How Many Cards?/Chapter 19

cCARTY'S long years of training on the Force had enabled him as a matter of habit to put aside whatever cases he was engaged upon and mechanically compose himself for slumber when the time for needed rest came, but that Sunday night was an exception and he lay wide-eyed until dawn. As he tossed and turned and thumped his pillow in exasperation he seemed to be wrestling with some almost personal problem which confronted him, and no small phase of it was his promise to Hill to help clear his wife of the charge against her.

The first light of morning revealed him haggard and with a grayish pallor overspreading his usually ruddy, cheerful countenance, but the firm set of his square jaw betokened that he had arrived at some decision and characteristically he rose to act upon it at once.

At headquarters he found that Inspector Druet had already preceded him and the latter's morose greeting attested to taut nerves and the bitterness of acknowledged failure.

"You saw the papers, Mac?" he demanded. "The Bulletin is the loudest of all in its outcry against us for charging Hill with the murder and then having to let him go again on the strength of his alibi. And you gave that young pup Ballard the beat on it Saturday! That's gratitude for you! We get no credit at all for finding Ilsa Helwig."

"And since when are you looking for gratitude from the press, or even recognition?" McCarty shrugged. "Sure, the loss of the emeralds and that girl's jumping her bail are lost sight of in all the excitement about the murder, and small wonder."

"Well, if we're at a standstill it is some satisfaction to know that Terhune is, too!" A smile of grim humor twitched the inspector's mouth. "George Alexander is too proud to explain publicly why that pistol belonging to the bookkeeper was in his possession or I believe he would prefer a charge of criminal libel against our celebrated scientific criminologist."

"At that 'twas not a bad case he made out against him," remarked McCarty.

"Only it fell down flat. We found that taxi driver yesterday afternoon; the one with the scarred face who drove Alexander home from Columbus Circle. He substantiates his story all right, and Terhune is hiding his sulks behind his usual calmly superior air. I saw him last night and he intimated that he had something fresh up his sleeve."

"Well, so have we." McCarty smiled. "We're not at a standstill yet, sir."

"There's nothing up my sleeve but my arm," the inspector admitted frankly. "Every suspect we get in the case seems to have an alibi pat.—Have you doped out anything since yesterday?"

"I lost a good night's sleep over it, sir, but maybe 'twas not wasted after all." McCarty drew a chair up to the desk and seated himself. "I was that twisted and turned in the case that I went back to first principles and thought over everything in my mind from the minute I saw that Bodansky lad skulking along ahead of me on the Avenue, and I got an idea. What have you done with him?"

"Bodansky?" The inspector looked across at his colleague in surprise. "He's up in the precinct station house waiting to be charged with attempted burglary."

"Will you send for him, sir? I'll explain while he's on the way down. I want to ask him a few questions along a different line than we took with him before."

Inspector Druet pressed the buzzer in his desk and when his subordinate appeared, briefly gave the order. Then as the door closed once more he sat back in his chair.

"Go on. What's the idea? Don't try to have him charged, Mac, with a crime we can't prove on him or this time the press will howl for my official head!"

"They've howled for it more than once before, sir, but it hasn't fallen yet!" McCarty grinned affectionately at his chief and then his face grew serious. "I'm not going to bring any charge whatever against the young crook, but instead with your permission I'm going to tell him we'll let him down as easy as we can if he'll come across with a little information."

"'Information'?" the inspector repeated with raised eyebrows. "Didn't I have him on the carpet down here for three hours on Friday? Your own statement proves that he couldn't have fired that shot, and he beat it the minute he found the body."

"Yes, but why did he pick on the Creveling house in the first place?" McCarty asked suddenly. "He was not just sauntering along looking for a likely lay when I saw him first; he was on the job and knew where he was going, you can bet on that! He said it was his first trick and he only tried to turn it to prove to the rest of the gang that he was all there, but you know from experience yourself, sir, that the yellowest crook will keep faith with his bunch if he's got the fear of God in him."

"What do you mean?" the inspector asked. "You don't think he was working alone then?"

"Alone, maybe, but he was not wandering along the Avenue looking for the first open window to crawl through! I don't say he was working under orders but he'd either been tipped off or else he'd found out there, were valuables in the house and it is not any too well guarded just now. Something steered him toward Creveling, sir, and I'm going to have it out of him!'"

But when Bodansky was brought in he did not at first find the matter as simple as he had anticipated. The young gangster seated himself docilely enough on the edge of the chair to which the inspector pointed a peremptory hand and his small, rat-like eyes darted swiftly from one to the other of the two determined faces before him, but he carried himself with an air of self-assurance which had been lacking in the first encounter.

"Look here, Joe, I suppose you know you're in for a stretch?" McCarty began impressively when a glance from Inspector Druet put the interrogation into his hands.

