American Sherlocks by Nick Rennison (reading like a writer .TXT) 📕

‘Says he doesn’t know a thing about it,’ whispered the detective to Clare, ‘and acts as though he didn’t either. I went to the Ritz and the clerk tells me that the Ascoli woman left suddenly late last night. I can’t make this one out, though – he’s too smooth for me.’

Jacot was standing with open-eyed surprise at seeing his prospective customers under such circumstances.

‘Mr Osgood, we are ready now,’ began Clare after she had introduced Lawson and his discovery of the ricinus had been told.

She had opened the grip and taken out the mahogany box. There now rested on the table a machine of wheels and spools of steel wire like piano wire, batteries and clockwork, and a sort of horn. She took out the spool of wire already in it, laid it carefully aside and dropped in another which she had brought packed in a case.

She turned a switch. From the horn came a distinct voice.

‘Hello. This is Mrs Burridge. Yesterday I ordered a vase –’

‘We’ll skip that,’ interrupted Clare, moving the wire forward on the spool.

‘What is it?’ asked Osgood, mystified.

‘A telegraphone,’ explained Clare. ‘An instrument invented by Poulsen, the Danish Edison, by which the human voice can be recorded on a wire or a steel disc by means of a new principle involving the use of minute localized electric charges. I can’t stop to tell you the principle of the thing, but I can get a local or long distance conversation, thirty minutes of it in all, on one of these spools.’

Several times she interrupted the routine conversations recorded. Then came a soft musical voice.

‘Italian,’ commented Clare, as all listened intently, ‘and a woman’s voice, too.’

‘Hello,’ purred the voice in the machine. ‘Is this Mr Pierre Jacot, the art dealer?’

‘Yes, this is Mr Jacot. What can I do for you?’

A pause.

‘Have you had any offer from Mr Osgood for La Ginevra?’

‘Ah!’ prolonged Jacot, in either well-simulated or genuine surprise. ‘So this is what his curator, Dr Grimm, meant.’

‘How is that?’ asked the voice.

‘He is willing to pay twenty-five thousand for the return of the painting and no questions asked or –’

‘Diavolo! It cannot be. Fifty thousand – it is the lowest price. It is worth it. It –’

‘I should like to see you, madame. Where can I? I will see what I can do and report to you then. It is so much more satisfactory than over the telephone. You can trust me. I will betray nothing.’

‘Absolutely? …’

‘Absolutely! On my honor.’

‘Then call at the Ritz tonight, about eight. I have not the picture, but I can tell all about how to secure it. I shall be in the alcove of the parlor, alone. You can recognize me by my cream-colored evening gown, and one large American Beauty rose. Wear a rose yourself. Now, remember, no word to the polizia or, by the saints. it will go hard with you, with all, monsieur.’

‘Bien. Never fear.’

The telegraphone trailed off into other conversations of no significance.

‘That is where I got my first clue which took me up to the Ritz, Billy,’ remarked Clare, removing the spool which she had been using and substituting the one she had just laid aside which contained the records of what was said afterward.

The second spool bore several hasty business calls, then one from Jacot to Dr Grimm:

‘Dr Grimm? This is Jacot.’

‘Yes?’

‘They agree.’

‘For twenty-five? Good?’

‘You are to have the cash at midnight. Stand at the corner below Luigi’s restaurant – you know where it is? – just off Washington Square? A car will drive up. If a lady leans out and asks, “Are you waiting for Ginevra?” you are to answer, “Si, Signora.” Then she will embrace you. The money is to be in a flat package which you are to slip into her hand. La Ginevra will be given to you rolled up in a long brass tube. You understand?’

‘Perfectly. I shall be there, to the dot.’

‘Alone – and no police.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Evidently, late as it was,’ commented Clare, ‘Jacot returned to his office, shadowed by Dr Lawson otherwise Mr Winterhouse. I suppose he did not trust to the public telephones. His own was the worst he could have trusted, however.’

She had set the machine in motion again. There was only a slight pause this time:

‘Is this 2330? The apartment of Signor Vaccaro, please. Hello – who is this – Oh, Signora – how do you do? I did not expect to find you here. Is Signor Vaccaro out?’

‘Yes, I will take the message.’

‘I wish I might deliver it in person.’

‘It is impossible – tonight. Tell me – quickly.’

‘I have told Dr Grimm that your friends will take twenty-five thousand and he says he will have the money tonight.’

‘Good! You told him what to do?’

‘Yes. He will be there at midnight. For one part of the transaction, Signora, I would willingly change places with him.’

A silvery laugh was recorded.

‘Ah, monsieur, for what you have done I could wish to have you change places. Over the telephone I kiss you.’

‘Without the telephone – ma chérie – tomorrow?’ hinted Jacot in his most gallantly insinuating tone.

‘Perhaps. We shall see. Ah – quick – monsieur. Goodbye. I hear Georgio coming to my room.’

The receiver at the other end had evidently been hung up at the most interesting point of the little flirtation.

Jacot was now trembling like a leaf.

‘Before God, Mr Osgood,’ he cried, ‘it’s all true enough. But I know no more about it now than you know. I did nothing – nothing. I was only the agent of Dr Grimm who met this woman, the agent of the others. She led me on – like a fool – women, women –’

‘Let me see,’ interrupted Clare. ‘The number 2330 is not the Ritz, of course. Hello. Information. What is the street address of 2330? The York Arms – Fifty-eighth. Thank you. Mr Osgood – your car, please.’

They pulled