Carden, Crook Comedian/Chapter 9

HE doorbell rang. Carden nodded, and Burke released the catch and went out to stand at the head of the stairs. Sam Marter came up first, his hand in one coat pocket clutching his automatic pistol, Jones at his heels, Belcher and Razelus followed closely.

“Well, Burke, the jig’s up,” Marter said. “I want Joe Carden!”

“Mr. Carden is in, sir,” Burke said, in the voice of a perfect servant.

“In, is he? Going to bluff it out, is he? We’ll see about that!”

Marter strode into the living room, followed by the others. The crook comedian was sitting near a window, in dressing gown and slippers reading a book. He looked up coolly, and then stood.

“Hello, Marter!” he said. “And you, Jones! But I don’t believe that I know the other two gentlemen.”

“Oh, I’ll introduce you, if it will help your comedy any. This is Mr. Roger Belcher, and this other is Razelus, who runs a junk shop.”

“Antique shop!” Razelus corrected nervously.

Marter faced Belcher.

“Is that the man?” he asked.

“It is.”

“And what do you say, Razelus?”

“It’s the man, sir.”

“And so he doesn’t know us, eh?” Belcher sneeringly asked, stepping forward a bit.

“Pardon me, but isn’t your attitude rather singular, Mr.—Welcher, was it?” Joe Carden asked. “These are my rooms, you know. Marter, what is all this about?”

“You might as well cave in, Carden. We’ve got the goods on you.”

“That sounds interesting. Suppose you explain.”

“You’re wanted for theft, blackmail, and impersonating an officer,” Marter told him.

“Aren’t you leaving out highway robbery and murder? What is this—a farce? Confound it, Marter, explain yourself!”

Belcher stepped forward again and thrust Marter aside.

“Let’s have an end of this loose talk!” the financier exclaimed. “You may be able to try a bluff on a cop, but you can’t do it to me. You went to the residence of Gordon Burlington a few nights ago and stole a Chinese vase. That is, you thought so—but it was only a replica, a fake. You sold that vase to Razelus for two thousand dollars, and I bought it from him. Then you came to my house and tried to blackmail me. I gave you a thousand to make you believe I was going to stand for blackmail, hoping you’d try to get more later and that I could have you caught then. Then you wrote letters to both Razelus and me, demanding more blackmail, and a short time ago you got those letters at the post office. We’ve got you, Carden.”

“Yes, we’ve got you this time, my pretty comedian crook,” Marter said.

“I never heard anything more ridiculous in my life,” said Joe Carden. “I am quite sure that I can furnish an alibi.”

“I saw you myself at four o’clock in the morning the night that vase was stolen,” Marter declared.

“But that does not prove that I stole a vase. I often go out in the early morning hours for a walk.”

“Stop this nonsense and arrest your man, Marter!” Belcher thundered. “Put him in a cell where he belongs.”

“I trust that Marter will make no mistake,” Joe Carden said evenly. “It might cost the city something. Suppose we look into this thing a bit first. This man Razelus says that he bought the vase from me?”

“He does,” Marter said.

“And I say that he did not. Anybody else see me sell it to him?”

“I said you’d try to get away with that,” Marter declared.

“And Mr. Belcher says that I called at his house?”

“You did, you scoundrel, and you went away with a thousand dollars of my money! One of my servants can identify you.”

“One of your servants might say that some man resembling me was in your house,” said Carden. “And you might say the same. But, as for it being me”

“Didn’t I tell you that he’d say that?” Marter asked Belcher. “And we are ready for you there, Joe Carden. You might make a jury believe that it was not you, only somebody who looked a lot like you—but we have further identification.”

“I’d be interested in hearing it,” Carden said.

“Razelus,” Marter demanded, “did the man who dealt with you regarding that vase have on his left wrist a scar?”

“Yes, sir,”

“What sort of a scar?”

“A peculiar purple one running across the inside of the wrist, a scar about six inches long.”

“Mr. Belcher, did the man who called on you and got that thousand dollars have such a scar on his left wrist?”

“He did!” Belcher shouted.

“And so we have you, Carden,” Marter continued. “There may be another man who has something of your appearance, but scarcely one who would have the same sort of scar. I’m not afraid to take you in this time, Carden. We’ve got you. Here!”

He grasped Joe Carden by the arm. Nifty Burke felt sick at heart, for this was to be the end, he supposed. Detective Marter thrust back Joe Carden’s sleeve.

And he gasped, and turned purple in the face again. On the left wrist of Joe Carden there was not the faintest suggestion of a scar!

“W-what?” Marter gasped.

“All this is beyond me,” Carden said, smiling faintly. “Can it be possible that some crook who resembles me is getting me into trouble? You have sworn to the scar, and I hold you to it. Arrest me if you like, and I’ll sue you in every court in the land, Belcher! I’ll make it cost you a lot of money and some publicity that you’ll not like, And I’ll sue you, Razelus! And I’ll sue you, and the city, as well, Marter! Now, I’m sick of this! Arrest me and take the consequences—or get out!”

They stared at him in amazement.

“One or the other—and quickly!” Joe Carden cried. “I’ve had about all this nonsense I can endure.”

Detective Sam Marter guessed that he had been tricked in some manner, but he did not dare make the arrest. They had put a great deal of importance on that scar, and the thing had turned against them.

“We’d lose out, Mr. Belcher,” Marter said. “I’ll not make the arrest on my own responsibility.”

“But I tell you this is the man!”

“And you told me about the scar—and he has none on his wrist,” Marter said. “I think we’d better get out of here.”

“Search the place first! Look for those letters and that money! Look for the old clothes you say he wore!”

“Glad to have you—in case you have a search warrant,” Joe Carden said, grinning again.

“Bah!” Marter cried. “We can’t do it, Mr. Belcher. This man is a crook, and I know it, but he has honest money in the bank and can fight us. We can’t take the law into our own hands here, You said he had a scar”

“I think you’d better leave me now,” Carden said. “And, if you find the chap who looks like me and is stealing vases and things, telephone me, and I’ll go down and have a look at him myself.”

Carden was still grinning as Burke ushered the four gentlemen to the door.

Burke came darting back into the room. “Boss!” he whispered. “I thought they had you. That scar”

“Was a fake, like the vase, Burke. I’ve painted it on my wrist daily for some time, and I’ve been waiting for just such an occurrence as this. Well, Burke, we win again. Nine thousand, altogether. I can pass those marked bills, all right, without being caught. Glad they didn’t search the place and find those clothes in the dumb waiter. I didn’t think Marter would have the nerve. But he’ll be after us now, Burke, harder than before. He knows very well that he has been tricked. Did you take care of those two chaps who staged the fight?”

“Sure—gave them fifty each and arranged for a lawyer to handle their cases.”

“Good enough! Everything seems to have come out all right. There is only one thing that bothers me, Burke. That woman who calls herself the Nameless One—I wonder how much she knows about this, and about other things. I’m—I’m a bit afraid of her at times, Burke.”

“You needn’t be, boss.”

“Why not?”

“She won’t hurt you. Listen, boss!” And then Nifty Burke smiled and cocked his head to one side, and said: “And how is Mr. Carden this morning?”

“You!” Carden exclaimed.

“I’m somethin’ of a crook comedian myself,” Burke said. “I started it in fun and kept it up because I knew it’d keep you alert. Can’t a man have his little joke?”

Joe Carden looked at him seriously for an instant, and Burke began to fear that he had gone too far. And then the crook comedian grinned, and Nifty Burke realized that it was all right.