The Victorian Villains Megapack (73 page)

“I have not seen that hamper for—for ever so long,” remarked the Doctor.

“Nor will you see it much longer,” chuckled Casimir, “unless, indeed, we interfere. And by the way, I insist on an examination.”

“You will not require,” said Desprez, positively with a sob; and, casting a moist, triumphant glance at Casimir, he began to run.

“What the devil is up with him, I wonder?” Casimir reflected; and then, curiosity taking the upper hand, he followed the Doctor’s example and took to his heels.

The hamper was so heavy and large, and Jean-Marie himself so little and so weary, that it had taken him a great while to bundle it upstairs to the Desprez’ private room; and he had just set it down on the floor in front of Anastasie, when the Doctor arrived, and was closely followed by the man of business. Boy and hamper were both in a most sorry plight; for the one had passed four months underground in a certain cave on the way to Achères, and the other had run about five miles as hard as his legs would carry him, half that distance under a staggering weight.

“Jean-Marie,” cried the Doctor, in a voice that was only too seraphic to be called hysterical, “is it—? It is!” he cried. “Oh, my son, my son!” And he sat down upon the hamper and sobbed like a little child.

“You will not go to Paris now,” said Jean-Marie sheepishly.

“Casimir,” said Desprez, raising his wet face, “do you see that boy, that angel boy? He is the thief; he took the treasure from a man unfit to b
e entrusted with its use; he brings it back to me when I am sobered and humbled. These, Casimir, are the Fruits of my Teaching, and this moment is the Reward of my Life.”

“
Tiens
,” said Casimir.

MR. CLACKWORTHY GOES TO JAIL, by Christopher B. Booth

Originally published in
Detective Story Magazine
, Aug. 27, 1921.

I

Relaxed comfortably in the depths a big leather chair in the luxurious lobby of the Achmore Hotel, Mr. Amos Clackworthy sighed in deep contentment. He had just finished a meal which exactly suited his epicurean tastes. The Early Bird had shared the same delicious meal, but food could not appease his gnawing appetite for an adventure; it had been some weeks now since the master confidence man had engaged in that always interesting pastime of dollar hunting.

“Ah, James,” murmured Mr. Clackworthy, “that filet of sole was ambrosia fit for the gods.”

“Huh!” grunted The Early Bird. “Th’ kinda fish I’m interested in right now is—suckers. Come on, boss; bait th’ hook an’ let’s give some dollar-grabbin’ goof th’ chance t’ nibble.”

Mr. Clackworthy smiled tolerantly.

“James,” he complained good-naturedly, “you are certainly a restless soul. It seems that you can never declare a truce with careless bank balances.”

“Aw, what’s th’ use of havin’ a wise noodle like yours if you don’t use it? When a guy’s got a money-makin’ think-tank, he’s gotta keep it oiled or it’s gonna get rusty.”

“Unfortunately, James,” and the master confidence man smiled, “I do seem to get a bit rusty at times. Just now, for instance, I have thumbed my list of prospects in vain; I don’t seem to be able to get hold of a single lead. At that I am not sorry, for I am getting terribly behind in my reading.”

The Early Bird groaned as there arose before him the dismal picture of Mr. Clackworthy sitting in the library of his Sheridan Road apartment for countless hours, nose buried between the covers of some classical volume; he was very jealous of the masters, for they took much of the time which, so James told himself, could be so much more profitably turned to more practical matters.

However, what further entreaty The Early Bird might have been about to make was abruptly sidetracked as his gaze wandered to the hotel entrance and paused at the sight of an arriving guest.

“Holy pink elephants!” he exclaimed in Mr. Clackworthy’s ear. “There’s Chicago Charlie! He must be gettin’ up in th’ world, stoppin’ at this swell joint.”

“One of your erstwhile friends, I presume, James,” responded Mr. Clackworthy. He referred to his coworker’s former days, when The Early Bird was not above burgling a safe or turning his hand to various other violent means of annexing the coin which are frowned upon by the law.

“Friend!” sputtered The Early Bird. “Boss, of course I forgive you for you don’t know Chicago Charlie, but that is sure an insult. That guy a friend of mine? Ain’tcha ever heard of Chicago Charlie? But then I forgot that you didn’t used t’ pal around with th’ same bunch I did. Honest, boss, I’ve got every respect in th’ world for a square crook; y’ know what I mean. But that goof is so crooked that he’d make a corkscrew look as straight as a yardstick. He’s so crooked he’s gotta read a paper upside down. Alongside Chicago Charlie, Jesse James would’ve got a bid t’ this here Diogenes guy’s party fer honest men.”

“Your vehemence piques my interest.” Mr. Clackworthy chuckled, casting a glance of interest to the big, heavy-jowled man who had now reached the clerk’s desk and was writing his name in the hotel register. “Suppose you tell me something about him. I judge that he must have—er—nicked you for your roll, as you would say.”

