The Mammoth Book of Roaring Twenties Whodunnits Page 34

  It was quite thrilling to see him and Mme Storey together. Neither would yield an inch. Each affected to ignore the other; but it was none the less evident that for these two the others at the table simply did not exist.

  Neither had much to say. Mme Storey smoked one cigarette after another, and through the haze of tobacco fumes her expression appeared even more cynical and reckless. Falseface Petro gave himself the languid, elegant airs of a celebrated screen star.

  We had made room for the newcomers at our table, and the inevitable “cider” circulated. Of course in company like that we never discussed business; the talk was just as empty and meaningless as might have been heard at any table in the place. It was merely a noise.

  “Well, what’s the good word, Falseface?”

  “Nobody’s got a good word for you, Butch.”

  Loud laughter greeted this sally.

  “Say, you’re so quick you’re ahead of yourself. Wait till you catch up, fella.”

  “If I waited for you, I’d be there yet.”

  “Is ‘at so?”

  Somebody broke into song:

  “My gal’s a high-bawn lady;

  She’s dahk, but not too shady –”

  “Where’d you dig that up, Brownie? That song was laid away when mother was a girl.”

  “I don’t care. I like it.”

  Louder:

  “Fedders lak a peacock, just as gay;

  She’s not cullud, she was bawn that way.”

  “What yeh tryin’ to do, compete wit’ t’ orchester?”

  “T’ orchester ain’t in it wit’ me.”

  Fortissimo:

  “Down the line they can’t outshine

  This high-bawn gal of mine!”

  “. . . Odds of sixty-four to one, and she romped home. I had a tip, too, and I wouldn’t play it. I wisht somebody would kick me now.”

  “Hey, fellas, Tony wants somebody to kick him!”

  “That’s a good show down at the Booth.”

  “Yeah. Lee Shubert sent me a box last week.”

  “Yes, he did!”

  “. . . They’re gonna call it the Sans Sowcy.”

  “What’s ‘at mean?”

  “Soich me! Vincent Astor and young Morgan and all the big fellas belongs.”

  “Well, they’re nottin’ in my life.”

  There was dancing in the middle room, and the crowd at our table was continually breaking up and reforming in different combinations. When an opportunity presented itself Mme Storey whispered to me to pass the word to our fellows to let us go home alone this night.

  It turned out in the end that Falseface Petro was not as indifferent as he seemed. When Mme Storey rose to leave, he got up also in his lordly way and squired us out.

  Tony followed after like his shadow.

  Falseface signaled a taxi at the curb.

  “Can I drop you anywhere?” he drawled.

  “I live in – Street,” said Mme Storey.

  The upshot was that Falseface and Tony accepted an invitation to come up for a last drink and a smoke. By this time we had thoroughly established our characters with them, and there was little chance of a discovery. But the sense of danger was always present; one could not relax for a moment.

  How strange it seemed to be hobnobbing with those two sleek young savages!

  Arrived in our own little flat, none of us needed to put a curb on our tongues.

  “Jake told me about the stunt you pulled off at Fossberg’s last week,” said Falseface. “That was a damn neat piece of work.”

  “Oh, I was just getting my hand in after quite an extended rest,” said my mistress carelessly.

  “What you get out of it?”

  “Twenty-five thousand. That was about half what the stuff was worth.”

  “It’s better than I can do. Those fellows are bloodsuckers.”

  “You’re no slouch at the game yourself,” said Mme Storey. “That was a nervy stunt you pulled in Mme Storey’s office. I like to see a woman like that get it. She’s too big for her shoes, she is.”

  “If you’ve got the nerve they can’t stop you!” said Falseface, pluming himself.

  “Sure. That’s the principle I’ve always gone on.”

  “Me and you ought to be in on something together,” he said with an elaborate show of indifference.

  “Suits me,” said my mistress. “We’re going to pull a big stunt next week. Going back to Fossberg’s to make a second cleanup. There will be good publicity in it this time.”

  “Well, Tony and me’s got nothing on next week,” said Falseface carelessly.

  “I could use a couple more men if they were the right sort,” said Mme Storey. “I take a third; I’ll give you a quarter; and the rest divide what’s left. There won’t be but six or seven of as in it.”

  “We’re on,” said Falseface, without troubling to consult his partner.

  “All right,” said Mme Storey. “Be here at nine to-morrow night to meet the crowd and talk things over. We’ll go on to the Boule’ Miche’ after.”

  IX

  The affair was first set for Wednesday afternoon of the following week. On Tuesday Inspector Rumsey came into our office in a state of perturbation.

  He had just learned that the captain of the precinct in which Fossberg’s was situated had made a shift, and that thereafter there would be an officer on fixed post in the middle of Broadway, immediately in front of the jewelry store.

  “Of course I could have given him a tip to put it off until after tomorrow,” said the inspector, “but you told me most particularly not to interfere with the local police arrangements.”

  “Quite so,” said my mistress. “If you told the captain to put it off, and then the robbery took place tomorrow, the cat would be out of the bag. And we’re not yet ready to release that cat.”

  “But what will you do?” asked the inspector. “You can’t make a get-away with an armed policeman outside the door.”

