The Bandbox by Louis Joseph Vance (read novels website .txt) 📕

“Fire-escape,” he admitted wearily. “Happened to see your light and thought I’d call. Hope I don’t intrude.... Got anything to drink? I’m about all in.”

“If I’m any judge, that’s no exaggeration.” Thus Mr. Staff after a moment’s pause which he utilised to look Mr. Iff over with a critical eye.

Mr. Iff wagged his head. “Believe me,” said he simply.

Staff fetched a decanter of Scotch and a glass, placing them on the table by Iff’s elbow, then turned away to get a siphon of charged water from the icebox. But by the time he was back a staggering amount of whiskey had disappeared from the decanter, a moist but empty glass stood beside it, and Mr. Iff was stroking smiling lips with his delicate, claw-like fingers. He discontinued this occupation long enough to wave the siphon away.

“Not for me,” he said tersely. “I’ve swallowed enough water this night to last me for the rest of my life—half of the North River, more or less; rather more, if you ask me.”

“What were you doing in the North River?”

“Swimming.”

This answer was evidently so adequate in Mr. Iff’s understanding that he made no effort to elaborate upon it; so that presently, growing impatient, Staff felt called upon to ask:

“Well? What were you swimming for?”

“Dear life,” said Iff—“life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness: the incontestable birthright of every freeborn American citizen—if you must know.”

He relapsed into a reverie which seemed hugely diverting from the reminiscent twinkle in the little man’s eyes. From this he emerged long enough to remark: “That’s prime whiskey, you know.... Thanks very much, I will.” And again fell silent, stroking his lips.

“I don’t want to seem to pry,” said Staff at length, with elaborate irony; “but in view of the fact that you’ve felt warranted in calling on me via the fire-escape at one A.M., it doesn’t seem unreasonable of me to expect some sort of an explanation.”

“Oh, very well,” returned Iff, with resignation. “What would you like to know?”

“Why did you disappear this morning—?”

“Yesterday morning,” Iff corrected dispassionately.

“—yesterday morning, and how?”

“Because the time seemed ripe for me to do my marvellous vanishing stunt. You see, I had a hunch that the dear captain would turn things over in his mind and finally determine not to accept my credentials at their face value. So I kind of stuck round the wireless room with my ears intelligently pricked forward. Sure enough, presently I heard the message go out, asking what about me and how so.”

“You mean you read the operator’s sending by ear?”

“Sure; I’ve got a telegrapher’s ear as long as a mule’s.... Whereupon, knowing just about what sort of an answer ’d come through, I made up my mind to duck. And did.”

“But how—?”

“That’d be telling, and telling would get somebody aboard the Autocratic into terrible bad trouble if it ever leaked out. I crawled in out of the weather—let it go at that. I wish,” said Mr. Iff soulfully, “those damn’ Pinkerton men had let it go at that. Once or twice I really thought they had me, or would have me the next minute. And they wouldn’t give up. That’s why I had to take to the water, after dark. My friend, who shall be nameless, lent me the loan of a rope and I shinned down and had a nice little swim before I found a place to crawl ashore. I assure you that the North River tastes like hell.... O thank you; don’t mind if I do.”

“Then,” said Staff, watching the little man help himself on his own invitation—“Then you are Ismay!”

“Wrong again,” said Iff drearily. “Honest, it’s a real shame, the way you can’t seem to win any bets at all.”

“If you’re not Ismay, what made you hide?”

“Ah!” cried Iff admiringly—“shrewd and pertinent question! Now I’ll tell you, and you won’t believe me. Because—now pay strict attention—because we’re near-twins.”

“Who are twins?” demanded Staff staring.

“Him and me—Ismay and I-double-F. First cousins we are: his mother was my aunt. Worse and more of it: our fathers were brothers. They married the same day; Ismay and I were born in the same month. We look just enough alike to be mistaken for one another when we’re not together. That’s been a great help to him; he’s made me more trouble than I’ve time to tell you. The last time, I was pinched in his place and escaped a penitentiary sentence by the narrowest kind of a shave. That got my mad up, and I served notice on him to quit his foolishness or I’d get after him. He replied by cooking up a fine little scheme that almost laid me by the heels again. So I declared war and ’ve been camping on his trail ever since.”

He paused and twiddled his thumbs, staring reflectively at the ceiling. “I’m sure I don’t know why I bore myself telling you all this. What’s the use?”

“Never mind,” said Staff in an encouraging manner; he was genuinely diverted. “At worst it’s a worthy and uplifting—ah—fiction. Go on.... Then you’re not a Secret Service man after all?”

“Nothing like that; I’m doing this thing on my own.”

“How about that forged paper you showed the captain?”

“Wasn’t forged—genuine.”

“Chapter Two,” observed Staff, leaning back. “It is a dark and stormy night; we are all seated about the camp-fire. The captain says: ‘Antonio, go to it.’”

“You are certainly one swell, appreciative audience,” commented Iff morosely. “Let’s see if I can’t get a laugh with this one: One of the best little things my dear little cousin does being to pass himself off as me, he got himself hired by the Treasury Department some years ago under the name of William Howard Iff. That helped him a lot in his particular line of business. But after a while he felt that it cramped his style, so he just faded noiselessly away—retaining his credentials. Then—while I was in Paris last week—he thought it would be a grand joke to send me that document with his compliments and the suggestion that it might be some help to me in my campaign for his scalp. That’s how I happened to have it.”

