Carden, Crook Comedian/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV.
DETECTIVE SAM MARTER.
JOE CARDEN and Nifty Burke slipped away from the Burlington mansion and hurried down a side street, keeping in the shadows as much as possible, alert for the sight of a patrolman.
They darted across a wide avenue and went down another side street, walking block after block rapidly, speaking but little. And after a time they came to a car line and waited for an owl car. They rode toward the lower end of the city.
Leaving the car, Joe Carden went ahead some distance until he reached the narrow, crooked street where Razelus had his shop. He paused in front of the shop to light a cigarette, stepped close to the window, and tried to see inside. There was not even a light in the front of the shop.
He went around the corner and came to the mouth of the alley, into which he darted. Along it he slipped in the darkness, stopping now and then to listen. Nifty Burke, entered the alley from the other end, met the crook comedian within a dozen feet of the rear door of Razelus’s shop.
“A quarter to four, boss,” he whispered.
“I told him four o’clock, so we’d better wait a few minutes. I suppose you remember your instructions?”
“Sure. Never forget orders,” Nifty Burke said.
“Did you prowl your end of the alley?”
“Certain. Not as much as a cat in it, boss. If this old bird tries to double cross us”
“I don’t think there is much danger, Nifty. Razelus really wants this vase. He pays me two thousand for it, and he probably will sell it for fifteen thousand, or more. There’ll be no double cross when Mr. Razelus has a chance to make a fortune like that on a quick deal. And he’d think twice, I believe, before trying it on me. You see, Nifty, when I left him, I accidentally exposed the scar on my left wrist and let him know my identity.”
“I getcha, boss.”
“He’ll be afraid of a trick—afraid I’ll try to sell him a fake vase, or something like that—but he’ll not call in the police, you may be sure. There’ll be a trick, all right, but not the one he is planning on.”
Joe Carden chuckled softly, and an answering chuckle came from Nifty Burke. They made themselves comfortable and waited, watching the ends of the alley, ready to get in a more secure position if an officer on the beat came walking through.
Finally Joe Carden pressed Burke’s arm, and they got up and went to the rear door of the shop. Carden knocked, waited a moment, and knocked again.
There was a short wait, and then the door was opened softly, and for a space of six inches. Carden saw that a chain held it in that position; Razelus was not the man to take chances at that hour.
“It’s Smith,” Carden said.
“Oh, yes—Smith!” Razelus grunted. “You’ve got it?”
“I have. Let me in and I’ll put it on your desk, as I said.”
Razelus took off the chain and opened the door wider. Joe Carden darted inside. Razelus would have closed and bolted the door again, but Nifty Burke held it open and squeezed through.
“My assistant,” Joe Carden explained. “It’s all right, Razelus. We mean to deal fairly with you, and expect you to-do the same with us. If you’ve tipped this to the police”
“I haven’t!”
“It is fortunate for you that you have not. My assistant is a keen one with a knife, and always carries a pet knife around with him. Now, let’s get down to business. We’re in a hurry to get away from here. Turn on more light.”
There was a candle burning on the battered desk. Razelus turned on a single incandescent light and blew out the candle.
“Let’s see it! Let’s see the vase!” Razelus said.
“Take it easy,” Carden advised him. “You’re going to see it, all right. But I’m not forgetting our little deal, You’ve got the money ready?”
“You can have it the minute I’m satisfied that the vase is all right.”
“It’s all right. I don’t deal in fake antiques,” Joe Carden said, laughing lightly.
He unwrapped the vase and put it on the desk. Razelus sat down and clutched the precious art object in his hands. Into his eyes came a gleam of pleasure; Razelus knew an object of value when he saw it.
“Well, is it the vase?” Joe Carden demanded.
Razelus did not answer at the time. He turned the vase up and inspected the bottom of it. Near one edge was a tiny mark that Razelus knew should be there if the vase was genuine.
“Yes, it is the vase,” he replied. “How on earth did you get the thing?”
“That’s none of your business, Razelus. But I don’t mind telling you that Mr. Burlington gave it to me,” Carden replied, chuckling once more.
“Gave it to you? I see him!”
“Nevertheless, he did. Well, if you’re satisfied that the vase is all right, suppose we end the deal. Two thousand was the price, Razelus.”
“Yes; but I was sorry ten minutes after you had gone that I had promised to pay that much,” Razelus declared. “I am running a great risk.”
