Sam and Inspector Dolan lunched together at Salviati’s, a drab-looking little restaurant with superlative food.
Situated close to Broadway in the theatrical district, it was favorably known to most of those in the profession. However, the hour they had selected was not a popular one and the dining-rooms were practically deserted.
Sam discovered that the Inspector appreciated good cooking and that a glass or two of wine mellowed his humor perceptibly. During their leisurely meal they discussed the Thorne case in all the ramifications known to Dolan.
“Just when I thought we had it cracked,” he said, sadly, “to have a beautiful solution like that blow up in our faces was tough. There ain’t no two ways about that. And accounting for the swell car and what went on at the Hot Springs as it did, it cut the ground right from under our feet an’ left us pawing the air. What I want to know now is where we go from here.”
“I don’t think I was ever sorrier for anyone in my life than I was for Oliver,” Sam rejoined. “For his sake, I’m glad his mother is cleared.” Sure, as Dolan was not, that the murder had not occurred at the masked ball, Sam had been readier than he to acquit the Sister of Charity of any complicity in the crime, although, while Oliver was talking, he had expected to hear that old Mrs. Oliver had followed Connie to his apartment.
Even now Dolan was not entirely satisfied in his mind.
“I don’t know that we wasn’t too quick there,” he mumbled. “Crazy the old lady is, there’s no doubt about it. That was why Aimée was so scared of her. There’s something about crazy folks that gets your goat, especially their eyes. Only, why didn’t her craziness consist in mixing up her mind about the weapon she used? I don’t doubt she meant to shoot, and I don’t doubt she would have, if she hadn’t seen a better weapon ready to her hand.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe that.” Sam shook his head. “I think if a crazy person went out armed to kill (with a loaded pistol ready, mind) nothing would divert her from using it. It is the reasoning brain that would at once perceive the advantage of a soundless instrument. However, we can consult an alienist on that point if nothing else turns up. For the moment I am more interested in Aimée’s testimony. It seems to me there’s a lead indicated there if we can only follow it up. And Oliver was quite right to resent the suggestion that Mrs. Oliver would take anything that wasn’t hers.”
“He said Mrs. Thorne had sort of gloated over that ring. To tease the old lady, like. It wasn’t my idea that she’d taken it for the value of it, but to get even, perhaps.”
“That’s plausible,” Sam owned, “only, the small pin must be explained as well.”
“If you ask me, it’s as crazy as everything else we get hold of,” Dolan growled. “There just ain’t any sense in this case however you look at it. What kind of a crook is it, I ask you, that’d pass up those di’mon’s on her left hand and take a little leaf, that from what Aimée says, must have looked a lot like spinach; and that ain’t meant for a joke, either.”
“It is strange,” Sam agreed. “And another point that struck me was that the emerald and that bit of jade in the pin Aimée used to fasten down that loose bow, were both green. She says it had very little value. That’s why she didn’t miss it at first. And of course the pin might have been lost——”
“She told us it had a safety catch,” Dolan pointed out. “No, I don’t believe it was lost. Whoever has the emerald ring has the other, too.”
A man came in, evidently no stranger to the place, since he was greeted effusively by the head waiter and wafted deferentially toward a desirable table to be at once surrounded by a feverish activity, fresh flowers being brought and instant service responding to all his wishes.
His companions, two elaborately turned-out blondes, appeared to vie with the management in flattering attentions to the words of the great man.
Sam and Dolan watched the scene with considerable interest. Sam because he recognized the favored individual, Dolan because he didn’t.
“Who’s the guy that looks like Mussolini?” he inquired at last.
“Offhand, who would you expect him to be?” Sam looked away from the newcomers. “Don’t stop to study him. Give me a snap judgment.”
“I’d say he was a gambler. Head of a policy syndicate, perhaps,” Dolan replied promptly. “Prosperous. Not what you’d call a real sport. He would ask better’n an even chance. I think there’s a streak of yellow in him, besides.”
“Not so bad,” Sam glanced at the Inspector approvingly. “That’s Gorman, the theatrical manager I’m to meet at Miss Ruland’s this afternoon. And there’s no denying all theatrical production’s a gamble. But I should say that at this moment Gorman is preparing to minimize any risk he may anticipate if Miss Ruland refuses to go on with the play ‘This Business of Being a Woman,’ which he now sees within his grasp. That blond beauty on his left is Clarissa Cromium, who in all likelihood is his second choice for the lead.”
“Could she and Miss Ruland possibly play the same part?”
Sam met Dolan’s eyes, interested by this bit of discernment.
“They could not,” he said dryly. “Of course Cromium in a way is a finished actress. She would do something with it. Possibly something effective. The hitch is that the woman in the play is supposed to be a lady, instinctively refined. Clarissa Cromium only knows of ladies by hearsay and doesn’t believe half she hears. If she played the part like that, it would be a washout and, being clever, she’d know that before they’d rehearsed three times. So she would lapse into her customary courtesan with a raucous voice and a heart of gold and make her audience like it. But it wouldn’t be the same play.”
“I get you,” said Dolan. “Who’s the other skirt? She’s not hard to look at, either, and she’s been trying to lamp you ever since she came in.”
“I know,” Sam explained, still managing to avoid the young woman’s signals, “and if we don’t get out of here she’ll send a waiter for me. She’d prefer a fourth at the table. That’s Folly Lambert. She’s not a bad sort. Gorman brought her along so that Cromium wouldn’t be too certain he was after her for a part until he was ready to break the news to her himself. Folly is in a hit, so asking her out entails no risk.”
“There’s tricks in all trades,” said Dolan, pushing himself back from the table with both hands. “I’m ready to go if you are. Maybe the Detective Division will have turned up something that’ll be a help.”