Bodansky grinned foolishly, but the gleam of shrewdness lingered in his gaze.

"I ain't done nottin'," he averred doggedly. "'Course I had de gat an' de jack an' de keys on me, but it's a foist offense, barrin' dat stretch in de reform'tory an' I'll get off light."

"What makes you think so?" demanded McCarty. "Do you suppose your gang would bother to have any wires pulled to get you off, you poor little runt of a white-livered piker? That Lexington Avenue gang of cheap crooks have only been kidding you if you think they stand in with the ward boss, let alone anybody higher up."

"I ain't kickin'," vouchsafed Bodansky, slumping comfortably forward in his chair with his bullet head outthrust between his hunched shoulders like that of a turtle. "I'm willin' to take whatever youse can hand me. I didn't have nottin' to do wit' croakin' Crawford—"

"Crawford?" McCarty caught him up sharply. "So you knew Creveling as 'Crawford,' eh?"

The slumped figure stiffened suddenly and the rat eyes shifted but he drawled:

"Creveling, was it? It's all de same to me. I t'ought youse called him 'Crawford' dat night, an' I ain't been readin' de poipers regular since!"

He grinned again but his lips trembled and he raised a slack hand to cover them.

McCarty seized the opportunity which the final remark presented.

"If you had, you'd have known better than to take that line with us, Joe. We're on to it that Creveling was known as 'Crawford' sometimes, and why, but we didn't think you were in on that deal. You'll go up for something more than attempted burglary now, my gossoon!"

A shade of terror darkened the pasty face and Joe Bodansky writhed in his chair.

"I dunno what youse mean!" he whined. "Honest t'Gawd I never heard of dat guy till I saw him lyin' dere wit' his face gone! If he was known as 'Crawford' youse must've said so den an' dat's how I got it! Honest t'Gawd—!"

McCarty turned to the dumfounded inspector and asked cryptically:

"Shall we get the other one over from the Tombs and face 'em, sir? We've got it now that the big fellow was holding out on us about Joe here, and when he knows Joe give him away—!"

A thin wailing cry broke in upon him and Bodansky, shivering with fright, turned imploringly to the inspector.

"I ain't no snitcher! I didn't give him away! What are youse trying to frame me for? If youse get him over an' he t'inks I spilled on him youse had better send me up for life, for he'll see dat I'm croaked de foist time I show me face in de street! I ain't in on his game, on my modder I ain't! He don't even know I'm wise to it!"

"Then come clean!" the inspector advised grimly. "Tell us how you knew Creveling was Crawford?"

"It was all on account of dat skirt I got stuck on," Bodansky admitted with evident reluctance. "I told youse de Gawd's trut' when I said dat I'd never turned a trick before de night youse nabbed me comin' out of dat window, but I stood in wit' de gang an' got my bit when dey pulled off anyt'ing, see? About two mont's ago a guy was rolled over on Madison Avenue; oh, I didn't have anyt'ing to do wit' dat part of it, an' I don't know who did de rollin' so I ain't afraid to open me trap about it! Anyhow, when de split was made in Hogan's back room I dragged down twenty iron men an' de foist" t'ing I t'ought of was a gold bracelet wit' red stones in it over across, de way in Kosakoff's window. Me goil had been lookin' at it an' hintin' around dat de guy dat owns de candy store where she works would get it for her.—Say, how did youse get on to Kosakoff, anyhow? He don't even run a hock shop-like most of de odder fences do, an' dat ticker repairin' job is a hell of a good blind."

He paused and the inspector shook his head, carefully avoiding McCarty's quizzical gaze.

"It's nothing to you how we get our dope, Joe. Go on with your story, and mind you give it to us straight!"

"De minute I got mine I beat it across de street to Kosakoff's place, like I'm tellin' youse," Bodansky went on hurriedly with an injured air. "It was late an' he was just puttin' up his shutters, but I flashed me twenty an' he let me in. He was gettin' de bracelet out of de window when de door opens an' in comes a regular swell. He's got his lid pulled down over his eyes an' his coat collar turned up like he's scared of somebody seein' him an' right away I says to myself, 'Dis Kosakoff's a fence, all right, an' dat guy's some high-class crook.'

"Kosakoff gives him de o-o and shoves de bracelet into my mitt, walkin' quick around de counter but de guy looks up an' I see he's no crook. He don't seem to see me at all but he turns up his nose like de joint was dirt an' old Kosakoff a dog. I'm pretendin' to be lampin' de bracelet, see, but I'm wisin' myself up to de lay-out. Old Kosakoff has got de guy's number all right an' he's tryin' to get him off down de odder end of de store so's I won't pipe what's goin' on, but I edges along too an' I hears de guy say somet'in' about 't'irty t'ousand' an' I t'inks I'm goin' dippy!