“It won’t do you any good to talk along that line—you’ll only be wasting time. I’ve delivered the goods, and I expect you to pay for them. And hurry up about it!”
Razelus sighed and arose. He picked up the vase and went to a corner of the little rear room, and put the vase on a packing case there. And then he went back to them, fumbling in an inner pocket of his coat.
“I am a man of my word,” he said. “But how do I know that you won’t take the vase away again after I give you the money?”
“And I’m a man of my word!” Joe Carden returned in decisive tones. “I’m not known as a double crosser, Razelus! And I’d advice you not to intimate as much again!”
Razelus trembled and pulled the money out of his pocket. He sat down and counted it, and handed it to Joe Carden, who counted it for himself.
“Correct,” Carden said. “And you’ve got a bargain.”
“Now that our deal is over, I don’t mind telling you that I think I have.”
“But the deal isn’t ended,” Carden told him.
“Not ended? Not ended? What do you mean? You have your money. And you promised”
“That part of the deal is ended, Razelus. I have the money and you have the vase. We’re quits there, all right. But the deal isn’t ended, for all that. You’ll understand later, Razelus.”
“If you try any tricks”
“Serve you right if I did!” Joe Carden told him. “You’re the worst kind of a crook, Razelus. You pose as an honest man, and you’re anything but that. You haven’t the nerve to come out openly and admit that you’re crooked. Serve you right if I stung you good and plenty! And before I am done with you, I’m going to do just that thing!”
“What do you mean?” Razelus cried again.
“You’ll find out one of these days. But don’t worry about the vase. Only, I’d advise you to get rid of it as soon as possible. It’s a bad thing to have around, Razelus.”
“Oh, I’ll get rid of it!”
“And at a handsome profit, I suppose. However, that is none of my business. I don’t care if you sell the thing for a million. Now we’ll leave you, Razelus.”
“I don’t like the way you spoke a moment ago.”
“Threw a scare into you, did I? Well, I’m glad of it, Razelus. You’re a dishonest crook! Take my advice—get that vase out of your hands as soon as possible.”
Joe Carden and Nifty Burke walked across to the door, and Razelus snapped off the electric light and took off the chain. He opened the door a couple of inches and listened; then he opened it wider, and the crook comedian and his assistant slipped into the dark alley.
They walked down it slowly, alert, listening as they approached the street.
“We scared the old boy,” Burke whispered,
“Think our little scheme will work?”
“You know it will, boss. He’ll break his neck to sell that vase as soon as he can.”
“Well, that’s what we want him to do,” Carden said. “We’d better part here, Nifty. Get home as quickly as you can—and be careful.”
Nifty Burke hung back in the shadows. Joe Carden stepped into the street and hurried along the walk. He kept in the darkness as much as possible until he reached the first wide avenue. He did not care to be observed in that part of town.
Down the avenue he hurried toward the place where he had his rooms. And suddenly, around a corner, came the man he wished most to avoid—Detective Sam Marter.
There was no chance for Joe Carden to dodge the officer without attracting attention. So he walked forward boldly, puffing at a cigarette, as though he did not care whether a score of detectives were in the neighborhood.
Marter stopped and watched him approach. Joe Carden looked up at him.
“Hello! How’s the boy sleuth?” the crook comedian asked.
“Out a little late, aren’t you?” Marter countered. “Taking a walk for your health, I suppose.”
“You’ve guessed it.”
“The night air is bad at times,” the detective insinuated.
“I’m not afraid of it, Marter. And you’re out in it, you know.”
“I’m out on business. Are you?”
“Oh, I’d not say that,” said Carden. “No law against a gentleman walking around at four in the morning, is there?”
“No law against a gentleman doing it, I believe.”
“Inclined to be nasty, are you? Want to arrest me for vagrancy again?”
Detective Marter’s face grew purple with sudden wrath. He stepped closer. “Have your little joke while you can,” he said. “I know you for what you are, Carden, and sooner or later I’m going to catch you with the goods. I’m going to see you up the river in the big stone house one of these days. No crook can get fresh with me, and get away with it.”
“Insinuating that I am a crook?” Carden asked.
“I don’t mean to insinuate it—I’m telling you to your face!” the detective declared. “I’m willing to admit that you’re clever, but other clever men are behind the bars. And that’s where I’m going to put you, Joe Carden, before I’m done with you.”
