Down Among the Dead Men

XIX

The man from the Harbor Squad eyed Schlauff with satisfaction. “Well, well. The face is familiar. But I don’t seem to recall the name.”

“Name is Schlauff. Morris Schlauff. Of Schlauff International Investigators, Incorporated.”

“I meant to pass around a pat on the back for that handwriting on the wall. But you got away too fast.” Koski measured him up and down. It would be hard for Schlauff to masquerade as a sailor, even with a bandage hiding his foxlike, protruding teeth. “How you do get around.”

“Professional duties.” Morrie smirked.

“I’ve had every cop in Brooklyn on the qui vive for you. Where do you fit in this picture?”

Fross said smoothly: “One of my clients has been employing Mister Schlauff on a divorce investigation.”

“That’s right. Nothing to do — with my being over at Dommy’s place.” Morrie smoothed the newspaper with the flat of his hand.

“Do I look like Charlie McCarthy?” Koski roamed around the room. “I’m not enough of a dummy to take that. You were trailing Gjersten or young Ovett. Or both. Else you wouldn’t have recognized the Purdo girl.” He talked to Schlauff; watched Fross.

“I just happened to be there,” Morrie protested, “when someone mentioned her name. That’s absolutely the fact.”

“You’re working for Fross, hah? Well,” Koski faced the lawyer, “who are you working for?”

“I am bound to respect the confidence of my client,” Fross smiled frankly, “but I don’t believe she’d have any objection to your being informed. Mrs. Barbara Ovett.”

“What’s the blueprint? She afraid her husband is going to divorce her? She after evidence against him so court proceedings against her would be a standoff?”

“You are very keen.” Fross’s eyebrows went up in obvious admiration. “That is the way it lines up, exactly.”

“Might be the way you’d like me to believe it lines up. But don’t tell me Schlauff was in that Brooklyn dive after an adultery affidavit!” Koski was sardonic. “A judge would rule that out so fast it would make your ears ring. Nobody’d know that better than you. Maybe you were trying to get the goods on young Ovett. But there’ll be some other reason. Whatsit?”

The lawyer seemed amused. “As far as this office is concerned, the matter is quite routine. Mrs. Ovett wished to undertake an investigation which is possibly a little distasteful, but entirely legitimate. I simply acted as intermediary in assigning the investigation to Mister Schlauff. I can’t speak for him, naturally. I don’t know what he may have uncovered—”

“Wa-a-ait a minute.” Schlauff sat up straight, rolling the newspaper up into a tight cylinder. “Nobody ever accused me of being a middleman; I don’t intend to start now with the police on one side and a law firm on the other. This isn’t my picnic; the best I’ll get out of it is a few crumbs.”

Fross’s eyes glinted behind the pince-nez; he cut in rapidly before Koski could speak: “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t tell the authorities any fact of which you have definite knowledge, Morrie.”

Koski held up his hand. “How’s for skipping all the hipper-dipper? I’m tired of listening to you bounce yourselves back and forth. You’re not testifying before a Grand Jury panel. There’s no court stenographer around.” He shoved his hat up so the brim was at a forty-five degree angle, put a foot on the rung of Schlauff’s chair, leaned over, crossed his forearms on the upraised knee. “You trailed Merrill Ovett over to the Bar-Nothing. You saw him with Ansel Gjersten. Maybe you saw a man with a bandage around his face.”

“No sir, Lieutenant. Only one I saw was this Purdo babe. I heard her asking about Gjersten. That’s all I know, positively.”

Koski made an ejaculation of disgust. “You were back at Dommy’s after I left. You cuddled up to one of the precinct boys; he remembered it when I put out the net for you. So you know a man was killed up in one of the rooms. That we’re hunting the murderer. You must have shadowed Merrill to the yacht at Rodd’s. So you probably know Gjersten and Ovett had an argument.”

Schlauff did his best to grin, but his eyes shifted to Fross. The grin froze.

Koski moved so his body was between Schlauff and the lawyer; spoke as if Fross were nonexistent:

“You’re one of the those boys who carry your heart around in your wallet, Schlauff. All right. How much’d your license cost you?”

“You should ask. You get paid for carrying your badge. Mine cost me two hundred counters. And a little greasing of the wheels, besides.”

“Going to throw away an investment like that?”

“You don’t need to intimidate me, Lieutenant.” Schlauff leaned well back in his chair to get as far away from Koski’s eyes as possible. “I realize I got a living to make. So maybe it’s not the best living in the world; — I couldn’t even buy coffee and cakes if my ticket was revoked; — I appreciate it, believe me.”

“That makes better. Now... where is Ovett?”

“If I should be struck dead this second, I swear I couldn’t tell you, Lieutenant. The last time I saw him was going on to the yacht at Rodd’s.”

Fross said smoothly. “That’s correct, Lieutenant.”

“Maybe. Far as it goes.” Koski wheeled on him. “You people are going to get yourselves in a jam, here. There’s more than one murder involved. A girl got dropped over in Brooklyn today, — because she might have known something. You gents know something, — more than you’re letting out. You beat us to the gun on Ovett. You were trailing him before we were. And you’re keeping pretty close tabs on his wife.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Two of your former employees were working on the Seavett; she hired them on your recommendation.”

“Correct.”

“They wouldn’t be much use watching Merrill, because generally he wasn’t on the yacht long enough to change his shirt. But if they’d been paid off to report on Mrs. Ovett’s doings, they’d have been able to put you hep to a lot of stuff. Give you the whip hand over her.”

“Nobody has control over Barbara Ovett.” The lawyer chose his words carefully. “A sex hangover from some promiscuous ancestor has made her emotionally unstable and mentally unreliable.”

“Why you acting for her on this divorce tangle, — against young Ovett, then? At the same time you’re corporation counsel for his father?” Koski circled the room, restlessly.