“If they’ve found the ring, I’ll shout aloud the praises of Allah,” Sam returned.
“There ain’t any such name in the Department, so I wouldn’t count on him,” Dolan said woodenly, as they surrendered their checks and accepted their hats and coats from the coat-room attendant in return for an appropriate token of esteem.
Routine business unconnected with the Thorne case engaged Sam’s attention for the rest of the day until it was time for him to present himself at the Gotham.
As luck would have it, he was delayed in the traffic and reached the hotel to find Gorman ahead of him. He did not know how this would suit Alix, but was of the opinion that it was just as well.
Mary admitted him. She was a stout and jovial Irishwoman, who had been Alix’s dresser ever since she had had a part that warranted that extravagance, and knew as much about her mistress’ business as Alix did herself.
“He’s ragin’ like a wild bull,” she whispered. “I don’t know will she be able to hold out. There’s a contract between ‘em.”
“Miss Ruland was to have the selection of her plays,” Sam reminded her.
Mary nodded a wise head.
“And that’s the hitch. Because, you see, ‘twas she selected this play, not Mr. Gorman. Bad luck to him, the dirty Prodestan’ Jew.” She took Sam’s outdoor things and he went in to be of what use he could in the fray.
Gorman greeted him with a scowl, while Alix welcomed him with her customary warm hand-clasp.
“I’m glad you’ve come, Sam,” she said, frankly. “Mr. Gorman and I are at odds on a point.”
“Of damn’ sentimental nonsense!” Gorman sputtered in an unexpectedly high and nasal voice that accorded ill with his solid bulk.
“I say that it would be a mistake—would in fact revolt my public, were I to seize the opportunity presented by the tragic death of my intimate friend to appear at once in the play that had been bought for her at the time of her death.” Alix persisted in making her explanation definite.
“And I say that I’m a business man. I put money into production and I expect to get it back with maybe a little added to help pay for the flops I have, like everybody else. I don’t claim to be a wizard...Now times have been hard and I see the opportunity of a lifetime. We won’t have to spend a cent on advance advertising. The newspapers have sure done that for us in great shape, and when ‘This Business of Being a Woman’ opens, the public’ll be waiting in lines reaching around the block. Nothing will keep them out of the theater. Nothing!”
“I can’t believe people are so callous,” Alix murmured, and went on, after a momentary hesitation, “I tell you, Mr. Gorman, even if I attempted it, which I still positively refuse to do, I would only score an utter failure. It would ruin my reputation as an actress. And that is precious to me. I’ve labored for years to build up a name for sincere work.”
“It doesn’t matter how bad a performance you gave, with you in that part, after this publicity, you couldn’t push ‘em out of the theater, and you’d get your percentage, wouldn’t you?” Gorman scowled at her until he looked more than ever like Mussolini. “I tell you, young lady, it’s the box-office that talks.”
“If the quality of the performance makes no difference, why don’t you put in Clarissa Cromium to play the lead?” Sam was politely suggestive. “I saw you at lunch today and thought she was looking especially handsome. And she’s always effective on the stage.”
“If you saw us, why were you so damn’ unfriendly?” Gorman asked raspingly. “Folly all but stood on her head trying to attract your attention.”
“Oh, I was out on business and my time wasn’t my own. You know I’m Police Commissioner now and Inspector Dolan, of the Homicide Squad was with me. I didn’t fancy you would welcome an interruption by us.” Sam had spoken lightly enough and accused himself of imagination in thinking that Gorman changed color. Alix ought to light the lamps sooner. The days were short and the room seemed dark to him. Meanwhile Alix was speaking in her warm, sympathetic voice:
“That’s a brilliant idea, Sam.” She was filled with genuine relief to learn that for all his bluster Gorman was certainly looking elsewhere for a star. “You’re right. Clarissa is always stunning on the stage. I think she’s one of the handsomest women I ever saw.”
“She’d be rotten, and you know it,” the manager shouted. “You can’t jolly me into making a fool of myself. I talked to her today and she hasn’t a brain in her wooden head. She doesn’t know what that play’s about. I get what you’re up to, all right. You’re planning to let me down and want to see me put some one in who’d kill the show before it was started, so the critics would say: ‘Won’t these managers ever learn? If only Alix Ruland had been given that part——’”
He was trying to work himself up into one of the furies for which he was celebrated and Sam was determined to spare Alix that irritation. Her nerves had been subjected to enough strain already, and of a sudden he put a firm hand on Gorman’s shoulder.
“It strikes me that all this discussion is premature, if not absolutely unnecessary. You don’t own that play yet, and if you are afraid Cromium will lose money in it the simplest course is for you not to buy it. Miss Ruland has no desire to kill anything, Gorman, but she has her own reputation to consider and she has warned you that she will not play that part.”
With a convulsive twist of his body Gorman drew his shoulder out of Sam’s grasp and left the room without the ceremony of farewells.
Alix glanced thoughtfully at Sam.
“There is frequent discussion in the theater as to whether Gorman’s rages are real or acting. I’ve always maintained that they were pure histrionics like David Belasco’s. Now I don’t know. He was ready to half kill you for interfering. For a minute I actually feared he was dangerous...Thank you so much for reminding me that he doesn’t own the play yet. Under my contract, it may mean safety for me should he buy it in spite of my protest. But before you came in he’d been assuming that it was his. Talking as if he had spent a fortune that I was bent on making him lose.
Now he has been warned in time and I shan’t feel any obligation.”
“Yes, that’s your trump card,” Sam agreed. “If he buys now, he is over-riding your very legitimate objection.”
“Besides, no one even knows where Hugh Oliver is,” Alix reminded him, comfortably.
“I’m afraid they soon will know,” Sam was forced to acknowledge, and forthwith plunged into a review of the events of the day, Gorman happily forgotten.