Spring Always Comes, page 15
“Like that visit to my bank.”
“Jeff, I want a straight answer to a straight question. Were you getting out some money for Constance?”
Jeff’s jaw dropped in sheer astonishment. “I was not. And there’s no conceivable reason for believing that, whatever her need, she would accept financial assistance from me.”
“And yet I overheard you offering to help in any way, at any time. Very fervent about it.”
“I went to the bank,” Jeff said at length, “to check on the number of a revolver which I managed to get away from a gangster. I want to find out who bought it, to trace it, if possible.”
“You’ve been tangling with gangsters?” The veins over Kent’s cheekbones were purple.
“Well, I tangled with one, at any rate.” Jeff’s voice was still even. “That’s hardly a crime, sir. In fact, the citizen who stands back and does not try to prevent the shooting of another person is rather a peculiar sort of man, isn’t he?”
“I don’t like this business, Jeff. I don’t like it at all.”
Unexpectedly Jeff laughed. “Neither do I. These people aren’t exactly the kind of company I care to know. But —”
“But?”
“I’ll have to follow it through now. And, I repeat, it has nothing to do with Kent Enterprises.”
Kent drummed his thick fingers on the desk. “Can you give me your word that this extremely nasty situation in which you seem determined to involve yourself has nothing to do with the Wyndhams?”
Jeff’s silence was answer enough.
For a long moment Kent studied the narrow eyes which looked steadily back at him. From the beginning he had had a high regard for Jefferson Gray. He had recognized the young man’s exceptional qualities, the potentialities that could be developed. He had begun slowly to build his plans for the future around him. And he was not accustomed to having anyone or anything interfere with his plans.
“No wonder Alexandra is worried about you,” he said. “Constance seems to have her claws in you rather deeply.”
“What I can do for Connie is a privilege,” Jeff said steadily. “And I fail to see, sir, why this should concern Sandra in the least, though I appreciate her —” he hesitated, “her anxiety on my behalf.”
“Perhaps I can help you see. Alexandra is my only child. Her welfare and happiness are important to me. Anything that threatened them would not be — tolerated. The Wyndhams have received all they will ever have at my hands. I have fully discharged my obligation to Bill Wyndham. Any attempt on the part of his children to interfere with my plans would be unfortunate for them. Most unfortunate. I might say disastrous. Is that clear now?”
“Very clear.” Jeff stood up. “And now, if you will excuse me, sir, I have an important appointment.”
His thoughts were whirling as he caught a down elevator and went through a revolving door onto the street. He hailed a cab and gave the address of the Third Avenue bar.
Kent had pulled off the velvet gloves and revealed the iron hand. Unless Jeff stayed away from Connie not only his own job and his future would be jeopardized, but Kent would quite deliberately set out to make life difficult for Connie. Remembering the ruthless position he had taken in regard to Wilmot, Jeff knew that Connie could expect no mercy from him. In the past Kent had, more than once, used his widespread influence to prevent men who had challenged him in some way from holding jobs. He had wiped out several rivals by stock manipulation.
What could he do, Jeff wondered, to protect Connie not only from the gangsters who threatened her but from this new and possibly even more serious threat?
“Cut out the panic,” he told himself. “One thing at a time. First, I’ll have to get back the stamps. Then, well, as a last resort I can have a frank talk with Sandra. It will be awkward but, after all, it’s not as though she cares anything about me. She is following her father’s wishes — or orders. Her happiness isn’t involved. I’m sure I can make her understand.”
The Third Avenue bar was dingy and dark. Only half a dozen men were there, talking idly. Jeff walked back toward the far end of the bar where he saw a man sitting alone. A thick-set man with red hair. His overcoat hung open and in the left-hand pocket there was a rolled up copy of the Daily News.
Jeff slid onto the next stool. He did not glance at the man beside him, though he was aware that the latter was studying him closely.
“Winterson?” the red-headed man said at last, his voice cautiously low.
