Drury Lane’s Last Case

17 Accusation No. 2

“Ah,” said the Inspector. “Coburn, let go. He’ll talk now.”

Villa looked about with despairing eyes. Everywhere he met grim faces. He nodded almost wearily.

“Sit down there, Joe, and take it easy,” continued Thumm with a wink at the officer. Coburn pushed the chair against the backs of the man’s legs, and he sat down heavily. The others made a ring about the chair, watchful and unsmiling.

“So you were the nineteenth man in the bus, Joe,” began Thumm in an easy tone. Villa shrugged. “You gave Barbey here a five-spot to let you join the party, hey? Why? What was the game?”

Villa blinked and said carefully: “I was on a tail.”

“Oho,” said the Inspector. “So that’s it! Followin’ this bird in the blue hat, hey?”

Villa started. “How the hell—!” His eyes fell. “Yeah.”

“All right, Joe, that’s okay for a starter. Tell us some more. Did you know this bird?”

“Yeah.”

Patience sighed with excitement; Rowe gripped her hand, cautioning her to silence.

“Well, well, Joe! I’m not talkin’ for my health.”

Villa croaked: “I know this guy, see. He gives me a C to do a little job about two mont’s ago, see—”

“What kind of job?” asked the Inspector quickly.

Villa writhed in the chair. “Just a... a job, ’a’s all.”

Thumm gripped the thief’s shoulder; Villa sat very still. “Take it easy, will ya?” he whined. “I’m— You’ll let me off if I come clean?”

“Spill it, Joe.”

Villa dug his pointed chin into the folds of his blazing necktie and mumbled: “House. Fift’ Avenoo. He tells me to get in, see, an’ swipe a book—”

Mr. Drury Lane’s thrilling baritone rang clear over Villa’s averted head. “Whose house, and what book?”

“Saxon’s the handle. An’ the book—” Villa jerked a dirty thumb at Rowe. “This bozo said it a while back. Jag... Jag—”

“The 1599 Jaggard?”

“Yeah. ’A’s it.”

“Then this man,” cried Patience, “must be the one who broke into the Saxon Library and stole the forged Jaggard!”

“Apparently,” muttered Gordon Rowe. “So you’re the scoundrel I chased that night!”

“Let’s get this straight,” said the Inspector. “Joe, this bird in the blue hat — had a bushy moustache, too, hey? — hired you to break into the Saxon house on Fifth Avenue a couple of months ago and steal a book. What was the title, just to make sure?”

“Well,” said Villa with a dark frown, “it was somepin’ ’bout a pil-grim. Some kind o’” — he licked his lips — “o’ sex book.”

Patience giggled. “The Passionate Pilgrim!”

“Yeah! ’A’s it!”

“And that’s all he told you to hook?”

“Yeah. He says: ‘Git into the lib’ary, see, an’ look aroun’ for a book in a kind o’ blue leather binding, see, an’ it’s called The Passionate Pilgrim by this bird Shakespeare, see, an’ it says inside it was printed by a bozo called Jag — Jaggard in 1599,’ he says.”

“And he gave you a hundred bucks for the job?”

“’A’s right, Chief.”

“So you hooked it, hey, and forked it over?”

“Well,” muttered Villa, “maybe I did take a good look at it before, see. A lousy book! This bird was nervous, see, an’ I’m wise to him. He didn’t want no lousy book, no, sir! Somepin’ in ’at book, I says to m’self. So I gives it the old o-o. But there wasn’t nuttin’. He wasn’t foolin’ Joe Villa, though. I knew ’ere was somepin’ about ’at book. So ’at’s why—”

“I see,” drawled the Inspector. “I get it now. You couldn’t find anything in the book, but you figured there was somethin’ about it that was ready dough if a man was willing to pay you a hundred bucks to steal it. So that’s why you followed this bird in the blue hat!”

“Figgered if there was cush... I tailed ’m aroun’. I says to ’mself I’ll lay low, see, an’ keep my eyes open, an’ maybe I’ll get the lunch-hooks into what this guy’s after. Then ’at day when he acts so damn’ funny, an’ I sees him slip this bus-starter here a green boy, I says to m’self: ‘Joe,’ I says, ‘here’s somepin’ doin’.” So I does the same, see, an’ I tails him all the way to this here dump, an’ I sees him smash in the glass of one o’ the cases in ’at room—”

“Ah,” said Lane. “The truth at last. What else did you see?”

“He takes a book outa his pocket an’ he puts it in the case in place of a blue book he takes out, see. Then I says to m’self: ‘Joe,’ I says, ‘you’re hot. ’At’s the same kind o’ book you hooked for this guy before,’ I says. So when he finishes I starts to tail him, see, an’ I gets mixed up in the mob of highbrows an’ I don’t see him for a couple o’ minutes, an’ ’en when I fades outside he’s gone. So I goes back with the mob. ’At’s all, Inspector, cross me heart!”

“You haven’t got a heart,” said Thumm genially. “You kept on the tail, Joe. Why lie?”

Villa’s little eyes fell. “Well, maybe I did go back to this bird’s hangout after. I hangs aroun’, see, but I don’t see nuttin’, an’ I goes back the next day an’ I don’t see nuttin’. So ’a’s why I comes back here t’day to see maybe I can find out what the hell it’s all about.”

“You poor sap! What could you expect to find?” It was pathetically apparent that Villa, an unintelligent animal with the lowest variety of cunning, had been plunged into an adventure whose implications were far above his low-browed head. “Now listen to me, Joe. That day when you lost this man, did you notice the special cop on duty here?”

“Yeah. I snuck by. Looked kinda familiar. He didn’t spot me.”

“That was Donoghue, an ex-cop. Didn’t you see Donoghue following your man around?”

Villa gasped. “Cripes! ’A’s right! ’A’s why I couldn’t tail ’m, see? This special dick, he had his eyes open. But then I lost ’em both.”

“Have you seen Donoghue since that day?” asked Lane slowly.

“Naw.”

“How did you come to be hired by this man in the blue hat?”

“He... he looks me up downtown, see?”

“Recommended by the fraternity,” said the Inspector with heavy sarcasm. “By God, we’re gettin’ somewhere! Joe, where’s he hang out? You delivered the book to him somewhere, so don’t say you don’t know.”

“He met me in town, Chief, honest to Gawd.”

“Yes, but you tailed him that day to the bus. Where’s he live?”

“He’s got a dump of a shack up the line, Inspector. Between Irvington an’ Tarrytown.”

“Know his name?”

“Tol’ me his handle was Dr. Ales.”

“Dr. Ales, hey?” said Thumm softly. “Lane, we’re in luck. All ties up. Ales set this rat to robbin’ the Saxon house, saw the book was a forgery, came here after the real one, evidently got it... Same bird who left that note with me, who visited the Saxon house and swiped the stationery. Swell! Listen, heel,” he said fiercely to Villa, “what’s this Dr. Ales look like? I want a damn’ good description of him!”

Villa rose suddenly from the chair. It was as if before this he had been biding his time, as if from the beginning he had expected this question and had been preparing himself with a species of wolfish exultation for it. His lips curled back from his gums in a snarl, disclosing hideous black-flecked yellow teeth. He whirled so quickly that Patience cried out a little, and the Inspector took a swift step forward. But Villa merely shot his dirty finger, on which the horseshoe ring glittered evilly, over his shoulder.

“Describe him?” he shrilled. “Ain’t ’at a pleasure! ’Ere’s your Dr. Ales! ’At wise guy there!”

He was pointing squarely at Dr. Hamnet Sedlar.