None But Lucifer

Chapter IV

Alone again, Hale ambled along Park Avenue. He carefully avoided enjoying his cleanliness and his clothes. To him they were scientific instruments, like the gun and the knife, which he had transferred to the pockets of his new overcoat. He was another step further in his campaign, but he didn't mistake the means for the end. His ten-thousand-a-year job and his clothes were neither more nor less important than the whiskers he had raised and the night he had spent in the flophouse. They were all necessary parts of the plan.

He stopped at a high, creamy, clean-looking apartment house and sought out the renting agent, a breathlessly enthusiastic young woman.

"Something not too ostentatious," she judged, studying his appearance. "Not too large."

"No," he contradicted gently. "Quite large. An entire floor. I'd prefer a penthouse."

"I have just the thing! The top floor is vacant. Isn't that lucky? Oh, you'll love it! It's simply adorable!"

By normal standards it was several sizes too large to be adorable. Counting servants' quarters, solarium, and gymnasium, it was twenty-nine rooms.

"Not bad," he said languidly. "I believe it will do."

"Oh, how splendid!" the agent gushed. "I knew you'd love it. Have you seen the view?" She herded him out to the promenade on top of the first setback. "It isn't very clear today, but when it is, you can see ever so far over New Jersey. Long Island — and the Bronx," she finished lamely. "I'm sure you'll be deliriously happy here. How soon would you like to take occupancy?"

"Immediately. I'll have the furniture sent up. You'll supervise its placing, of course."

"Of course! I just love to arrange furniture."

"When the car comes, let it stand outside the door. Show the chauffeur his room. The servants will arrive shortly. One of them will ask you for a floor plan. Give it to him. I believe that's all."

She trailed hesitantly after him. "Mr. Hale, I don't know how to put it —"

He stared coldly at her. When she merely looked embarrassed, he said: "Of course, the money. My secretary will take care of it through my office. Call Banner Advertising Co. for references."

"Oh, I hope you don't mind. It's just a formality, you know. You do understand, don't you, Mr. Hale?"

The maroon car was enormously long and sleek — the one car that would stand out on Park Avenue. Hale entered the agency and told the salesman that that was the car he wanted.

"You'll be completely satisfied with it, sir," the man promised. "We can give you almost immediate delivery. Three weeks."

"I'm not in the habit of waiting," Hale replied frigidly. "This is the car I want. I'll take it now."

The salesman swallowed uneasily. "That isn't customary, sir."

"I don't care if it isn't. I'll take this car as soon as you can get it out of the window."

"I'll have to speak to the manager —"

"And tell him," Hale said frostily, "that this will be a cash transaction."

While the salesman whispered awedly to the manager, Hale gazed indifferently at the car. The manager came over and said: "We'll be delighted to let you have our display car, sir. Of course, it will take an hour or so to remove. Suppose we have it delivered to you. Will that be all right, sir?"

"Fine," said Hale unenthusiastically.

"You spoke of a cash transaction, sir —"

"Naturally. My secretary will arrange the details. You may call Banner Advertising Co."

"Banner, sir? I'm sure everything is all right. But, you understand, I really must call them. Just routine, you know." A moment later he was talking very respectfully into the instrument, his pleased face nodding. Then he beamed. "Everything is settled, Mr. Hale. Mr. Banner would like to speak to you."

Hale took up the telephone. "Hello."

"What the hell are you doing, Hale?" Banner cried. "First I get a call from a Park Avenue apartment house asking if you're responsible, and now I get a call from this car company. Just what — You're not getting a hundred thousand, you know. I know you've got big ideas, but aren't you going way over your means?"

"I know," Hale said smoothly. "I can handle it. Don't worry about me, Mr. Banner."

"Well, if you think you're doing right," said Banner doubtfully. "Oh, hell! Of course you know what you're doing. Just don't overplay your hand. Go ahead."

Hale hung up, arranged for a chauffeur with the manager, and left. The manager and salesman saw him out, leering politely.

Hale reasoned that, while his clothes and his job helped, the real secret lay in the manner. For example, the more servants he demanded, the less the woman who ran the domestic employment agency would question his financial standing.

You look at her without the slightest touch of warmth or intimacy, and you say, as Hale did: "I want a complete staff for a twenty-nine-room apartment. The chauffeur is already hired. The others I will leave to you."

And she cries gratefully: "Oh, yes, sir. We take only servants with the very best references."

"Splendid," you reply unemotionally. "The ones I demand perfection in are the chef — I do a great deal of entertaining — and the butler and the valet. They must be the most efficient ones you have."

She darted to the waiting room with the alertness of a sparrow, and produced two men in snug black coats, with appropriately distant expressions and authentic London accents. These she introduced as Cummings, butler, and Hamilton, valet. "I'm sure you'll be completely satisfied, Mr. Hale."

"Yes, I'm sure I shall," Hale replied disinterestedly.

