CHAPTER V
THE CASE OF A FEMALE PARTY
You know how free this J. Bayard Steele has been in callin' on me forhelp in puttin' over his little deeds of kindness, at so much per deed?Well, here the other day he shows up at the studio with sealed envelopeNo. 3 in his pocket, and after springin' his usual guff about the doorof fate he opens it.
"Well, who's the party of the second part this time?" says I.
But he just gazes at the slip of paper he's taken out and smiles mushy.
"All right," says I. "Keep it to yourself. This is my busy day, anyway."
"Pardon me, McCabe," says he. "I was lost in wonder at the variedcharacter of the persons whom the late Pyramid Gordon numbered on hisconscience list. This time it is a lady."
"Huh!" says I. "Didn't know Pyramid ever had any skirt complications."
"From Adam down has any man escaped?" says J. Bayard, wavin' hiscigarette jaunty. "No, your friend Gordon was no wiser than the rest ofus, as this shows. Hearken to the name--Josie Vernon!"
"That does listen flossy," says I. "But I never heard him mention anyJosie as long as I knew him. Any details?"
"There's an address," says J. Bayard, "and in one corner is written,'Mrs. Fletcher Shaw.' Probably a friend, or next of kin. Ah, but this issomething like! Knight-errantry for the fair sex! Here, McCabe, is whereI shine!"
"You do, eh?" says I. "Think you can handle this case all by yourlonesome?"
Did he? Why, to see him turkeyin' round, glancin' at himself approvin'in the mirror, and pattin' them Grand Duke whiskers of his into shape,you'd think he had some matinee idol as an understudy. Oh, yes, herather fancied he understood women, knew how to handle 'em, and allthat. He would look up Josie Vernon at once, find out what had been thetrouble between her and Pyramid, and decide on some kind and generousway of evenin' the score, accordin' to the terms of Mr. Gordon's will.
"And in this instance, Shorty," says he, "I shall probably not becompelled to trouble you at all until I submit my plans for yourindorsement. Now I'm off. The ladies, bless 'em!" and he winks giddy ashe trips through the door.
Ain't they the nutty ones, these old cut-ups? Look at Steele now,--inthe late fifties, but just at the mention of a name like Josie Vernon hegets kittenish!
Well, it's nothin' to me, and I'm glad to duck any dealin's with straydames; for when it comes to the surprisin' sex you never know whatyou're goin' to be let in for. Besides, my part of his executor game wasonly to O.K. J. Bayard's final schemes and see that he spent the moneysomewhere near the way I judged Pyramid meant to have it distributed.Course, I hadn't been able to stick to that very strict in the first twocases; but this time it looked like I would.
So by the next afternoon, havin' been busy in the gym since nine A.M.,I'd forgotten the incident complete, and I'm some surprised when SwiftyJoe announces that there's a female party askin' for me in the frontoffice.
"Wha' d'ye mean--female party?" says I. "Is it a lady?"
"Ah-r-r-r chee!" says Swifty. "How do I know?"
That's some surprisin' too; for as a rule he ain't strong on drawin'fine distinctions. If they're young and flossy dressed, he calls 'em"fluffs"; but anything over twenty-five, no matter how she's costumed,is a lady to Swifty, even a scrubwoman. So his describin' this visitoras a female party gets me curious.
The minute I steps into the office and gets a glimpse at her, though, Igot Swifty's point of view. The battered old lid had been gay enoughonce, a few seasons back, when the willow plume hadn't been dislocatedin four places, and before the velvet trimmin' had faded into so manydiffer'nt shades. It had been a lady's hat once. And the face under it,in spite of the red tip to the nose and the puffs under the eyes, mighthave belonged to a lady. Anyway, there was traces of good looks there.But the rusty black cloak that hung limp over the sagged shoulders, onlypart hidin' the sloppy shirt waist and reachin' but halfway down theside-hiked, draggled-edge skirt--that's the sure mark of a female party.I don't know why, but it is.
Where they get cloaks like that is a mystery. You see 'em on womenpanhandlers, on the old hags that camp on park benches, and in the jagline at police courts. But you never see a new one. Perhaps they're madespecial by second-hand shops for the female party trade.
"Well?" says I, lookin' her over cold and curious.
But you can't faze a female party so simple. They're used to that. Shestares back at me just as cool, and then remarks, "I guess you know whoI am well enough."
"Sure!" says I. "You're the long lost Duchess of Gainsborough, ain'tyou?"
She just gazes at me brassy and shakes her head.
"Then you must be a lady snake agent," says I.
"What?" says she, scowlin' puzzled.