"Old Kosakoff don't turn a hair, dough; he's busy openin' a door at de back of de store when all of a sudden de guy pulls somet'in' out of his coat pocket just as if it was a handful of junk an' I see a flash of green fire dat would knock your lamps out! Kosakoff turned 'round den an' grabbed him by de arm an' hauled him into de back room but I'm still foolin' wit' de bracelet when dey come out. Kosakoff goes to de door wit' him an' says: 'Good night, Mister Crawford. Call again.'

"De guy's no sooner gone den I flings down my twenty iron men an' grabs de bracelet an' beats it. Old Kosakoff tries to stall me, see, but I'm on my way, an' I trails dis guy to—to de house where youse caught me last week."

"How did you know that he lived there?" the inspector asked.

"'Cause he could have made it straight from Thoid to Fift' an' den up, but instead of dat he dodges nort' an' den sout' an' back an' t'rough again, lookin' behind all de time an' I knew de signs; many's de time I dodges de bulls de same way, only he's an amateur, see, an' he. don't get on to it dat I'm trailin' him. He hits Fift' at last 'way above his house an' den he t'inks he's clear, an' he beats it home an' opens de door wit' his own key. I spots de number an' de general lay an' chases back to me own hangout. I couldn't figger wheder he'd lifted dem green stones or was just out of dough an' ashamed to have anybody know he was partin' wit' some of his own, but I t'ought dere'd be more where t'irty t'ousand wort' came from. I made up my mind dat I'd work alone an' make a haul dat'd open de lamps of de gang, an' I been watchin' de house off an' on ever since den. De window bein' open dat night last week was just plain luck, for I'd brought me keys wit' me to try on de little side door. Honest t'Gawd, I was workin' alone an' Kosakoff don't know I'm wise to him."

"Oh, can that!" McCarty put in before the inspector could speak. "You didn't quit cold on Kosakoff until you had the goods on him! When did you wise yourself up that he was as big a fence as he is?"

Bodansky hesitated, running the tip of his tongue along his thin, bloodless lips and glancing quickly from one to the other. Then a sly grin broke over his face.

"Youse got me right," he admitted. "No guy dat run a dump like dat, sellin' cheap sparklers an' fixin' broke tickers for a livin' could grab a t'irty t'ousand deal wit'out battin' an eye, an' why would dat swell guy have' come dere unless he'd been tipped off? I figgers dat maybe I can get in on Kosakoff's game wit' him when he finds out I'm wise to his real line, but I lays off him quick meself when I dopes out who his pals is. I got plenty sense to know when I'm out of me own class, an' I ain't opened me trap about him, not even to de gang, till now."

"Much you know about who his pals are!" McCarty jeered provocatively. "If we weren't on to his game until just lately how could you wise yourself up?"

"Well, I had a steer, didn't I?" Bodansky retorted. "I'd spotted him an' I laid low an' watched his joint. Dere's a couple of odder fences dat I knows—by sight—an' I lamps 'em goin' to him an' right dere me dogs gets kind of frost-bit for I'm wise dat his dump must be a sort of a clearin' house for de rest an' him de king pin of dat partic'lar bunch, but I didn't know dat he was de main guy of all—de head go-between for Bronheim himself—till I sees Spanish Lou an' Diamond Harry sneakin' in de side door."

A quick glance pregnant with meaning passed between McCarty and his chief. Bronheim had been the most notorious fence on the East Side and long and fruitless had been the efforts of the police department to locate the go-between they knew must exist.

"Bronheim's doing a stretch now up the river!" McCarty asserted.

"Sure, but he gets out in t'ree mont's, an' deyVe roundin' up de organization again." Bodansky pulled himself up suddenly. "Say, I don't know dat, I'm just talkin' t'rough me hat! I ain't got not'in' on Kosakoff, at dat. It ain't a crime for a swell guy to go over to de East Side to sell de fam'ly jewels, an' as for Spanish an' Harry, dey might have reformed, an' gone dere peaceable, like I done, to buy somet'in' for dere goils. I only got cold feet like I told you, an' laid off de whole works. You can't prove not'in' by me!"

"You've gone too far to stop now, Joe!" the inspector said sternly. "You come through with the whole business or we'll put you on the stand against Kosakoff. Who were the other fences you saw going into his place?"

But Joe Bodansky's suddenly aroused suspicion that, in his own parlance, he was being "played for a come-on" had crystallized into certainty with the eagerness of the inspector's attitude and once more he slumped in his chair. A film seemed to glaze his close-set eyes and when he replied it was in the sing-song whine of the habitual crook.

"Ain't I told you I only know 'em by sight? One of de gang—I forgot which—pointed 'em out to me once, but he might have been kiddin' me! As for Harry and Spanish, I never lamped 'em before in me life; I just got a hunch it was dem from seein' deir mugs in de papers when Bronheim was tried. Honest t'Gawd...."