“A valiant ambition, I’m sure,” Carden said, laughing.
“Laugh while it’s in your system. You’ll not be laughing one of these days,” Marter told him.
“You amuse me, Marter,” Carden said. “However, it grows late, and I must be on my way. Farewell, Marter, and don’t let your anger give you a stroke of apoplexy. It would be a sad loss for the police department. There’d be nobody left to give your fellow officers a good laugh now and then. Since you don’t intend to arrest me for vagrancy again, I’ll be on my way.”
Joe Carden chuckled again and whirled around to continue up the street. He felt that he had carried off the encounter very well indeed, but he would rather have avoided it. Marter was a man of talent in his chosen profession, Joe Carden knew. He was no ignorant police detective. Marter had both courage and brains.
“Rather have some other chap on my trail, but I’m not worrying any,” Carden told himself.
One thing bothered him, however. He was certain that Marter did not know his present place of residence, and he did not want him to know it. He could not be having the detective shadowing his domicile continually and knowing every time he went in and came out. If Marter discovered Carden’s address, the crook comedian would have to move; and he was comfortably situated.
So, if Marter made an attempt to follow him now, Joe Carden would have to dodge him. And at the corner he made sure that Marter would make such an attempt.
“Shadowing me, is he?” Carden mused. “Have to dodge him—that’s all.”
He darted up the street and turned the next corner. And he knew that he had not shaken off Marter. The detective was shadowing him with all the skill of which he was master, on a trail and determined to follow it to the end.
Joe Carden went on along the street, in a direction away from his rooms. He turned down a cross street, seeking a place where he could hide until Marter had passed him, and finding nothing that would serve for the purpose.
Into another street he went, and finally back to the avenue, and there he stepped into an all-night restaurant and purchased a package of cigarettes he did not need. But Marter did not lose him. Carden saw the detective across the street waiting.
“Determined to stick, is he?” the comedian said to himself. “Well, I can’t be running around all night dodging him.”
Out into the street he went again, and straight up to Marter.
“Hanging around this street regularly?” Carden asked. “I thought cops walked beats.”
“Oh, I’m walking a beat, all right.”
“Trying to shadow me, are you? Want to know where I live? I don’t care much, Marter, but I like to annoy you. Follow, if you like. I can stay awake as long as you.”
“Yes?”
“You heard me.”
Carden paused to light a cigarette, and then swung off up the street. Marter followed deliberately, openly, not caring whether Joe Carden observed him or not. Nor did Carden walk swiftly. He prowled around the neighborhood for half an hour, walking around block after block, with Detective Sam Marter always less than half a block behind.
And suddenly the crook comedian came to an open doorway that led to a cheap lodging house. He darted inside and hurried up the stairs. There he reconnoitered. Nobody was in the tiny office.
Carden darted down the hall noiselessly, opened the window there, got out upon the fire escape landing, and closed the window again, then went swiftly down the steel ladder. He found himself in a court which had an outlet to an alley. Through the darkness Joe Carden hurried, and so came to the street again. Marter was not to be seen.
“Talking to the landlord, I suppose, and describing me,” Carden thought. “Well, that will keep him out of mischief for a few minutes.”
Down the cross street he hurried again, and back to the avenue. He made sure that Marter was not shadowing, and then he hurried to the building where he had rooms. Nifty Burke was already there, pacing the floor nervously.
“I was beginnin’ to wonder what had happened to you, boss,” he said.
“Brother Marter was trying to find out where we lived, that’s all,” Carden replied.
“That guy makes me feel shivery at times,” Nifty Burke admitted. “The other day he gave me the stony stare.”
“Well, watch out for him. We don’t want to move, you know, and that’s what we’ll have to do if he discovers where we live. Now I’m going to get some sleep. And you get up early and do as I told you.”
“You can depend on me, boss,” Burke replied.
“You haven’t forgotten orders?”
“You can bet I haven’t.”
“And don’t forget to telephone as soon as you know about things,” Carden added.
“I’ll be on the job, boss.”
“And I’ll be waiting for that phone message. If it doesn’t come in a reasonable length of time, I’ll join you. You can get three or four hours’ sleep, if you turn in now.”
Nifty Burke hurried to his own bedroom, and Joe Carden undressed slowly in his, now and then looking at his reflection in the mirror and grinning at himself. Joe Carden was well satisfied with the way things were going.