Three by Cain: Serenade, Love's Lovely Counterfeit, the Butterfly (33 page)

“Bill Delany or Dick Delany?”

“Mr. Bill, sir.”

“What do you do for him?”

“I take care of his horses, sir, all six of his polo ponies and his two thoroughbred mares. Of course I got to get help exercising them, but—”

“O.K., so Arch Rossi called you?”

“Yes sir, he said he’d been hurt in a car accident, and he was in Room 38 at the Globe, and would I call a taxi and come over and get him out of there. I thought it was kind of funny, and I couldn’t do anything till six o’clock, when I was off, but then he called again, and when he said he had plenty of dough I called a cab and went over there. There were three other guys there, and they cussed Arch out and told him to get out and stay out. So I figured if it was a car accident, maybe the car was stolen. Then from the way Arch began talking in the cab I knew he was shot. Then when we got to the Columbus and I was helping him in through the service entrance I heard somebody say: ‘Holy smoke, here comes one of those Castleton rats,’ and I looked around and it was a guy that runs the Columbus for Caspar by the name of Henry Hardcastle.”

“You know Henry Hardcastle?”

“I seen him at the track plenty of times.”

“He know you?”

“I’ll say he does.”

“Herndon, what are you lying to me for?”

“Mister, I’m not lying.”

“If Rossi was shot, why would he be leaving the Globe, unless he got orders? And if it was orders, why don’t you say so? And if you’re working for Caspar, what’s the big idea, going to Mr. Jansen and handing him a lot of chatter about being afraid to go home?”

“I don’t work for Caspar.”

“Then it don’t make sense.”

“It makes sense if you heard what Arch was saying in the cab. He was shot, see? And he was laying up with three guys that he was afraid would knock him off just to get rid of him. And nothing was being done about him except a bum doctor would come in every day and tell him he was getting along swell. But from the way the other three were whispering he knew he wasn’t getting along swell, and he figured his only chance was to get to Caspar, so—”

“O.K. Now it makes sense. Go on.”

“That’s all, except when I tumbled to what it was all about I beat it, and when I got home my sister was yelling out the window at me to go away, that they were after me, and I had to beat it again. And I been beating it ever since, and I don’t know who you are, Mister, but if you got some place I can go, then—”

“Is the lady still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put her on and get back to the car.”

When June answered again, Ben spoke rapidly and decisively. “O.K., the first thing you do, you shoot this bird over to Castleton. Have Jansen take him over in person, and start at once. As soon as they’re gone, get over to Jansen headquarters, call the Castleton police and let them know what’s coming. Then sit tight. Be at Jansen headquarters all day, just in case.”

“Have Jansen take him in person?”

“That’s it. We’re playing in luck, terrific luck. This Herndon, he’s just a lug that curries horses. But he curries them for Delany, and that’s all we need. Solly fell for it last night, and he’ll keep on falling for it if we just let him. We got him chasing his own tail and he don’t know it.”

“I’m terribly excited.”

“Get going.”

“I’m off.”

Hanging up, Ben sat down on the unmade bed, his watch in his hand. At the end of fifteen minutes he dialed the
Pioneer
.
“City desk, please … Hello, you want a tip on that bandit, Arch Rossi?”

“What do you think?”

“O.K., I can’t tell you where he is, but I can tell you where his pal is, and if you hop on it, maybe you can get some dope from him.”

“I’ll bite, where is he?”

“Castleton.”

“Why?”

“Caspar was after him, for dropping Rossi at the Columbus. He was afraid to go home, and he went to Jansen. So Jansen’s taking him to the Castleton cops, for protection and maybe some evidence. They started ten or fifteen minutes ago, in Jansen’s car.”

“Who are you?”

“Little Jack Horner.”

“O.K., Jack. Thanks.”

When the first editions came out, it developed that the newspaper had done what Ben no doubt expected. It had chartered a special plane, and had reporters and photographers waiting when Jansen walked into Castleton police headquarters with Herndon. In the big room, Ben and Lefty read silently, studied the pictures of Jansen, of Herndon, even of Rossi, in a blown-up snapshot that somebody had dug up. The buzzer kept sounding, and Lefty kept jumping up to admit various personages: Jack Brady, secretary to the Mayor; Inspector Cantrell, of the Police Department; James Joseph Bresnahan, ace reporter for the
Pioneer;
photographers, bellboys, telegraph messengers. The Bresnahan interview broke for the financial edition, and Lefty began to curse when he read it. It was mainly Bresnahan, in an F. Scott Fitzgerald picture of Caspar, as though he were a great Gatsby of some credit to the town. But it was quite a little Caspar, too, in an interview that gave no names, but intimated all too plainly that if the citizenry wanted to know more about Rossi, or of the various scandals that had recently rocked the town, it might ask a certain society racketeer who knew much more than many might think.