He wrote an address on a card and gave it to Cummings. "Ask the renting agent there for the floor plan. Go to some first-rate furniture place and buy what is needed for each room. Insist on floor samples. I can't wait for them to make the furniture. However, if I do not like what you buy, I shall return it and order something more suitable. I want everything delivered by five o'clock. That should be ample time. You have slightly less than three hours."

"Yes, sir," said Cummings. His frozen face was as nearly pleased as it ever could be. Hale had discovered that giving others responsibility for arranging everything was the surest way of taking their minds off money. "How shall I arrange payment, sir?"

"My secretary will take care of it. You, Hamilton, settle matters with the gas and electric company." He drew out the remainder of the fifty dollars, counted it, and asked the owner of the agency to change a dollar bill. He still had the original penny. To that he added three quarters, and gave the rest to Hamilton. "That's all I can spare at the moment. Make that do as a deposit."

Hamilton gravely accepted the money. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Certainly not. Bring the staff to the address I gave Cummings. Order food. Have the chef prepare dinner for seven thirty; whatever his specialty is. By that time I want all the furniture in order."

He passed time strolling; it was a few minutes after four when he returned to the apartment house. He glanced at the car standing at the curb, and called the chauffeur downstairs. Getting in, he said: "North shore of Long Island. Schedule the ride so we shall return by seven."

Hale lolled on the broad seat, deliberately unconscious of the car's smoothness and luxurious upholstery. They purred over the Queensboro Bridge. The day lost its chill brightness; darkness seeped through the air. Driving in complete silence, the chauffeur had glanced several times at the clock on the instrument board. Then, without a word, he turned the car and headed back to New York.

At seven, having neither enjoyed nor disliked the ride, Hale strode through his new home. The butler followed him at a respectful distance, proud, in a dignified, inarticulate way, of his speed and taste.

"Quite nice," Hale said, as one would applaud a clever dog. "I doubt if I shall have to exchange a thing."

"I am glad you like it, sir," said Cummings, frozenly delighted.

Hamilton appeared. "Would you care to dress for dinner, sir? I couldn't find your wardrobe."

"Not tonight, Hamilton. Everything is too unsettled."

"Then, sir," Cummings said, "the chef has informed me that dinner is ready. He has made terrapin. His terrapin, sir, is famous. Mr. Astor admitted it."

Hale sat down at the enormous table. "Ah, terrapin. Fine. But I want no cocktails or hors d'oeuvres. Just a very large glass of tomato juice."

He drank it. For once Cummings was almost startled when, a few minutes later, Hale stood up.

"Aren't you going to finish your dinner, sir?" he asked, dismayed.

"I don't believe I will. I feel the need of a stroll. For some reason my appetite has left me."

"The excitement of moving, no doubt, sir," Cummings said with reserved sympathy. "Will you want the car?"

"No. Just my coat and hat. Perhaps my appetite will return."

"Oh, yes, sir, I'm sure it will."

Very competent, Hale thought tranquilly. Everything ran smoothly at his slightest desire. Hamilton was helping him on with his coat. The elevator had already been called.

He went down and walked east to Lexington, where he took the subway. If he had allowed himself any emotion, he would probably have regretted his decision not to spend the night in a soft bed. But he did not. His one anxiety was to find a pawnshop open at that hour on the Bowery, where he got out.

They were all open. He entered one, and said: "I want to exchange all my clothes."

The owner stared suspiciously at him. "Take off your coat," he ordered nastily. Then he walked all around, inspecting the suit. "No bloodstains?"

"Bloodstains?" Hale asked. "Of course not."

"Well, it's up to you, mister. If you wanna swap a swell outfit like 'at, I'm not kicking, see? Go ahead and pick out the one you want."

Hale quickly chose a suit, hat, and overcoat. When he came out, even the predatory pawnshop owner felt uneasy. He said: "You can get a better fit than that off the rack."

"No, this'll do," replied Hale decisively. "But, of course, I want the difference in value."

"Oh," said the pawnbroker, putting his hands behind his back. "How much?"

"A dollar and a quarter."

"Huh?" The pawnbroker recovered from his surprise and snatched a dollar and a quarter out of the cash drawer, shoved it under the cage, and incredulously watched Hale pocket it. "Come again, mister," he invited as Hale turned away.

"Not much chance. But where can I put an ad in the paper? Is there a place around here?"

"The candy store at the corner takes ads. You better hurry. It's kinda late for the morning papers."

Hale could feel the broker's relief when he left without changing his mind. He smiled; there was small chance of that. In the candy store he asked for a form and a pencil.

"You're too late on the classifieds for the morning papers," said the old man. "You can make an afternoon paper, though."

"O.K.," said Hale. "The Globe will do."

He wrote:

To none but Lucifer: Of all the inhabitants of the Inferno, none but Lucifer and I know that Hell is Hell.

— William Hale.

The old proprietor counted the words, stopped in the middle and glanced at Hale, started at the beginning again and counted them through, and said: "That'll be a dollar and a quarter."

"I know," said Hale. "I figured that out several years ago."

He left, grinning, and headed for the flop house. That was the final step in his plan. Everything he had done had led inevitably up to that advertisement.