  “We’ll make a new plan,” said Mme. Storey calmly. “Speaking of cats, there’s more than one way of skinning them.”

  “That makes two men outside the door,” he said in distress.

  “Well,” rejoined my mistress, smiling, “there’s a back door.”

  To give us time to discuss the details of the new plan, and to rehearse our parts, the affair was put off until Saturday at ten thirty. On Saturday mornings the volume of business is about the same as the afternoons of other days. On the afternoon of Saturday we feared there would be too great a crowd for our comfort.

  I was relieved to discover that in the new plan I was not called upon to play so dangerous a part. We were all to enter the store simultaneously.

  Abell was released from any participation in this holdup, much to his joy. There was no glamour about it for him. That left six of us to conduct the actual operation.

  The gang was completed by a dandy chauffeur borrowed by Mme Storey from a wealthy friend. The car “stolen” for the occasion was an elegant new limousine.

  On Saturday morning at nine we met at the flat. I was in a miserable state of funk. I hope I succeeded in concealing it.

  Mme Storey served out the guns, and she herself made sure that Falseface and Tony were not carrying any additional weapons. They protested against the blank shells, but our leader stood firm.

  “Our object is robbery, and not murder,” she said coolly. “If you are obliged to shoot, the blanks will go off with just as much noise and have the same moral effect. And if there is any slip-up in our plans, you won’t land in the death chamber.”

  They appeared to see the force of her argument.

  We left the flat separately. It fell to my part to ride uptown in the elegant car with the dandy chauffeur.

  But I was in no condition to enjoy all this grandeur. My knees trembled, my hands were clammy, my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. I wore a close hat which completely hid my red hair, and certain changes had been made in my facial decorations.

 
On the first occasion the clerks at Fossberg’s could not have had but the briefest glimpse of me; still there was a possibility of my face having been photographed on somebody’s mind, and we were not taking any chances.

  Two blocks below the store I halted in order to make sure that I was not arriving too soon. Mme Storey came to the car door as if to greet an acquaintance.

  “All here,” she said cheerfully. “Give us two minutes, then drive on, and go ahead with the program. Do not look about for us as you are entering the store.”

  “How about the two policemen on beat?” I asked.

  “You can disregard them today.”

  When I drove up in front of Fossberg’s in my fine car, the door opener hastened to help me out. As I stepped down I made believe to stumble, and allowed a little cry of pain to escape me.

  “Oh, my ankle!”

  The man caught hold of my arm to support me. “Will you get back in your car?” he asked.

  “No, let him drive on,” I said. “I will sit down in the store for a moment.”

  He helped me across the sidewalk. This trick was to draw him inside the store, you understand.

  I was half paralyzed with fear. He must have felt how my arm was trembling; but I suppose he ascribed it to the pain I was suffering.

  Inside the store, a clerk made haste to push up a chair, and I sank into it. In a glance I saw that the place was fairly well filled, and then things began to happen.

  As the door opener left me to return to his post, he found himself facing Falseface, Tony, and young Farren, who had entered behind me, each with a gun in his hand. Instinctively the doorkeeper’s hand went toward his pocket; but at a harsh command from Falseface, he thought better of it, and flung his hands above his head.

  In a twinkling Tony had disarmed him. Behind them, in the space between the two pairs of doors, Mme Storey was coolly bolting the outside doors, and pulling down the shades. To the glass of the door she affixed a little notice which had been prepared in readiness:

  “Closed on account of death in the family.”

  Stephens had been sent around through the apartment house to cut off the escape of anybody who might try to get out by the rear door of the store. This door opened into the lobby of the apartment house.

  For the moment I remained sitting where I was. All fear left me, and I seemed to be able to see all round my head.

  Mme Storey joined the three men, and the four of them spread out, and advanced across the store like skirmishers. When they came abreast of me, I fell into line with them.

  A strange silence filled the place. Then Mme Storey ordered everybody, clerks and customers, over to the far side out of our way, and they scurried like rats at her bidding.

  The human creature is not a pretty object when he is in the grip of terror. Over in the corner they struggled insanely to get behind each other.

  Never will I forget the sight. There was one big woman squeaking in terror, and struggling with all her might. In spite of her struggles, one of the men clerks, who had her by the elbows, continued to hold her in front of him.

  Another clerk, instead of following the crowd, silently dropped out of sight behind the counter on my left. I knew he had a gun back there, though it was loaded with blanks. I told Mme Storey about him.

  “Well, if he sticks his head over the counter, blow it off,” she said harshly, loud enough for him to hear.

  Nobody but me could hear the faint ring of laughter in her voice. She was enjoying herself.

  A third clerk slipped out through the office at the back, but we were not concerned about him. Presently he reappeared, walking backward, stepping high, and holding his hands above his head. Stephens followed, covering him with his gun.

  Mme Storey ordered Stephens to dislodge the man behind the counter. As Stephens looked around the counter, the clerk fired.

  Low, terrified cries broke from the people across the store. My own heart failed me at the sound of the explosion, though I knew it was all a comedy.

