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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c20028 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51854 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51854) diff --git a/old/51854-8.txt b/old/51854-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5c5dd0e..0000000 --- a/old/51854-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10304 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rat Race, by Jay Franklin - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Rat Race - -Author: Jay Franklin - -Release Date: April 24, 2016 [EBook #51854] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAT RACE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - THE RAT RACE - - by JAY FRANKLIN - - The Astonishing Narrative of a Man Who Was Somebody - Else ... Mixed Up With Politics and Three Luscious Women! - - _A COMPLETE NOVEL_ - - GALAXY PUBLISHING CORP. - 421 HUDSON STREET - NEW YORK 14, N. Y. - - - GALAXY _Science Fiction_ Novels, selected by the editors of - GALAXY _Science Fiction_ Magazine, are the choice of science - fiction novels both published and original. This novel - has been slightly abridged for the sake of better pacing. - - GALAXY _Science Fiction_ Novel No. 10 - - _Copyright 1947 by Crowell-Collier Publishing Company_ - - _Copyright 1950 by John Franklin Carter_ - - _Reprinted by arrangement with the publishers_ - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - _by_ - THE GUINN COMPANY, INC. - NEW YORK 14, N. Y. - - [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any - evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - -"THE RAT RACE" - -By Jay Franklin - - -When an atomic explosion destroys the battleship Alaska, Lt. Commander -Frank Jacklin returns to consciousness in New York and is shocked to -find himself in the body of Winnie Tompkins, a dissolute stock-broker. -Unable to explain his real identity, Jacklin attempts to fit into -Tompkins' way of life. Complications develop when Jacklin gets -involved with Tompkins' wife, his red-haired mistress and his luscious -secretary. Three too many women for Jacklin to handle. -His foreknowledge of the Alaska sinking and other top secret -matters plunges him into a mad world of intrigue and excitement in -Washington--that place where anything can happen and does! Where is the -real Tompkins is a mystery explained in the smashing climax. - -Completely delightful, wholly provocative, the Rat Race is a striking -novel of the American Scene. - - - - -CHAPTER 1 - - -When the bomb exploded, U.S.S. Alaska, was steaming westward, under -complete radio silence, somewhere near the international date-line on -the Great Circle course south of the Aleutian Islands. - -It was either the second or the third of April, 1945, depending on -whether the Alaska, the latest light carrier to be added to American -naval forces in the Pacific, had passed the 180th meridian. - -I was in the carrier, in fact in the magazine, when the blast -occurred and I am the only person who can tell how and why the Alaska -disappeared without a trace in the Arctic waters west of Adak. I -had been assigned by Navy Public Relations to observe and report -on Operation Octopus--the plan to blow up the Jap naval base at -Paramushiro in Kuriles with the Navy's recently developed thorium bomb. - -My name, by the way, is Frank Jacklin, Lieutenant-Commander, U.S.N.R. -I had been commissioned shortly after Pearl Harbor, as a result of -my vigorous editorial crusade on the Hartford (Conn.) Courant to -Aid America by Defending the Allies. I was a life-long Republican -and a personal friend of Frank Knox, so I had no trouble with Navy -Intelligence in getting a reserve commission in the summer of 1940. -(I never told them that I had voted for Roosevelt twice, so I was -never subjected to the usual double-check by which the Navy kept its -officer-corps purged of subversive taints and doubtful loyalties.) So -I had a first-rate assignment, by the usual combination of boot-licking -and "yessing" which marks a good P.R.O. - -It was on the first night in Jap waters, after we had cleared the -radius of the Naval Air Station at Adak, that Professor Chalmis asked -me to accompany him to the magazine. He said that his orders were to -make effective disclosure of the mechanics of the thorium bomb as soon -as we were clear of the Aleutians. Incidentally, he, I and Alaska's -commander, Captain Horatio McAllister, U.S.N., were the only people -aboard who knew the real nature of Operation Octopus. The others had -been alerted, via latrine rumor, that we were engaged in a sneak-raid -on Hokkaido. - -The thorium bomb, Chalmis told me, had been developed by the Navy, -parallel to other hitherto unsuccessful experiments conducted by the -Army with uranium. The thorium bomb utilized atomic energy, on a -rather low and inefficient basis by scientific standards, but was yet -sufficiently explosive to destroy a whole city. He proposed to show me -the bomb itself, so that I could describe its physical appearance, and -to brief me on the mechanics of its detonation, leaving to the Navy -scientists at Washington a fuller report on the whole subject of atomic -weapons. He had passes, signed by Captain McAllister, to admit us to -the magazine and proposed, after supper, that we go to examine his -gadget. - -It was cold as professional charity on the flight-deck, with sleet -driving in from the northwest as the icy wind from Siberia hit the -moist air of the Japanese Current. There was a nasty cross-sea and the -Alaska was wallowing and pounding as she drove towards Paramushiro at a -steady 30 knots. - -"You know, Jacklin," said Chalmis, as the Marine sentry took our passes -and admitted us to the magazine, "I don't like this kind of thing." - -"You mean this war?" I asked, noticing irrelevantly the way the -electric light gleamed on his bald head. - -"I mean this thorium bomb," he replied. "I had most to do with -developing it and now in a couple of days one of these nice tanned -naval aviators at the mess will take off with it and drop it on -Paramushiro from an altitude of 30,000 feet. The timer is set to work -at an altitude of 500 