The Almost Perfect Murder by Hulbert Footner (reading the story of the TXT) 📕

for a long stretch. I tell

ya that shakes me nerve. What would happen to the kid if I kicked out?”

 

“Maybe the fathers would keep him just the same,” suggested Madge.

 

“Maybe,” said Chico frowning, “but I wouldn’t want him to be a charity

pupil. He has his pocket-money with the rest of them, and belongs to

the swell clubs. He’s on the basket-ball team—the junior team—and he

plays football too. He’s gonna be a regular husky when he gits his

growt’. Bigger’n me. Sometimes I go up to watch their games, but he

don’t know I’m there.”

 

“Don’t you ever see him?” asked Madge in surprise.

 

“Sure, I go up there sometimes,” said Chico uncomfortably, “but it’s a

kind of a strain to hafta talk to the priests and all. I’m afraid of

givin’ the snap away. So mostly I make out I’m travellin’. I took him

to the movies once or twict on a Sat’day aft-noon, but hell! you never

know what yer gonna see in them movies. They puts ideas in a young

kid’s head.”

 

“Ain’t it the troot!” murmured Madge, entering fully into sympathy with

his story.

 

“I feel just like a fat’er to that kid,” said Chico with an attractive,

shamefaced laugh. “Ain’t it hell to be a fat’er! Allus worryin’ about

him, how to keep him from learnin’ bad and all; allus thinkin’ he’s

gonna get one of these diseases that kids get.”

 

“Like infantile paralysis,” suggested Madge softly.

 

“Oh, God! that’s the worst,” said Chico. “Fair puts me in a sweat just

to think of it. And they say there’s an epidemic comin’ on.”

 

“I read in the papiss how there was a doctor guy gonna wipe out

infantile paralysis,” said Madge. “At the Terwilliger Institoot.”

 

Chico made no answer.

 

“Did you read that?” she asked.

 

“No. I didn’t read it,” he said slowly. “But I know that doctor guy;

Dr. Felix Portal.”

 

“Sure, that was the name,” said Madge; “you know him?”

 

There was another pause, then Chico said impulsively: “Say, if you’n

me’s gonna be pals I’ll tell you this.” Apparently he looked around at

me here. “Do you t’ink Bella’s asleep?” he asked apprehensively.

 

“Sure, she’ll sleep wherever you put her down,” said Madge.

 

“Listen,” said Chico lowering his voice—and you can imagine how I

stretched my ears for what was coming; “there was a fella hired me to

take Dr. Portal for a ride.”

 

“What!” cried Madge.

 

“Yeah, and I took him, too. Way to hell and gone up in Westchester

County. And I had me gun in me hand ready to smoke him, and I couldn’t

do it.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because he was talkin’ about this now, infantile paralysis, and how he

was gonna save all the kids from it, and I happened to t’ink about my

Tony, and I couldn’t do it. I put the rod in me pocket and I drove the

old man home. And I ain’t never regretted it neither, though it cost

me a grand.”

 

“But what fellow would want to bump him off?” asked Madge.

 

Chico turned wary again. “I’m not tellin’ that,” he said shortly.

 

“But there was some trouble up there,” said Madge. “Anot’er doctor guy

was shot. I read it in the papiss. Don’t re’clect his name. Was you

in that too?”

 

“Aah, you wanta know too much fer yer own good,” said Chico, wary, but

perfectly good-tempered.

 

“I don’t want to pry into yer secrets,” said Madge with an offended

air, “on’y it seems funny why anybody would want to go after two doctor

guys who was on’y workin’ to save the kids.”

 

“Yeah, and it is funny too, if the troot was known.”

 

That was as far as she could get him. Mme. Storey let the talk drift

away to other matters. Before she could bring it back we were startled

by hearing a slight, peculiar tap on the door. Madge and I sprang up

in alarm.

 

“‘S’all right,” said Chico soothingly. “That’s the knock of a friend.”

Going to the door, he opened it an inch or two. Madge and I were out

of the range of vision of whoever stood outside. “What’s the matter?”

asked Chico. “Must be near four o’clock.”

 

“Well, you ain’t in bed yet,” responded the voice of an angry woman.

“Who you got in here? I’m gonna see!”

 

She pushed past Chico and I saw the handsome, buxom Italian girl who

had opened the door to me that afternoon. My heart sank like a stone.

The worst of it was, I was sitting up on the bed, staring directly at

her. It was too late then to lie down and make believe to be sleeping.

My only hope of escaping recognition lay in the fact that it had been

pretty dark in the stair hall that afternoon.

 

“Two of ‘em!” she cried furiously. “Two of ‘em! Here’s a nice thing!

Bringin’ ‘em in here right next to me mutter’s room! You got no shame

at all!”

 

Chico was much more respectful towards this girl. I suppose she had

some sort of hold over him. “Now Ria, now Ria,” he said placatingly,

“you get this wrong! I never seen these ladies before tonight.”

 

“The more shame to you!” she cried, “bringin’ ‘em here! Huh! Ladies!

Don’t make me laugh!”

 

“You can see for yerself there’s nothin’ wrong,” protested Chico. “We

was just sittin’ talkin’, like.”

 

“Yeah, and you was tellin’ ‘em all you knew, eh? I could hear you

talkin’ through the wall!”

 

“I just brought ‘em in here to get ‘em out of the way of the police,”

said Chico.

