Torchy and Vee

  CHAPTER III

  TORCHY PULLS THE DEEP STUFF

  Course, I didn't know what Old Hickory was stackin' me up against whenhe calls me into the private office and tells me to shake hands withthis Mr. McCrea. Kind of a short, stubby party he is, with a grayishmustache and sort of sleepy gray eyes. He's one of these slow motioned,quiet talking ginks, with restful ways, such as would fit easy into aswivel chair and hold down a third vice-president's job for life. Or hemight be a champion chess player.

  So when the boss goes on to say how Mr. McCrea is connected with theWashington sleuth bureau I expect I must have gawped at him a bitcurious. Some relic of the old office force, was my guess; a hold-overfrom the times when the S. S. people called it a big day if they couldlocate a lead nickel fact'ry in Mulberry Street, or drop on a few Chinklaundrymen bein' run in from Canada in crates. Maybe he was athumb-print expert.

  "Howdy," says I, glancin' up at the clock to see if the prospects wasgood for makin' the 5:17 out to Harbor Hills.

  "I am told you know the town rather well," suggests McCrea, sort ofmild and apologetic.

  "Me!" says I. "Oh, I can usually find my way back to Broadway even infoggy weather."

  He indulges in a flickery little smile. "I also understand," he goes on,"that you have shown yourself to be somewhat quick witted inemergencies."

  "I must have a good press agent, then," says I, glancin' accusin' at Mr.Ellins.

  But Old Hickory shakes his head. "I suspect that was my friend, MajorWellby," says he.

  "Oh!" says I. "The one I rescued the wire spools for? A lucky break,that was."

  "Mr. McCrea is working on something rather more important," goes on OldHickory, "and if you can help him in any way I trust you will do it."

  "Sure," says I. "What's the grand little idea?"

  He don't seem enthusiastic about openin' up, McCrea, and I don't know asI blame him much. After he's fished a note book out of his inside pockethe stops and looks me over sort of doubtful. "Perhaps I had better sayat the start," says he, "that some of our best men have been on this jobfor several weeks."

  "Nursin' it along, eh?" says I.

  That brings a smothered chuckle from Old Hickory. But Mr. McCrea don'tseem so tickled over it. In fact, he develops a furrow between the eyesand his next remark ain't quite so soothin'.

  "No doubt if they could have had the assistance of your rapid firementality a little sooner," says he, "it would have been but a matter ofa few hours."

  "There's no telling," says I. "Are you one of the new squad?"

  Here Old Hickory chokes down another gurgle and breaks in hasty with:"Mr. McCrea, Torchy, is assistant chief of the bureau, you know."

  "Gosh!" says I, under my breath. "My mistake, sir. And I expect I'dbetter back out now, while the backin's good."

  "Wouldn't that be rather hard on us?" asks McCrea, liftin' his eyebrowssarcastic. "Besides, think how disappointed the major will be if we failto make use of such remarkable ability as he has assured us youpossess."

  It's a kid, all right, even if he does put it so smooth. And by thetwinkle in Old Hickory's eye I can see he's enjoyin' it just as much asMcCrea. Nothing partial about the boss. His sympathies are always withthe good performer. And rather than let this top-liner sleuth put itover me so easy I takes a chance on shootin' a little more bull.

  "Oh, if you're goin' to feel bad over it," says I, "course I got to helpyou out. Now what part of Manhattan is it that's got yoursuper-Sherlocks guessin' so hard?"

  He smiles condescendin' and unfolds a neat little diagram showin' aBroadway corner and part of the cross street. "It is a matter of threepolicemen and a barber shop," says he. "Here, in the basement of thishotel on the corner, is the barber shop."

  "Yes, I remember," says I. "Otto something or other runs it. And on theside, I expect, he does plain and fancy spyin', eh?"

  "We should be much interested to have you furnish proof of that," saysMcCrea. "What we suspect, however, is something slightly different. Webelieve that the place is rather a clearing house for spy information.News seems to reach there and to leave there. What we wish to know is,how."

  "Had anyone on the inside?" I asks.

  "Yes, that bright little idea occurred to us," says McCrea. "One of ourmen has been operating a chair there for three weeks. He discoverednothing of importance. Also we have had the place watched from theoutside, to no purpose. So you see how crude our methods must havebeen."