feet and then two or three thousand human beings -will cease to exist." - -"The Japs aren't human," I observed, quoting the Navy. - -Chalmis looked at me in a strange, staring way. - -"Thank you, Commander," he said. "You have settled my problem. I was -in doubt as to whether to complete this operation in the name of -scientific inquiry, but now I see I have no choice. See this!" he -continued. - -"This" was a spherical, finned object of aluminum about the size of a -watermelon, resting on a gleaming chromium-steel cradle. - -"If I take this ring, Jacklin," Chalmis remarked, "and pull it out, -the bomb will explode within five seconds or at 500 feet altitude -whichever takes longer. The five seconds is to give the pilot a margin -of safety in case of accidental release at low altitude. However, -dropping it from 30,000 feet means that the five seconds elapse before -the bomb reaches the level at which it automatically explodes." - -"You make me nervous, Professor," I objected. "Can't you explain -without touching it?" - -"If it exploded now, approximately twenty-four feet below the -water-line," Chalmis continued, "it would create an earthquake wave -which could cause damage at Honolulu and would register on the -seismograph at Fordham University." - -"I'll take your word for it," I said. - -"So," concluded Chalmis, "if the bomb were to go off now, no one could -know what had happened to the Alaska and the Navy--as I know the -Navy--would decide that thorium bombs were impractical, too dangerous -to use. And so the human race might be spared a few more years of life." - -"Stop it!" I ordered, lunging forward and grabbing for his arm. - -But it was too late. Chalmis gave a strong pull on the ring. It came -free and a slight buzzing sound was heard above the whine of the -turbines and the thud of the seas against Alaska's bow. - -"You--" I began. Then I started counting: "Three--four--fi--".... - - * * * * * - -There was a hand on my shoulder and a voice that kept saying, "Snap -out of it!" I opened bleary eyes to see a familiar figure in uniform -bending over me. My head ached, my mouth tasted dry and metallic, and I -felt strangely heavy around the middle. - -"Hully, Ranty," I said. "Haven't seen you since Kwajalein. What's the -word? What happened to the Alaska?" - -Commander Tolan, U.S.N.R., who had been in my group in Quonset, -straightened up with a laugh. "When were you ever at Kwajalein, -Winnie?" he asked. "And what's the drip about the Alaska?" - -"You remember," I said. "That time we went into the Marshalls with the -Sara in forty-three. But what happened to my ship? There was a bomb.... -Say, where am I and what day is it anyway?" - -There was a burst of laughter from across the room and I turned my -head. I seemed to be sitting in a deep, leather arm-chair in a small, -nicely furnished bar, with sporting-prints on the wall and a group of -three clean-shaven, only slightly paunchy middle-aged men, who looked -like brokers, standing by the rail staring at me. Tolan was the only -man in uniform. These couldn't be doctors and what were civilians doing -in mess.... - -"We blew up!" I insisted. "Chalmis said...." - -"You've been dreaming, Winnie," drawled one of the brokerish trio. "You -were making horrible noises in your sleep so Ranty went over and woke -you up." - -"If you want to know where you are," remarked another, "you're in the -bar of the Pond Club on West 54th Street, as sure as your name is -Winfred S. Tompkins and this is April 2nd, 1945." - -"Winnie Tompkins!" I exclaimed. "Why I once knew him quite well. He and -I were at St. Mark's together, then he went to Harvard and Wall Street -while I went to Yale and broke, so we didn't see much of each other -after the depression." - -"It's a good gag, Winnie," Tolan laughed, "but now you've had your fun, -how about another drink?" - -I shook my head. "Listen, Ranty," I begged. "Tell me what happened. -I can take it. Are you dead? Are we all dead? Is this supposed to be -heaven? What's the word?" - -"That joke's played out," said Tolan. "Here, Tammy, another Scotch and -soda for Mr. Tompkins. A double one." - -Tompkins! My head ached. I stood up and walked across the room to study -my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Instead of my painfully -familiar freckled face and skinny frame, I saw a red, full jowled face -with bags beneath the watery blue eyes, set on a distinctly portly body -which was cleverly camouflaged as burliness by impeccable tweeds of the -kind specially made up in London for the American broker's trade. - -"I look like hell!" I muttered. "Well, tell me this, Ranty. What -happened to Frank Jacklin? Or is that part of the gag?" - -Tolan turned and stared at me with an official glitter in his Navy -(Reserve) eye. "Jacklin? He _was_ at Kwajalein with me, now that I -think of it. A skinny sort of s.o.b., wasn't he?" - -"I wouldn't say that," I hotly rejoined. "I thought he was a pretty -decent sort of guy. Where is he?" - -"Jacklin? Oh, he got another half-stripe last January and was given -some screw-ball assignment which took him out of touch. He'll turn up -sooner or later, without a scratch; those New Dealers always do." - -"Say," Tolan added. "You always did have a Jacklin fixation but you -never had a good word to say for the louse. What did he ever do to you, -anyhow? Ever since I've known you, you've always been griping about -him, specially since he got into uniform. Lay off, will you, and give -us honest hard-drinking guys a chance to get a breath. Period." - -I took my drink and sipped it attentively. Whatever had happened to me -since the thorium bomb burst off Adak, this was Scotch and it was cold, -so I doubted that this place was Hell. Probably it was all a dream in -the last split-second of disintegration. - -"Thanks, Ranty, that feels better. Now I've got to be going." - -"Winnie," drawled one of the brokers, "tell us who she is this time. -You ought to stop chasing at your age and blood-pressure or let your -friends in on the secret." - -"This time," I said, "I'm going home." - -The steward came around from the bar and helped me into a fine -fur-lined overcoat which I assumed was the lawful property of