 

“That’s a likely story! Maybe they’re police spies theirselves!”

 

It was only the random shot of a jealous woman, but it made my blood

run cold. She came closer to the bed, peering into our faces. “I

thought so!” she cried in shrill triumph. “They are spies! Anyhow,

the red-headed one is,” pointing to me.

 

Our backs were against the wall then. “It’s a lie!” cried Mme. Storey.

“It’s a lie!” I echoed. “You’re crazy!” muttered Chico.

 

“Crazy, am I?” sneered the Italian. “She come to the door this

afternoon lookin’ for ya. Made out to be a book agent. ‘Mr. Cardone’s

name was give me,’ says she so nice. Yah! Well, I didn’t suspect

nothin’, and I told her she’d find you at Luigi’s speakeasy tonight.

She did find you there, didn’t she? And now you’ve told her everythin’

you know!”

 

Who could ever have foreseen this? It was just a rotten piece of luck.

Chico backed away from the bed, his face turning pale and hard. His

hand went slowly to his hip, and reappeared grasping an ugly little

automatic. I closed my eyes, thinking our last moment had come.

 

“Oh, spare her! spare her!” I moaned.

 

“Be quiet, Bella,” commanded my employer.

 

The Italian girl cried out too. “Chico, no! no!”

 

He had become the hard and self-controlled little gunman again. “Shut

your noise,” he growled out of the corner of his mouth. “I’m not gonna

croak them…. Call your dad.”

 

The girl stuck her head out of the door and called tremulously: “Padre!

Padre!”

 

Chico and Mme. Storey measured their steely glances against each other.

“I thought you was on the square wit’ me,” sneered Chico. “You fooled

me nice, didn’t ya? I gotta hand it to ya.”

 

“I shall be on the square with you,” she answered. “You’ll see it yet.”

 

“Yeah? You’re no Bleecker Street girl. I can see it in your eye.

You’ve got the look of one of the high-ups.”

 

A burly Italian shuffled into the room clad in slippers, pants and

shirt, with his suspenders hanging. He too had a gun in his hand. I

was sick with terror. “What’s the matter, kid?” he growled.

 

“Ria says them two women are police spies,” said Chico. “Maybe they

are and maybe they ain’t. I ain’t takin’ no chances. Keep them here

while I make a getaway, that’s all. Give me ten minutes and then let

‘em go, see? Let ‘em go and be damned to ‘em!”

 

Chico thrust the photograph in his breast pocket and snatched up his

cap. He had had this cap during our flight over the roofs.

 

“Where’s your overcoat?” asked Ria.

 

“Left it at Luigi’s. Get it tomorrow, will ya?” Without another

glance in our direction, he made for the door.

 

The tears were rolling down Ria’s round cheeks. “Oh, Chico mio,” she

mourned.

 

He paused only long enough to jerk up her chin with his forefinger and

print a kiss on her lips. There was something infinitely savage and

graceful in the gesture. He sped downstairs. Ria wept unrestrainedly.

Mme. Storey’s face was like a mask. I was surprised to see her take

his escape so calmly, but I was not familiar with all the details of

the arrangements she had made in advance.

 

Chico’s footsteps died away as he descended through the house. Then

suddenly far below we heard the sounds of a scuffle followed by a heavy

fall. After a moment a voice, not Chico’s, cried exultantly: “I have

him!” A breath of relief escaped Mme. Storey.

 

The other Italian’s face turned black with rage. “By God! they’ve got

him!” he cried. “But I’ve got you!” And he raised the gun.

 

Once more Mme. Storey and I looked straight into the face of death.

She never flinched. Ria flung herself on her father. “No! No!” she

cried. “The police are downstairs. They’ll send you to the chair for

it! These women are nothing to us!”

 

While they were still struggling there was a crash overhead. The

shutter under the skylight swung down, and a man dropped into the room,

landing on his feet like a cat. Another followed. Both were armed.

The first was George Stephens, the second, one of Inspector Rumsey’s

plain-clothes men. In a trice they had the Italian covered, and forced

him to drop his gun.

 

And so we were saved. In the powerful reaction that overcame me, all

my strength seemed to desert me for a moment. I dropped on the edge of

the bed. Mme. Storey said:

 

“Give me a cigarette, George.”

 

“Where’s Chico?” asked Stephens.

 

“They have him safe downstairs.”

 

He jerked his head towards the scowling Italian and his daughter.

“Shall we take these two along?”

 

“No,” said Mme. Storey, “they are guilty of nothing except standing by

a friend.”

 

“But he pulled a gun,” objected the plain-clothes man. “I’ve got to

take him up for that.”

 

“It was my gun,” said Mme. Storey quickly. “He took it from me.”

 

The gun was returned to her. “Come on,” said Stephens; and we filed

out of the room. Mme. Storey was the last to go. She slipped the gun

to the Italian, whispering: “Take out a permit for it, and you’ll have

nothing to fear.” He stared at her in dumb amazement. Such

magnanimity, I suppose, was absolutely unheard of in his world.

VII

Chico was lodged in the Tombs. After a couple of hours’ sleep Mme.

Storey and I were again hard at work on the case. Events followed fast

that morning. Acting upon a suggestion of Mme. Storey’s, the police

were searching the sewer catch basins in the immediate vicinity of the

Institute and in one of them was found an automatic pistol of the

latest Rives and Jackson model, 38 calibre, from which one shot had

been fired, and also a slightly flattened