"Send him back, sir," McCarty urged in a rapid undertone to the inspector. "You'll get nothing more out of him this day, and we've got a good lead as it is. I want to get out on the job without losing any time."

Late that afternoon McCarty presented himself once more at the Creveling house and to his request for an interview with Mrs. Creveling the butler brought an affirmative and even cordial response.

"You can go right up, sir. I think Mrs. Creveling was about to send down for your inspector, anyway, for there was a scene this morning between 'er and that Mr. Terhune that I couldn't 'elp 'earing most of, and what I missed Yvonne, the maid, told us at lunch. She ain't satisfied with 'ow 'e's conducting of the case, to put it mild, sir, and she told Mrs. Waverly as 'ow she was going to find out what progress you was making."

As before, McCarty found Mrs. Creveling in her boudoir but this time she was pacing the floor restlessly and a faint spot of color glowed in either cheek while Mrs. Waverly, curled up on the window seat, watched her with an inscrutable look in her long, feline eyes.

"I am glad you have come, Mr. McCarty." Mrs. Creveling gestured imperiously toward a chair. "You were here yesterday, I understand, but the doctor had counseled absolute rest for me. I cannot rest, I shall not, until I know who killed my husband! Have you come with news for us?"

"News of a kind for you, ma'am," McCarty responded with a deprecatory side-glance at the figure in the window. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to see you in private."

"'Have to'?" Mrs. Creveling raised her eyebrows. "You can say whatever you wish before Mrs. Waverly."

"I've instructions from headquarters, ma'am." McCarty's tone was respectful, but he shook his head firmly. "What I have to say must be said to you alone, but of course, you're free to use your own discretion afterwards."

Mrs. Waverly had made no move to rise and was listening with a supercilious amusement to the little tilt but Mrs. Creveling's eyes met those of McCarty in sudden question and then she turned to her companion.

"If you don't mind, Stella—? You see we are in the hands of the authorities now—"

"Quite so." Mrs. Waverly laughed and rose. "Send Yvonne for me when the dark secret has been disclosed. I'm going to take a nap."

Without deigning to notice the presence of McCarty she moved to the door and when it had closed behind her McCarty advanced to the table beside which Mrs. Creveling had halted and drew from his pocket a leather case.

"For one thing, Mrs. Creveling," he said gravely. "I've come to bring you these!"

Before her amazed eyes he opened the case and poured out upon the table a stream of huge, unset emeralds which glowed with a rich but almost sinister vernal light.

"My emeralds!" she gasped. "I read in the papers that Ilsa had given herself up but I did not know that these had been recovered! She had pried them from their settings—?"

"She never touched them, ma'am. She never even saw them." There was a stern note in McCarty's tones. "Ilsa is as innocent of theft as you are yourself."

"Then who—?" Mrs. Creveling's eyes met his and the flash of green fire from the jewels upon the table seemed for an instant reflected in their depths. As though some premonition of the truth came to her she shrank back and sank slowly into the nearest chair. "It must have been Ilsa, and I am determined that she shall be punished! The mere restitution of these jewels is not enough; she must be made an example—"

"The thief who stole them is beyond reach of your punishment, ma'am."

Mrs. Creveling's breath came pantingly.

"How do you know? What have you learned?" she demanded, and then as though afraid to hear his answer she added hurriedly: "But it is absurd! No one else could have taken them, no one could have entered my dressing room during my absence. Mr. Creveling himself testified to that! I had seen them with my own eyes when I closed the case not five minutes before—!"

"'Twas these you saw, ma'am." McCarty produced another case, the replica of the first and opened it, disclosing a necklace and stomacher of antique gold set with small diamonds and large deep-green stones, whose color seemed dead and flat beside the warm glow of those lying loose upon the table. "They're a good imitation put back in your own old settings, and 'twas done between the time you got the real ones from the vault and the night you meant to wear them."

"Do you mean that they were taken from my husband's safe?" Her voice was a mere whisper.

"Yes, ma'am, and by the only one who knew the combination; the same who entered your dressing room after Ilsa had left it for a minute, and took the fakes after he learned that you meant to have them reset almost at once and knew that you'd find out the truth."

"What do you mean?" she cried. "Are you daring to insinuate—!"

"I'm not insinuating anything, ma'am, but I'll speak plainer if you like," McCarty said grimly. "We've found the man who made the fakes and he can testify that 'twas Mr. Creveling himself who brought the original set to him to have the emeralds prized out and copied. We've got the fence—the receiver of stolen goods—who bought the real stones from Mr. Creveling for twenty thousand dollars, and he can prove who his customer was. Mr. Creveling saw his chance and threw the blame on Ilsa, but he never meant to have her prosecuted for it, I'll say that for him; he only thought to gain time. 'Twas your husband himself who was the thief, Mrs. Creveling!"