  "Oh, I ain't knockin' 'em," says I. "Maybe they was out of luck. Butwhat about the three cops?"

  "Their beats terminate at this corner," says McCrea, "one from uptown,one from downtown, and the third from the east. And we have good reasonto suppose that one of the three is crooked. Now if you can tell uswhich one, and how information can come and go----"

  "I get you," I breaks in. "All you want of me is the answer to a lot ofquestions you've been all the fall workin' up. That's some he-sizedorder, ain't it?"

  McCrea shrugs his shoulder. "As I mentioned, I think," says he, "it wasMajor Wellby who suggested your assistance; and as the major happens toenjoy the confidence of--well, someone who is a person of considerableimportance in Washington----"

  "Uh-huh!" says I. "It's a case of my bein' wished on you and youstandin' by with the laugh when I fall down. Oh, very well! I'll be thegoat. But the major's a good scout, just the same, and I don't mean tothrow him without making a stab. How long do I get on this?"

  "Oh, as long as you like," says McCrea.

  "Thanks," says I. "Where do I find you when I want to turn in a report,blank or otherwise?"

  He gives me the name of his hotel and after collectin' the diagram ofthe mystery I does a slow exit to my desk in the next office. I wassittin' there half an hour later with my hair rumpled, makin' a noiselike deep thinkin', when in walks the hand of fate steppin' heavy onhis heels, as usual.

  Not that I suspected at the time this Barry Wales could be anything muchmore than a good natured pest. He didn't used to be even that. No, thechange in Barry is only another little item in the score we got againstthe Kaiser; for back in the days before we went into the war Barry wasjust one of Mr. Robert's club friends who dropped around casual to dateup for an after-luncheon game of billiards, or tip him off to a newcabaret act that was worth engagin' a table next to the gold ropes.Besides, holdin' quite a block of Corrugated stock, I expect Barryfigured it as a day's work when he got me to show him the lastsemi-annual report and figure out what his dividends would tot up to.Outside of that he was a bar-hound and more or less of a windowornament.

  But the war sure had made a mess of Barry. I don't mean that he wentover and got shell shocked or gassed. Too far past thirty for that, andhe had too many things the matter with him. Oh, I had all the detailsdirect; bad heart, plumbing out of whack, nerves frazzled from too manyall-night sessions. He was in that shape to begin with. But he didn'tstart braggin' about it until so many of his bunch got to makin'themselves useful in different ways. Mr. Robert, for instance, gettin'sent out in command of a coast patrol boat; others breakin' into RedCross work, ship buildin' and so on. Barry claims he tried 'em all andwas turned down.

  But is he discouraged? Not Barry. If they won't put him in uniform, withcute little dew-dads on his shoulder, or let him wear $28 puttees thatwill take a mahogany finish, there's nothing to prevent him from turnin'loose that mighty intellect of his and inventin' new ways to win thewar. So when he's sittin' there in his favorite window at the club,starin' absent minded out on Fifth Avenue with a tall glass at hiselbow, he ain't half the slacker he looks to the people on top of thegreen buses.

  Not accordin' to Barry. Ten to one he's just developin' a new idea.Maybe it's only a design for a thrift stamp poster, but it might be ascheme for inducin' the Swiss to send their navy down the Rhine. Butwhatever it is, as soon as Barry gets it halfway thought out, he has totrot around and tell about it.

  So when I glance up and see this tall, well tailored party standin' atmy elbow, and notice the eager, excited lo
ok in his pale blue eyes, Iknow about what to expect.

  "Well, what is it this time, Barry?" says I. "Have you doped out anexplosive pretzel, or are you goin' to turn milliner and release somewoman for war work?"

  "Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests. "No chaffing, now. I'm in deadearnest, you know. Of course, being all shot to pieces physically, Ican't go to the front, where I'd give my neck to be. Why, with thisleaky heart valve of mine I couldn't even----"

  "Yes, yes," I broke in. "We've been over all that. Not that I'd mindhearing it again, but just now I'm more or less busy."

  "Are you, though?" says Barry. "Isn't that perfectly ripping! Somethingimportant, I suppose?"