Winnie -Tompkins. - -"There were two telephone messages for you, sir, while you were -dozing," he said. - -"Who were they from, Tammy?" - -"The first one, sir, was from the vet's to say that Ponto--that would -be your dog, sir--would recover after all. He was the one that had -distemper so bad, wasn't it, sir? I remember you told me that he was -expected to die any minute. Well, now, the vet says he will recover. -The second call, sir, was from Mrs. Tompkins. She asked if you had left -for your home." - -"What did you tell her, Tammy?" I asked. - -"Why, what you told me, sir, of course, when you came in, sir. I said -that you hadn't been in all day, but that I would deliver any messages." - -Wait a minute, Jacklin, I said to myself. Let's figure this one out. We -were blown up on the Alaska, off the westernmost Aleutians, and now we -find ourselves at the Pond Club, in New York City, masquerading in the -flabby body of Winnie Tompkins. This must be Purgatory, since nobody -who has ever been there would call the Pond--or, as the initiates -prefer, the Puddle--either Heaven or Hell. This is one of those damned -puzzles designed to test our intelligence. My cue is to turn in the -best and most convincing performance as Winnie Tompkins, who has -undoubtedly been sent to Hell. If we pass, we'll be like the rats the -scientists send racing through mazes: we'll get the cheese and move -on up. If we flunk, we'll be sent down, as the English say. Ingenious -deity, the Manager! - -"Tammy," I said, "will you get me the latest Social Register?" - -"Certainly, sir." - -I sat down by the door and thumbed through the testament of social -acceptability as measured in Manhattan. There I was: Winfred S. -(Sturgis) Tompkins. Born, New York City, April 27, 1898. St. Mark's -School, Southboro, Mass., 1916. Harvard, A. B. 1920. Married: Miss -Germaine Lewis Schuyler, of New York City, 1936. Clubs: Porcellian, -Pond, Racquet, Harvard, Westchester Country. Residence: "Pook's Hill," -Bedford Hills, N.Y. Office: No. 1 Wall Street, N.Y.C. - -"Thanks, Tammy," I said and returned the register to him. - -Then I reached inside my coat and pulled out the well-stuffed -pocket-book I found inside the suave tweeds. It was of ostrich-hide -with W.S.T. in gold letters on it, and contained--in addition to some -junk which I didn't bother to examine--sixty-one dollars in small bills -and a new commutation-ticket between New York City and Bedford Hills, -N.Y. - -So far, so good. My sense of identity was building up rapidly. I felt -in my trousers' pocket and found a bunch of keys and about a dollar -and a half in silver. I peeled a five-dollar bill from the roll in the -pocket-book and handed it to the club steward. - -"This is for you, Tammy, and a happy Easter Monday to you. If anyone -calls, you haven't seen me all day." - -"Thank you very much, sir, I'm sure," he said, pocketing the five spot -with the effortless ease of a prestidigitator or head-waiter. - -I strolled out to the street--dusk was beginning to darken the city -and already there were lights burning in the office windows--and -walked across to the corner of Park Avenue. To my surprise, remembering -New York, there were few taxis and those were already occupied. After -about five minutes of vain waiting, I remembered reading somewhere -of the cab shortage in the United States, and walked south to Grand -Central. As I turned down Vanderbilt Avenue, I noticed something -fairly bulky in the pocket of my overcoat. I stopped and dragged out -two expensively tidy packages, with the Tiffany label on them. One was -inscribed "For Jimmie" and the other "For Virginia." - -This represented a new puzzle--perhaps a trap--so I paid a dime for -the use of one of the pay-toilets in the Terminal and unwrapped my -find. The one marked for "Jimmie"--who might be, I guessed, my wife -Germaine--was a neat little solid gold bracelet, the sort of thing you -give your eldest niece on graduation day. The one marked "Virginia" -contained a diamond-brooch of the kind all too rarely given to a girl -for any good reason. - -"Uh-uh!" I shook my head. Whoever "Virginia" might be, she was -obviously not my wife and the Social Register had not mentioned any -children, ex-wives or such appertaining to Winnie Tompkins. And you -don't give diamonds to your aged aunt or your mother-in-law. We can't -have Winnie start off his new life by palming off mere gold on his -wedded wife and diamonds on the Other Woman, I decided. So I switched -the labels on the packages and returned to circulation in time to -catch the 4:45 Westchester Express. - - * * * * * - -Here, I resorted to a low subterfuge. Instead of the broker's bible, -"The New York Sun," with its dim view of all that had happened to the -commuting public since 1932, I was coward enough to disguise myself by -buying a copy of "P.M." in order to lessen the risk of being recognized -by fellow-passengers whom I certainly would not know by sight. I buried -my face in that spirited journal, with its dim view of all that had -ever happened outside the Soviet Union, as I slunk past the Club Car, -and did not fully emerge from its gallant defense of the Negro and the -Jew until I was in the smoker, directly behind the baggage compartment. -The train was fairly crowded but I was able to find a seat far forward -where few passengers could see my face. I decided that my strategy had -been sound when the conductor, on punching my ticket, remarked: "See -you're not using the Club Car today, Mr. Tompkins. Shall I tell Mr. -Snyder not to wait for you for gin rummy?" - -"Don't tell him a thing, please," I begged. "I'm feeling done in--a -friend of mine was just killed in the Pacific--and I don't want to be -bothered." - -He clucked consolingly and passed on. I was lucky enough to reach -Bedford Hills without other encounters and walked along the darkened -platform until I spied a taxicab. - -"Can you drive me out to my place?" I asked the driver. - -"Sure, Mr. Tompkins. Glad to," he replied. "Goin' to leave your coop -down here?" - -I nodded. "Yep. I'm too damned tired to drive home. Got any other -passengers?" - -"Only a couple of maids from the Milgrim place," he said, "but we can -drop