, reached toward the box with a determined air.
Joseph Cornwall actually sprang from his chair, with two trembling feeble hands outthrust:
“It is mine. Everhard! Mr Parsons! Please, officers, I have paid for this box!”
“Yes,” I affirmed, “and for its contents. You see, Mr. Parsons, that here in the presence of witnesses— Gentlemen—” I spoke to the detectives who had taken their hands down but still held their places by the wall—“I call on you to bear witness that Mr. Cornwall affirms the transaction. So, Mr. Parsons, you must change your mind about charging me with blackmail.”
THE key did not work easily; the lock was a difficult one. As the governor, a little excitedly, turned and wrenched—it was only a matter of seconds—all drew nearer, craning their necks,
The lid was lifted. Daniel made a movement as if to snatch at the contents, but his hands stopped as though he had suddenly come upon a snake. The governor too drew back amazed and looked at me.
“Yes, yes,” I said, “it is empty, but you see when I got my hands on it five years ago—borrowed it one night from Mr. Cornwall here—” Daniel, suddenly enlightened as to who had robbed him of the box five years before, cursed under his breath—“I took the liberty of destroying certain criminal evidence against a gentleman it is needless to mention. How did I know what had been put into the box since or how valuable was its contents? Mr. Cornwall there—” I indicated Joseph—“offered me a very handsome price and his brother has also pledged himself to give me”
I cast significant glances at the satchel.
Unfortunately I never got any of the money he had there. That was one place where my scheme fell down, but I was somewhat compensated by the expressions on the faces of the men about me. For five years the man who was the governor of Utah had lived in fear and trembling of an empty box. At any moment of that time, had he, as he eventually did do, let his conscience get the better of his judgment, he could have smashed the Cornwalls and come off unscratched. For five years the two cunning brothers had nursed an empty box as their talisman. So sure had Daniel been that none could open it without a key, that he had not taken the trouble of having another key made to investigate its contents. He had seen me close the box with the papers in it.
I explained to the governor in as few words as I could how I had stolen the box, to whom I had given it and why, five years before. When I had finished, he was silent, staring at me. Then he said that he had heard of me, but he had doubted a great deal of what he had heard. He believed now that he had been wrong to doubt. I felt sorry for Steve Ellis at that moment, for he had listened and, listening, he understood a great deal that possibly he would not have believed had he heard it at any other time, under any other conditions. His face was an apology, his lips trembled. He said nothing.
The atmosphere of the room was so tense that no one had noticed that the door stood open, nor who stood there, listening, waiting.
I had kept a watchful lookout from the corner of my eye on Daniel Cornwall, though he stood perhaps some ten feet from me, but at that he came near to fooling me because he had his gun in the side trouser's pocket instead of in the hip pocket. He jerked it out and leveled it, not at me but at the governor. Perhaps he intended the next shot for me—perhaps a third even for Ellis.
The bursting roar of two guns, exploding almost at once, filled the room, detonated through the hall and set the hotel into a commotion. I had shot with nothing more than split seconds to work on, but the gun went from his hands just as he pulled the trigger and his hand was shattered. By one of those odd chances of luck, the bullet struck the little steel box and ricocheted into the dictionary.
“If you had pointed it at your own head I wouldn't have interrupted you,” I said coldly, glancing past him to the doorway. To the detectives I said:
“There is some work for you. Arrest him for the murder of Mrs. Steven Ellis!”
“That's a lie!” Joseph screamed, starting up. At that moment of crisis, brother-love, family blood and sharing of loot on dirty deals stood stronger in him than his pretended love for the dead woman. Joseph was an adroit scoundrel—ten times more adroit, though less aggressive and daring than his brother. He had at one time practically convinced me that he believed Steve Ellis had murdered her.
“That's a lie!” he cried, “Who accuses him? You?” He glared contemptuously at me.
I pointed toward the doorway.
There, a little pale, rather thin but tense, determined, Cora stood, with Jack beside her, looking as if he was ready to fight the world.
“Yes, I do!” she said almost in a whisper, but a whisper that carried. “Yes, I heard everything you and he—” a finger went out toward Daniel Cornwall—“said that night when you quarreled over what it was best to do since Quiller had told you who Mr. Everhard was. You thought it would be easy to keep Mr. Everhard fooled by not running away—by devising some story to tell him. You said he couldn't possibly know that Taggart had been sent by Daniel to rob my mother. I heard all you said—both of you said!”