  "Might be if I could pull it off," says I, "but as it stands----"

  "That's it!" says Barry. "I was hoping I'd find you starting somethingnew. That's why I came."

  "Eh?" says I.

  "I'm volunteering--under you," says he. "I'll be anything you say; topsergeant, corporal, or just plain private. Anything so I can help. See!I am yours to command, Lieutenant Torchy," and he does a Boy Scoutsalute.

  "Sorry," says I, "but I don't see how I could use you just now. The factis, I can't even say what I'm working on."

  "Oh, perfectly bully!" says Barry. "You needn't tell me a word, or dropa hint. Just give me my orders, lieutenant, and let me carry on."

  Well, instead of shooin' him off I'd only got him stickin' tighter'n awad of gum to a typewriter's wrist watch, and after trying to do somemore heavy thinkin' with him watchin' admirin' from where I'd plantedhim in a corner, I gives it up.

  "All right," says I. "Think you could stand another manicure today?"

  Barry glances at his polished nails doubtful but allows he could if it'sin the line of duty.

  "It is," says I. "I'm goin' to sacrifice some of my red hair on thealtar of human freedom. Come along."

  So, all unsuspectin' where he was goin', I leads him down into Otto'sbarber shop. And I must say, as a raid in force, it was more or less ofa fizzle. The scissors artist who revises my pink-plus locks is agray-haired old gink who'd never been nearer Berlin than First Avenue.Two of the other barbers looked like Greeks, and even Otto had clippedthe ends of his Prussian lip whisker. Nobody in the place made a noiselike a spy, and the only satisfaction I got was in lettin' Barry pay thechecks.

  "I got to go somewhere and think," says I.

  "How about a nice quiet dinner at the club?" says Barry.

  "That don't listen so bad," says I.

  And it wasn't, either. Barry insists on spreadin' himself with theorderin', and don't even complain about havin' to chase out to the barto take his drinks, on account of my being in uniform.

  "Makes me feel as if I were doing my bit, you know," says he.

  "Talk about noble sacrifices!" says I. "Why, you'll be qualifyin' for aD. S. O. if you keep on, Barry."

  And along about the _baba au rhum_ period I did get my fingers on thetall feathers of an idea. Nothing much, but so long as Barry was anxiousto be used, I thought I saw a way.

  "Suppose anybody around the club could dig up a screwdriver for you?" Iasks.

  Inside of two minutes Barry had everybody in sight on the jump, from thebus boy to the steward, and in with the demi tasse came the screwdriver.

  "Now what, lieutenant?" demands Barry.

  "S-s-s-h!" says I, mysterious. "We got to drill around until midnight."

  "Why not at the Follies, then?" suggests Barry.

  "Swell thought!" says I.

  And for this brand of active service I couldn't have picked a better manthan Barry. From our box seats he points out the cute little squab withthe big eyes, third from the end, and even gets one of the soloistssingin' a patriotic chorus at us. On the strength of which Barry makestwo more trips down to the cafe. Not that he gets primed enough so you'dnotice it. Nothing like that. Only he grows more enthusiastic over theidea of being useful in the great cause.

  "Remember, lieutenant," says he as we drifts out with the midnight push,"I'm under orders. Eh?"

  "Sure thing," says I. "You're about to get 'em, too. Did you ever dosuch a thing as steal a barber's pole?"

  Barry couldn't remember that he ever had.

  "Well," says I, "that's what you're goin' to do now."

  "Which one?" asks Barry.

  "Otto's," says I. "From the joint where we were just before dinner."

  "Right, lieutenant," says Barry, givin' his salute.

  "And listen," says I. "You're dead set on havin' that particular pole.Understand? You want it bad. And after you get it you ain't goin' to letanybody get it away from you, no matter what happens, until I give theword. That's your cue."

  "Trust me, lieutenant," says Barry, straightenin' up. "I shall stand bythe pole."

  Sounds simple, don't it? But that's the way all us great minds work,along lines like that. And the foolisher we look at the start the deeperwe're apt to be divin' after the plot of the piece. Don't miss that.What's a bent hairpin in the mud to you? While to us--boy, page old DocWatson.

