Torchy and Vee

  CHAPTER XVI

  TORCHY TACKLES A MYSTERY

  I'll admit I didn't get all stirred up when Mr. Robert comes in fromluncheon and announces that this Penrhyn Deems person is missing.

  "On how many cylinders?" says I.

  I might have added, too, that even if he'd been mislaid permanent Icould struggle along. First off, anybody with a name like that could beeasy spared. Penrhyn! Always reminded me of a headache tablet. Where didhe get such a fancy tag? I never could believe that was sprinkled onhim. Listened to me like something he'd thought up himself when he sawthe chance of its being used so much on four sheets and billboards. Andif you'd ask me I'd said that the prospect of his not contributin' anymore of them musical things to the Broadway stage wasn't good cause fordecreein' a lodge of sorrow. Them last two efforts of his certainly waspunk enough to excuse him from tryin' again. What if he had done thelines and lyrics to "The Buccaneer's Bride"? That didn't give him anylicense to unload bush-league stuff for the rest of his career, did it?Begun to look like his first big hit had been more or less of anaccident. That being the case maybe it was time for him to fade out.

  Course, I didn't favor Mr. Robert with all this. Him and Penrhyn Deemswas old college chums together, and while they ain't been real thick inlate years they have sort of kept in touch. I suspect that since Penrhyngot to ratin' himself as kind of a combination of Reggie DeKoven andGeorge Cohan he ain't been so easy to get along with. Maybe I'm wrong,but from the few times I've seen him blowin' in here at the Corrugatedthat was my dope. You know. One of these parties who carries his chestout and walks heavy on his heels. Yes, I should judge that the ego inPenrhyn's make-up would run well over 2.75 per cent.

  But it takes more'n that to get him scratched from Mr. Robert's list.He's strong for keepin' up old friendships, Mr. Robert is. He rememberswhatever good points they have and lets it ride at that. So he's alwaysright there with the friendly hail whenever Penrhyn swaggers in wearin'them noisy costumes that he has such a weakness for, and with hiseyebrows touched up and his cutie-boy mustache effect decoratin' thatthick upper lip. How a fat party like him could work up so much personalesteem I never could understand. But they do. You watch next time you'reon a subway platform, who it is that gazes most fond into thegum-machine mirrors and if it ain't mostly these blimp-built boys witha 40 belt measure then I'm wrong on my statistics. Anyway, Penrhyn isthat kind.

  "This is the third day that he has been missing, Torchy," says Mr.Robert, solemn.

  "Yes?" says I. "Seems to me I saw an item about him in the theatricalnotes yesterday, something about his being a. w. o. l. Kind of joshing,it read, like they didn't take it serious."

  "That's the disgusting part of it," says Mr. Robert. "Here is a man whodisappears suddenly, to whom almost anything may have happened, frombeing run over by a truck to robbery and murder; yet, because he happensto be connected with the theatrical business, it is referred to as if itwere some kind of a joke. Why, he may be lying unidentified in somehospital, or at the bottom of the North River."

  "Anybody out looking for him?" I asks.

  "Not so far as I can discover," says Mr. Robert. "I have 'phoned up tothe Shuman offices--they're putting on his new piece, you know--but Igot no satisfaction at all. He hadn't been there for several days. Thatwas all they knew. Yes, there had been talk of giving the case to adetective agency, but they weren't sure it had been done. And here ishis poor mother up in New Rochelle, almost on the verge of nervousprostration. There is his fiancee, too; little Betty Parsons, who iscrying her eyes out. Nice girl, Betty. And it's a shame that somethingisn't being done. Anyway, I shall do what I can."

  "Sure!" says I. "I hadn't thought about his having a mother--and a girl.But say, Mr. Robert, maybe I can put you next to somebody at Shuman'swho can give you the dope. I got a friend up there--Whitey Weeks. Usedto do reportin'. Last time I met him though, he admitted modest thatAlf. Shuman had come beggin' him to take full charge of the publicityend of all his attractions. So if anybody has had any late bulletinsabout Mr. Deems it's bound to be Whitey."

  "Suppose you ring him up, then," says Mr. Robert.

  "When I'm trying to extract the truth from Whitey," says I, "I want tobe where I can watch his eyes. He's all right in his way, but he's asshifty as a jumpin' bean. If you want the facts I'd better go myself.Maybe you'd better come, too, Mr. Robert."