you first and let them off afterwards if you're feelin' low." - -"Hell, no!" I insisted. "This is a free country--first come first -served. You can drive me on to Pook's Hill after you've left them at -the Milgrim's. Perhaps they'd get in trouble if they were delayed." - -The driver looked surprised and rather relieved. - -"Haven't heard of any employers firin' maids in these parts since -Wilkie was a candidate," he said. - -I climbed into the cab, across the rather shapely legs and domestic -laps of two attractive-looking girls who murmured vaguely at me and -then resumed a discussion of the awful cost of hair-do's. I felt -rather pleased with myself. I seemed to have won at least one man's -approval in the opening stages of my celestial rat-race. Now for my -first meeting with the woman whom I had married nearly ten years ago, -according to the Social Register. Surely she would recognize that there -was something radically wrong with her husband before I had been five -minutes at Pook's Hill. Why! I wouldn't know where the lavatory was, -let alone her bedroom, and what should I call the maid who answered the -door, assuming we had a maid? - - - - -CHAPTER 2 - - -A pretty, dark-haired maid opened the door of "Pook's Hill" with a -twitch of the hip that was wasted on Bedford Hills. - -"Oh, it's you!" She remarked conversationally. "Shall I tell Mrs. -Tompkins you are here?" - -"And why not?" I asked. - -She looked at me slant-eyed. "Why not, sir? She must have forgotten to -eat an apple this morning. That's why." - -"Where shall I dump my hat and coat, Mary?" I asked guessing wildly at -her name. Suburban maids were named Mary as often as not. - -"The name is Myrtle, Mr. Tompkins," she replied, and did not bother to -add the "as well you know" she implied. - -"From now on, Myrtle, you shall be Mary so far as I am concerned. And -where, Mary, shall I leave my hat and coat?" - -"In the den, sir, of course. Come, I'll lend a hand. You've been -drinking again." - -The girl moved quite close to me, in helping me off with my things and -it was only by a distinct effort of will that I refrained from giving -that provocative hip the tweak it so openly invited. - -"This way, Mr. Tompkins," she said sarcastically, so I rewarded her -with a half-hearted smack which brought the requisite "Oh!"--you never -can tell when you will need a friend below stairs and it was obvious -that Winnie, the dog! had been trifling with her young buttocks if not -her affections. That sort of thing must stop, if I was going to get -anywhere in my run through the maze. Too abrupt a change in the manners -and morals of Winfred Tompkins, however, might arouse suspicion. - -"Any news today, Mary?" I asked. - -"Nothing, sir. The kennels telephoned to say that Ponto had made a -miraculous recovery and could come home tomorrow. I had them send word -to the Club to tell you. And Mrs. Tompkins, as I said, forgot to eat -her apple." - -I looked at her. This was a cue. I mustn't miss it. - -"And the doctor didn't keep away?" I asked. - -"Him? I should say not! Mrs. Tompkins felt quite unsettled right after -lunch and phoned Dr. Rutherford to come over. He's with her now, -upstairs, giving her an examination." She rolled her eyes significantly -in the direction of the second story. - -"Wait a few minutes till I catch my breath and get my bearings, Mary," -I said, "and then tell Mrs. Tompkins most discreetly, if you know what -I mean, that I have returned and am waiting in my--" I waved vaguely at -the room. - -"In your den, sir," she agreed. "The name is Myrtle." - -The den was one of those things I have never attained, perhaps because -I never wanted to. There was a field-stone fireplace, over which the -antlered head of a small stag presided with four upturned feet--like a -calf in a butcher shop--that held two well dusted shotguns. The walls -were lined with books up to a dado--books in sets, with red morocco and -gilt bindings: Dickens, Thackeray, Surtees, Robert Louis Stevenson, -Dumas, Balzac and similar standard authors--all highly respectable and -mostly unread. On the table, beside a humidor and cigarette cases, was -a formidable array of unused pipes. Above the shelves, the walls were -adorned with etchings of ducks: ducks sitting, ducks swimming, ducks -nesting, ducks flying and ducks hanging dead. It was as though Winnie's -conscience or attorney had advised him: "You can't go wrong on ducks, -old boy!" Instead, he had gone wild. - -In one corner of the den my unregenerate Navy eye discerned a -small portable bar, with gleaming glasses, decanters and syphons. -Further investigation was rewarded by the makings of a very fair -Scotch-and-soda. To my annoyance, the cigarette box contained only de -luxe Benson & Hedges--it would!--while I am a sucker for Tareytons. -Still, any cigarette is better than no cigarette. A little mooching -around the fireplace revealed the switch which turned on an electric -fire, ingeniously contrived to represent an expensive Manhattan -architect's idea of smouldering peat. The whole effect was very cosy in -the "Town and Country" sense--a gentleman's gun-room--and I had settled -down most comfortably on the broad leather divan in front of this -synthetic blaze when I was interrupted by an angry, tenor voice. - -"I say, Tompkins," soared the voice. "I thought we had agreed to be -civilized about this thing." - -I raised my head to see a lean, dark-haired, dapper little man, with -a dinky little British Raj mustache and a faint odor of antiseptics, -glaring at me from the doorway. - -"Dr. Rutherford, I presume!" I remarked. - -"Yes, Winnie," came a pleasant but irritated womanly voice from -somewhere behind the doctor, "and I too would like to know what this -means." - -"Is that you, Jimmie?" I guessed. - -"Of course it's me! Who else did you expect? One of those flashy -blondes from your office?" - -"Sh!" shushed the doctor reprovingly. "What about Virginia? What have -you done with her?" - -This required serious thought. The glass of Scotch was a good alibi for -amnesia. "To whom do you refer?" I asked, putting a slight thickness -into my voice. - -"To Virginia, my wife!" he snapped. "We agreed--it was understood -between the four of us--" - -I shook my head virtuously. "I haven't set eyes on her all day," I -said. "I don't know where she is and I refuse to be held responsible -for her in any particular. She's your look-out, not mine." - -"Why, you!