Carden, Crook Comedian/Chapter 7

OGER BELCHER read Joe Carden’s letter, received by special messenger, then cursed loudly because the messenger had gone and none of the servants could tell whence he had come.

For a time Belcher sat before his big desk, his hands clenched, his brow wrinkled, thinking it out. The more he thought, the angrier he became.

“Sting me, will he?” Belcher thundered to the four walls of his library. “Not much! I’ve beaten better men than this fellow, whoever he is. I was a fool to give him that thousand yesterday—he was no cop, of course. I must be getting old and slowing up!”

For half an hour he considered the situation from all angles, and then he went to his private telephone and talked to Razelus, ordering him to get a taxicab and journey to the Belcher residence as quickly as possible.

Razelus was greatly disturbed by that message. He seldom got more than a couple of blocks from his old shop, and a journey uptown held terrors for him, but he knew better than to disobey.

He locked the shop and hurried up the narrow, crooked street, engaged a taxicab, and whispered the address to the chauffeur as though it had been a crime; then he sank back against the cushions and wondered what was going to happen.

There had been no chance to tell Belcher over the telephone that he also had received a note regarding the Chinese vase, for Belcher had merely issued his orders and then had hung up the receiver. And Razelus was beginning to feel a great fear. A vision of prison was before him. He told himself that he had been a fool to make the deal for the vase, especially after he had seen the scar and knew that he was dealing with the crook comedian. He might have known that Joe Carden would come out of it the victor; he had heard enough about Carden’s operations along different lines.

By the time the taxicab stopped before the mansion of Roger Belcher, old Razelus was almost a nervous wreck. He paid the charges without argument, something highly unusual for him, and tottered up the steps to ring the bell. His voice quavered when he gave the servant his name.

But he blinked his eyes when he saw the magnificence in that house, and felt a certain amount of courage return to him. Surely a man who commanded such wealth as this could take care of himself and those involved with him. Perhaps the great Roger Belcher had some excellent plan for turning the tables on Joe Carden.

The servant returned and ushered him along the hall and up the wide stairs to the library. Belcher was sitting before his desk, his face like a thundercloud.

“Sit down, Razelus!” he commanded. “And read this!”

He tossed Joe Carden’s letter on the desk, and Razelus picked it up with trembling fingers and read.

“I—I have one, also,” he said, and proffered his. Belcher read it swiftly and put it down on the desk beside his own.

“Well?” he asked.

“I don’t know what to make of it.”

“I do. We’ve been played!” Belcher declared. “And no cheap crook can do that and get away with it.”

“What shall we do? Shall we send him the money?” Razelus asked.

“Ass! Send him money to-day, and next week he’ll be after more. I want to know all about this, Razelus—just how you got that vase. You told me part of it, but I’m sure that you didn’t tell all, If you want to get out of this scrape and save your money, talk, and don’t admit a single detail.”

Razelus talked. In his thin, quavering voice he told of the visit of Joe Carden to his store, explained about the deal, even admitted that he had obtained the vase for two thousand dollars.

“Very good,” Belcher said, when he had concluded. “You’ll have to pay me my money back, of course, and lose your two thousand. It’ll teach you to be careful after this. Now describe this man to me.”

Razelus did, even to the scar, and Belcher sat up straight in his chair.

“That’s the man who came here yesterday and impersonated an officer and got a thousand from me!” he said. “It’s the same man, working his little game on both of us. Razelus, we’re going to get him.”

“There’s a detective been after him for a long time—name of Marter,” Razelus said. “But how can we call in the police without getting into trouble ourselves?”

“Fix up a story, you fool. Leave it to me. The less talking you do, the better. And here is the story. This Joe Carden, as you say he is known, came to your shop and said that he had an old vase for sale. You were suspicious at first, but he told you that he needed funds, and offered to sell it for two thousand dollars. So you bought it.

“You did not know that it was stolen, of course—did not think that it was especially valuable. And when I called to see about some old paintings, you showed me the vase, and I bought it for—twenty-five hundred, let us say. Neither of us supposed that the thing had been stolen.

“Then this man came to me, pretending to be an officer, and I gave him bribe money, thinking to land him later. Then we got the letters and saw that he was no officer, but that he was a man trying to work a game on us. After receiving the letter, I examined the vase carefully and then sent for you, and we decided that it was the famous vase that recently was purchased by Gordon Burlington. So we called in the police!”

“If you think it will be best”

“It’s the only thing, Razelus. Turn the tables on him, and get him arrested for theft and sent up. If we do anything else, he’ll be bleeding us for years to come. We can get him, all right—and a good job if we do!”

They debated it for a longer time, and then Belcher called police headquarters, gave his name, and said that he wished to speak to Detective Marter.

Marter was in the office, and answered the call at once. What he heard brought a smile to his lips.

“I’ll be right up, Mr. Belcher,” he said; and went to get permission to attend to the matter.

Marter grinned openly when he had heard the stories of Belcher and Razelus had to tell. He looked suspiciously at Razelus at first, but considered that the important thing was to get Joe Carden “with the goods.”

“Now, what have you to suggest?” Belcher asked. “We want to land this man.”

“So do I,” Marter answered. “I’ve been after him for some time. He’s clever—no use denying that—but we’ll get him this time, for he’s gone too far. I’ll tell you this much—we have to get him right! He made a monkey out of me once, and I don’t care to have him do it again.”

“Well, what’s your plan?” Belcher asked.

