The Mysterious Mickey Finn (18 page)

MRS CORALYE MCLANE
1923 SEVENTH AVE.
NEW YORK CITY

SHIP IMMEDIATELY PARIS FORMER BLACKBIRD HY-DRANGEA PALMERSTONE WAITE
Stop
FUNDS AFRICAN NATIONAL BANK
                                            
HOMER EVANS

‘That will fetch her,' Evans said. Miriam looked at him in awe, swallowed hard once or twice, then shrugged her shoulders.

‘Did them a little favour in Harlem years ago,' Homer said.

Then they went to Maxim's for a snack, ending up with brandy Carlos III.

‘In honour of Lefty Gomez,' Evans said to Frémont.

‘Gomez? A Spanish philosopher? A
gourmet
?'

‘A philosopher, indeed,'.Homer said. ‘Now for business. We've got to talk with that brace of lilies known as Heiss and Lourde. But first perhaps I should explain to the sergeant how I happened to cause a slight disturbance in the gallery this afternoon. ...'

‘You don't mean that you're at the head of those picture bandits?' Frémont asked, rising indignantly to his feet.

‘That's an over-simplification,' said Evans. At that point a messenger burst in and the sergeant, fumbling with a telegram, began to splutter.

‘They've got Miss Montana, and she's gone nuts,' he said.

‘Maggie. Great God, I'd forgotten her,' exclaimed Evans. ‘And don't tell me that a barber has disappeared from the rue Campagne Première.'

The sergeant's face clouded. ‘If our great governments are to work together, there must be mutual frankness,' he said. Rapidly Homer told him about Henri, and when he mentioned the Mickey Finn and its properties the sergeant looked as if he had heard the sound of a great amen.

‘Michael Finn,' he repeated. ‘Harmless soporific. Puts wife to sleep.' The sergeant began to trip and to caper. ‘The man's a genius,' he continued. ‘What, exactly, is this Fine Michel or Michael or Mickey Finn? Can it be bought in pharmacies?'

‘The moment my friends are released from your antiquated jail I'll tell you where to obtain Mickey Finns,' Homer said. Fervently the sergeant grasped Homer's hand.

‘I shall never forget your kindness,' he said.

Without further ado the trio set out for the boulevard Hauss-mann where they entered the gallery of Heiss and Lourde. Abel was sitting at the desk with his head buried in his arms and was groaning. Dodo, who as a groaner had slightly the better of the senior partner, was pacing back and forth in front of Bellinis, Delacroix desert scenes, Rembrandts, and a little known portrait of Whistler's Aunt Harriet in which the family resemblance was strong. One burly cop, five feet four, was leaning against the door, dozing, and another brace in uniform guarded the stairway leading to the upper storeroom where the plain clothes men were playing what they called in their innocence contract bridge. Everyone except Abel jumped to attention when the sergeant entered.

‘As you were,' the sergeant said. ‘Then clear out of here, all of you. I have with me the special agent plenipotentiary of the government of the United States. ...'

At the word ‘government' Dodo made a dive at the door which, had it not been the best plate glass, would have given way. Abel, aroused from his lethargy, was not far behind him. Sergeant Frémont grabbed their respective coat-tails and hauled them back.

‘Not you. We have something to say to you, and we are confident,' his tone grew ominous, ‘that you both will have a lot to say to us. The officers can go. We shall not need them further, unless, of course, Messrs Heiss and Lourde do not talk fast enough. In that case the officers will be called back, with necessary implements.'

The police and plain clothes men filed out, glad to be relieved of their dull vigil among the masterpieces of the ages. The last one had not rounded the corner before Abel let out a shriek. His eyes protruded, his Adam's apple worked up and down like the piston of a pump. With a lean finger he pointed straight at Evans: ‘That's the sheik,' he screamed.

‘And that's the prince,' joined in Dodo, pointing at Miriam. ‘We've been framed. We've been spied upon. Government agents.... How do you get that way? We haven't done a thing. Not a sale in a fortnight.'

‘Peace, partners,' said Evans. ‘Just sit quietly, you, Abel, at the desk. There's an automatic in the middle drawer, within easy reach of your hand....'

‘Merciful God,' said the sergeant, leaping on Abel's scrawny neck....

‘Spare yourself, sergeant,' Evans said calmly. ‘I removed the slugs this afternoon. Besides, Abel has never fired a gun in his life. He hates violence. Abhors rough work of any kind. We're dealing with the smoother type of ruffian....'

