Rogues on the River Page 6

  “At the rate the river rises, the shore here will be under by tomorrow,” I said as Florence and I surveyed the trampled ground.

  “I suppose police learned everything they could last night.”

  “Yes, they went over the area rather thoroughly. I know they took photographs and made measurements of the saboteur’s footprints. Lucky they did, because the water has washed them all away.”

  “You still can see where the automobile was parked.” Florence pointed to tire tracks in the soft earth. “Were any real clues found, Jane?”

  “Jack told me police picked up a handkerchief bearing the initial ‘H.’”

  “That could stand for Halvorson.”

  “Likewise Harris or Harvill or Hamilton. I’ll admit that it doesn’t look too bright for Anne’s husband.”

  Before we had gone another dozen feet toward the bridge, I noticed an object lying half-buried in the mud. I picked it up gingerly. It was a man’s leather billfold.

  “Anything inside?” Florence asked.

  I opened the flap and looked inside. To my disappointment, it held nothing save a few crumpled bills and one small card upon which had been scribbled a few words.

  “‘The Green Parrot—’” I read aloud. “‘Tuesday at 9:15.’ Now, what does that mean?”

  “It probably doesn’t mean much of anything.” Florence was digging at the mud which had collected in the soles of her boots with the sharp end of a stick. “It’s probably an appointment card.”

  “You don’t suppose this billfold was dropped by the saboteur? It’s very near the place where he crawled out of the river.”

  “Wouldn’t the police have picked it up if they had considered it of any importance?”

  “I doubt they ever saw it, Flo. The wallet was half buried in mud. I’d never have seen it myself if I hadn’t almost stepped on it.”

  “Why not turn it over to the police?”

  “Guess I will.” I replaced the card in the billfold. “Do you have a clean handkerchief, Flo?”

  Florence handed over a clean, white, freshly-pressed handkerchief, but immediately thought better of it when I took it and wrapped the muddy billfold inside. I ignored Flo’s grimace. “Did you ever hear of the Green Parrot, Jane?”

  “I think the Green Parrot is a café or a night club with none too good a reputation. I’m sure I’ve heard Dad say it’s rumored to sell bootleg spirits and run gaming tables.”

  Upon arriving home, my first act was to consult the telephone directory. The Green Parrot was not listed.

  “Mrs. Timms, did you ever hear of a place called the Green Parrot?” I asked Mrs. Timms.

  “Isn’t that some restaurant the police closed down a few months ago? I remember seeing an item about it in the paper. Why are you asking about the Green Parrot?”

  I showed Mrs. Timms the billfold and explained where I had found it.

  “Dear me.” Mrs. Timms sighed. “How you can get into so many affairs of this kind is a wonder to me. I’m sure it worries your father. Jack, too.”

  “I know you worry, and possibly Jack does, but Dad can’t afford to worry about me too much. He has too great a conflict of interest to get worried about me sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. Ever since I dug up that big story for him about the robbery at Roseacres, he’s been reconciled to my side career of lady detective because it generally ends up with the Greenville Examiner getting a big scoop.”

  “Climbing down wishing wells and chasing down saboteurs are two entirely different matters,” Mrs. Timms pointed out. “Anyone who’d try to blow up a bridge with cars going over it has no respect for human life. I do hope you’ll turn this wallet over to police and forget about suspicious characters.”

  “I’ll concede that whoever is behind the explosion at the Maxwell factory and the dynamiting of the bridge—and I’m inclined to believe they are one and the same—are certainly suspicious characters, but I’m only worried about one suspicious character. It disturbs me to have involved Fred Halvorson in such a mess. I very much doubt that he’s guilty.”

  “And then again, the police probably know exactly what they are about,” Mrs. Timms insisted. “Now, please take that billfold to the authorities, and let them do the worrying.”

  I dutifully carried the wallet to the local police station. Every detective connected with the dynamiting case was out in the field, so I left the wallet with a desk sergeant. As I turned to leave, I said, “Oh, by the way, did you ever hear of a place called the Green Parrot?”