If Jeff had any lingering doubts that the “stamp dealer” was legitimate, they were dispelled by this furtive approach. For a moment he did not move and then he swung around.
“That’s right.” He looked the other man over carefully. He had a face like a rat. He smiled wolfishly, revealing a broken tooth.
“Got something to show you.” He pulled out an envelope and drew from it a card on which was mounted the airmail stamp with the inverted center. “Nice, isn’t it?”
Jeff examined it as well as he could, because the other man held on to it firmly as though fearing that it might be snatched out of his grasp.
“Very nice. How much do you want for it?”
“You can have this little item for nine thousand dollars. Cash. The list price is a lot higher, so this is a real bargain.”
“Cash?”
The red-headed man nodded. “No checks.” He had a strong lisp when he spoke, probably a result of the broken tooth. “Just nice folding money. Well?”
“I don’t carry that much cash around with me,” Jeff said.
“Who does? How long would it take you to get it?”
“This afternoon. No, I’m booked with appointments until after four. Too late for the bank. Tomorrow. Say twelve o’clock. Here?”
The red-headed man slid off the stool. “Okay.”
“Do you have any more inverted centers?”
“May have a few. Some Persian items. Some Latin-American stuff.”
Jeff schooled his face not to betray his jubilation. This man had the Nuñoz collection. He was sure of it.
“I’d like to take a look at them. I might be in the market, if the price is right.”
“Always glad to make a sale. But cash, remember. Nothing but cash. See? You come alone tomorrow.”
Jeff smiled. “What makes you think I was alone today?”
Again the wolfish grin. “Had a friend outside. If there had been anyone with you he would have given me the high sign.”
The smile faded from Jeff’s lips. These boys were taking no chances.
The red-headed man saw that he had made his point, nodded, tossed the Daily News on the bar, and went out.
Jeff waited until the door had closed behind him and then he moved rapidly. By the time he got outside, the red-headed man was across the street, talking to a thin young man in a green overcoat. They separated, the younger man going into a drugstore while the red-headed man turned the corner.
To Jeff’s exasperation he had to wait for a light before he could cross the street. Just as he reached the far curb the man he was trailing turned into an areaway. By the time Jeff reached the building, a rundown old apartment that was little more than a tenement, there was no sign of him. For a moment he hesitated. He didn’t know what prevented him from going down the area steps. He waited without quite knowing what he was waiting for.
In a few minutes there were heavy footsteps and he ducked into the doorway of a small cleaning establishment. The red-headed man had come up the steps and was heading back toward Third Avenue. When he was out of sight Jeff went quietly down the steps, paused for a moment to peer through a grimy window into the basement apartment. Someone was there, a man sitting at a table with a stamp album open before him. There was no mistaking that profile.
Softly Jeff entered the basement. There were two doors. He approached the one on the left noiselessly, turned the knob gently so there would be no telltale click, and then flung open the door.
Nick Wyndham leaped to his feet, his chair falling over with a crash as he turned around. When he recognized Jeff his lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl.
“So Holt double-crossed me!”
“No, I followed him here.”
“Why?”
“I was looking for you.”
As Nick started to bluster, Jeff said coolly, “No point in trying to bluff it out, Nick. I know you stole the stamps.”
Nick dropped the useless pretense. “So what? Kent has no right to them. I have more right than he has. They belonged to my own father.”
“Let’s get the picture clear. If these stamps aren’t turned over to John Kent, he is quite capable of causing you more trouble than the hoods you are working with. Hand them over, Nick.”
“Try to make me.”
“That,” Jeff declared, “will be a pleasure.” He lunged for Nick, grabbed him by his necktie, gave him a short jab to the jaw that sent him staggering backward. He followed up with a second blow and then a third. Nick pitched over and dropped on the rug. Jeff jerked him to his feet.
“Had enough?”
Nick nodded, gasping.
“Sorry to do it but violence seems to be the only language you understand. Now give me those stamps.”
