Twenty Plus Two

Chapter 14

Pleschette took off his Homburg hat, placed it carefully on the coffee table and dropped into the wing chair facing Alder, seated on the couch.

“You’ve had a busy morning, Mr. Alder. You called at 881 Fifth Avenue, and then you spent the longest time at a certain apartment house on Madison Avenue, and then you called at Mr. Honsinger’s offices on lower Madison.”

“You’ve been following me?”

“Of course, sir. And I do hope those calls were on my behalf.”

“They weren’t.”

“That’s why I have been telephoning you, Mr. Alder.” The big Frenchman beamed. “Although I followed you, I still maintained contact with your hotel. I thought you might be telephoning in from time to time and I did so want to keep my name on your mind. You have come to a decision, Mr. Alder?”

“I have. It’s no.”

“But that’s terrible, Mr. Alder! Have you thought of the thousand-dollar bills? The beautiful treasury certificates?”

“They tempted me, Pleschette, but not enough. I don’t want any part of you.”

“But my dear sir, it’s not I — it’s my brother I want you to find. I am an old man, a scoundrel beyond redemption. I have been a thief and a swindler all of my life. But now, in my old age, I do want to do one fine thing — find my long-lost brother and you, Mr. Alder, you reject my commission. Think of it this way. You would not be working for me, but my brother.”

“You’d pay me with money you stole.”

“Money I earned. I paid for that money with sixteen years of my life. I earned the money. Every dollar of it. They do make prisoners work, you know. In my case I was fortunate in being the librarian. Nevertheless, it was work.”

Pleschette suddenly chuckled. “Very well, Mr. Alder. You will not accept tainted money. Excellent! I will not pay you at all. You will find my brother because you are a humanitarian. Filthy lucre shall not contaminate you. You will do it for charity’s sake.”

“I have an agreement with the United Charities,” said Alder. “They do not search for missing heirs and I don’t work for charity.”

“You jest, sir! Very well, we shall be humorous. I laugh. Ha-ha! And now let us get back to business. I will give you a little tidbit — the answer to a question you asked me last night. Why I chanced to be at the El Toro Court in Los Angeles.”

“I know the answer to that.”

“You couldn’t possibly know it.”

“Julia Joliet, alias. Kitty Killigan, alias Frieda Friday. An old friend of yours, an accomplice perhaps from the old days, the good old days.”

“Fantastic, Mr. Alder! Fabulous! That steel-trap mind of yours. That intellect. Like a rapier.”

“You used that one last night.”

“Oh, did I? I am all the more determined to have your services, Mr. Alder.”

“Go to the police. They’re very good at finding missing persons.”

“I cannot deal with the police. They know me as Big Frenchy Fanchon. No, sir, I cannot ask the police for help.”

“Try a private detective.”

“Mr. Honsinger? Your detective agency? They are already working for you. Yes, they could help. While they are asking for information for you, they could just as well probe a bit on my behalf.” Mr. Pleschette’s mouth puckered up. He pushed the pucker out, pulled it in. “Perhaps they are doing that very thing. It was Mr. Honsinger who told you about the late, ah, Julia Joliet? An interesting name. From the great French explorer, Louis Joliet, an ancestor of mine, perhaps.” The pucker came out again. “Mr. Alder, I followed you this morning. You were not aware of it. Did you know, Mr. Alder — and this may shock you — that I was not the only one who was following you?”

“What?”

“Precisely! You are astonished. I am an expert at such things. I was not exactly following you, Mr. Alder. I was following the man who was following you. And he was an expert at it. Would you like to see him?” Pleschette stepped to the door, listened, then signaled to Alder.

Alder walked swiftly to the door.

“Open,” said Pleschette quietly.

Alder opened the door. A lean, tall man stood at a door across the hall and one door away. He was in the act of pressing a door buzzer — or pretending to do so. He did not look toward Alder, but as Alder watched, he turned and walked off toward the cross corridor that led to the elevators. Alder closed the door.