  He agrees to that and inside of half an hour we've pushed through a mobof would-be and has-been chorus females and have squeezed into thelittle coop where Whitey presides important behind a big double-breastedroll-top. And when I explains how Mr. Robert is an old friend ofPenrhyn's, and is actin' for the heart-broken mother and the weepin'fiancee as well, Whitey shakes his head solemn.

  "Sorry, gentlemen," says he, "but we haven't heard a word from himsince he disappeared. Haven't even a clue. It's an absolute mystery. Heseems to have vanished, that's all. And we don't know what to make ofit. Rather embarrassing for us, too. You know we've just startedrehearsals for his new piece, 'Oh, Say, Belinda!' Biggest thing he'sdone yet. And Mr. Shuman has spent nearly $10,000 for the setting andcostumes of one number alone. Yet here Deems walks off with the lyricsfor that song--the only copy in existence, mind you--and drops out ofsight. I suppose he wanted to revise the verses. You see the hole it putus in, though. We're rushing 'Belinda' through for an early production,and he strays off with the words to what's bound to be the big song hitof the season. Why, Miss Ladue, who does that solo, is about crazy, andas for Mr. Shuman----"

  "Yes, I understand, Whitey," I breaks in. "That's good press agentstuff, all right. But Mr. Ellins here ain't so much worried over what'sgoing to happen to the show as he is over what has happened to PenrhynDeems. Now how did he disappear? Who saw him last?"

  Whitey shrugs his shoulders. "All a mystery, I tell you," says he. "Wehaven't a single clue."

  "And you're just sitting back wondering what has become of him," demandsMr. Robert, "without making an effort to trace him?"

  "Well, what can we do?" asks Whitey. "If the fool newspapers would onlywake up to the fact that a prominent personage is missing, and give usthe proper space, that might help. They will in time, of course. Got tocome to it. But you know how it is. Anything from a press bureau they'reapt to sniff over suspicious. As if I'd pull one as raw as this on 'em!Huh! But I'm working up the interest, and by next Sunday I'll betthey'll be carrying front page headlines, 'Where is Penrhyn Deems?'You'll see."

  "Suppose he should turn up tomorrow, though?" I asks.

  "Oh, but he couldn't," says Whitey quick. "That is, if he's really lostor--or anything has happened to him. What makes you think he might showup, Torchy?"

  "Just a hunch of mine," says I. "I was thinking maybe some of hisfriends might find him somewhere."

  "I'd like to see 'em," says Whitey emphatic. "It--it would be worth agood deal to us."

  "Yes," says I, "I know how you feel about it. Much obliged, Whitey. Iguess that's all we can do; eh, Mr. Robert?"

  But we're no sooner out of the office than I gives him the nudge.

  "Bunk!" says I. "I'd bet a million of somebody else's money that this isjust one of Whitey's smooth frame-ups."

  "I hardly think I follow you," says Mr. Robert.

  "Here's the idea," says I. "When 'The Buccaneer's Bride' was having thattwo-year run Penrhyn Deems was a good deal in the spotlight. He hadwrite-ups reg'lar, full pages in the Sunday editions, new pictures ofhimself printed every few weeks. He didn't hate it, did he? But theselast two pieces of his were frosts. All he's had recent have beenroasts, or no mention at all. And it was up to Whitey to bring him backinto the public eye, wasn't it? Trust Whitey for doing that."

  "But this method would be so thoroughly cold-blooded, heartless,"protests Mr. Robert.

  "Wouldn't stop Whitey, though," says I.

  "Then we must do our best to find Penrhyn," says he.

  "Sure!" says I. "Sleuth stuff. How about startin' at his rooms andinterviewin' his man?"

  "Good!" says
Mr. Robert. "We will go there at once."

  We did. But what we got out of that pie-faced Nimms of Penrhyn's wasn'tworth taking notes of. He's got a map about as full of expression as thesouth side of a squash, Nimms. A peanut-headed Cockney that Penrhynfound somewhere in London.

  "Sure I cawn't say, sir," says he, "where the mawster went to, sir. Itwas lawst Monday night 'e vanished, sir."

  "Whaddye mean, vanished?" says I.

  "'E just walked out, sir, and never came back," says Nimms. "See, sir,I've 'ad 'is morning suit all laid out ever since, sir."

  "Then he went in evening clothes?" puts in Mr. Robert.