"I don't know the answer, either," says I. "Called for Professor McCabe,didn't you? Well, you're connected. Shoot the rest of it."
"I'm Mrs. Fletcher Shaw," says she.
And for a minute there I couldn't place the name. Then it came to me."Oh!" says I. "Some relation of Josie Vernon's, eh?"
"Suppose I am?" she demands, eyin' me suspicious.
"Tut, tut, now!" says I. "You're the one that's occupyin' the witnessstand, you know. You were about to tell why you came."
"Was I?" says she. "You might guess that: you've had a man pryin' andsnoopin' around my flat for two days."
I gawps at her for a second, and then chuckles. "You mean aclassy-dressed gent with whiskers?" says I.
She nods.
"Mr. J. Bayard Steele," says I. "He's the one to see. He'll give you allthe partic'lars."
"Humph!" says she, sniffin'. "What does he want of Josie Vernon? What'shis game?"
"Deeds of kindness, that's all," says I.
Mrs. Shaw indulges in a hard, throaty cackle. "There ain't no suchanimal," says she. "Come now, you're in on this with him. He said so.What's it all about?"
"Mrs. Shaw," says I, "you've heard all I got to say on the subject. I'mmore or less busy too, and----"
"How impolite!" she breaks in. "And me a lady too! Heavings! how faint Ifeel!" With that she sidles towards my desk chair and slumps into it.
"Very distressin' symptoms," says I. "But I got a quick cure for attackslike that. It's fresh air, taken outside."
"I sha'n't budge until I've found why you're hounding me!" says she,grippin' the chair arms.
"So?" says I. "Maybe you didn't notice the size of my assistant, SwiftyJoe, as you came in? His specialty is escortin' obstreperous partiesdownstairs and dumpin' 'em on the curb."
"You try any strong-arm stuff on me and I'll scream for help!" says she."I'll make a charge against you too."
She looked equal to it, and for a minute I stands there gazin' puzzledat her and scratchin' my head.
"You win," says I. "I can't have Swifty scratched up. He's too handsome.It ain't any secret I'm keepin' away from you, anyway. All Mr. Steelewants to do is to locate Josie Vernon. It's a will case, and there maybe something in it for her. There! That's the whole story."
"It's a fishy one," says she.
"Maybe," says I; "but I'm givin' you my word on it. Produce Josie, andyou'll see."
She squints at me doubtful, glances around the room cautious once ortwice, and then remarks quiet, "Very well. I'll take a chance. I'mJosie."
"Eh?" says I. "You!"
"Ask the Sergeant over at the Nineteenth," says she. "He ran me out ofhis precinct because I wouldn't give up enough. Fortune-telling, youknow. He wanted twenty a month. Think of that!"
"Never mind the Sarge," says I. "Did you know Mr. Gordon?"
"Pyramid?" says she. "Rather! Back in the '90's, that was. I was in hisoffices for awhile."
"Oh--ho!" says I. "Then you must be the one. Would you mind givin' me asketch of the affair?"
Mrs. Shaw shrugs her shoulders under the old cape. "Why should I carenow?" says she. "I sprung a breach of promise suit on him, that's all. Imight have known better. He was a hard man, Pyramid Gordon. What withlawyers and the private detectives he set after me, I was gla
d to getout of the city alive. It was two years before I dared come back--and arough two years they were too! But you're not raking that up against meat this late date, are you?"
"I'm not," says I. "Any move I make will be for your good. But Steele'sthe man. I'll have to call him in."
"Call away, then," says she. "I ain't afraid of him, either."
And by luck I catches J. Bayard at his hotel and gets him on the 'phone.
"Well?" says I. "How about the fair Josie?"
I could hear him groan over the wire. "Hang Josie!" says he. "See here,McCabe, I've had a deuce of a time with that case. Must have beensomething wrong with the address, you know."
"How's that?" says I.
"Why," says he, "it led me to a smelly, top-floor flat up in Harlem, andall I could find there was this impossible person, Mrs. Fletcher Shaw.Of all the sniveling, lying, vicious-tongued old harridans! Do you knowwhat she did? Chased me down four flights of stairs with a broom, justbecause I insisted on seeing Josie Vernon!"
"You don't say!" says I. "And you such a star at this knight-errantbusiness! Still want to see Josie, do you?"
"Why, of course," says he.
"Then come down to the studio," says I. "She's here."
"Wha-a-at!" he gasps. "I--I'll be right down."
And inside of ten minutes he swings in, all dolled up elegant with apink carnation in his buttonhole. You should have seen the smile comeoff his face, though, when he sees what's occupyin' my desk chair. He'dhave done a sneak back through the door too, if I hadn't blocked himoff.