  “Sure,” the sergeant said. “It’s a night club. Used to be located on Granger Street, but our boys made it too hot for ’em, so they moved on to another place.”

  “What other place?”

  “Couldn’t tell you. You’ll have to talk to one of the detectives, Jim Adams or Harry Bradshaw.”

  After I left the police station, I decided to stop by the Examiner to see Jack, but when I arrived, I discovered he was out covering a city council meeting. I stopped by Dad’s office and was informed by his secretary that he, too, was out. I wandered downstairs and stood in front of the big plate glass windows that overlooked the press room.

  I was idly watching a workman who was oiling one of the great rotary presses when I heard Dad’s voice behind me.

  “Oh, here you are.”

  “Hello, Dad. What’s new in the dynamiting case?”

  “Nothing so far as I know. Fred Halvorson’s been released on bail.”

  “Mr. DeWitt put up the money?”

  “Yes, he did. I advised him against it, but DeWitt feels a duty to the boy. Were you looking for me, Jane?”

  “Well, not in particular. I was hoping to see Jack, but they tell me he’s out covering a city council meeting.”

  “Dad do you know anything about a big contract the Maxwell factory might have gotten recently?”

  “I think Maxwell was awarded a contract to manufacture folding shovels for the army.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Are folding shovels for the army the sort of tool the Stedman factory might also produce?”

  “Possibly,” my father said. “What is this about, Jane?”

  “Anne Halvorson told me that her husband Fred overheard a bitter argument between Morris Stedman and Mr. Morris.”

  “Over the shovel contract?”

  “I’m not sure. Fred just overheard something about a big contract and gathered that Mr. Stedman felt that he ought to have gotten the contract rather than Mr. Maxwell.”

  “That’s interesting but probably meaningless,” said my father, “Upstanding members of the community don’t blow up their rival’s place of business over the loss of a business contract. Besides, I doubt Mr. Stedman would be willing to get his hands dirty enough to mess with sticks of dynamite. He’s famous for having a fastidious nature.”

  I told my father goodbye and was turning to leave when he said, “By the way, I arranged a job for that watchman complication of yours, Clarence Sinclair.”

  “You did? Oh, grand. What sort of work is it?”

  “Can’t take time to tell you now. If you want all the details, ask Jack. He took care of the matter for me.”

  Chapter Nine

  I was eager to learn what had been done to help Clarence Sinclair, so I took an elevator to the newsroom of the Greenville Examiner. Jack’s desk was still deserted, so I paused at the slot of the big circular copy desk to ask Editor DeWitt if the reporter were anywhere in the building.

  “He got back from the city council meeting a few minutes ago, but I just sent him back out again. There’s been an explosive device discovered at the Maxwell Mansion,” Mr. DeWitt replied, glancing up from copy he was correcting. “He ought to be back in half an hour. You know how Jack covers a story.”

  “I certainly do. He races to the scene, makes a rapid survey of the situation, and races back with a column report. When you say, ‘Maxwell Mansion,’ are you talking about the Maxwell family who owns the Maxwell Implement factory?�
��

  “One and the same.”

  “I must say that it certainly appears that someone with no scruples has it out for the Maxwell family. First, someone tries to blow the Maxwell factory to bits and very nearly succeeds, second, someone tries—twice—to blow up the only bridge leading to the West Greenville Industrial District where the Maxwell factory is located. And now this. Do you have any idea who might want to destroy the Maxwells?”

  Mr. Dewitt shrugged. He didn’t seem to know any more than I did and appeared completely disinterested in discussing the matter further.

  I hesitated. I very much wished to say something to the editor about his nephew’s involvement with the case, but I was reluctant to bring up the subject.

  “Mr. DeWitt, I’m sorry about Fred Halvorson,” I began awkwardly. “I hope you don’t think that I tried to throw suspicion on him by telling police——”

  “Of course not,” Mr. DeWitt cut in. “It’s just a case of circumstantial evidence. Fred has a good lawyer now. I’m not a bit worried.”