--" The doctor started forward, menacing me with his surgical -little fists. - -"Wait a minute, Jerry," the contralto voice ordered. "Let me handle -this!" - -Germaine Tompkins stepped forward into the room and stood in the -flickering light of the electric peat. "Tell me, Winnie," she asked, -"has anything gone wrong?" - -My wife was a tall, slim girl, with dark eyes, dark hair parted sleekly -in the 1860 style, and a cool, slender neck. She was wearing something -low-cut in black velvet, with a white cameo brooch at the "V" of a -bodice which suggested a potentially undemure Quakeress. I noticed that -she had angry eyes, a sulky mouth and a puzzled expression. - -"I'm sorry, Jimmie," I replied, after a good look at her, "but I have -decided that I simply couldn't go through with it." - -"Do you mean to say--" Dr. Rutherford began, only to be hushed by -Germaine. "Let me handle him, Jerry," she whispered. "You'd better go. -He's tight. I'll phone you in the morning." - -"All right, if you say so, dear," the doctor obeyed. - -"And be sure to send me a bill for this call," I added. "Professional -services and what-not. And don't come back to my house without my -personal invitation." - -Dr. Rutherford emitted a muttered comment and disappeared into the -gloom of the hall. My wife followed him and I could hear a series of -confused and comforting whispers sending him on his way. I had finished -my Scotch and poured myself another before my wife rejoined me. - -"Have a drink?" I asked. - -"No thank you!" she snapped. - -"Mad at me?" - -"What do you think?" Her tone was cool enough to freeze lava. - -"You have every right to be!" That answer, I had found by experience, -was unanswerable. - -"What do you mean?" she asked in some bewilderment. "Yes, thanks, I -will have a drink after all. You see, Winnie, after we had talked it -all over the other night after the Bond Rally Dance and realized how we -felt about it all, the four of us decided to be--well--civilized about -things. And now--" - -"I don't feel civilized about my wife," I said, pouring her a stiff one. - -Her eyes glittered and her cheek was tinged with color. In spite of -her anger, she responded to the idea of male brutes contesting for her -favor. - -"I didn't think you cared a damn," she said at last, "and it's pretty -late in the day to make a change now. After all, there is Virginia." - -That was the cue to clinch the situation. "To hell with Virginia!" I -announced. "I'd rather live with you as your friend than sleep with la -Rutherford in ten thousand beds. I can't help it," I added boyishly. - -She leaned forward and sniffed. "You _have_ been drinking, haven't -you?" she remarked. - -"Of course I have! Today, in town, I suddenly realized what a damn -fool I'd been to throw away something really fine for something very -second-rate. So I drank. Too much. And the more I drank the more I knew -that I was right and that it was here where I belong, with you. If you -don't want me to stay, I'll go over to the Country Club for the night. -I'll even phone Jerry Rutherford for you--him and his moustache--but -I'm damned if I'll go running back to Virginia. She's not pukka!" -("How'm I doing?" I added silently for the benefit of the Master of -Ceremonies.) - -"Well--" she said, after a long pause. "Perhaps--It's so mixed -up--Perhaps you'd better go to bed here and we can talk it over in the -morning. All of us." - -I shook my head. "I don't want to hold any more mass-meetings on the -state of our mutual affections. If you want that tenor tonsil-snatcher, -you're welcome to him but I'm damned if I'll be a good sport about -it. If you insist, I'll buy you a divorce, but I won't marry -Virginia--that's final!" - -Germaine's face relaxed. She smiled. "We'll see how things look to you -in the morning," she said. - -Now was the time to play the trump card. - -"Oh yes," I said. "I brought home a present for you." - -I walked over to the hanger in the corner and pulled the Tiffany -packages from my overcoat pocket. - -"Here you are, Jimmie Tompkins," I said, "with all my alleged love." - -"Alleged is right!" But she picked eagerly at the wrappings and swiftly -ferreted out the diamond brooch. "Why, Winnie, it's lovely--" she -began, then whirled on me, her eyes blazing. "Is this a joke?" she -demanded. - -"Of course not! What's the matter?" - -Her laugh was wild. "Oh, nothing, Winnie. Nothing at all. It's just -that you should have decided to give _me_--on _her_ birthday--a brooch -with her initials in diamonds. See them! V.M.R." - -So that's the catch, I thought. I should have guessed there would be -something wrong with the set-up and I kicked myself for not having -bothered to trace out the monogram. - -"Don't you see what I mean," I grated, "or must I spell it out for you? -Some time back, when we were considering all this civilized swapping -of husbands and wives, I put in the order at Tiffany's for Virginia's -birthday present. Today, when I picked it up, the clerk smirked at -me--he knows your initials don't begin with V--and I suddenly knew I -couldn't go ahead with the whole business. So I brought the brooch back -to you as a trophy, if you want it. You can do what you like about it. -It's yours. You see, Jimmie," I added, "that's the way things are. I'm -burning all my bridges." - -"Oh!" she said. Then after a long pause, she added, "Ah!" - -"I don't think," she remarked, after another pause, "that I'll want to -keep this and I'm far too fond of Virginia Rutherford to humiliate her. -I think I'll just take this back to Tiffany's and get something else." - -So I had led trumps. - -"Here's something else to be going on with," I told her. "I got this -for you, anyhow, win, lose or draw"--and I produced the gold bracelet. -"I thought it would go with that dress and your cameo and--if you still -want to wear it--your wedding ring." - -She cast quick glances from side to side, like a bird that suspects a -snare. - -"It's good," she