  Stephens did not return his fire, but flung himself upon the clerk, and dragged him out of his hiding place. At the back of the store there was a tall safe with the door standing open. Stephens flung his man inside, and closed the door.

  Meanwhile Falseface, Tony, and I had made for the safes in the center of the store. Each of us was provided with big pockets inside the skirts of our coats. I had the combination of each of these four safes, but they were not called for since all stood open.

  Dropping on our knees, we began to pour the contents of the trays into our pockets. Such a cascade of glittering necklaces, pins, bracelets and rings!

  While I worked, I could see Mme Storey out of the tail of my eye, helping to cover the cowering crowd in the far corner. Without lowering her gun, she took a tiny cigar from the breast pocket of her neat jacket, and sticking it in her mouth, lit a match with her thumb nail. I think this display of coolness intimidated our victims as much as the guns.

  It took us but a minute or two to empty the safes. We did not bother with the show case stuff.

  Coming out from behind the counter we made for the rear door. Mme Storey and the other two men backed slowly toward us.

  Then from the midst of the crowd they were covering somebody fired, and instantly pandemonium broke loose. Whipping out their guns involuntarily, Falseface and Tony returned the fire as fast as they could shoot.

  Nobody could be hurt, of course; but from the shrieks and yells which rose, you would have thought that every shot had found its mark. Somebody was shoved through a show case with a horrifying crash.

  As we backed through the office, a loud pounding was heard on the street door. We had not a moment to lose. Somehow, we found ourselves in the lobby of the apartment house, and got the door closed.

  It was quiet there. The door closed with a spring lock, and opened inward toward the store. There was no means of fastening it from the outside; but Stephens had brought a long, thin bar for the purpose. When this was laid obliquely across the door, caught inside the handle, the ends projected beyond the door frame; and those inside were unable to pull the door toward them.

  I saw it was quiet in the lobby, and the way clear. The door from the street was locked, and Stephens, upon first entering, had bound and gagged the elevator attendant, and had thrown him in a little office alongside the entrance.

  To be sure, the door of one of the rear apartments opened, and a white face showed for a moment, but we had nothing to fear from this direction. The door was quickly slammed again.

  We crowded into the elevator. Stephens knew how to operate it. The last thing we saw, as we shot upward, was a crowd of people headed by a policeman turning in from the sidewalk toward the street door.

  My knees weakened at the sight of the bluecoat. A policeman is such an obstinate fact to face.

  On the top landing a couple of people were waiting for the elevator. They fell back in affright as we poured out. We ran up the final flight of stairs to the roof.

  I should explain that this apartment house was one of a pair exactly alike, which occupied the whole block fronting on Broadway. All we had to do therefore was to run across the roof, and descend into the twin house, whose entrance was in the next cross street. The door from the roof was armed with a bolt on the inside, and this we shot as we passed through.

  In such a state of excitement, one’s instinct was to run right down through the house; but Mme Storey would not permit it. She feared that the noise of our descent might alarm somebody below, and result in our being cut off.

  She forced us to wait on the top landing for the elevator. Oh, but it was hard to wait with one’s nerves jumping!

  The elevator came at last. As we were getting in, we heard running feet on the roof, and fists began to pound on the door we had bolted. The negro elevator boy looked at us terrified, and hesitated.

  Mme Storey, smiling, took out her gun, and affected to examine it. The boy’s black face turned gray with terror, and he took us down in
a hurry. Not a word was spoken.

  We issued out of the house without any appearance of hurry. Our elegant limousine was waiting at the door with the engine running. The alarm had not yet penetrated into this street.

  We could see people running down Broadway. Mme Storey was the last of us to get in the car.

  As she pulled the door after her, the people running down Broadway stopped, and a crowd came pouring around the corner from the other direction. They were headed by a policeman with a gun in his hand. They were not in any too great a hurry, though.

  They stopped to reconnoiter prudently. I was looking out of the rear window of the limousine. As the policeman raised his arm I dropped.

  We roared away down the street. The policeman sent a couple of shots after us, while I made myself small. However, they went wide. We turned the corner on two wheels; turned another corner and slowed down.

  We were safe. Away from the actual scene nobody would ever have suspected that handsome car with its dandy chauffeur of having taken part in a holdup.

  When I realized that we were really safe, I suddenly dissolved in weakness. I seemed to lose all grip, all control of myself. Simultaneously perspiring and shivering in an agony of after-fear, I groaned to myself: Never again! Never again!

  At Eighty-Sixth Street we turned east, and making our way through the park by the transverse road, abandoned the car in Yorkville, and scattered. As Mme Storey and I made our way decorously down Madison Avenue, all that had happened seemed like a dream. However, the weight of jewelry bumping against my knees reminded me that it was no vision.

  My mistress went into a drug store to telephone. With a grin in my direction, she left the door of the booth open a crack, and I heard this astonishing conversation:

  “Is this Fossberg’s jewelry store? . . . This is the lady who just held you up . . . Held you up, I said: Can’t you understand English? I just wanted to tell you, in case you had overlooked it, that one of your clerks is shut up in the big safe at the back of the store . . . Better let him out before he suffocates . . . Oh, that’s all right. Don’t mention it. Goodbye.”