‘You can't pin a thing on us,' Abel said. ‘I don't know what your game is, but it won't work with me.'

‘And you, Dodo,' Evans continued, ignoring Abel completely. ‘Ensconce yourself in that chair you pretend is Louis XIV, when the upholsterer who stuffed it was only ten years old on the day of the king's funeral.' He turned to Frémont, whose eyes were bulging. ‘It isn't that a Louis XV chair is less valuable than a Louis XIV. Dealers simply are nervous about telling the truth. They shun the truth by instinct, knowing that it frequently leads to trouble. True stories about art objects may be checked. Minor discrepancies naturally occur. Clients become distrustful. But when a tale is made up of whole cloth, no one ever finds a flaw. Still, I have a hankering for truth, myself. I want for the first time to introduce its healing ray into the musty corners of this establishment. I should like, if you don't mind, to have you distract these gentlemen with a few tales of necessary police brutality while I have a look upstairs. But first, could you call one of your faithful minions back? I want him to do an errand.'

The sergeant shouted ‘Bonnet' from the door and the officer who first had accompanied him to Hjalmar's studio and who was present at the discovery of the mysterious cheques, stepped up promptly and saluted.

‘Monsieur Bonnet,' Evans began ...

‘Monsieur Evans is special
agent plénipotentiaire
of the United States government. Take orders from him as if they came from me,' the sergeant explained.

Evans bowed his thanks. ‘Monsieur Bonnet,' he said. ‘Would you mind toddling over to the Plaza Athénée, mounting to room 465 and gathering up all letters, telegrams, or other communications which may have accumulated there?'

‘But that's the Weiss room. The ambassador's forbidden ...' interrupted Frémont.

‘The ambassador has given me
carte blanche
,' Evans said.

Bonnet bowed in turn, and retired. Evans motioned Miriam to follow him to the upper room. Swiftly he glanced at one canvas after another, taking them one at a time from a stack against the wall. ‘Ah,' he said, when he tackled the second stack. ‘I thought so.' He drew forth a painting and when he laid it face up on the table, Miriam gasped.

‘The candlelight Greco,' she murmured.

‘Not
the
candlelight Greco,
a
candlelight Greco, and one, I fear, that the worthy master never had the pleasure of seeing. Before I review the history of the candlelight series, real and bogus, I think our friend the sergeant should be summoned. He hates paintings, but likes anecdotes. And since the sergeant should be with us, why not invite Heiss and Lourde? They might learn something about their stock and their trade, and just possibly they might let fall a few pearls of information. Just possibly, you know.'

‘I'll herd them all up here,' Miriam said, and started resolutely down the stairs. At the landing she called to the sergeant: ‘Bring those rustlers topside. The
agent plénipotentiaire
wants to talk with 'em.'

‘You heard what the lady said,' the sergeant snapped, and shaking with foreboding, Heiss and Lourde rose furtively and preceded the sergeant up the stairs.

‘Ah, gentlemen,' Evans said, quietly. ‘Just in time for the little talk on Greco. Not Gonzo, sergeant, do not confuse the Cretan master with our friend who uses violet ink to such splendid effect. Greco, whose real name was Domenico Theoto-copoulos, was born about 1547, suffered under Titian while learning
sub rosa
from Tintoretto, embarked for Spain in 1576, painted as long as he could stand it for that prize bigot and purveyor of atrocious taste, Philip II, then set up a studio in Toledo, where, among other things, he tangled with the Inquisition in the matter of the length of angels' wings.'

‘Monsieur Evans, I detest art, and know less than nothing about it,' the sergeant interrupted.

‘You are kindred, then, with Heiss and Lourde. Both of them were put into the art business by relatives who couldn't trust them in banks....'

Abel began making choking noises. ‘No use to protest,' Evans said. ‘I couldn't be trusted in a bank, either. When I see huge packets of big bills…..'

Dodo groaned with such feeling that Evans desisted. He turned to the sergeant and said, seriously, ‘Sorry to bore you with a bit of history, but it's vital to the case. What I'm getting at is that Greco ... we'll eschew his real name as being too difficult ... dashed off a series of candlelight paintings, mostly for his own amusement. Got fed up with angels and saints and politicians. Wanted to experiment in rendering the effects of artificial light. The results were marvellous, like everything the Master tackled. Now it was generally conceded among experts and historians of art that Greco painted five candlelight pictures, all with the same Negro boy as model, the same table, table cover, wall, etc. They were not copies, merely slightly different paintings. You follow me?'