sighed. "Winnie, it's so good. I guess...." - -There was a knock at the door. It was Myrtle-Mary. - -"Will the master be staying for dinner, Mrs. Tompkins?" she asked. - -"Of course I will, Mary," I said. "Is there enough to eat?" - -"I'll see, sir," she replied in a manner which was practically an -insult to us both. - -"And keep a civil tongue in your head," I added. - -She handed it back to me. "And keep your hands to yourself, sir," she -said as she closed the door. - -"Winnie." It was Jimmie's hand restraining me, as I started up. - -"Let her go!" I said at last. "It's my fault, I guess. I haven't been -happy and I did make a few passes. From now on, I'll try to be a bit -more decent and livable. God knows I have plenty to be ashamed of, but -nothing disgraceful ... I hope." - -"So do I," my wife began. "If you...." - -The telephone rang. - -She picked up the receiver and listened for a moment, frowning. - -"Yes, he's here," she said, passing me the instrument. - -"It's for you," she observed. "It's Virginia calling from New York and -she sounds _most_ annoyed." - - - - -CHAPTER 3 - - -"Winnie!" The voice that crackled at me over the wire had all the -implacable tenderness of a woman who has you in the wrong. - -"Yes, dear!" I answered automatically, with a passing thought for my -own lost Dorothy, marooned in Washington with a job in the O.S.S. - -"What _is_ the matter?" the voice continued, in its litany of angry -possessiveness. "What on _earth_ happened to you? I've been waiting for -you since three o'clock." - -"Where have you been waiting?" - -"_Here_--of course. In our place. In New York. _Winnie, what's wrong?_" - -Not a pleasant spot to be in, even if it was only part of a trial-run -in purgatory. - -"It's a bit too hard to explain, Virginia," I said, "but something came -up and I don't think I can go through with it. In fact, I know I can't -go through with it." - -There was one of those pauses which make a whole life-time seem like a -split-second. - -"Something came up!" The voice, now a pantherish contralto, purred -dangerously. "Something went down, you mean. You see, Winnie, I've been -talking to your friends. Johnny Walker, Black Label, that's what went -down. At the Pond Club. Tommy Morgan told me all about it. You went to -the Pond, had too much to drink, woke up about four o'clock--one whole -hour after you had promised to meet me--and woke up talking wildly -and then staggered out. Now I find you're back in Bedford Hills, and -it--it's my birthday--" The voice ended in a choke which might have been -a sob or a paroxysm of feminine fury. - -I summoned the old voice of authority, as inculcated at Quonset, -into the well-tanned vocal chords of Winfred Tompkins. "Virginia," I -commanded, "just stop making a fool of yourself. I'm sorry I stood you -up but things have been happening. I just can't go through with it. -I'll explain when I see you." - -"You'd better!" And the slam of the receiver left my ears ringing. - -When I turned around, my wife was smiling, with a glint in her eye -which was far from sympathetic. - -"Poor Winnie!" she observed. "You'd better stick to your office -stenographers and not go picking up red-headed married women in -Westchester. You haven't got a chance." - -I refilled my glass and hers, in that order--a husbandly gesture which -put me, I felt, on a solid married basis for the moment. - -"Jimmie," I announced. "I don't need to tell you that I'm an awful -heel. Now that we've got the wraps off I wish you'd tell me what you -really think of me and Virginia." - -Mrs. Tompkins' nostrils flickered slightly. "I never cared for bulging -red-heads myself," she said. "When she was at Miss Spence's we called -her Virgin for short, but not for long. There never was a thing in -pants, up to and including scarecrows, that she wouldn't carry the -torch for. When she married Jerry Rutherford it was a great relief to -her relatives. She had no friends." - -"A very succinct summary, for all that it should be written in letters -of fire," I remarked. "And now what do you think of me?" - -She took a long sip of her drink and leaned forward. "You're fat, soft -and spoiled, Winnie, physically, mentally and morally," she began, "and -you know it. If you weren't so stinking rich you'd--well, I don't know. -There's something about you that's--Well, after you bought me from my -parents, I wanted to kill myself and then I sized you up. There's no -real harm in you, Winnie, it's not hard to like you, but you never were -love's young dream." - -"What you say is absolutely on the beam," I admitted. "But while -we're on the subject I wouldn't call Jerry Rutherford the answer to a -maiden's prayer. That Hollywood doctor type with the swank suburban -practice and the soft bedroom manner gets me down. He has only three -ideas in the world and all of them begin with 'I'. After the first -antiseptic raptures you'd have nothing in common but your appendix and -he'd want to get away with that--for a consideration." - -Jimmie giggled. "You forget that he already has it," she said. "That's -how I was first attracted to him, under the ether cone. I was sick as a -dog and he held my hand and told me I was being very brave." - -"And sent the hell of a bill to me," I added. - -"Well," she asked, after a pause. "What do you really think of me?" - -"I think, Jimmie, that you're lonely, bored and unhappy. All three are -my fault but they are driving you to make a fool of yourself. Nobody -has tried to understand you"--which is catnip for any person of either -sex, once you get them talking about themselves--"least of all your -husband. You need what other women need--children, a home...." - -"If this is a build-up for obstetrics, the answer is 'No!'" she snapped -angrily. - -"Skip it!" I urged. "I'm telling you the truth, not making a pass at -you. We can talk some more about you in the morning. In the meantime, I -think I'll turn in. I'm very tired, a little tight and I've had a lousy -day." - -She flashed me a curious look. "Go on up, Winnie," she said. "I'll put -these things away. You'll need your strength for the morning, if I know -Virginia Rutherford." - -Guided by luck and the smell of pipe tobacco, I