  How many times, for instance, do you suppose you've walked past theHotel Northumberland? Yet did you ever notice that the barber shopentrance was exactly twenty paces east on Umpteenth Street from thecorner of Broadway; that you go down three iron steps to a landin'before you turn for the other 15; or that the barber pole has a gilt topwith blue stars in it, and is swung out on a single bracket with twoscrews on each side? I points out all this to Barry as we strolls downfrom the theater district.

  "By jove!" says Barry. "Wonderful!"

  "Ain't it?" says I. "And all done without a change of wig or a jab ofthe needle. Now your part is easy. You simply drift down the sidestreet, step into the shadow where the cab stand juts out, and whennobody's passin' you work the screws loose. Me, I got to drop into thewritin' room and dash something off. Here we are. Go to it."

  Course, he could have bugged things. Might have dropped the screwdriverthrough a grating, or got himself caught in the act. But Barry hassurrounded the idea nicely. He couldn't have done better if he'd beensent out to a listenin' post. And when I strolls out again five minuteslater there he stands with the pole tucked careful under one arm.

  "Fine work!" says I. "But we don't want to hide it altogether. Carry itcareless like, with your overcoat unbuttoned, so both ends will show.That's the cheese!"

  It ain't one of these big, vulgar barber poles, you know; not over fourfeet long and about as many inches thick. But it's a brilliant one, andwith Barry in evenin' dress he's bound to be some conspicuous luggin'it. Yet I starts him straight up Broadway, me trailin' 25 or 30 feetbehind.

  If it had been further up town he might have collected quite a mob offollowers, but down here there's only a few passing at that time ofnight. Most of 'em only turns to look after him and smile. One or twogives him the merry hail and asks where the Class of 1910 is holdin' thebanquet.

  He'd done nearly five blocks before a flatfoot steps out of a doorwayand waves a nightstick at him.

  "Hey, whaddye mean, pullin' that hick stuff?" demands the cop.

  "Sir!" says Barry, wavin' him off dignified.

  Then I mixes in. "It's perfectly all right, officer," says I. "I knowhim."

  "Oh, do you?" says the cop. "Well, some of you army guys know a lot; andthen again some of you don't. But you can't get away with any suchcut-up motions on my beat."

  "But listen," I begins, "I can explain how----"

  "Ah, feed it to the sergeant," says he. "Come along, you," and he takesBarry by the arm.

  Being a quiet night in the precinct the desk sergeant had plenty of timeto listen. He'd just decided against Barry, too, when I sprung my scrapof paper on him. It's a receipt in full for one barber's pole, signed byOtto Krumpheimer. I knew it was O. K. because I'd signed it myself.

  "How about that?" asks the sergeant of the cop.

  And all the flatty can do is gaze at it and scratch his head.

  "No case," says the sergeant. "Beat it, you."

  Then I nudges Barry.
He speaks up prompt, too. "I want my little barberpole," says he.

  "Ah, take it along," says the sergeant, disgusted.

  "Sorry, officer," says I, as we drifts out, and I slips him a fivecasual.

  "Enjoy yourselves, boys," says he. "But pick out another beat."

  Which we done. This time we starts from the Northumberland and walkseast. Barry had got almost to Madison Avenue before another eagle-eyedcopper holds him up. He does it more or less rough, too.

  "Drop that, now!" says he.

  "Certainly not," says Barry, lyin' enthusiastic. "It's my pole."

  "Is it, then?" says the cop. "Maybe you can show the sergeant yet? Andmaybe I don't know where you pinched it. Walk along, now."

  You should have seen the desk sergeant grow purple in the gills when weshows up in front of the rail the second time. "Say, what do you sportsthink you're doin', anyway?" he demands.

  "I'll make a charge of petty larceny and disorderly conduct," says thecop, layin' the evidence on the desk.

  "Will you, Myers?" says the sergeant sarcastic. "Didn't ask him if hehad a receipt, I suppose? Show it to him, lieutenant."

  I grins and hands over the paper.

  "Hah!" grunts Myers. "But Otto Krumpheimer don't sign his name likethat. Never."

  "How do you know?" says I.

  "Why," says Myers, scrapin' his foot nervous, "I--I just know, that'sall. I've seen his writin', plenty times."