  "Not exactly, sir," says Nimms. "'E was attired as a court jester, sir;in motley, you know, sir, and cap and bells."

  "Wha-a-at?" says Mr. Robert. "In a fool's costume? You say he went outin that rig? Why the deuce should he----"

  "I didn't ask the mawster, sir," says Nimms, "but my private opinion ofthe matter, sir, is that he was on 'is way to a masked banquet of somesort. I 'appened to see a hinvitation, sir, that----"

  "Dig it up, Nimms," says I. "Might be a clue."

  Sure enough, Nimms had it stowed away; and the fathead hadn't said aword about it before. It's an invite to the annual costume dinner of theBright Lights Club.

  "Huh!" says I. "I've heard of that bunch--mostly producers, stage starsand dramatists. Branch of the Lambs Club. Whitey would have known aboutthat event, too. And Alf. Shuman. If Deems had been there they'd haveknown. So he didn't get there. I expect he wore a rain coat orsomething over his costume, and went in a taxi; eh, Nimms?"

  "Quite so, sir," says Nimms. "A long raincoat, sir."

  "But," breaks in Mr. Robert, "a man couldn't wander around New Yorkdressed in a fool's costume without being noticed. That is, not forseveral days."

  "You bet he couldn't," says I. "So he didn't."

  That's a good line to pull, that "he couldn't, so he didn't," whenyou're doin' this Sherlock-Watson stuff. Sounds professional. Mr. Robertnods and then looks at me expectant as if he was waitin' to hear whatI'd deduce next. But as a matter of fact my deducer was runnin' down.Yet when you've got a boss who always expects you to cerebrate in highgear, as he's so fond of puttin' it, you've got to produce somethingoff-hand, or stall around.

  "Now, let's see," says I, registerin' deep thought, "if Penrhyn was togo anywhere on his own hook, where would it be? You know his habitspretty well, Mr. Robert. What's your guess?"

  "Why, I should say he would make for the nearest golf course," says he.

  "He's a golf shark, is he?" says I.

  "Not in the sense you mean," says Mr. Robert. "Hardly. Penrhyn is aconsistent but earnest duffer. The ambition of his life is to break 100on some decent course. He has talked enough about it to me. Yes, that isprobably where he is, if he's still alive, off playing golf somewhere."

  "Begging your pardon, sir," puts in Nimms, "but that could 'ardly be so,sir, seeing as 'ow 'is sticks are still 'ere. That's the strange part of'is disappearance, sir. 'E never travels without 'is bag of sticks. Andthey're in that closet, sir."

  "Couldn't he rent an outfit, or borrow one?" I suggests.

  "He could," says Mr. Robert, "but he wouldn't. No more than you wouldrent a toothbrush. That is one of the symptoms of the golf duffer. Hehas his pet clubs and imagines he can play with no others. I think wemust agree with Nimms. If we do, the case looks serious again, forPenrhyn would certainly not go away voluntarily unless it was to someplace where he could indulge in his mania."

  "That's it!" says I. "Then he's been steered somewhere against his will.That's the line! Which brings us back to Whitey Weeks. Who else butWhitey would want him shunted off out of sight for a week or so?"

  "But you don't think he would go so far as to kidnap Penrhyn, do you?"asks Mr. Robert.

  "Who, Whitey?" says I. "He'd kidnap his grandmother if he saw a frontpage story in it. Maybe he'd had this disappearance stunt all worked upwhen Mr. Deems balked. So he gets him when he's rigged up in some crazycostume, with all his regular clothes at home, and tolls him off to someout of the way spot. See? In that rig Penrhyn would have to stay put,wouldn't he? Couldn't show himself among folks without being mobbed. Sohe'd have to lay low until someone brought him a suit of clothes."

  "That would be an ingenious way of doing it," admits Mr. Robert.

  "Believe me, Whitey has that kind of a mind," says I, "or else hewouldn't be handling the Alf. Shuman publicity work."

  "But where could he have taken him?" asks Mr. Robert.

  "We're just gettin' to that," says I. "Where would he? Now if this was amovie play we was dopin' out it would be simple. He'd be taken off on ayacht. But Whitey couldn't get the use of a yacht. He don't travel inthat class, and Shuman wouldn't stand for the charter price in anexpense bill. A lonesome farm would be a good spot. But Penrhyn couldborrow a rube outfit and escape from a farm. A lighthouse would be aswell place to stow away a leading librettist dressed up in a fool'scostume, wouldn't it? Or an island? Say, I'll bet I've got it!"