“I’ve sure got th’ old bowie knife all whetted up for that guy,” said The Early Bird. “Th’ only time I ever beat th’ ponies for a hundred-to-one shot this here Charlie was makin’ book out t’ th’ old Chicago race track. A friend slips me some live dope about a little spindle-legged filly what looked like she was sufferin’ from th’ sleepin’ sickness. So I parks a century into Chicago Charlie’s keepin’. An’ believe me, boss, them was th’ days when a five spot looked as big as th’ State of Kansas.

“Well, this little mare grasshopper gets t’ th’ home stretch about three train lengths ahead of th’ field, an’ I stands t’ collect ten thousand smackers from Chicago Charlie’s betting emporium. Does I get it? Huh! I got it all right—in th’ neck. Charlie skips out an’ grabs th’ first rattler for parts unknown! I don’t even get my century back. And I ain’t th’ only guy that was handed th’ doublecross by him. Before he blowed th’ race track that time, he’d been mixed up in a coupla dozen crooked races.”

“It must have been some years, then, since you have seen him,” remarked Mr. Clackworthy. “It does credit to your memory, James. If I am any judge, this Charlie person has now risen considerably above the level of a crooked bookmaker. He carries himself with that assurance which belongs to a man of affairs.”

“Well, y’ can lay good odds that he’s with a gang of counterfeiters, or head of a trust what’s got th’ monopoly on stealin’ pennies outta blind men’s cups, or somethin’ like that,” retorted The Early Bird. He was staring at Chicago Charlie’s luggage, his brow wrinkled in deep thought.

“If he ain’t swiped some goof’s baggage—which wouldn’t surprise me none—he’s changed his moniker,” he said. “See them initials—‘J. H.,’ they says; an’ in th’ days when I knowed him, his name was Charlie Batterson. Yeah; them’s his grips aw’right. He’s pointin’ ’em out t’ th’ bell hop. It says ‘J. M., Swaneetown, Indiana.’”

Mr. Clackworthy referred to his carefully card-indexed memory.

“Swaneetown, eh?” he murmured. “If I mistake not, James, that is the name of the town which has enjoyed such a spectacular boom of late. A number of factories have erected large plants there; it is something less than a hundred miles from here, I believe. No doubt, James, Charlie is doing quite well. Humph!”

The master confidence man lowered his eyelids meditatively, then thoughtfully tugged at the neatly trimmed point of his Vandyke beard.

“James,” he said slowly, “it may be that our dining here this evening was nothing short of providential. Who knows but that we may be able to find a way whereby we can collect this old debt which Chicago Charlie owes you—with appropriate interest and—humph—an adequate fee for my services as a collector.”

“Boss!” exclaimed The Early Bird eagerly. “Y’ ain’t stringin’ me? Honest, boss, will ya throw th’ old harpoon into that guy; will ya?”

“It’s a bad idea, James, to weigh your fish before you have so much as baited your hook,” responded Mr. Clackworthy cautiously, “but we most certainly shall look into this little matter.”

II

“Chicago Charlie has certainly developed into a most shrewd person,” remarked Mr. Clackworthy as, from the window in his room of The Swaneetown House, he stared across the nondescript business street which was cluttered with all sorts of building: material such as marks a growing town in the making.

“Meanin,” said The Early Bird with a discouraged sigh, “that you ain’t been able t’ figger out th’ ways an’ means of liftin’ a bunch of his kale.”

“You have correctly stated the matter, James,” replied the master confidence man, “but, to paraphrase a bit of sound philosophy, where there is money there is always hope—of getting some of it.

“I have now spent some hours making guarded inquiries regarding our debtor. As you know, he has buttoned the cloak of respectability tightly about his shoulders. He has taken unto himself the name of John Harley, and he is president of the bank of Swaneetown. He came here when the boom started and purchased considerable portions of real estate for practically a song.

“He has become a power in municipal politics through his money and the strangle hold which he has gotten on local affairs. I understand that all of the city officials literally eat from his hand. In addition to being president of the bank, he has numerous other investments. He has developed into a shrewd business man, and not any too scrupulous, I take it.

“He is, I judge, an extremely suspicious man, which will make it very difficult for me to win his confidence—the first necessity, of course, if I am to reduce the plethora of his roll.”

“So y’ gotta call it off, huh?” The Early Bird said mournfully.

“Did you ever know me to quit. James?” reproved Mr. Clackworthy. “I did not intend to deluge your hopes with the cold water of discouraging facts; I merely reported the situation as I have found it. It really makes the game only the more interesting. I have not quit, old dear; I have just begun.

“These facts which I have recited to you I have gathered about town. I am going over to Harley’s bank—we might as well respect his alias for the present—and open up an account.”

“Gonna put your kale in Chicago Charlie’s bank?” demanded The Early Bird. “Don’cha do it. We come down here t’ trim him, not t’ let him trim us; remember what I told y’ about him goin’ south with my ten thousand smackers. Keep your dough in your own kick; it’s safer.”