In the five-star final, there was a picture of Dick Delany, standing beside his car, about to depart for Chicago, where, it was explained, he would interview his brother, as special correspondent for the paper, and find out what truth there might be in the Caspar charges, or in the various rumors that were flying around. When he saw this, Ben managed a fair imitation of a snicker. “Say, that’s a laugh—they’re hiring Dick Delany to drive over to Chicago and interview Bill on what Solly’s saying about him.”

“I see they are.”

“I guess Sol’s not in any real danger.”

“How you figure that out?”

“If they really mean it, why don’t they put a real reporter on it? What’s the idea of sending Dick Delany, that stumblebum that don’t hardly know right from left? To me, that looks quite a lot like a coat of whitewash.”

“To me it looks different.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“What you say, that would be O.K. if Solly had it doped right. If Delany
was
back of this stuff that’s being sprung by the Jansen people, and especially that girl, then sending Dick over would be about the dumbest play they could think up, because it would just be helping him cover up. But if Solly’s got it wrong, and Delany’s a little sore, and wants to shoot off his mouth, then Dick would just be the perfect guy for him to talk to, wouldn’t it? To
me
—of course nobody pays any attention to what I say around here any more, and it’s just one mug’s opinion—but to me it looks like they straightened Solly up for the old one-two and no bell to save him. First they send Bresnahan over here and get him to shoot off his face, and you’ll notice Dick’s got that paper in his hand even while he’s having his picture taken. If Bill needed anything more to open him up, that would do it.”

Carefully, Lefty read the
Pioneer’s
write-up of Mr. Bill Delany; of his start as a hostler in the Jardine stables; of his rise to riding instructor, to exhibitor of mounts at local horse shows;
of his acquisition of various runners, particularly Golden Bough, a winner of purses some years before; of his reputed share in several tracks; of the rumors that connected him with organized gambling. As to this, however, the
Pioneer
was quite sketchy, and even jocular, as though nobody really believed the rumors, except perhaps Mr. Caspar. Then it went on to relate the strange relationship between Bill and his brother Dick; how the older brother self-effacingly kept behind the scenes, letting the younger brother do the family manners; how this last “tall, handsome, hard-riding man-about-town” had quite captured Lake City’s imagination; how he entered horses at the leading tracks, played in local polo games, belonged to several clubs, including the Lakeside Country Club, and had been reported engaged to several of the younger members of the social set. As to his brains, or lack of them, the paper had nothing to say, unless something was to be inferred from the paragraph: “Yet it is an open secret that the man behind the silks is not Dick, but Bill. Not that Dick is merely a ‘front’ for his quite active brother. On the contrary, he leads a pretty full life on his own account. And yet it is Bill, not Dick, who captains the ship, buys the gee-gees, decides where they are to be entered.”

Lefty shook his head. “You got it wrong, Ben. If the
Pioneer
was all, they mean it plenty.”

“What do you mean, if the
Pioneer
was all?”

“I told you, we’re taking steps.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot.”

“Maybe one too many.”

Pioneer Park, the local baseball grounds, was in striking contrast with John Dewey High School, just a few nights before. There the crowd had been small, quiet, and dispirited. Here, as a result of the sensational revelations of the last day or two, thousands of people were gathered, in a tense, excited mood. They overflowed from the space back of home plate, where seats had been placed, into the stand itself. On the speakers’ stand that had been erected over the plate floodlights glared down,
and as the loudspeakers carried every word that was said to the far corners of the grounds, loud cheers went up, with occasional calls for June, the mystery girl of the campaign.

