World's Greatest Sleuth! (28 page)

Mrs. Jasinska waved us over to her desk, however, and when we stopped before it she leaned toward me, grinning.

“Aren’t you the belle of the ball this evening? A certain personage gave me this.”

She slid a folded slip of paper across the desktop.
MR. OTTO AMLINGMEYER
had been written on it in the fine, frilly hand of an educated lady. I picked up the note and opened it. The message inside was simple, if not exactly direct.

218

D.

I thanked Mrs. Jasinska, ignored the insinuating wink she gave me in reply, then told my brother what the note said as we made our way across the lobby.

“So we’ve been invited to pay a call on Miss Crowe,” Gustav said.

“What makes you so sure it’s a ‘we’ sorta invite? It’s just my name she wrote down.”

Old Red threw me a look hot enough to boil water. “Cuz it’s just you that can read.”

“True. Still, if she wants to see the both of us, I can always run back down the hall to fetch you.”

“After you’ve showed up at her door alone?”

“I don’t see the harm.”

“And if the colonel should spot you? Or if he should be waitin’ in that room with her, expectin’ to speak with the both of us? Or if he should’ve told Miss Crowe to write the note thataway so he can make doubly certain you ain’t got improper designs on his goddaughter?”

I chewed that over a moment.

“I see the harm,” I said.

We went to room 218 together.

Diana answered at my knock. When she swung the door wide and invited us inside, I saw Colonel Crowe seated upon the bed, a map of the White City spread out beside him. A pair of men’s hats—one a boater, the other a stovepipe—sat atop the dresser just beyond him, while a big steamer in the corner bore the initials “C.K.C.”

For C. Kermit Crowe. This was the colonel’s room, not Diana’s.

I shuddered like someone had walked over my grave—and that someone was an elephant.

“We waited for you after the contest ended this afternoon,” Colonel Crowe said once the door was closed. “You never showed up.”

“We got sidetracked,” my brother said, and he turned to me while jerking his head at the colonel.

I was being cranked up like one of Mr. Edison’s phonograph machines over in the Electricity Building, and out again came all we’d seen, heard, and learned that day: Brady and the Unbearded Man as neighbors in the WC, me and the Bearded Man tussling over a clue, Pinkerton’s short-lived threat to throw us out of the contest, the Bearded Man at last becoming the Named Man (a.k.a. Emile Agajanian, a.k.a. Billy Steele, Boy Detective), Smythe’s win-or-else ultimatum, and Tousey’s attempted bribe.

It took a while to get it all out, and for the first time the day didn’t seem like a total loss: In spite of all our setbacks and blunders, we’d gathered up quite a pile of new facts, and now I could lay it before someone who’d (hopefully) appreciate it.

“Well, one thing’s obvious,” Colonel Crowe said when I was finally through. “Tousey and Brady are trying to cheat, somehow.”

“At the very least,” Gustav said.

“Meaning you think they killed Curtis?”

“Meanin’ we still don’t know what’s really goin’ on around here.”

“Don’t you find it curious,” Diana said, “that even with the Unbearded Man as a confederate, Brady would remain one of the few contestants who hasn’t yet won a point?”

Old Red and the colonel took a silent moment to (I assume) ponder this mystery. Me, I was pondering the fact that the rest of those “few contestants” the lady had mentioned were me and my brother.

“Well,” she went on, “the colonel and I didn’t have quite the day you did, but it wasn’t wholly without developments. We were followed both during and after the contest, for instance. By a bearded man.”

“Couldn’t have been one of ours,” I said. “The Unbearded Man was with Brady in the jakes, and that Agajanian feller must’ve been followin’
us
to snatch our clue the way he did.”

“Only one way to look at it,” my brother said. “There’s another other bearded man.”

I groaned and put a hand to my forehead. “Just when I thought we were gettin’ somewhere…”

“Describe him,” Gustav said to the Crowes.

The colonel did the honors.

“Dark beard, not too thick. Average height, average build. It was hard to pick out particulars. He kept his distance, and he was wearing a long coat and a slouch hat, pulled down low.”

“Of course,” I said. “It’s part of their uniform.”

“After the contest,” Colonel Crowe carried on, “when we noticed he was still shadowing us, we split up and tried to set a trap for him. I assume he spotted it. He simply disappeared.”

Old Red grunted. “So he’s a professional, too. Like the Unbearded Man. I wonder why he was followin’
you
?”