“Tut. James; the bank is perfectly safe. All banks are protected by State guarantees these days. And a clever fellow like Chicago Charlie isn’t going to risk wrecking a bank. I’ll be back presently and I may, perchance, have discovered his vulnerable point.”

Following the principle that nothing succeeds like success, Mr. Clackworthy had long since discovered that the most powerful magnet to attract money was—money. In pursuance thereof he had brought along a generous working capital.

Entering the bank of Swaneetown, the master confidence man found John Harley seated in front of an elaborate mahogany desk within the open, brassrailed space adjoining the tellers’ cages. The banker who had once answered to the name of Chicago Charlie was a big, heavy-jawed man, florid and beefy. He had learned the trick of narrowing his eyes to mere slits until he was like a man peering through a crack in a window blind; he could look into a face without giving any hint of his own emotions. It rather gave the impression of a man asleep, except for the glinting of the light against his curtained retina. His mind was very much awake.

“My name is Clackworthy,” explained the master confidence man; “I wish to open an account with your bank; it will be small for the present—only ten thousand dollars.”

“Check?” demanded the self-styled Mr. Harvey with bankerlike caution; unintroduced strangers who opened accounts with checks were, of course, open to inquiry.

“Cash,” replied Mr. Clackworthy just as briefly.

“Aw right,” said Harley. “Glad to have your account. Thinking of going into business in Swaneetown?”

“That remains to be decided.” Mr. Clackworthy smiled. He was aware that Chicago Charlie, through his half-closed eyes, was subjecting him to the most minute scrutiny. And he realized with a vague feeling of discouragement that fooling Chicago Charlie was going to prove a difficult task. The man was, without doubt, suspicious and practical; he had learned caution in the hard school of life, where the lessons are not easily forgotten.

And, had he known the thoroughness of the banker’s classification, Mr. Clackworthy would have been still further discouraged.

“A fox, this fellow,” was Harley’s appraisal. “Can’t sell him any real estate at inflated values; can’t sell him any stock that isn’t on the level. Can’t be picked for a sucker; no use wasting any time on him.”

Which was a disappointment to Chicago Charlie; every newcomer who deposited money in the bank of Swaneetown was at once sized up with a view to swelling the size of the Harley exchequer. Straightway he decided that it was going to be a cold day in August when he would try to do business with this Mr. Clackworthy.

And the master confidence man, with that intuitive sixth sense of his, realized at least a small part of Chicago Charlie’s skittish distrust. It would have to be a most unusual trap indeed that would lure Banker Harley.

III

It really could not be considered strange, inasmuch as The Early Bird had instantly recognized Chicago Charlie after nearly fifteen years, that Chicago Charlie, in turn, should recognize The Early Bird. The bank president had dropped into the Swaneetown House for lunch.

Glancing across the dining room, he nodded politely to Mr. Clackworthy as is due a man who has deposited ten thousand dollars in cash the day before. Almost at the same instant he got a good look at Mr. Clackworthy’s companion. He started unpleasantly.

“The Early Bird!” he murmured, for James Early had, after all, changed very little since the time when the police were considerably interested in his movements and when James, with the capital which he had secured through extremely dubious methods, had been a regular patron at the race track.

Now the self-styled John Harley congratulated himself that he had successfully erased the unsavory pages of his past. In physical appearance he had changed a good deal; his body had thickened, his face was more full, older. After his sudden disappearance from his betting stall at the Chicago race track he had gone far West; he thought that he had thoroughly done away with Chicago Charlie. As he stared covertly at The Early Bird he detected The Early Bird looking just as covertly at him; and something told him that there was recognition in James’ eyes.

The Early Bird pressed Mr. Clackworthy’s foot beneath the table.

“He’s lamped me, boss,” he whispered. “He’s jerry t’ me.”

Mr. Clackworthy frowned in annoyance; he had thoughtlessly neglected to take into consideration the possibility that Chicago Charlie would dine at their hotel. It had not been his intention that the banker should see him and his coworker together.

Banker Harley hurried through his meal, keeping his face averted. He left the hotel and went back to his bank. For half an hour he sat, pudgy hands folded across his expansive waistcoat, chewing a dead cigar; he was thinking many unpleasant thoughts.

It was, of course, possible that he had been mistaken; that The Early Bird had not recognized him at all. Also, it was barely possible that The Early Bird carried with him no spirit of revenge, and perhaps even forgotten the incident of the welched hundred-to-one shot so many years before.

And what if The Early Bird had not forgotten or forgiven and did tell what he knew? He could brazen it out, deny that he was the former racetrack booky in case The Early Bird did show a vindictive spirit; surely his word would be accepted against that of a former safe blower. But even at the best, it was an unpleasant business, would shake the local confidence in his bank if the story got abroad. If the story was believed, it might even force his resignation as president of the institution.