“The interests may seem to differ. Actually they are identical. My loyalty is to the Line which fees me; I act in its behalf to prevent the dispersal of its securities into hands which might impair their value.”

“Whose hands?”

“A person who knows nothing whatever about ships or the shipping business. And who may be inclined, accordingly, to adopt policies which would wreck the company.” The lawyer nodded at Schlauff. “Morrie will corroborate me. Miss Ellen Wyatt.”

“How’s she get in the mixup?”

“No reason why I shouldn’t tell you. It’s a matter of public record. Merrill’s aware his activities subject him to great risk, but he didn’t make a will to dispose of the minority stock his grandfather left him. He gave it outright to establish Blue Water Babies, a foundation. Stated purpose, to provide for the care of children left fatherless by the fortunes of submarine warfare.”

“Has my vote. If it’s as stated. Show me somebody who’s against it.”

“No one is, naturally. That’s the point. It’s too good an idea to ruin. But the Foundation won’t be able to carry out its program if the stock which endows it loses money. Which it will do if the Line is run by the governors Merrill has appointed for the Foundation.”

“Who’ll the governors be?” Koski watched a puzzled frown deepen on Schlauff’s face.

“Besides Miss Wyatt, Merrill himself and a union radical named Joslin. None of them has ever had the slightest experience in conducting a business. Miss Wyatt’s to be chairman; she’ll appoint successors if either of the other should... be incapacitated.”

“How’ll this setup affect the Ovett Lines, if Merrill only owns a minority interest?”

“The boy will inherit his father’s stock, which will undoubtedly be given to the Foundation, too — if Merrill has his way. Miss Wyatt will then control a definite majority of the voting shares. You see?”

“I get a glimmer.” The Lieutenant stared bleakly. “You think the old man won’t live much longer. You hired Schlauff to get the goods on Merrill so you could stop his transferring the shares to the Foundation. Or maybe Schlauff dug up some dirt about Mrs. Ovett and one of the yacht-hands and tipped Merrill off, hoping the boy would pull some rough work and put himself out of the picture.”

The investigator came up out of his chair. “Hey, now! Don’t put me on the spot. I never talked to M.O. in my life; I’ve told you all I know.”

“Hell you have.” Koski gripped Schlauff’s arm. “You know more. What you might know is this. The murderer we’re after may be supplying the background for this flurry of sub sinkings off the coast. You’re not holding out on the Police Department. You’re criscrossing the old gentleman with the beard and the beaver hat. You’re helping to gang up on the guys who sleep with their pants on and one ear cocked for the call to put on life-belts.” Fross slapped his desk smartly, for emphasis. “That puts quite a different light on it. Quite a different aspect. Neither Morrie or I would hesitate to give you any information we might possess... or may possess in the future... if it comes to a patriotic consideration.”

Schlauff chimed in: “You’re damn tooting. Just give me a chance to heil... ptth... right in der Fuehrer’s face.”

Fross removed his pince-nez, tapped his thick lips with the rim of one lens. “Do I understand you? Merrill is the traitorous individual you mention?”

“You understand I want Ovett. I want him damn quick.”

The lawyer sat up very straight. “I might possibly be able to suggest a train of thought in that direction.”

“You’ve got a clear track.” Koski wheeled about.

“He may have gone to sea, again. You knew he’s been getting firsthand experience as a sailor, I presume.”

“Yair.”

“Under a nom de guerre.”

“Now you’re touching the spot. What name?”

“I regret my inability to advise you on that point.”

“Ever hear him mention any name he might have used on other trips?”

“I am sorry.” The lawyer nipped at a speck of dust on his coat sleeve. “I can’t help you.”

“Say.” Schlauff slapped the newspaper against the calf of his leg. “I don’t know the tag M.O. used for shipping purposes. But I might know where to find out...”

“It’s like pulling back teeth,” Koski growled. “Spit it out.”

Schlauff rose, tossing his newspaper in the chair. “There’s something in that report on the Wyatt girl, Mister Fross.” He kept facing Koski and the lawyer, backed toward the door of the sanctum. “She used to call him some whacky name,” he put his hand on the knob almost reluctantly. “I heard her use it once in a booth. I’ll show you...” He slid out of sight. The door closed softly after him.

Fross laughed, skeptically. “Sinbad. It’s ridiculous; Merrill wouldn’t attempt anything as juvenile—” his voice dwindled away as Koski got to the inner door, flung it open.

The Harbor Squad man hissed a mono-sibilant, strode through the cozy-nook, opened the private door to the hall, looked out. There was no one in the corridor. He dived toward the red bulb marking the stairs, jerked open the door, listened. No sound of running feet; nothing but distant traffic noises.

He cursed under his breath. Trying to run down a sharpshooter like Schlauff in a building as big as this might take half a day; time Koski couldn’t spare now. He stalked back into the office, muttering: “Singlehanded Schlauff. Needs his teeth fixed up. First thing he knows somebody’ll straighten them for him. With a spade—” He cut it short. Both offices were empty. Koski moved swiftly through the corridor to the reception room. “Where’s Fross?”

The bespectacled old man at the switchboard regarded him owlishly. “I couldn’t say, sir.”

“He go out just now?”

“I didn’t see him, sir.”

“You wouldn’t.” Koski went back into Fross’s office, rummaged around, found nothing that interested him. In the private cubicle he had better luck. In a handkerchief on the shelf under the portable bar was a nickel-plated hammerless.

The Lieutenant stuck a pencil in the barrel, held it up so he could sniff at the muzzle without touching it. It was a thirty-two and it had been cleaned since it was last fired.

He wrapped it in the handkerchief again, put it in his pocket, went out to the elevator by the private door.