Carden, Crook Comedian/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II.
A DEAL IS MADE.
ALMOST every city in the United States, except a few of the quickly-built ones of the West, has a few narrow, crooked streets that have resulted from paths made in haphazard fashion in the old days.
On a certain afternoon six months after his meeting with Burke, Joe Carden stood at the curb in such a street. He was dressed in inconspicuous clothing and wore a cap instead of a hat. He stood with a cigarette drooping from one corner of his mouth and with shoulders stooped. He did not look at all like the debonaire Joe Carden that sO many men knew—and he did not wish to so look.
Carden glanced down the street as he held his cupped hands before his face and lighted the cigarette afresh. Ragged children were playing happily between the two sidewalks, pushcart vendors were making their way slowly through the throng, on the alert to catch thieving young fingers. Here and there fat, foreign women leaned from second-story windows and shrieked to one another concerning the unimportant happenings of the day.
Halfway down the block, on the opposite side of the street, was an old antique shop with a battered sign over its door and crusted dirt on its windows. The shop had been there for years, and was the property of an old man known as Razelus.
The police often had entertained certain suspicions regarding this Razelus, but never had they been able to catch him at a moment when he was breaking the law. He was suspected of being a “fence,” and in reality was one, though not a fence of the ordinary variety. Razelus did not deal in stolen rings and purloined plate; he dealt in antiques, as the sign said. He was known to many wealthy collectors, some of them men who did not care how they obtained an object of art so long as they got it.
It was the shop of Razelus that the crook comedian was watching as he pretended to be loafing near the curb while enjoying his cigarette. Before the shop in the narrow street was a gorgeous limousine that took up almost half the width of the thoroughfare. Joe Carden knew that the car was the property of one Roger Belcher, a new millionaire regarding whose operations in the realm of business many nasty things were being said.
Roger Belcher, having made his pile and formulated plans for keeping it a big one, was attempting to break into the inner ranks of worthy society by the art route. In his great mansion far uptown, Roger Belcher had a gallery that contained some of the world’s masterpieces. Some of them had been acquired by shady means, but that did not annoy Belcher.
As Joe Carden watched, the man came from the shop of Razelus, and Razelus himself, carrying a small bundle, followed at his heels. Roger Belcher got into the limousine, old Razelus handed him the package and stood bowing and rubbing his hands, and the big car dashed suddenly up the street, scattering the playing children and causing several mothers to shriek in foreign words their fear and anger.
Joe Carden waited until the street had regained its normal aspect, and then he yawned and tossed his cigarette away. He glanced up and down the thoroughfare as if expecting some acquaintance to meet him—and so made sure that no officer of the law to whom he was known was in the neighborhood.
Then Joe Carden walked to the corner, crossed the street, and went down the other side, came to the door of the antique shop of old Razelus, and darted inside. A little bell tinkled somewhere in the back as the door was closed.
Razelus was not in sight; Joe Carden supposed that he was in the little rear room that he used as office and living quarters. Carden never had been inside the shop before, but he had heard about that little rear room—the majority of those in the underworld knew about it. The walls could have told police officials many interesting facts, could they have spoken.
While waiting for the antique dealer, Joe Carden glanced rapidly around the shop. Old furniture, objects of art, paintings, ancient books, bits of statuary—all were jumbled together and covered with dust. The crook comedian smiled a bit as he looked at the stock, and then he turned around quickly at the sound of the old dealer’s step behind him.
Razelus walked forward slowly, rubbing his hands, his little eyes glittering in a peculiar way. He was dressed in a rusty black coat that was much too long for him, and he wore a black skull cap and enormous spectacles.
“The gentleman wishes to look at something in my stock?” old Razelus asked.
Joe Carden stood with his fists against his hips looking down at him, trying to size up his man. He had spent considerable time, and Nifty Burke had spent time and money, preparing for this affair, and the crook comedian did not care to make a mistake that would endanger the success of his plans.
“Yes, I wish something,” Carden said.
“In the furniture line, perhaps?”
“I wish to talk to you, first.”
A sudden gleam of suspicion came into the eyes of old Razelus just long enough for Joe Carden to see it, and then fled again.
“You wish to leave me an order for some certain thing?” Razelus asked.