  The expression on DeWitt’s face contradicted his words. Mr. DeWitt had a reputation as a hard yet just man, but now it seemed to me that he was losing his grip. Though he fancied he disguised his feelings, it was plain that Fred Halvorson’s arrest had shaken him.

  “Guess I won’t wait for Jack,” I said, turning away. “Tell him hello for me.”

  I left the newspaper office. I was so down about Mr. DeWitt that I couldn’t bring myself to go straight home and start producing more pages of poor Miss Amhurst’s sad saga of trial and tribulation, so I dropped in at Foster’s Drugstore and perched myself on a counter stool.

  “I’ll take a deluxe dose of Hawaiian Delight with whipped cream,” I told the soda fountain jerk.

  “Sorry, we’re out of pineapple. And whipped cream.”

  “Then make it a double chocolate malted.”

  “We’re also out of chocolate. Sorry.”

  “Then just bring me an empty dish and let me look at it for a while,” I said.

  “How about a nice vanilla sundae with crushed walnuts?”

  “Oh, all right. And don’t spare the walnuts.”

  I had just finished the last spoonful when I glimpsed Jack coming into the drugstore. I waved across the counter to him, but he didn’t see me.

  Instead of coming over, he dodged into a telephone booth. He slammed out again in a moment and sat down at the other end of the counter.

  “Hello, stranger,” I said.

  “Oh, hello, Jane.”

  “Clearly, your fatal fascination for me is starting to fade. I waved at you when you came in, but you looked right through me.

  “Sorry, Jane. Cup o’ Java and make it strong,” he said to the soda jerk.

  “Sorry, sir, no coffee served without meals,” I informed him. “How about a nice vanilla sundae with crushed walnuts?”

  Jack moved over to sit on the stool next to me.

  “Tell me about this explosive device at the Maxwell Mansion,” I said.

  “There’s not a great deal to tell,” said Jack. “Mr. Maxwell’s chauffer found an improvised bomb in the trunk of Mrs. Maxwell’s car when he went to take it out of the garage for her this morning. Apparently, Mrs. Maxwell is something of a car buff, and likes to drive herself.”

  “A woman of rare taste, I’d say. You think the bomb was meant for Mrs. Maxwell or might the person who planted it have intended it for Mr. Maxwell instead.”

  “There’s no way of knowing for sure, but Mrs. Maxwell’s car is quite distinctive and unlikely to be mistaken for the Maxwells’ other cars. Mr. Maxwell bought her an open-top coupe last year and had it custom-painted to her specifications.”

  “And the explosive device?”

  “It was a piece of pipe stuffed with bits of shot and what the police assume is old-fashioned gun powder. Fortunately, it didn’t go off.”

  “And the police don’t know who did it?”

  “They think it’s the same person who blew up the factory and ran that boat into the bridge. I expect the police will try to pin it on Fred Halvorson since they seem convinced he’s the one who dynamited the bridge.”

  “I don’t believe it,” I said. “Fred’s wife told me that he and Mr. Maxwell had words when Maxwell fired Fred over trying to unionize the Maxwell factory, but that hardly seems sufficient motivation to try and both destroy Mr. Maxwell’s business and try to kill his wife.”

  “I have a feeling someone’s got it in for both the Maxwell family and Fred Halvorson,” Jack said.

  “Who? Why? What do you mean?”

  “It’s just a nebulous theory,” said Jack. “If the pieces fit together, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “What about the story? Aren’t you going to—"

  “Just got through telephoning the story to DeWitt.”

  “You do know the Examiner building just across the street.”

  “Sure, but that’s a long walk. Besides, I must have known by instinct that my beautiful fiancée was sitting at the bar.”

  “This isn’t a bar, it’s a counter, and you shouldn’t try to flirt, Jack. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “I thought you wanted me to sweet-talk you. Oh well, suit yourself. All the other girls I’ve wooed—”

  I kicked him under the counter. He yelped. The soda jerk was trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably.

  “Jack,” I said, trying to ignore the soda jerk, “Dad told me you were able to get Clarence Sinclair a job.”

  “One of sorts. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s soft. Sinclair is hired by the Maxwell Company to guard their barge that’s tied up at Dock 10.”