Mr. Caspar arrived around eight, riding between Goose and Bugs on the back seat of the big armored sedan, with Ben at the wheel and Lefty beside Ben. Just what he was doing there, to judge from what was being said, was a puzzle to everybody in the car, and an unwelcome one, at that. His own explanation was: “It’s time I had a look at that dame”; and this, coupled with his compulsion to show his power wherever he could, seemed to be about the only reason. His power was evident at once. The car no sooner arrived than a sergeant waved it past the turnstiles, where lesser folks entered to the vehicle gate, which he ordered open. There a motorcycle patrolman picked it up, and led it past the rear of the grandstand to a point where the bleachers ended, and from there to a dark spot just back of the coaching lines. Several other cars were parked on the infield. Bugs jumped out, to look them over, and keep an eye on things behind. But Sol paid no attention, and made remarks at the expense of the speakers. One of them, soliciting money, said that three $1,000 contributions had been received in the last twenty-four hours, and to this Sol said: “Three thousand bucks! Wha ya know about that! Gee, they don’t look out they’re gonna have enough to pay for a coupla funerals.”

“Hey, Solly, cut it out.”

“Three funerals, grand apiece.”

“I said cut it out.”

Lefty, as Sol made no effort to muffle his jibes, was growing increasingly nervous. Presently, after the crowd had been lashed to a frenzy by several speakers, by excerpts from the day’s newspapers, by a brief speech from Jansen, June was introduced, and stepped into view, under the lights. The ensuing demonstration lasted five minutes, and Sol paid his respects to her clothes, her figure, and her general appearance, laughing loudly at his not very delicate sallies. But when she began to speak he fell as silent as he might have if he had been hit with
an axe. “Mr. Chairman, honorable candidates, fellow citizens, Mr. Caspar.”

“There it goes.”

Lefty, perhaps with reason, obviously blamed the jocosity of the last half hour for June’s knowledge of their presence. Sol froze into a small, compact ball as she lifted the mike, turned it around, and faced him, her back to the major portion of the crowd. “I’m glad you’ve seen fit to honor us with your presence, Mr. Caspar, because I’ve information that will interest you as a hotel owner. You were correctly quoted, I assume, in Mr. Bresnahan’s article in today’s
Pioneer
, in which you said that nobody by the name of Rossi, so far as you know, is staying at the Columbus Hotel. I must regretfully report that you don’t know everything that goes on at the Columbus. Mr. Arch Rossi is at the Columbus, this very minute. He must be there, because I myself talked with him, less than an hour ago. Of course I had some difficulty getting him on the line. I had to put the call through Castleton police headquarters, and make it appear as though Bob Herndon was trying to talk to his old pal, and tell him things that might be of interest—”

There was a warning shout from Bugs, watching behind. Then lights flashed all around the car. The photographers, who were out in force, had probably started together, as soon as June started to speak. At any rate they had the car surrounded, and were snapping furiously to get pictures. Caspar began pounding Ben on the back, ordering him to get out of there. Ben spun his motor, fast. The outfield floodlights came on, as the crowd gave a roaring laugh. Ben, his head twisted backwards, caught the horn with his elbow, and it brayed grotesquely. The crowd gave a cheer. It seemed minutes before they cleared the bleachers, and were whirling away.

“Boy, you ought to hear them. I don’t know where that dame came from, but she’s going to cost Maddux the election if something’s not done. Sol, he better look out.”

Bugs, left in the ball park by the circumstance that cars have
no running boards any more for lookout men to jump on, climbed in beside Ben, who was parked in the areaway back of the Columbus. “She’s stirring ’em up, hey?”

“It’s just murder. After you left she cut it loose and what she don’t know about this outfit ain’t hardly worth knowing. Where’s Sol?”

“Inside.”

“Goose and Lefty with him?”

“Yeah, but he said wait. We’re going somewhere.”

“Sure, with Arch Rossi.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“He’s got to get rid of the kid, hasn’t he? Boy, after what that dame told them out there tonight he can’t have him here any more. Not in the Columbus, he can’t.”

“What do you mean, get rid of him?”

“Ben, if I knew I wouldn’t say.”

When Sol came out of the hotel, however, he was alone. He climbed in the car and sat smoking, as though waiting for something. Presently, from the street, came the sound of police sirens. From where they were sitting they could see several cars pull up in front on the street, and spew officers all over the sidewalk. These disappeared, and Sol tiptoed to the rear of the hotel to listen. Bugs nodded at Ben, whispered that Solly was on the job, all right, and probably had the thing under control. This raid meant that Rossi was already out of the hotel, and the cops would find nothing. Even before the police cars had pulled away Sol was back in the car, and told Ben to drive to Memorial Boulevard. Bugs moved to the back seat with him, and they started out.