“That’s going some,” Staff admitted admiringly. “Tell me another one. If you’re Iff and not Ismay, what brought you over on the Autocratic?”

“Business of keeping an eye on my dearly beloved cousin,” said Iff promptly.

“You mean Ismay was on board, too?”

“’Member that undergrown waster with the red-and-grey Vandyke and the horn-rimmed pince nez, who was always mooning round with a book under his arm?”

“Yes....”

“That was Cousin Arbuthnot disguised in his own hair.”

“If that was so, why didn’t you denounce him when you were accused of stealing the Cadogan collar?”

“Because I knew he hadn’t got away with it.”

“How did you know?”

“At least I was pretty positive about it. You’ll have to be patient—and intelligent—if you want to understand and follow me back to Paris. The three of us were there: Ismay, Miss Landis, myself. Miss Landis was dickering with Cottier’s for the necklace, Ismay sticking round and not losing sight of her much of the time, I was looking after Ismay. Miss Landis buys the collar and a ticket for London; Ismay buys a ticket for London; I trail. Then Miss Landis makes another purchase—a razor, in a shop near the hotel where I happen to be loafing.”

“A razor!”

“That’s the way it struck me, too.... Scene Two: Cockspur Street, London. I’m not sure what boat Miss Landis means to take; I’ve got a notion it’s the Autocratic, but I’m stalling till I know. You drift into the office, I recognise you and recall that you’re pretty thick with Miss Landis. Nothing more natural than that you and she should go home by the same steamer. Similarly—Ismay.... Oh, yes, I understand it was pure coincidence; but I took a chance and filled my hand. After we’d booked and you’d strutted off, I lingered long enough to see Miss Landis drive up in a taxi with a whaling big bandbox on top of the cab. She booked right under my nose; I made a note of the bandbox....

“Then you came aboard with the identical bandbox and your funny story about how you happened to have it. I smelt a rat: Miss Landis hadn’t sent you that bandbox anonymously for no purpose. Then one afternoon—long toward six o’clock—I see Miss Landis’s maid come out on deck and jerk a little package overboard—package just about big enough to hold a razor. That night I’m dragged up on the carpet before the captain; I hear a pretty fairy tale about the collar disappearing while Jane was taking the bandbox back to your steward. The handbag is on the table, in plain sight; it isn’t locked—a blind man can see that; and the slit in its side has been made by a razor. I add up the bandbox and the razor and multiply the sum by the fact that the average woman will smuggle as quick as the average man will take a drink; and I’m Jeremiah Wise, Esquire.”

“That’s the best yet,” Staff applauded. “But—see here—why didn’t you tell what you knew, if you knew so much, when you were accused?”

Iff grimaced sourly. “Get ready to laugh. This is one you won’t fall for—not in a thousand years.”

“Shoot,” said Staff.

“I like you,” said Iff simply. “You’re foolish in the head sometimes, but in the main you mean well.”

“That’s nice of you—but what has it to do with my question?”

“Everything. You’re sweet on the girl, and I don’t wish to put a crimp in your young romance by showing her up in her true colours. Furthermore, you may be hep to her little scheme; I don’t believe it, but I know that, if you are, you won’t let me suffer for it. And finally, in the senility of my dotage I conned myself into believing I could bluff it out; at the worst, I could prove my innocence easily enough. But what I didn’t take into consideration was that I was laying myself open to arrest for impersonating an agent of the Government. When I woke up to that fact, the only thing I could see to do was to duck in out of the blizzard.”

Staff said sententiously: “Hmmm....”

“Pretty thin—what?”

“In spots,” Staff agreed. “Still, I’ve got to admit you’ve managed to cover the canvas, even if your supply of paint was a bit stingy. One thing still bothers me: how did you find out I knew about the smuggling game?”

Iff nodded toward the bedroom. “I happened in—casually, as the saying runs—just as Miss Landis was telling on herself.”

Staff frowned.

“How,” he pursued presently, “can I feel sure you’re not Ismay, and, having guessed as accurately as you did, that you didn’t get at that bandbox aboard the ship and take the necklace?”

“If I were, and had, would I be here?”

“But I can’t understand why you are here!”

“It’s simple enough; I’ve any number of reasons for inviting myself to be your guest. For one, I’m wet and cold and look like a drowned rat; I can’t offer myself to a hotel looking like this—can I? Then I knew your address—you’ll remember telling me; and there’s an adage that runs ‘Any port in a storm.’ You’re going to be good enough to get my money changed—I’ve nothing but English paper—and buy me a ready-made outfit in the morning. Moreover, I’m after Ismay, and Ismay’s after the necklace; wherever it is, he will be, soon or late. Naturally I presumed you still had it—and so did he until within the hour.”

“You mean you think it was Ismay who broke into these rooms tonight?”

“You saw him, didn’t you? Man about my size, wasn’t he? Evening clothes? That’s his regulation