“For that matter, why was the Unbearded Man followin’ Smythe?” I said. “Seems to me we ain’t gonna nail a name to either gent till we know what they’re after.”

“I reckon you’re right.”

My brother spent the next few seconds absently stroking his mustache.

“Fortunately, it’s not only new questions we have to share,” Diana said. “We got an answer today as well. I’m sure you remember that Mrs. Jasinska saw Pinkerton take a bundle of papers out of Curtis’s room yesterday. I can only assume the right moment never arose to ask him about it.”

I nodded. “All our moments were about yellin’ and threats.”

“I’m happy to say that wasn’t the case for us. Pinkerton’s really not a bad sort, if you approach him the right way. I struck up a conversation with him this afternoon and managed to coax him into talking about Curtis. Those papers Mrs. Jasinska saw—”

“Were the clue cards for the contest,” Gustav said. “All of ’em for the whole week, typed up neat and ready to go.”

“That’s right,” the colonel said. “How did you know?”

My brother shrugged. “Had to be them. Otherwise, how could Pinkerton keep the contest goin’ the way he has? Y’all get anything else out of him?”

“Yes and no,” Diana said. “I asked about those queer objects we found in the alley. The squirrel and the fruitcake and the box of dead snails. Pinkerton just brushed it all off as meaningless. According to him, you’ll find all kinds of odd things when you dig around in a Chicago trash can.”

Old Red snorted out a “Feh.” “There’s odd and then there’s odd under a murdered man’s window.”

“Seems to me the oddest thing of all is a so-called sleuth who ain’t curious about a stuffed squirrel in a tuxedo,” I said.

“I disagree entirely,” Colonel Crowe shot back. “The squirrel and the snails and the rest hurt your case more than they help. Such grotesqueries lend the whole affair the flavor of a schoolboy prank.”

Gustav turned sharply toward the little man. He said nothing, though, and his eyes quickly lost their focus, so that he was no longer looking at the colonel so much as through him.

Colonel Crowe turned to me. “Is he having some sort of seizure?”

“You could call it that. It’s just a thought that’s seized him, though. Don’t bother askin’ him what it is, cuz he won’t tell.”

“I don’t like servin’ up ideas till they’re fully baked,” Old Red muttered, still staring at nothing. Then he blinked, shook his head, and was truly with us again. “Y’all round up any other data today?”

“I’m afraid that’s it,” Diana said.

Colonel Crowe hopped off the bed. Standing up added all of five inches to his height.

“I suggest we gather again tomorrow after the contest to compare notes … assuming you two don’t end up in the clink again.”

He walked to the door and reached for the knob.

“That sounds fine,” I said. “But before we call it a night, don’t you think we oughta come up with a plan for tomorrow? Figure some way we can get our hands on one of them bearded fellers, say? I mean … we are workin’ together now, ain’t we?”

Colonel Crowe opened the door.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘together,’ ” he said. “More like ‘in tandem.’ We’ll see you tomorrow.”

The four of us passed around good nights, and then Gustav and I were in the hall, the door closing firmly behind us.

“That’s progress, at least,” I said as we walked away.

“Is it? What was that remark about bein’ ‘in tandem’ all about?”

“Means we’re workin’ toward the same thing at the same time, only not necessarily as a team.”

“Well, horses runnin’ against each other in a race are ‘in tandem,’ then,” Gustav pointed out. “Far as the colonel’s concerned, we’re still the competition.”

“I suppose. I don’t think you can blame the man for it, though. Remember: He had to put up part of the prize money just to be here. All we can do is not win. The Crowes stand to
lose
.”

“Hmm,” Old Red said.

We’d paused outside the door to his room to finish our talk, and just as he fished the key from his pocket, two of our neighbors appeared at the top of the stairs nearby.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Boothby Greene said. “Calling it a day, are we?”

His publisher, Blackheath-Murray, was beside him, and both were dressed in black tail coats and trousers—not so gussied up as tuxes, but close. No doubt they’d been out celebrating Greene’s victory in the contest that afternoon.

“Oh, I’ll put in some more time readin’ up on the fair,” I said. “But yeah—we’ll turn down the lights soon enough. A man needs his rest if he’s gonna keep gettin’ up and losin’ every day.”

“Now, now. Don’t lose heart, Mr. Amlingmeyer,” Greene chided me. “I didn’t score my first point until the third day. Who’s to say you won’t score yours on the fourth?”