"Steady there, J. Bayard!" says I. "On the job, now!"
"But--but this isn't Josie Vernon," says he. "It's that Mrs.----"
"One and the same," says I. "The lady says so herself. She's proved ittoo."
"I had you sized up as a police spotter," puts in Mrs. Shaw, "trying toget me for palm reading. Thought you might have run across one of mycards. Josie Vernon's the name I use on them. Sorry if I was too freewith the broom."
"I was merely returning to tell you, Madam," says Steele, "that I haddiscovered you to be an impostor. Those five children you claimed asyours did not belong to you at all. The janitor of the building informedme that----"
"Yes, I heard him through the dumb-waiter shaft," says Mrs. Shaw. "But Ialways borrow some youngsters for my poor widow act when I think I'mbeing shadowed; so you needn't get peeved."
"Of course not. How silly of him!" I puts in. "There, Steele, that's allstraightened out, and here is the original Josie Vernon. What have yougot to suggest?"
He stares at me blank, and then takes another look at Mrs. Shaw. I'lladmit she wa'n't a fascinatin' sight.
"You don't mean," says he, whisperin' husky in my ear, "that you woulddo anything for such a creature?"
"She's on the list, ain't she?" says I.
"Ye-e-es," he admits; "but----"
"Let's ask the lady herself for a few more details, so we can havesomething definite to go on," says I. "Excuse us, Mrs. Shaw, for thislittle side debate; but we ain't quite made up our minds about you yet.Let's see--you was tellin' me about bringin' a breach of promise suitagainst Pyramid, and how he ran you out of town. You had a good casetoo, I expect?"
"What's the use of lying about it now?" says she. "It was a cheap bluff,that's all; one of Mr. Shaw's brilliant schemes. Oh, he was a schemer,Shaw was! Pretended to be a lawyer, Fletcher did, in those days. He wassmooth enough for one, but too lazy. I didn't know that when I marriedhim. What I didn't know about him then! But I learned. He thought hecould scare Mr. Gordon into settling for a few thousand. Of course myclaim was all bosh. Pyramid Gordon hardly knew I was in his office.Besides, I was married, anyway. He didn't guess that. But the bluffdidn't work. We were the ones who were scared; scared stiff, too."
"H-m-m-m!" says I. "Not what you might call a pretty affair, was it?"
Mrs. Shaw don't wince at that. She just sneers cynical. "Life withFletcher Shaw wasn't pretty at any stage of the game," says she. "Say,you don't think I picked my career, do you? True, I was only a girl; butI wasn't quite a fool. You will laugh, I suppose, but at twenty-two Ihad dreams, ambitions. I meant to be a woman doctor. I was teachingphysiology and chemistry in a high school up in Connecticut, where I wasborn. In another year I could have begun my medical course. ThenFletcher came along, with his curly brown hair, his happy, carelesssmile, and his fascinating way of avoiding the truth. I gave up all myhopes and plans to go with him. That's what a woman does when shemarries. I don't know why it should be so, but it is. Take my case: Ihad more brains, more energy, more character, than he. But he was a man;so I had to live his life. A rotten sort of life it was. And when it wasover--well, look at me. I've learned to drink gin and to make a livingas a fortune-teller. And the worst of it is, I don't care who knows it.Wanted details, didn't you? Well, you've got 'em."
I glances at J. Bayard, and finds him lookin' the other way with his lipcurled. You couldn't blame him so much. Listenin' to a female party tellthe story of her life ain't inspirin', and we're all apt to duck thingsof that kind. They may be true; but it's easier and pleasanter to lookthe other way. As for me, I want to, but can't. I just got to takethings as they are and as they come. Forgettin' weeds in the back yarddon't get rid of 'em. I'm apt to paw around and see where the rootsspread to.
Meanwhile J. Bayard has stepped over by the window and signals me tofollow. "Disgusting, isn't it?" says he. "And you see by this creature'sown story that she doesn't deserve a penny of Pyramid's money. He wasfooled by her, that's all."
"Not Pyramid," says I. "Didn't he have her married name on the slip too?So he must have found out."
"That's so," says Steele. "Well, suppose we give her fifty or so, andship her off."
"That's kind of small, considerin' the pile we got to draw on, ain'tit!" says I. "And it strikes me that since Pyramid put her name down hemeant---- Let's see if there ain't something special she wants."
"Say," sings out Mrs. Shaw, "what about that will business? If it wasold Gordon, I suppose he wouldn't leave me much. He had no call to."
"About what would you expect, now?" says I, as we drifts back to her.
She squints foxy at us for a minute. "After all this fuss," says she,"it ought to be two or three hundred--maybe five. No, I mean athousand."