  "Eh?" says Mr. Robert.

  "He's on an island," says I. "High Bar Island. It's a place whereWhitey goes duck shootin' every fall. He belongs to a club that owns it.Anyway, he did. Used to feed me an earful about what a great gunner hewas, and what thrillin' times he had at the old shack. Down somewhere inBarnegat Bay, back of the lighthouse. Yep! He's there, if he'sanywhere."

  "Sounds rather unlikely," says Mr. Robert. "Still, you seem to have anuncanny instinct for being right in such matters. Perhaps we ought to godown and see. Come."

  "What, now?" says I. "Right away?"

  "There is his mother, almost in hysterics," says Mr. Robert, "and hissweetheart. Think of the suspense, the mental strain they must be under.If we can find Penrhyn we must do so as quickly as possible. Let's goback to the office and look up train connections."

  Well, if we'd started half an hour earlier we'd been all right. As itwas we could hang up all night at some dinky junction or wait over untilnext morning. Neither suited Mr. Robert. He 'phones for his tourin' carand decides to motor down into Jersey. Also he has a kit bag packed fortwo of us and collects from Nimms a full outfit of daylight clothes forPenryhn.

  We got away about five o'clock and as Mr. Robert figures by the BlueBook that we have only a hundred and some odd miles to run he thinks weought to make some place near Barnegat Light by nine o'clock. Maybe wewould have, too, if we'd caught the Staten Island ferries right at bothends, and hadn't had two blow-outs and strayed off the road once. As itis we finally lands at little joint that shows on the map as ForkedRiver about 1 a.m. There wasn't a light in the whole place and it tookus half an hour to pry the landlord of the hotel out of the feathers.No, he couldn't tell us where we could get a boat to take us out to HighBar at that time of night. It wasn't being done. Folks didn't go thereoften anyway, and when they did they started after breakfast.

  "It'll be there in the morning, you know," says he.

  "That's so," says Mr. Robert. "Have a motor boat ready at nine o'clock.Not much use getting there before 10:30. Penrhyn wouldn't be up."

  That sounded sensible to me. When I go huntin' for lost dramatists Ilike to take it easy and be braced up for the day with a good shot ofham and eggs. This part of the program was carried out smooth. And it'sa nice little sail across old Barnegat Bay with the oyster fleet busyand the fishin' boats dotted around. But the native who piloted us outwas doubtful about anybody's being on High Bar.

  "I seen some parties shootin' around on Love Ladies yesterday," says he,"an' a couple more was snipin' on Sea Dog, but I didn't hear nary gunlet off on th' Bar."

  "Oh, my friend doesn't shoot, anyway," says Mr. Robert.

  "Ain't nothin' else for him to do on High Bar," says the native, "less'nhe wants to collect skeeter bites."

  When we got close enough to see the island I begun to suspicion I'dmissed out on my hunch, for there ain't a soul in sight. We could seethe whole of it, too, for the highest part isn't much over two feetabove tide-water mark. Nea
r the boat landing is the club house, set upon piling, with a veranda across the front. The rest of High Bar is onlya few acres of sedge and marsh.

  "Yea-uh!" says the native. "Must be somebody thar. Door's open. Yea-uh!Thar's old Lem Robbins, who allus does the cookin'. Hey, Lem!"

  Lem waves cordial and waddles down to meet us. He's a fat, grizzled oldpirate who looked bored and discontented.

  "Got anybody with you, Lem?" asks the native.

  "Not to speak of," says Lem. "Only a loony sort of gent that wearsskin-tight barber-pole pants and cusses fluent."

  "That's Penrhyn!" says Mr. Robert. "Dressed as a fool, isn't he?"

  "You've said it," says Lem. "Acts like one, too. Hope you gents havecome to take him back where he belongs. Needs to be shut up, he does."

  "But where is he?" demands Mr. Robert.

  "Out back of the house, swingin' an old boat-hook and carryin' onsimple," says Lem. "I'll show you."

  It was some sight, too. For there is the famous author of "TheBuccaneer's Bride," rigged out complete in a more or less soiledjester's costume, includin' the turkey red headpiece with the bells onit. He's standing on a heap of shells and waving this rusty boat-hookaround. Course, I expects when he sees Mr. Robert and realizes how he'sbeen rescued he'll come out of his spell and begin to act rational oncemore. But it don't work out that way. When Mr. Robert calls out to himand he sees who it is, he keeps right on swingin' the boat-hook.