Nick stood swaying. He indicated the album on the table. “Go ahead and take them,” he said sullenly, “but I can tell you now what will happen. Those stamps were all I had to clear myself with those goons.”
“So?”
“Take them away and the boys will kill me. I’m not joking, Jeff. You’ll sign my death warrant if you take those stamps.”
“I’ll give you enough money to get out of town,” Jeff told him, “and to keep you until you can find yourself a job. But I mean an honest job. The day I find out you’ve gone back to the protection racket you’ll deserve everything that goes with it. Is that clear?”
“How did you guess about the protection racket?” Nick was startled.
“I didn’t guess. You practically gave Connie a blueprint of what you were doing.”
“Why should you help me?” Nick was suspicious.
“I liked your father.”
“And you like my sister,” Nick said softly.
“Let’s keep Connie out of this!” Jeff was sharp.
“If it can be done. If it can be done.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I leave it to you,” Nick said. “If you know so much about the setup you can guess the rest. If you’re so anxious about Connie I’ll leave her to your tender care.” The sneer on his face changed to a mocking grin. “The way the two of you try to protect each other! It’s right touching.”
“Protect each other?”
Nick’s voice rose to a falsetto which he apparently thought was an imitation of Connie’s voice. “ ‘Don’t hurt Jeff. He loves Sandra.’ Or words to that effect.” He saw Jeff’s expression and laughed. “Didn’t you know? Well, that’s my Boy Scout deed for the day. Okay, if I’m getting out of here with a whole skin it had better be fast. When they come back —”
“Pack your things and come along.” Jeff scooped up the stamp album. In a few minutes Nick had tossed some clothes into a suitcase and closed it with shaking hands. He was really afraid.
Out on the street he looked cautiously up and down the block before he dared venture into sight. Once more Jeff went to his bank, this time to draw out enough cash to keep Nick going for a time. Nick’s eyes opened wide as he riffled quickly through the bills before putting them into his wallet.
“That’s all there is,” Jeff warned him. “You’d better make it last. I’m not going to fork over one more thin dime.”
“Okay, okay,” Nick said carelessly.
“Where are you going?”
Nick hesitated for a moment. “Penn Station,” he decided. “Trains going everywhere from there all the time. I’ll take the first one that goes a long, long way.”
“Keep in touch.”
Nick smiled, an unpleasant smile. “I’ll do that little thing,” he said.
Sixteen
Jeff stood outside the bank, watching Nick push his way rapidly through the lunchtime crowds on the street. However much he might lie, one thing was true. The man was scared to death.
Jeff glanced at his watch and tried to remember the appointments he had made for the afternoon. Then, on impulse, he found a telephone booth and called his secretary, asking her to cancel everything. He would be unavoidably detained. Kent would be angry if he found out, and Jeff was sure that he would find out. But Jeff had set out on his own course and he was determined to follow it.
He felt, he acknowledged to himself with a grin, like a small boy playing hooky from school. Well, if he was going to make this a holiday, even a stolen one, he might as well enjoy it. And for the first time since Connie had refused to marry him, he had something to enjoy. Unreliable as Nick was, he had not, Jeff thought, been lying when he made his mocking comment about the way Connie and Jeff protected each other. If it were true, if Connie had rejected him out of loyalty to Sandra, his life could take on more meaning.
He went to the Princeton Club for lunch, met a couple of old friends, and sat around the table chatting idly for an hour and a half. Then he retrieved the stamp album from the Club safe, got his coat and hat, and walked the few blocks to the building where Emery & Emery had its offices.
The receptionist looked at him approvingly. It wasn’t often she saw a man who had so much charm and yet did nothing to exploit it.
“Miss Wyndham,” she repeated. “I am sorry. Miss Wyndham is no longer with Emery & Emery.”