‘I don't see what this has to do with Hugo Weiss,' the sergeant said, disconsolately.

‘Sure. You hit it there, sergeant,' Dodo said. ‘This plenipotentiary guy's full of apcray.'

The sergeant silenced Dodo by stamping on his foot, a trick he had learned from the Fakir Yenolob in the Carats case.

‘I'll get right down to business,' Evans said. ‘Ah, here's M. Bonnet with an armful of mail. Place it right here on the table, please. And perhaps you'd better remain. You like art, M. Bonnet?'

‘I had always wanted to paint,' Bonnet said, ‘but my father insisted that I join the police force. He was a painter, but not a very good one.'

‘Exactly,' Evans said. ‘Now, to resume about the candlelight Grecos. There were five in existence, up to 1923. One was the property of T. Prosper Stables, a wealthy American financier and, incidently, a bitter rival of our missing friend, Hugo Weiss. Stables is a surly fellow, liver practically gone. Hates Weiss but Weiss is only sorry for him. Has more money than Weiss and makes a great show of philanthropy. The Stables candlelight Greco was adjudged by several experts to be the best of the series. Another is in the British Museum, the third in the Hermitage collection in Leningrad, a fourth in Vienna, and the fifth is being held for speculation by the American Can Corporation.'

‘Then this must be a fake,' the sergeant said, making a grab at Abel's collar.

‘Not so fast,' Evans said. ‘In 1923 a sixth candlelight Greco was, according to the story put out by a firm of British dealers, found in an attic in London. Some British soldier, ransacking in Spain, had taken the canvas home and his grandchildren had found it in the attic, along with some letters, yellowed with age, which proved beyond a doubt that the painting had come from Spain. The 1923, or sixth candlelight Greco, was touted as being better than Stables No. 1, so naturally Hugo Weiss put in a bid for it. Just before that I had seen the painting myself, and for a while, was fooled. The canvas was actually old. It had been woven in the early sixteenth century by the same weavers who had done the cloth on which the Conde de Orgaz was painted. No mistake about that. Had it not been for the candle flame, the 1923 Greco would have got by me, but I had just been brushing up a bit on chemistry and history of art and I knew that the crimson in the candle flame...' He paused to point to the flame on the picture before him. . . . ‘That crimson,' he continued, ‘was not known until the last years of Greco's life, a long time after he had finished his candlelight experiments. I did not give the show away, not liking to meddle....'

Dodo groaned louder than ever, and dodged the sergeant's heel.

‘I did, however,' Evans continued.' slip a word to Hugo Weiss. I disliked Stables, for personal and family reasons, and didn't want him to gloat over Hugo when the hoax was discovered.'

‘Where did you get this forgery?' the sergeant roared at Abel.

‘Patience, sergeant. I'll answer that in time. First I must tell you how Mr Stables learned that art is simply wonderful for dodging income tax and concealing assets.'

‘My head is aching,' Frémont said.

‘So's mine,' said Dodo.

‘Perhaps M. Bonnet wouldn't mind bringing in some aspirin. About sixty grains, officer, please. I've more to unfold, I assure you, gentlemen. I've merely sketched in the background.' With that he reached down to the nearby stack of canvases and pulled out one which he held toward the light.

‘
Nom de Dieu
,' Frémont said, indignantly. ‘Another of those pesky Negro boys and candles. Let me take these crooks to the
préfecture.
Why wait?'

‘My dear friend. I have told you repeatedly that this case is not a simple one, not merely petty swindling. Our first object is finding Hugo Weiss. Then we can proceed at leisure with these smaller fry.'

Abel and Dodo winced, and were about to speak resentfully when the sergeant did the double heel trick, a variation of his own on the Hindoo original.

‘Ouch ! Have a heart,' the dealers whined.

Evans faced them scornfully. ‘Ah, no. These are not the master minds. Theirs not the brains to conceive this great network of falsification and chicanery. Theirs not the wealth to be hoarded and withheld from the public need. Theirs not the hands so skilful that they can simulate the brushwork of that divine and original master whose real work . . .' he tossed the second candlelight painting contemptuously to the floor, ‘is worth more to the square inch than the hearts of such cats'-paws as these.'