  "Hear that, sergeant," says I. "Just jot that down, will you?"

  "Night court," says the sergeant.

  "Never mind, Barry," says I. "Line of duty. And I'll be on hand by thetime your case is called."

  "Right-o!" says Barry cheerful.

  Myers, he was ambitious to lug us both along, but the sergeant couldn'tsee it that way. So while Barry's bein' walked off to police court, Ijumps into a taxi and heads for McCrea's hotel. If he'd been in bed Imeant to rout him out. But he wasn't. I finds him in his room havin' aconfab with two other plain clothes gents. He seems surprised to see meso quick.

  "Well?" says he. "Giving up so soon?"

  "Me?" says I. "Hardly! I've got the crooked cop."

  McCrea gives a gasp. "You--you have?" says he.

  "Yep!" says I. "But he's got my assistant. Can you pull a badge oranything on the judge at the night court?"

  Mr. McCrea thought he could. And he sure worked the charm, for afterwhisperin' a few words across the bench it's all fixed up. Barry getsthe nod that he's free to go.

  "May I take my little barber pole?" demands Barry.

  "No, no!" speaks up Myers. "Don't let him have it, Judge."

  "Silence!" roars the Justice. Then, turnin' to a court officer he says:"Take this policeman to Headquarters for investigation. Yes, Mr. Wales,you may have your pole, but I should advise you to carry it home in acab."

  "Thank you kindly, sir," says Barry. But after he gets outside he askspleadin': "Don't I get arrested any more?"

  I shakes my head. "It's all over for tonight, Barry," says I. "Objectiveattained, and if you don't mind I'll take charge of this war loot. Dropyou at your club, shall we?"

  So I still had the striped pole when we rolled up at McCrea's hotel. Iwas shiftin' it around in the taxi, wonderin' where I'd better dump it,when I made the big discovery.

  "Say," I whispers husky to McCrea, "there's something funny about this."

  "The pole?" says he.

  "Uh-huh!" says I. "It's hollow. There's a little trap door in one side."

  "Hah!" says McCrea. "Bring it up."

  And you'd think by the way him and his friends proceeded to hog thething, that it was their find. After I'd shown 'em where to press thesecret spring they crowded around and blocked off my view. All I got wasa glimpse of some papers that they dug out of the inside somewhere. Andsome excited they are as they paws 'em over.

  "In the same old code," says McCrea.

  But finally he leads me to one side. "Myers is the man, all right," sayshe.

  "Course he is," says I. "If he wasn't why would he be so wise as towhose pole it was, or about Otto's handwritin'?"

  "Ah!" says McCrea, noddin' enthusiastic. "So that was your system inhaving your friend arrested? You tried out the officers. Very clever!But how you came to suspect that the barber's pole was being used as amail box I don't understand."

  "No," says I, "you wouldn't. That's where the deep stuff comes in."

  McCrea takes that with a smile. "Lieutenant," says he, "I shall bepleased to report to Major Wellby that his estimate of you was quitecorrect. And allow me to say that I believe you have done for theGovernment a great service tonight; though how you managed it so neatlyI'll be hanged if I see. And--er--I think that will be all." With whichhe urges me polite towards the door.

  But it wasn't all. Not quite. I hear there's something on the way to mefrom the chief himself, and Old Hickory has been chucklin' around forthree days. Also I've had a hunch that one boss barber and one New Yorkcop have done the vanishing act. Anyway, when I was down to theNorthumberland yesterday for a shave there was no Otto in sight, and thebarber pole was still missin'. That's about all the information that'scome my way.

  Barry Wales don't know even that much. But when he comes in to reportfor further orders, as he does frequent now, he has his chest out andhis chin up.

  "I say, lieutenant," he remarks confidential this last trip, "we putsomething over, didn't we?"

  "I expect we did," says I.

  "But what was it all about, eh?" he whispers.

  "Why," says I, "you got pinched twice without losin' your amateurstandin', and one of the stripes opened in the middle. When they tell methe rest I'll pass it on to you."

  "By George! Will you, though?" says Barry, and after executin' anotherBoy Scout salute he goes off perfectly satisfied.