“You men must mail the money as he demands. Mark the bills, of course, so they can be identified. And you’ll have to send the exact amount—you five thousand and Razelus the one thousand.”

“Why not just a blank letter?” Razelus asked.

“Suppose you did and I got him when he asked for the mail? He’d say he used that name now and then, but that he did not expect anything from either of you. You can work that game with some men, but not with Carden, for he has money enough to put up a fight—and I want to get him right. But suppose we send the correct amount in marked bills. Then I can nab him while he has the money on him, and we can show these letters to prove that he expected to get the blackmail when he called at the post office. It’ll make the evidence stronger, and it has to be strong. As for your coin—you’ll get that back after the trial.”

“I suppose that is the best way,” Belcher agreed. “We’ll mail the letters and the correct amount to-night, then.”

“And there’s something else to be done, so our skirts will be clean,” Marter said.

“What’s that?”

“You say that the vase belongs to Mr. Burlington? It must be returned—and we’ll learn when it was stolen. No report has been made of the theft.”

“No report made?” Belcher exclaimed. “Burlington lost a thing like that and made no report? That sounds incredible! Do you suppose Burlington is in the game, too?”

“We may be able to tell that when we talk to him.”

“By George, if he is”

“I suggest, sir, that we take the vase over to his house now,” said Detective Marter. “And then I will complete my plans for landing Joe Carden. Both of you are sure about that scar on his wrist, I suppose?”

They answered that they were.

“I’ve heard about that long, purple scar, but never saw it,” Marter said. “You see, that will be the means of identifying him. He was alone with you, Razelus, and he was alone here with Mr, Belcher. He could simply deny the conversations, say it was somebody who looked like him, and a clever lawyer might make a jury believe it. But if you can swear to that scar, it will be different.”

“We can swear to it, all right,” Belcher said.

“Then suppose we take the vase home now.”

Belcher ordered his car, got the vase from its hiding place, and they drove to the residence of Gordon Burlington. To say that Burlington was surprised at the visit would be to use weak language. He was astounded that Belcher, his enemy, would enter his house. He glared at Belcher, who returned his glare, nodded to Razelus, from whom he had purchased things from time to time, and looked to Marter to talk. Marter did.

“Mr. Burlington, we’ve got a vase here that belongs to you,” the detective said. “That is, we think it does.”

He unwrapped the vase, and Burlington uttered an exclamation as he examined it.

“Does it belong to you?”

“Yes,” Burlington said.

“Razelus purchased it from a man for a ridiculous sum, and sold it to Mr. Belcher. It appears that neither of them knew its real value.”

“That is not surprising,” Burlington said. “Not every man knows the real value of objects of art.”

Belcher snorted in disgust and was about to speak, when Marter prevented.

“Let me handle this,” he begged. “Mr. Burlington, we are on the track of the thief, and we wanted to return your vase immediately. And let me ask you a question—when was the vase stolen?”

Burlington told him.

“Can you tell me about it? How was the theft discovered, and by whom?”

“I was on the spot at the time,” Burlington said. “The thief got into my house—seemed to know all about the alarm system. He woke me up and pointed a gun at me. He was masked and spoke in a low voice. He forced me to go downstairs and get him the vase, and then to walk with him to the window through which he escaped.”

“And how is it that you have not reported the robbery?” Detective Marter demanded.

“Because he said that, if I did not report it, he would return the vase in three days. And I wanted to spring a little trap of my own.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that there are some jealous collectors who are not souls of honor,” Burlington said, letting his eyes rest upon Belcher for a fraction of a second. “I gained the impression that the thief was stealing the vase for a man like that, one who could afford to pay him well for his work. He asked for the vase immediately and would take nothing else. I offered him money and jewels, and he refused. That looked rather suspicious.”

“And what did you think—what did you intend doing?” Marter wanted to know.

“I thought he was going to return a replica, and that my vase would be retained by the man who had hired him. I was going to call in some private detectives and make an effort to catch the man and learn the name of his employer. In fact, I believed that Mr. Belcher was the employer.”

“What’s that?” Belcher cried.

“I have nothing more to say,” Burlington declared. “You are in my house, sir.”

“Well, there’s your old vase!” Belcher snarled.

“What do you think of it?” Burlington asked, smiling.

“Great vase, of course. Like to own it myself. But I’m not dealing in stolen goods,” Belcher said virtuously.

“Do you think that it is worth twenty thousand dolars [sic]?”

“I’d pay that for it,’ Belcher said.

“I'll sell it to you for a thousand,” was Burlington’s astounding statement.

“Are you insane?”

“No; merely gratified to know that you do not recognize an object of art when you see one, sir. This vase is a fake, pure and simple.”

“Fake?”

“And if I sold it for a thousand I’d be something like five hundred dollars ahead.”

“Trying to make a fool of me, are you?” Belcher asked. “It’s no fake, and you know it!”

Gordon Burlington smiled again, picked up the vase—and dashed it to the floor. It was shattered into a thousand pieces.

“That is how much I think of it,” he said. “I did quite a bit of acting when the thief was here, for I wanted him to report to whoever had sent him that the vase was genuine. I’m not saying, now, that anybody sent him. Perhaps he was merely a thief who thought he could sell such a thing readily—and it appears that he did.”

Burlington looked at Razelus suspiciously, and Razelus began growing nervous.

“Well, let’s get out of here!” Belcher said. “The atmosphere is none too agreeable.”

“Perhaps that is because it is an atmosphere of art,” was Gordon Burlington’s comment.