  "Glory be, Bob!" he sings out. "I've got it at last."

  "Got what, Penny?" demands Mr. Robert.

  "My drive," says he. "Watch, Bob. How's that, eh? Notice that carrythrough? Wouldn't that spank the pill 200 yards straight down thefairway? Wouldn't it, now?"

  "Oh, I say, Penny!" says Mr. Robert. "Don't be more of an ass than youcan help. Quit that golf tommyrot and tell me what you're doing here inthis forsaken spot when all New York is thinking that maybe you've beenmurdered or something."

  "Eh?" says Penrhyn. "Then--then the news is out, is it? Did you bringany papers?"

  "Papers?" says Mr. Robert. "No."

  "Wish you had," says Penrhyn. "Got everyone stirred up, I suppose? Tellme, though, how are people taking it?"

  "If you mean the public in general," says Mr. Robert, "I think they arebearing up nobly. But your mother and Betty----"

  "By George!" breaks in Penrhyn. "That's so! They might be ratherdisturbed. I--I never thought about them."

  "Didn't, eh?" says Mr. Robert. "No, you wouldn't. You were thinkingabout Penrhyn Deems, as usual. And I must say, Penny, you're the limit.I've a good notion to leave you here."

  "No, no, Bob! Don't do that," pleads Penrhyn. "Disgusting place. And Idislike that cook person, very much. Besides, I must get back. Really."

  "Want to relieve your poor old mother and Betty, eh?" asks Mr. Robert.

  "Yes, of course," says Penrhyn. "Besides, I want to try this swing withmy driver. Bob, I'm sure I can put in that wrist snap at last. And if Ican I--I'll be playing in the 90's. Sure!"

  He's a wonder, Penrhyn. He has this hoof and mouth disease, otherwiseknown as golf, worse than anybody I ever met before. Took Mr. Robertanother ten minutes to get him calmed down enough so he could tell howhe come to be marooned on this island in that rig.

  "Why, it was that new press agent of Shuman's, of course," says Penrhyn."That Weeks person. He did it."

  "You don't mean to say, Penny," says Mr. Robert, "that you werekidnapped and brought here a prisoner?"

  "Not at all," says Penny. "We drove down here at night and came in aboat just at daylight. Silly performance. Especially wearing thiscostume. But he insisted that it would make the disappearance moreplausible, more dramatic. Wouldn't tell me where we were going, either.Said it was a club house, so I thought of course there would be golf.But look at this hole! And I've had four days of it. Mosquitoes?Something frightful. That's why I've kept on the cap and bells. At firstI put in the time working over one of the songs in the new piece. Wrotesome ripping verses, too. They'll go strong. Best thing I've done. Butafter I had finished that job I wanted to play golf; practice, anyway.And I was nearly crazy until I found this old boat-hook and beganknocking oyster shells into the water. That's how it came to me--thedrive. If I can only hold it!"

  I suggests how Mr. Weeks is probably plannin' for him to stay lost untilover Sunday anyway, so he can work some big space in the newspapers.

  "Oh, bother Mr. Weeks!" says Penrhyn. "I've had enough of this. The newpiece is going to go big, anyway. Come along, Bob. Let's start. I'll'phone to mother and Betty, and maybe I can get in eighteen holes thisafternoon. Brought some clothes for me, didn't you? I must change fromthis rig first."

  "I wouldn't," says Mr. Robert. "It's quite appropriate, Penny."

  But Penrhyn wouldn't be joshed and makes a dive for his suitcase. Welands him back on Broadway at 4:30 that same afternoon. My first moveafter gettin' to the Corrugated general offices is to ring up WhiteyWeeks.

  "This is Torchy," says I. "And ain't it awful about Penrhyn Deems?"

  "Eh?" gasps Whitey. "What about him?"

  "He's been found," says I. "Uh-huh! Discovered on an island by some foolfriends that brought him back to town. I just saw him on Broadway."

  "The simp!" groans Whitey.

  "You're a great little describer, Whitey," says I. "Simp is right. Butnext time you want to win front page space by losing a dramatist I'dadvise you to lock him in a vault. Islands are too easy located."