“Well, I wish to talk to you regarding some certain thing,” Joe Carden answered, “But I’d rather not talk to you in here. Suppose we go into that little back room of yours.”
“To my office? My dear sir, I never take strangers into my office, you see,” Razelus said, with a trace of fear in his manner.
“I don’t care to talk any other place,” Joe Carden told him. “I’m no more anxious to have the police overhear me than you are. Do you understand?”
“The police? I have nothing at all to do with the police,” old Razelus declared. “I think that you have made some sort of a mistake. I am an old antique dealer trying hard to make my living”
“I can hear better comedy than that in a cheap vaudeville theater any day,” Joe Carden interrupted. “Suppose we get down to business.”
“But I do not understand”
“Do you happen to know a tall man who squints his left eye all the time when he talks?” the crook comedian asked. “Well, I am a friend of his.”
Carden spoke of a character well-known in the underworld, from whom he had obtained certain valuable information regarding old Razelus. And the manner of the dealer in antiques changed suddenly as he stepped nearer Carden.
“Well, why did you not say so in the first place?” Razelus asked. “I am particular with whom I talk, especially when they want to talk in my office.”
“Are you going to take me to your office, or are we going to stand here all day and blab?” Carden demanded.
“Come this way, sir. I really cannot imagine what you wish to speak to me about in such a mysterious fashion, but if you are a friend of my old friend”
Razelus led the way behind the counter and to the little room in the rear of the store, where there was a battered desk, two old chairs, more antiques, and more dust. Joe Carden happened to know that a hidden safe was there, too, and that old Razelus kept his wealth in it.
The crook comedian sat down at one end of the desk, on one of the old chairs, and reached into his coat pocket to pull out a section of newspaper.
“Razelus, do you ever read the Sunday papers?” he asked.
“At times, sir—at times.”
“In the illustrated section of one of them yesterday was an article about some rare art treasures a certain well-known collector obtained recently. Did you read it?”
“I seldom look at such things,” Razelus declared. “Generally such articles are written by reporters who know nothing at all-about art. In most cases I know more about the treasures than the men who describe them.”
“I suppose that is right,” Carden assented. As a matter of fact, he knew that old Razelus was an expert on objects of art. There had been a time when Razelus had been an honest man and had worked in a big museum in Europe. ‘Well, I want to ask you something. This article says that Mr. Gordon Burlington, a wealthy man and a scholar, has just purchased a certain Chinese vase.”
“I know of that vase, and I have heard of his purchase of it,” Razelus said.
“Good enough! There is a picture of the vase here in the paper. And the article says that it is worth twenty thousand dollars at the least. Is that true?”
“The value of such a thing scarcely can be set accurately,” old Razelus explained. “It is worth the highest bid a collector will make. That vase is the only one of its kind in the world, as far as is known. It is typical of an era in art But you would not understand if I explained.”
“And I don’t care particularly for any of that stuff,” Carden told him. “I did not come here to listen to a lecture on Chinese art. What I want to know is this: Is the vase valuable?”
“Undoubtedly! It is a rare treasure.”
“If you had it, could you sell it?”
A sudden gleam came into Razelus’ eyes again. “Half a hundred collectors were after it, and Mr. Burlington happened to get ahead of the others,” he said.
“I see. Then, if you had that vase, you could sell it easily. Razelus, what would that vase be worth to you, put right down here before you on your desk?” .
Razelus straightened his shoulders suddenly and blinked his eyes rapidly behind his big spectacles.
“You mean—er—stolen goods?” he asked, in a lower tone. “I can have nothing to do with such things, my dear sir.”
“Rats! You’re talking to a man who knows a few things, Razelus. You’ve handled stolen art treasures before. That is your big game. There are wealthy collectors who get crazy to own certain things, and they’ll buy them when and where they can, stolen or not, even if they have to hide them away afterward. You’ve dealt with a lot of them. Don’t try to bluff me, Razelus!”
“But I assure you”
“If you want to assume this attitude, I may as well go somewhere else and talk business,” the crook comedian declared; and he got up, put the newspaper into his pocket, and started toward the door.
“One moment!” Razelus called. “Come back and sit down. This vase—you have it?”