Feeling rather like a man who had put his foot up for a step and comes down hard because there is none there, Jeff turned blankly away. What did that mean? Had Connie been fired? Unlikely, to say the least. Stephen Emery, the man who had danced with her at the Wiltown, had seemed to approve of her. How could he help it? And his younger brother, the good-looking Colin, had certainly appeared to be enamoured when Jeff had seen them together in the Emery box at the opera.
At a loss to know how to fill in his unexpected holiday, but with a dogged determination not to return to the office, Jeff went in search of an old college friend who was now with the FBI. He gave him the number of the revolver he had wrested from the gangster and told him the story of Nick’s activities as Connie had told it to him.
“Do you think you can trace the ownership of the gun?” he asked.
His friend grinned and reached for a telephone. A surprisingly short time later he reported, “The buyer was Thomas Styles of Newley, Connecticut. A year ago he had a robbery in his house and this was among the missing items.”
His grin faded. “Look here, Gray, I don’t like this story. Your friend could find herself in a spot. It’s a favorite line with these hoods, learning who the nearest relation is and putting pressure on.”
“I’ll look out for her.”
But when he reached the street Jeff wondered rather bleakly how he was going to do it. Connie had left her job for some unknown reason and he did not even know where to find her.
At half-past five that afternoon he rang the bell at Connie’s apartment. When she opened the door she looked at him almost as though he were a stranger.
For a moment he waited for her to ask him in. Then, abruptly, he thrust the stamp album into her arms. “I got this for you today,” he said. “And I’ve sent Nick out of town. He’ll be safe there.”
“Oh, Jeff!” For a moment her cold face warmed as he drew her toward him, and then he saw the man in shirtsleeves who was busy retying the cords on the venetian blinds at the window. A man who seemed very much at home. Colin Emery.
He stepped back. “It’s all right, Connie. Good afternoon.”
“Wait, Jeff! Please wait.” Connie held out the album to him. “I have one thing more to ask of you. One last thing. Please, please, give this to Mr. Kent.”
“Okay.” The door closed behind him. He stood in the winter dusk thinking bitterly, “So Nick lied again.”
ii
Earlier that afternoon Connie had been resting in one of the fitting rooms at Céleste’s shop. The morning had been hectic because of several important customers from Chicago who had wanted to replenish their wardrobes.
Between one and three there was generally a lull while the regular clientele enjoyed leisurely lunches. Unexpectedly Céleste came into the fitting room. There was something odd in her expression as she looked at Connie.
“Will you show the Blue Moon, Constance?” There was a little smile quirking her lips. “I think it will suit your friend.”
“My friend?” Connie was startled.
“I remember now with whom you came to my shop before. It was Miss Kent. And perhaps, if she is interested, you might model that April Night. It is not quite her type, of course, but it is striking. Lately she has been choosing a more exotic line.”
Lil was still at lunch. With the help of one of the dressmakers Connie mechanically put on the blue dress, a velvet sheath, adjusted her hair and her makeup. Her face seemed to have frozen. Of all eventualities this was the one she would most have wanted to avoid. For a moment her feet seemed to be rooted to the ground.
I can’t, she thought, I can’t do it. Then she took a long breath and, with her head held high, she walked slowly into the shop, eyes fixed on an imaginary horizon, a smile on her lips.
She heard Sandra’s gasp, a smothered cry. She forced herself to look at her friend’s face. For a moment the eyes of the two girls met. What would Sandra do? Surely she would not cut her!
At last Sandra said, her voice crisp and cool, “Will you have the model turn once more? I’d like to study the lines of the back.”
Connie felt her hands clenching and forced them to relax. She revolved slowly.
Then Sandra smiled. “Ah, Miss Wyndham! What do you think? Is it me?”
“I think,” Connie said slowly, expressionlessly, “it would suit you very well, Miss Kent.”
Sandra nodded. “I always rely on your flair for style. Very well, send it to me, Céleste. And, by the way, do let Miss Wyndham have a little time off. I’d like to discuss my wardrobe with her.”
