More Tales of the Black Widowers (5 page)

Bunsen, having adjusted the position of the breadbasket unnecessarily (he had earlier prevented Henry from removing it), began. “I will give you those bare bones of a story. There's a man. Call him Smith. We want him, but not just him. He's of little account. Clever at what he does, but of little account. If we get him, we learn nothing of importance and we warn off men of greater importance. If, however, we can use him to lead us to the men of greater importance—”

“We all understand,” interrupted Avalon.

Bunsen cleared his throat and made a new start. “Of course, we weren't sure about Smith to begin with. It seemed very likely, but we weren't sure. If he was indeed a link in the apparatus we were trying to break up, then we reasoned that he transferred the information at a restaurant he regularly frequented. Part of the reasoning was based on psychology, something I imagine Mr. Rubin would approve. Smith had the appearance and patina of a well-bred man about town who always did the correct social thing. On that basis, we—”

He paused to think, then he said, “No, I'm getting off the subject and it's more than you need. We laid a trap for him.” For a moment he reddened as though in bashfulness and then he went on firmly, “I laid the trap and it was damned complicated. We managed to beat down his caution, never mind how, and we ended with Smith having in his hand something he had to transfer. It was a legitimate item and would be useful to them, but not too useful. It would be well worth the loss to us if we had gained what we hoped to gain.”

Bunsen looked about him, clearing his throat, but no one made a sound. Henry, standing by the sideboard, seemed a quiet statue. Even the napkin he held did not move.

Bunsen said, “Smith walked into the restaurant with the object on his person. After he left the restaurant he did not have the object on his person. We know therefore that he transferred the object. What we don't know is the exact moment at which he transferred it, how, and to whom. We have not been able to locate the object anywhere. Now ask your questions, gentlemen.”

Trumbull said, “Let's try this one at a time. Mario?”

Gonzalo thought a moment and then shrugged. Twiddling his brandy glass between thumb and forefinger, he said, “What did this object—as you call it—look like?”

“About an inch across and flat,” said Bunsen. “It had a metallic shine so it was easy to see. It was too large to swallow easily; heavy enough to make a noise if it were dropped; too thick to place in a crack; too heavy to stick easily to anything; not iron so there could be no tricks with magnets. The object, as I still call it, was carefully designed to make the task of transferring, or hiding, difficult.”

“But what did he do in the restaurant? He ate a meal, I suppose?” said Gonzalo.

“He ate a meal as he always did.”

“Was it a fancy restaurant?”

“A fairly elaborate one. He ate there regularly.”

“I mean, there's nothing phony about the restaurant?”

“Not as far as we know, although in general that is not enough to allow us to display a blind trust in it and, believe me, we don't.”

“Who was with him at the meal?”

“No one.” Bunsen shook his head gravely. “He ate alone. That was his custom. He signed the check when he was through, as he always did. He had an account in the restaurant, you see. Then he left, took a taxi, and after a while he was stopped and taken into custody. The object was no longer in his possession.”

“Wait, now,” said Gonzalo, his eyes narrowing. “You say he signed the check. What was it he wrote? Would you know?”

“We know quite well. We have the check. He added a tip —quite the normal amount and we could find nothing wrong with that—and signed his name. That's all. Nothing more. He used the waiter's pencil and returned that pencil. Nor did he pass along anything else, and the waiter did not escape scrutiny, I assure you.”

Gonzalo said, “I pass.”

Drake, stubbing out his cigarette, lifted a gray eyebrow as Trumbull's finger gestured at him. “I suppose Smith was kept under close surveillance while he was in the restaurant.”

“As close as though he were a coat and we were the lining. We had two men in that restaurant, each at a table near him. They were trained men and capable ones and their entire task was to note every movement he made. He could not scratch himself without being noticed. He couldn't fumble at a button, crook a finger, shift a leg, or raise a buttock without being noted.”

“Did he go to the men's room at any time?”

“No, he did not. If he had, we would have managed to follow.”

“Were you there yourself, Mr. Bunsen?”

“I? No, I'm no good for that kind of surveillance. I'm too noticeable. What's needed to keep a man in view is a shadow with a good, gray face and an overwhelming lack of distinction in form and feature. I'm too big, too broad; I stand out.”

Drake nodded. “Do you suppose Smith knew he was being watched?” .

“He may have. People in his line of work don't last long if they don't assume at every moment that they might be watched. In fact, to be truthful, at one point I got a clear impression He felt he was being watched. I was across the street at a window, with a pair of binoculars. I could see him come out from the corner entrance of the restaurant.

“The doorman held the taxi door open for him and Smith paused for just a minute. He looked about him as though trying to identify those who might be watching. And he smiled, a tight smile, not amusement, it seemed to me, as much as bravado. At that moment, I was sure we had lost And, as it turned out, we had.”

“And you really are sure,” said Drake, “that he had it on him when he walked into the restaurant and that he didn't have it on him when he left.”

“We really are sure. When he walked in, there was what amounted to a pickpocketing, an inspection, and a replacement. He had it; you can take that as given. When he left and took a taxi, that taxi driver was one of our men who came, when the doorman hailed him, in a completely natural manner. Smith got in with no hint of suspicion. We are positive about that. The driver, one of our best men, then— But never mind that. The point is that Smith found himself in a kind of minor trouble that had, apparently, nothing to do with us. He was arrested, taken to the police station, and searched. Later, when it became obvious that we couldn't find the object anywhere, he was searched more thoroughly. Eventually we used X rays.”

Drake said, “He might have left the object in the taxi.”

“I doubt he could have done that with our man driving, and in any case, the taxi was searched. See here,” said Bunsen heavily, “there's no point in thinking we are incompetent in our business. When I say we watched, I mean that we watched with professional attention. When I say we searched, I mean we searched with professional thoroughness. You won't catch us on details.”