found what was -obviously the Master's Room--with a weird amalgam of etchings of ducks -and nude girls, including one Zorn, and all the gadgets for making -sleep as complicated as driving an automobile. - -I was awakened in the morning by a hand on my shoulder. It was -Mary-Myrtle. - -"You'd better get up and put on your pyjamas and dressing gown," she -remarked conversationally. "Dr. Rutherford is downstairs and Mrs. -Rutherford is talking with Mrs. Tompkins in her bedroom." - -"Stormy weather?" - -"I'll say so--and see here--" she began. - -"Sit down, Mary!" I ordered. - -She subsided on the edge of the bed and looked at me rebelliously. - -"From now on, Mary," I announced, "things are going to be different -around here. I won't refer to what is past, because you're old enough -to know what you're doing and so am I. If you want to stay on and -really help me through a hard time, I'll double your wages. If you'd -rather go--and I wouldn't blame you--I'll pay you six months wages in -advance and you can clear out. But I can't be worried about you and -your feelings when I have a big problem to clean up here. Will you go -or stay?" - -The girl thought for a moment, then rose, straightened her apron and -gave me the first friendly smile I had received, since my arrival from -the Aleutians. - -"I'll stay, Mr. Tompkins," she said. "And here's a pick-me-up I mixed -for you. Better drink it before you see the Rutherfords." - -"Okay!" And I drank it and it worked its beneficent will upon me. "Now -I'll go and kill Dr. Rutherford, if you'll toss me my flit-gun and, -thanks!" - -Dr. Rutherford was pacing, with surgical precision, up and down my den. -He looked slightly more self-possessed than the day before and seemed -to be in excellent physical condition. I guessed at the contour beneath -my wadded black silk dressing gown and re-considered my original -plan to throw him bodily out of the house for having come without my -invitation. - -"See here, Tompkins," he said briskly. "We're both men of the world, I -hope. Things can't go on like this. I was up all night with Virginia. -You're not behaving at all well, you know, old man." - -I sat down in the corner of the leather lounge and looked up at him--a -move which gave me a slight advantage of position in dealing with the -higher emotions. - -"Let's not mince words, Jerry," I said. "Suppose you just state frankly -what you think we should do." - -"Germaine loves me and does not love you," Rutherford stated crisply. -"You love Virginia and she loves you. None of us wish a divorce. Hang -it all, Winnie, we're civilized. These things happen, you know, and we -might just as well face them. We agreed that the four of us should do -as we liked, and no hard feelings." - -I sighed. "Jerry," I said. "What you say was true as of yesterday noon -but if these things can happen, they can also un-happen. Whatever you -and my wife decide to do is your own affair but I'm damned if I intend -to allow her to use my home as a place of assignation and I'm damned -if I'll let her become the subject of gossip. So far as Virginia is -concerned, whether or not she is in love with me, I'm no longer in love -with her and I'm damned if I'll play gigolo to spare the feelings of a -bulging red-head who carries the torch for anything in trousers, up to -and including scarecrows--myself included." - -"I can't allow you to talk that way about my wife, Tompkins. It's -rotten bad form and anyhow we both know that people are the way their -glands make them and nothing can be done about it." - -"Here, have a drink!" I suggested. "This is all under the seal of a -confessional. I'm not quarreling with you. I'm consulting you. I don't -love Virginia and I don't believe I ever did. If you wish to wriggle -out of your marriage, that's your affair." - -"And it's yours, too, ever since that night at the War Bond Ball," he -said. "Don't forget that I caught you--" - -"Rutherford," I replied. "As a medical man you have surely seen far -worse than that. You can't sue me for alienation of affections, because -all Bedford Hills is aware of Virginia's glands and because it wouldn't -help your practice. For the rest, I'm willing to listen to anything as -a way out of this mess." - -He paused in his precise pacing. "The four of us will have to talk it -over," he said, "as soon as I have that drink you offered me." - -"Okay," I agreed. "The girls are in Jimmie's bedroom. Perhaps you know -the way better than I do. I'll follow your lead." - -Germaine was propped up in a frilly four-poster bed amid a wallow of -small satin cushions. I barely had time to notice that she was wearing -a rather filmy night gown, when I turned to reap the whirl-wind in the -form of five foot six of red-haired determination and curves. - -"Now, Winnie," she commanded. "What's all this _nonsense_?" - -I caught a tell-tale glimpse of uncharitable diamonds at my wife's -breast and hastily averted my eyes from the monogram. - -"Virginia," I replied, "There's nothing wrong. Nothing at all. It was -just that yesterday I realized that I couldn't go through with it. I -don't pretend to be moral but I won't go in for mixed-doubles at my -age. It's undignified." - -"What!" Mrs. Rutherford's mouth hung open in amazement. - -"Only this, Virginia. Whatever I have been in the past, I'm going to -try to be different in the future. I know it's hard on you but--" - -The red-head laughed like tumbrils rolling to the guillotine. "Nothing -to what a breach of promise suit would be to you, Winnie dear. Don't -forget I have your letters." - -"Now we're getting somewhere," I remarked. "How much?" - -"Winnie!" my wife gasped. "It's blackmail!" - -"Of course it's blackmail," I agreed, "and there are times when it's -wiser to pay than to fight. This is not one of them. Virginia, I'm not -interested in buying back those letters. Save them for a rainy day. I'm -going to settle with your husband. How about it, Jerry?" - -"You swine!" Mrs. Rutherford was going definitely Grade-B in the -pinches. "Do you think that you can drive a wedge between me and my -husband?" - -"No, my wife has already done that for me. He loves her and he tells me -that she loves him. I've told him that