"Huh!" says I. "A thousand! Got your nerve with you, ain't you? Butsuppose it was that much, what would you do with it?"
"Do!" says she, her eyes brightenin'. "Why, I would--I---- Ah, what'sthe use! I'd make a fool of myself, of course. And inside of ten daysI'd be in a D.T. ward somewhere."
"No old home or folks that you could go back to?" I suggests.
She shakes her head. "It's too late for me to go back," says she. "Toolate!" She don't try to be tragic, don't even whine it out, but juststates it dull and flat.
"But most everyone has a friend or so somewhere," says I.
At first that don't make any impression at all. Then all of a sudden shesits up and gazes vague over the top of my head.
"There's the Baron!" says she.
"The which?" says I.
"Von Blatzer," says she. "Oh, he's a real Baron, all right; anodd-looking, dried up little chap with a wig and painted eyebrows. Yethe's hardly sixty. I got to know him at Atlantic City, where I had aBoard Walk pitch one season. Queer? That's no word for it! Shy andlonesome he was; but after you got to know him, one of the brightest,jolliest old duffers. Our first talk was out on the end of one of thoselong piers, by moonlight.
"After that it was a regular thing. We'd walk up and down like two kids,telling each other all about ourselves. I'd never stated my full opinionof Fletcher Shaw to a soul before; but somehow old Von was so friendlyand sympathetic that I cut loose. The Baron ground his teeth over it. Hesaid that Fletcher should have been caught young and shot from a cannon.Good old Von Blatzer! Wanted me to go back to Vienna as the Baroness.Think of it--me! But I was having a good season. Besides, I didn't thinkI could stand for a wig. I didn't know how much I was going to misshim
."
"You wouldn't shy at the wig now, eh?" says I.
"Would I?" says she. "Honest, I liked Von Blatzer, for all his freakyways. He was human, he was, and we understood each other. He'll be atMonte Carlo now. Roulette, you know. That's all he lives for. Plays asystem. Nice little income he has; not big, but comfortable. And duringthe season he feeds it all into the wheel. Someone ought to cure him ofthat."
"Think you could, I expect?" says I. "But how about you and the juniperjuice?"
"Oh, I could quit that easy if there was anything else to do," says she."But there isn't."
"Then here's a proposition," says I. "You query him by cable to see ifhe's changed his mind; and if he's still a candidate formatrimony--well, I guess Mr. Steele will see that you get to the Baron."
"You--you mean that?" says she gaspy.
"Uh-huh," says I. "It's up to you."
"But--but I---- Why, look at me!" says she.
"Two weeks on the water wagon, a few visits to the beauty parlors, andan outfit of tango skirts ought to make some diff'rence, hadn't it?"says I. "Those items would be included. What do you say?"
I expect it was a good deal of a proposition to spring on a femaleparty. No wonder she choked up over it.
"If I thought you were just guying me," says she, "I--I'd----"
"Here's a cable blank," says I. "Frame up your call to the Baron while Istate the case to Mr. Steele."
He couldn't see it at all, J. Bayard couldn't. "What!" says he. "Wasteall that money on such a wretch! Why, the woman is unworthy of even themost----"
"What's that got to do with it?" says I. "Pyramid didn't put that in thebill of partic'lars, did he? Maybe he had doubts about himself. And howwould we qualify? How would you? Come, what's your battin' average,Steele, in the worthy league?"
J. Bayard squirms a little at that, and then hunches his shoulders."Oh, if you're going to put it that way," says he, "go ahead. But whenshe starts to be a Baroness, I'd like to see her."
"You'll be there to hand her the tickets," says I. "You'll get herready. That's part of your job."
He saw the point. And, say, he did his work thorough. I saw no more ofMrs. Shaw until nearly two weeks later, when Steele towed me down to thesteamer.
"Which one?" says I, lookin' at the crowd along the rail. "Ah, come off!That with the veils and the stunnin' figure--the one wavin' this way?That ain't never Mrs. Fletcher Shaw!"
"That's Josie," says he. "And before the end of the month she'll be theBaroness Von Blatzer. Changed? Why, I hardly recognized her myself afterher first day's shopping! She must have been quite a beauty once. Butwhat a wreck she was when----"
"When she chased you with the broom, eh?" says I, chucklin'. "And nowyou're as chesty over her as though you'd been workin' a miracle. Justbeamin' for joy, you are!"
"I know," says he. "And really, McCabe, I've never had a hand inanything which has given me so much genuine pleasure. It--it's weird,you know. I can't think what's happening to me."
"Maybe," says I, "you're sproutin' a soul."