Джон Данн - Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 44, No. 5, September 28, 1929

Donaldson was listening intently, his face expressionless.

“Well,” she continued, “the instant I realized the true situation, I checked the remarks that I had been about to make. If Mr. Stuffy McHugh didn’t know that I had intentionally upset his scheme, I certainly didn’t want him to know! I made an excuse, explaining that I had obtained a well-paying position with a clothing firm, and that I had been afraid my error at the night club would make it impossible for me to continue as one of his secret agents.

“To my still greater astonishment, he leaned across the table and said quietly: ‘Miss Beatrice, there is an exceedingly important matter that I’d like to send you on to-night.’

“He added: ‘If it’s on account of insufficient salary that you deserted us, I’ll increase it. I will pay you two hundred dollars for to-night’s work.’ ”

The investigator sat forward quickly. “Did you accept?”

“I pretended to, yes. I did so because I was afraid a refusal would anger him, and I didn’t know how many others were close at hand.”

“Then he told you what he wanted you to do?”

She nodded.

“Of all the assignments that Mr. McHugh ever gave me,” Beatrice declared, “I think this is the strangest, the most incomprehensible. As was usually the case before, it’s a piece of work which makes use of my ability to draw accurate likenesses of faces from memory. At ten minutes after twelve to-night I am expected to leave my lodging house—”

“Pardon me just a moment,” Donaldson interrupted. “Did you tell McHugh where you are living now?”

“I told him in a rather vague way,” was her answer. “I didn’t give him the number of the house, yet I didn’t say anything actually misleading, for I thought he might have me followed home—”

“He didn’t ask for your telephone number?”

“Not when he learned that it wasn’t a private phone.”

“I see. Proceed, Miss Ashton.”

“At ten minutes after twelve I am expected to leave my lodging house in the West End, take a cab, and ride at once to the corner of Mortimer Avenue and Groveton Street, in the South End, alighting opposite the Mortimer Avenue car barn. A Mortimer Avenue surface car leaves this barn at twelve twenty-five every night. I am expected to be a passenger on that car.

“Then, according to McHugh’s plan, one of his gangsters will enter the car at the next corner, a man named Flaherty, in a dark brown suit and cap. We are ordered to pay no attention to each other. But farther along, at Albion Avenue, another man will enter. He will be of very dark complexion, wearing a stylish blue suit with a light line in it, and a straw hat. He will be reading a Greek newspaper, Mr. McHugh said.

“This stylishly dressed man will ride across town in the car until it arrives at Columbia Street. There he will suddenly glance out of the window, give a sharp, quick gasp, throw down his newspaper, and hasten out, signaling to the conductor to stop. The first man, Flaherty, will then pick up the newspaper, make a grimace when he finds that it is in Greek, and lay it on the seat.

“Meanwhile, I am expected to watch the other passengers, and to select any two who are together, and who have observed the incident at Columbia Street. I am to indicate my choice to Flaherty, and he is to follow these two people to their destination, wherever it may be. I am instructed to leave the car at Dover Street, then to return home and draw close likenesses of the two people whom I have chosen.”

The investigator was puzzled.

“You mean that you are to draw pictures of any two people in the car whom you choose?”

“Yes — any two who are together. Mr. McHugh says there are always quite a number of passengers on that car, late home comers, and he wishes me to choose two of the most respectable. Aside from that, the selection rests entirely with me.”

“And Flaherty, you say, is to follow whatever pair of strangers you indicate? He isn’t to follow the stylish man with the Greek newspaper?”

“No. That man leaves the car at Columbia Street.”

“Humph,” said Donaldson. He sat in silence for a moment with heavy brows contracted. At length he shook his head.

“I confess, Miss Ashton, that at present I’m in the dark about this proposition. You’ve narrated everything that McHugh told you?”

“Yes, Mr. Donaldson. When he and I parted at the door of the café, he understood that I would be in the street car as directed, and would bring the two pen drawings to his residence to-morrow morning. I went to my lodging house, very much unnerved by the interview, and quite at a loss what I should do. I thought of going at once to the police. Then I decided that it might be better to consult with you.”

“I’m very glad you did,” was his comment. “The matter interests me deeply.”

“And then, another reason why I came,” she told him, “I felt that after having done so much, unknowingly, for the other side — so much against the commissioner of public safety and other honorable men — I felt it was my duty to place these facts before you right away.”

He nodded. “You may be sure that I appreciate it. Your information may serve to prevent some very serious crime. I only wish that I knew more of the details—” He hesitated, glancing at her in a quick, thoughtful manner.

He rose and took a chair nearer. “I wonder, Miss Ashton, if you would be willing to be of still further service to us. If you are still troubled by any slight qualms of conscience at having done so much for the other side — would you consider squaring the account by undertaking to do a little for us? I promise that you will be well paid for your time.”

For a moment the girl did not answer. With her whole heart she shrank from further contact with the underworld, its furtive denizens, its ugliness and greed. The thought of returning to such surroundings filled her with nameless dread. Donaldson seemed to realize what was passing through her mind.

“Let me resolve the question to more definite terms,” he suggested. “You spoke of being transferred to New York by your firm. I certainly advise it, and I think you should ask to have it arranged as soon as possible. While you remain here, you are in danger of suspicion by McHugh and his gang. If you remain passive, if you fail to keep your agreement with McHugh to-night, you merely increase the risk of suspicion. Therefore, why not take sides with us?”

“What would you like me to do?” she asked doubtfully.

“To follow McHugh’s instructions to-night exactly as he has given them — then to return here and report to us, drawing pen sketches of all the actors in this little piece of melodrama. Then, in the morning, if McHugh pays you, accept the money; and we’ll see that it is turned over to the proper authorities later.”

She hesitated, a deep uncertainty in her eyes.

“But... but suppose,” she objected, “that the gangster, Foxcroft, should betray me? He might not maintain silence if he saw that I was about to do his friends more harm.”

Donaldson smiled faintly. “I think I can guarantee—” He stopped.

“Did some one knock?” Beatrice asked.

He glanced toward the hall, then shook his head.

“I was going to say, Miss Ashton, that the danger of Foxcroft’s betraying you cannot possibly become any greater than it is already, now that his chief has engaged you to do more work. He probably knows of it. If he has failed to speak so far, he can scarcely do so now, for he would have to explain his previous silence. In any event, we, too, are rather well organized, and I think we shall be able to warn you promptly in case of danger.”

She drew a long, steady breath.