“All right,” said Drake, nodding, “but you missed, didn't you? The object was there and then it wasn't there, so either we call upon the supernatural or we must admit that somewhere you failed. Somewhere you blinked when you were watching or skipped when you were searching. Right?”

Bunsen looked rather as though he had bitten into a lemon. “There's no way of avoiding that conclusion, I suppose.” Then, belligerently, “But show me where.”

Drake shook his head, but Halsted intervened rapidly, his high forehead pink with excitement. “Now wait, the hand is quicker than the eye. The thing you're looking for was shiny and heavy, but did it have to stay that way? Smith might have pushed it into a lump of clay. Then he had something dull and shapeless which he could push against the bottom of the table or drop on the floor. It might still be there.”

Bunsen said, “The hand is quicker than the eye when you have an audience that doesn't know what to watch for. We know all the tricks and we know what to expect. Smith couldn't have put the object into clay without our men knowing he was doing something. He couldn't have placed it under the table or on the floor without our men knowing he was doing something.”

“Yes,” said Halsted, “but in these quicker-than-the-eye things, a diversion is usually created. Your men were looking somewhere else.”

'There was no diversion, and in any case the restaurant was searched quite thoroughly as soon as he left.”

“You couldn't have searched it thoroughly,” protested Halsted. “There were still people eating there. Did you make them all leave?”

“We searched his table, his area, and eventually all the restaurant. We are quite certain that he did not leave the object behind anywhere. He did not leave anything behind anywhere.”

Avalon had been sitting stiffly in his chair, his arms folded, his forehead creased in a portentous frown. His voice boomed out now. “Mr. Bunsen,” he said, “I am not at all comfortable with this account of yours. I recognize the fact that you have told us very little and that neither places, names, occasions, nor identifications have been given.

“Nevertheless, you are telling me more than I want to know. Have you permission from your superiors to tell us this? Are you quite certain in your mind that each one of us is to be trusted? You might get into trouble as a result and that would be regrettable, but I must admit that that is not the point I am most concerned with at the moment. What is important is that I do not wish to become the object of questioning and investigation because you have seen fit to honor me with confidences I have not asked for.”

Trumbull had vainly tried to break in and managed to say finally, “Come on, Jeff. Don't act like the rear end of a horse.”

Bunsen raised a massive and pudgy hand. “That's all right, Tom. I see Mr. Avalon's point and, in a way, he's right. I am exceeding my authority and things will be sticky for me if some people decide they need a scapegoat. This little exercise of mine tonight, however, may get me off the hook if it works. To my way of thinking, it's worth the gamble. Tom assured me it would be.”

“What you're saying,” said Trumbull, forcing a smile, “is that if the department jumps on you, you'll jump on me.”

“Yes,” said Bunsen, “and I weigh a lot.” He picked up a breadstick and munched on it. “One more point. Mr. Avalon asked if I were sure you could each be trusted. Aside from the fact that Tom assured me you could be—not that I consider it safe to trust to personal assurances from close friends—there has been a little bit of investigation. Nothing like a full-scale affair, you understand, but enough to give me some confidence.”

It was at this point that Henry cleared his throat gently, and at once every face but that of Bunsen turned toward him. Bunsen turned only after he was aware of the shift of attention.

Trumbull said, “Have you got something, Henry?”

Bunsen turned a clearly astonished look in Trumbull's direction, but Trumbull said urgently, “Have you, Henry?”

“I only want to know,” said Henry softly, “if I have been cleared also. I suspect I have not and that I should retire.”

But Trumbull said, “For God's sake, nothing critical is being said.”

Bunsen said, “Besides, the damage is done. Let him stay.”

“It seems to me,” said Henry, “that the damage is indeed done. Surely there is no longer any purpose to the investigation. The man you call Smith must know he is being watched. By the time you began to use X rays on him, he must have guessed that he had been set up for a kill. —Is he still in custody, by the way?”

“No, we had no grounds to keep him. He's released.”

“Then the organization of which he is a part must undoubtedly know what has happened, and they will change their
modus operandi
. He will not be used further, perhaps; others involved will disappear. Things will be entirely rearranged.”

Bunsen said impatiently, “Yes, yes. Nevertheless, knowledge is important in itself. If we find out exactly how he transferred the object, we will know something about a mode of operation we didn't know before. We will, at the least, get an insight into a system of thought —It is always important to know.”

Henry said, “I see.”

Trumbull said, “Is that all you see, Henry? Do you have any ideas?”

Henry shook his head. “It may be, Mr. Trumbull, that what has happened is complex and subtle. That would not be for me.”

“Bull, Henry,” said Trumbull.

“But it might be for Mr. Rubin,” said Henry gravely. “I believe he is anxious to speak.”

“Darn right,” said Rubin loudly, “because I'm annoyed. Now, Mr. Bunsen, you talk about watching carefully and searching thoroughly, but I think you'll agree with me when I say that it is very easy to overlook something which becomes obvious only after the fact I can describe a way in which Smith could have transferred the object without any trouble and no matter how many people were watching him.”

“I would love to hear that description,” said Bunsen.

“Okay, then, I will describe exactly what might have happened. I don't say it did happen, but it could have happened. Let me begin by asking a question—” Rubin pushed his chair away from the table and, though he was short and small-boned, he seemed to tower.

“Mr. Bunsen,” he said, “since your men watched everything, I presume they took note of the details of the meal he ordered. Was it lunch or dinner, by the way?”

“It was lunch and you are right. We did notice the details.”

“Then isn't it a fact that he ordered a thick soup?”