“We didn’t see you at the closing ceremony, after Greene here found the egg,” Blackheath-Murray said. “Did you make it to the Mines and Mining Building?”

From Tousey, I would’ve taken this as a jibe. The Englishman seemed truly curious, however, and I saw no hint of derision on his round, fleshy face.

“We didn’t even know that’s where things ended up today,” I said. “We were a mite distracted.”

“By your inquiries into Mr. Curtis’s demise, I presume,” Greene said.

“Something like that.”

“Interestin’ things we been findin’ out,” my brother said. “You might change your mind about Curtis dyin’ accidental if you knew it all.”

Greene shook his head. “I think it’s most likely a case of a trout in the milk, if you’ll pardon my saying so. And if it isn’t, Sergeant Ryan’s the man to handle it. It’s not for me to stick this in.” He tapped the side of his beak-like nose. “Someone might get hurt.”

Blackheath-Murray and I chuckled dutifully, but Gustav merely narrowed his eyes and turned his head to the side, as if there were a sudden gleam off Greene that might blind him.

“Well. We shan’t keep you from your rest any longer,” Blackheath-Murray said. “Good night.”

He and Greene turned to go.

“Oh, sirs—before you go?” Old Red said, and from the hesitant, raspy sound of his voice I could tell it was an effort to force himself to speak. “I’ve been thinkin’ I need to change my style. Spruce up my wardrobe, not dress so rough. And I, umm … I been admirin’ your shoes. I wonder if you’d be so good as to tell me where you got ’em?”

Greene and Blackheath-Murray exchanged a little bemused look. They knew what Gustav was up to. He knew they knew, too, and it was embarrassing the hell out of him.

“You’re in luck, actually,” Greene said. “It just so happens Blackheath-Murray and I share a fondness for American shoemakers.” He nodded down at the shiny black shoes on his feet. “Selby & Harte of Chicago.”

“Mine as well,” Blackheath-Murray said.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Old Red said. “I’ll uhh … I’ll have to pick up some of them Selby & Hartes for myself.”

“A fine idea—you could follow in worse footsteps than mine,” Greene said, and he and Blackheath-Murray headed off to their rooms as we finally went into ours.

“I am so thrilled to hear you’re finally gonna stop dressin’ like a saddle tramp,” I said. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll drop in on Mr. Cohn and have him whip you up a frock coat and kid gloves and spats and—”

“Alright, alright. So it wasn’t the smoothest fib in the world.”

My brother swept off his hat and plopped backward onto the bed.

“At least you got some good data out of it,” I said. “Now we know American gentlemen only wear European shoes, and Europeans only wear American. Shall I run down to police headquarters and share the news with Sergeant Ryan?”

“Ha ha.”

Gustav hadn’t bothered taking off his boots and coat, and he wasn’t about to, either. He simply put his Stetson over his face, signaling to me that his day was done and first watch was mine.

“Funny to hear Greene talkin’ like Mr. Holmes,” I said.

Old Red said nothing.

“Quite the odd turn of phrase, ain’t it?”

Nothing again.

“ ‘Circumstantial evidence can be very convincing, as when you find a trout in the milk,’ ” I recited. “ ‘The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb.’ ”

“ ‘Is occasionally,’ not ‘can be,’ ” my brother said from under his hat. “And it’s from ‘Noble Bachelor.’ ”

I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“So,” I said, “we gonna talk about tomorrow?”

“What about it?”

“Well, what are we gonna do? You got some kinda plan?”

More silence. Then: “I’m workin’ on it.”

“Asleep?”

“Better than awake and gabbin’.”

“It’s gonna be our last chance, you know. To catch the killer. To end up something other than laughingstocks in the contest. To put ourselves back on track for some kinda future other than—”

“Snore,”
my brother said.

“Alright, fine. Be that way.”

And he was.

This time, the silence lasted the rest of the night.

30

THE IMPOSSI-BELL

Or, A Shot in the Dark Hits the Bull’s-eye, but Only One of Us Can See It

It was all well
and good that I was nighthawking first, for I doubt I could have nodded right off anyway. Thoughts of the next day plagued me. I could see my brother and me failing to catch Curtis’s killer, failing to score a point in the contest, failing to swing Colonel Crowe around to respecting us. Failing, in short, at everything but failing, at which we would be a great success.