“The truth of the matter, Mr. Alder,” said Pleschette, “is that we can be of service to each other. You have a brilliant mind. Your logic is as inflexible as a warden’s heart. But you have a weakness, a flaw. And you know what a single flaw can do to a machine. The tiniest of wheels, a broken cog in a Univac machine, can render it useless. Your weakness, Mr. Alder, and I deplore it, is that you do not think like a criminal. I, sir, am a criminal. You admire a masterpiece in an art gallery, but I look at a painting and I see the brush stroke of the forger. You go into a bank and you admire the soundness of its protective system, while I note its weaknesses. You watch a parade and you cheer the statesman who is driving by in the open car, while I am aware only of the anarchist in the throng. I see the bulge under his coat where he has the bomb. An honest man, sir, is not perfect. Neither am I. I decry my weaknesses, but I know my strength. Mr. Alder, together you and I would be invincible. Let me add my talents to yours, augment you. Help me find my brother — and I will help you accomplish your mission.”

“You know what it is?”

“Of course I know. My dear sir, do not disparage my talents that much. You are seeking the long-lost heiress, the famous Doris Delaney.”

“I’m sure, like everyone else, you have a theory about her. How she disappeared. Why?”

“But of course. I have been many years in prisons. My constant associates have been criminals. One knows people, one hears things. In the land of my ancestors, Mr. Alder, there is an old saying: ‘Cherchez la femme!’ Which means—”

“Search for the woman!”

“Precisely. Behind every man’s crime, there is a woman. In this case, we merely reverse the process, the truism, so to speak. A woman has committed a crime — ‘Cherchez l’homme.’ Which means, search for the man!”

“Doris Delaney disappeared, then, because of a man?”

“Indubitably. You have gone right to the crux of the matter. As always. Again my compliments to you. Find your man, Mr. Alder, and you will find your woman.”

“I’ll give that right back to you, Pleschette. Find your woman and you will find your man.”

“You find him — her!”

Alder shook his head.

Pleschette cried out like a wounded boar. “Mr. Alder, have I made no impression on you? Has all of my eloquence been in vain? My good man, I sold the entire stock issue of the Cold Star Mines and Metallurgical Corporation with less effort, with less persuasiveness!”

The enormous Frenchman was quivering as he rose to his feet and picked up his Homburg hat.

“Mr. Alder, I am not a man to make threats, but you are aware by now that I am a formidable man. You have seen only my pleasant side, but I assure you, the ogre in his castle atop the beanstalk is no more fearsome a creature than I when my back is to the castle and the enemy is coming at me across the drawbridge. Guard yourself well, Mr. Alder!”

Pleschette went to the door, opened it, and stalked out of the room.

Alder leaned back against the couch, stretched out his legs, and exhaled heavily. Yes, Jacques Pleschette would be a formidable opponent. But he was just as overwhelming an ally. The torrent of words that gushed from him was enough to exhaust a man. He was so gifted, so tricky in his eloquence that it was necessary to listen to him with the utmost alertness, to try to detect the tiny little barb that was always somewhere in the tremendous barrage of speech.

Pleschette had almost glossed it over, almost but not quite. What was it?

“‘A woman has committed a crime... cherchez l’homme.’”

What crime had Doris Delaney committed?

She had run away from home. That was not a crime. She had become pregnant possibly. At the very worst that was not Doris’ crime. She had been sixteen years old. Whoever had caused her pregnancy was more likely to be the criminal.

Yet Mrs. Delaney believed that her daughter had run away, not because of pregnancy, but because of something so serious that she had been afraid to go to her parents with it. Why? Because the thing she had done was too heinous for the parental arms to protect her?

Alder reached for the manila envelope that he had received from the message clerk in the lobby, along with the telephone slips. It bore the return address of Detectives, Incorporated and contained the dossier on Jacques Pleschette.