“I can get it.”
Razelus chuckled. “I am afraid not,” he said. “I happen to know that Gordon Burlington’s art treasures are very well protected indeed. If he has that vase in his house, where I suppose it is, no ten thieves in the world could get it. And anybody who tried to get it would be nabbed, young man.”
“That part of it is my business,” Joe Carden replied. “I said that I can get the vase—and I can. Do you want it?”
“But how could I dispose of it if I felt inclined to do business with you? It is a famous vase, and every collector in the world knows it. The theft of it would get wide publicity. If I sold it to anybody and it was traced back to me”
“You listen to me! I know a few things,” Joe Carden said. “I know, for instance, that Roger Belcher and Gordon Burlington are bitter enemies. Belcher hates Burlington because the latter has beaten him to a lot of art stuff and has made the remark that Belcher is ignorant and uncultured. And Burlington hates Belcher because he knows that Belcher is not a genuine art lover, but only a rich man trying to buy his way into select circles.”
“And what of it?” Razelus asked.
“This vase Burlington owns has been well advertised. He has been congratulated on getting it. Nothing would please Belcher more than to have that vase. Maybe he’d find it necessary to hide it, but he’d have the satisfaction of knowing that Burlington couldn’t show it. And he’d pay a mighty good price to get that vase, too—and you know it! Now, do you want to talk business with me? You could sell that vase to Roger Belcher within twenty-four hours after you got it in your hands.”
“It is rather risky, young man.”
“I suppose you never took risks before?” Joe Carden said, grinning a bit. “Maybe I’d better go elsewhere.”
“Wait a moment. Just what is it that you are proposing?” Razelus asked.
“Now we’re getting at it. Do you want that vase? If you do, I’ll get it for you, and quickly, if you pay my price. Razelus, what is that vase worth to you, put right before you here on your desk?”
Razelus blinked his eyes rapidly again and regarded Joe Carden carefully.
“How soon could you get it?” he asked.
“Either to-night or to-morrow night.”
“If you try it and fail, I must not be involved.”
“You’ll not be—but I am not going to fail,” Joe Carden said. “How much will it be worth to you? Talk sense—and talk quick! My time is valuable.”
“It is a risky business,” Razelus declared. “I may fail to sell it again, you see, and then my money would be lost. I couldn’t offer it for sale openly. I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”
Joe Carden smiled, got up again quickly, and started toward the door.
“Five hundred? I can see plainly that I’ve been wasting my time here,” he said.
“Wait a moment, my dear young man! How much money do you want for the thing?”
Carden bent down toward him. “Two thousand dollars—and not a cent less,” he declared. “You’ll probably sell it within twenty-four hours for fifteen thousand, or more. And your risk is small—you can sell it, all right.”
“But I couldn’t think of paying you two thousand dollars. Perhaps one”
“Good-by, Razelus!” Joe Carden exclaimed, and he started toward the door again.
“Wait—wait!” Razelus implored, getting to his feet quickly. “I—I am willing to make the deal. Two thousand dollars if you bring that vase to me here—two thousand as soon as I look it over and am sure that it is the right vase.”
“You’ll get the right vase, all right.”
“When will you bring it to me?”
“At four o’clock in the morning. I’ll come to this little alley door. If I am not here at four o’clock, watch for me at the same time the morning following. And you have that two thousand dollars ready, Razelus. This is going to be a quick deal. Don’t try to get cheap, for it’ll not work!”
“I’ll pay you the money the moment I have my hands on the vase,” Razelus replied. “But you haven’t told me your name? I don’t know the man I’m dealing with.”
“Oh, Smith will do,” Joe Carden answered, grinning again. “Names aren’t necessary sometimes.”
As he spoke, he put a fresh cigarette in his mouth. For a moment his left sleeve slipped back. Old Razelus saw the purple scar on Joe Carden’s wrist, and blinked his eyes rapidly once more.
“Smith, eh?” he chuckled, after he had ushered Joe Carden to the front door and had watched him up the street. “Not with that scar, young man! I’ve heard a lot about that scar. So I’m dealing with the famous crook comedian, am I? Well, the vase will be worth the money, and more, if he can get it for me!”