  “Thanks a lot, Jack, for going to so much trouble. Mr. Sinclair ought to be quite grateful.”

  “Grateful? Hardly. He held out for more pay.”

  “Are the duties difficult?”

  “Difficult? All he has to do is stay aboard the barge and see that no one tries to make off with it.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone trying to steal a coal barge.”

  “Oh, it’s done now and then,” Jack said. “I imagine Mr. Maxwell is doubly nervous now that someone seems bent on ruining his business. I supposing he might be worried that the saboteur will intercept his coal supply.”

  “Without coal to run the furnaces, work at the implement factory would grind to a halt,” I conceded. “How do you think they’d do it?”

  “Wait for a dark or foggy night and then slip up to the barge and cut her loose.”

  “Then the boat would float free and unless it was spotted, it would likely to collide with other incoming vessels. I remember that happened once, years ago. An empty coal barge was cut loose. She crashed into an oil tanker and rammed a hole in her. It took months to clean up the mess. I guess Clarence Sinclair really does have an important job.”

  “Important in the sense that he’s got to keep his eyes open. But he’s not required to do any hard work. All he has to do is sit.”

  “Then he should like the job,” I said, sliding down from the stool. “When does he start work?”

  “He took over this morning.”

  “Maybe I’ll ankle down to Dock 10 and talk to him.”

  “Better wrap yourself in cellophane first,” Jack advised. “That is if you value your peaches and cream complexion.”

  I wasn’t certain what Jack meant by his crack about wrapping myself in cellophane, but a little later, approaching the coal docks, I understood. Nearby was a railroad yard where cars were being loaded from the many mountains of coal heaped on the ground. With the wind blowing toward the river, the dust-laden air soon blackened my hands and clothing. Mrs. Timms was going to have a fit when she saw me.

  I stood watching a coal car race down from a steep switchback and then wandered along the docks in search of Mr. Sinclair.

  I came to the barge I was searching for but there was no sign of anyone aboard. A long ladder ascended from the dock to the vessel’s deck. I hesitated and then decided to climb
up it. When I was midway up, a man, his face blackened with coal, stepped from a shed.

  “Hey, where you think you’re going?” he shouted.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Sinclair? The new watchman?”

  “Yes. He’s aboard, isn’t he?”

  “He should be. Well, go on up, I guess, but it’s against regulations.”

  I climbed the remaining rungs of the ladder and stepped out on the deck of the barge. My hands were black with coal dust, and I’d have covered my nose and mouth with a clean handkerchief if I’d been in possession of one.

  “Oh, Mr. Sinclair? Are you here?”

  Mr. Sinclair emerged from the tiny deck house. No smile brightened his smudged face as he recognized me.

  “This is a swell job your father got me,” he groused.

  “Why, Mr. Sinclair, you don’t act as if you like it. What seems to be wrong?”

  “The pay’s poor. I’m expected to stay on this rotten old tub twenty-four hours a day with only time off for my meals. It’s so dirty around here that if a fellow’d take a deep breath he’d get a hunk o’ coal stuck in his nose.”

  “It is rather unpleasant,” I admitted. “But then, the wind can’t always blow in this direction.”

  “I want you to ask your father to find me another job,” the watchman went on. “I’d like one on a bridge again.”

  “Well, I don’t know. After what happened—”

  “And whose fault was that? I helped you and that girlfriend of yours, didn’t I? Well, now it’s your turn to do me a little favor, ’specially since it wasn’t my fault I lost the bridge job.”

  “I’ll talk to my father,” I said, but I was far from pleased with the watchman’s attitude. I did not prolong the interview but quickly climbed down from the barge.

  From the coal yards, I followed the river for a distance until the surroundings became more pleasant. I was still thinking about Clarence Sinclair as I approached the Halvorson boathouse. Anne and a young man were deeply engrossed in examining a large metal object which appeared to be a homemade diving hood.

  For a moment I assumed that Anne’s companion was Eddie Franks. However, as the young man turned slightly, I saw his face.