they're welcome to a divorce but -I won't have my house used for any hanky-panky and won't have people -gossip about Germaine. They can make up their minds what they want to -do about it." - -"You were saying downstairs, Tompkins," the doctor hastily -interrupted, "that you would listen to any reasonable offer." - -"Check! What's your price?" - -"I want out," said Dr. Rutherford. "Lend me the value of a year's -practice--fifteen thousand would cover it--and I'll get in a substitute -and take a crack at the Army Medical Corps. They've been after me for a -couple of years." - -"Done!" I said, "and if you like I'll have the bank dole it out to -Virginia while you're gone, so she won't use it up too fast." - -"What about me?" asked my wife. "I thought Jerry said he loved me." - -"What's _your_ price?" I asked. - -Germaine yawned and the shoulder strap of her gown slipped -indiscreetly. "Since nobody seems to want me," she declared, "I'm going -to stick around and see the fun. I wouldn't miss the sight of Winnie -Tompkins trying to lead a changed life for all the doctors in the -Medical Corps." - -"Me too!" spat out Mrs. Rutherford. "There's something pretty -mysterious going on here and I'm going to stay until I learn all the -answers." - -There was a tap at the bedroom door and Myrtle appeared, pulling two -neatly set breakfast trays on a rubber-tired mahogany tea-wagon. - -"I thought you would rather have your breakfast upstairs with the -Master, mam," she remarked primly, in a far too English country-house -manner. "Breakfast is waiting for Dr. and Mrs. Rutherford in the -dining-room," she added. - -And as she bent over the table and began to straighten out the -breakfast things, the girl had the impudence to slip me a wink. - - - - -CHAPTER 4 - - -After a pleasant breakfast, in the course of which my wife read the -social news in the New York Herald-Tribune and I the business news -in the New York Times, I excused myself and returned to my bedroom. -Winnie's bathroom was fitted with all the gadgets, too, and there was -an abundant choice of razors, from the old-fashioned straight-edge -suicide's favorite to the 1941 stream-lined electric Yankee clipper. -I tried out the scales and found that my involuntary host weighed -over 195 pounds--a good deal of it around the middle. Oh, well, a few -weeks of setting up exercises would take care of that. A cold shower -and a brisk rub made me feel a little more presentable and I climbed -shamelessly into Winnie's most manly tweeds. - -"Are you catching the ten o'clock, dear?" Germaine called from her -bedroom. - -"No such luck!" I warned her. "Phone the office, will you, and tell -them I'm feeling under the weather and won't be in till sometime -tomorrow." - -This seemed like a good chance to do some exploring--since the -Rutherfords had temporarily abandoned the field--though I needn't have -bothered since I had seen photographs of suburban houses like Pook's -Hill in a score of different slick-paper pre-war magazines. There was -the inevitable colonial-type dining-room, with dark wainscoting below -smooth oyster-white plaster, electric candle-sconces, and the necessary -array of family silver on the antiqued mahogany sideboard. The windows -gave a vista of brown lawn, with the grass still blasted by winter. -There was the inevitable chintzy living-room, with a permanently -unemployed grand-piano, two or three safely second-rate paintings by -safely first-rate defunct foreigners. There was the usual array of -sofas, easy chairs, small, middle-sized and biggish tables, with lots -of china ash-trays, and a sizable wood-burning fireplace. Of course, -you entered the living-room by two steps down from the front hall and -there was a separate up-two-steps-entrance to my den. And sure as death -and taxes, there was a veritable downstairs lavatory. - -I slipped on my coat and hat and stepped out through a French window -which led from the living-room to the inevitable paved stone terrace. -There were galvanized iron fittings for a summer awning and in the -center was a cute little bronze sun-dial. This had an exclamation point -and the inscription, "Over the Yard-Arm" at the place where noon should -be, and a bronze cocktail glass instead of the sign for four p.m. All -the way around the rest of the circle was written in heavy embossed -capitals, "The Hell With It!" - -My meditations on this facet of the Tompkins character--and I wondered -whether I oughtn't to spell 'facet' with a u'--were interrupted by -Myrtle. - -"Oh, Mr. Tompkins," she called from the kitchen window, in complete -repudiation of her earlier appearance as Watson, third lady's maid at -Barony Castle, "the man from the kennels is here with Ponto. Where -shall I tell him to take the dog?" - -I hurried back indoors--there was still a chill in the air and I really -prefer my trees with their clothes on--and found a gnarled little man -who reeked of saddle-soap and servility. - -"Well, sir, Mr. Tompkins," he beamed the Old Retainer at me. "That -dog of yours had a close call, a mighty close call. Thought he was a -sure-enough goner. Tried everything: injections, oxygen, iron lung, -enema. No dice. Then yesterday afternoon he just lay down and went to -sleep and I thought, 'My! Won't Mr. Tompkins feel bad!' But he woke -up, large as life and twice as natural, and began carrying on so that -I guess he wanted to come home to his folks. He's a mite weak, Mr. -Tompkins, very weak I might say, but he'll get well quicker here than -at my place and I'll pop in every other day to keep track of him. Never -did see anything like the recovery that dog made in all my born days. -Now about his bowels--" - -I waited until he had to draw a breath and made swift to congratulate -him on his professional skill. "I wouldn't have lost Ponto for a -thousand dollars," I said. "Let's get him out of your car and up in my -bedroom," I added. "He's been like a member of the family and--" - -A series of deep bass backs interrupted me, followed by ominous -sounds of a heavy body hurling itself recklessly around inside a small -enclosed space. - -"There!" said the vet. "He recognized your voice. Come on, Ponto. I'll -fetch you. He's pretty weak, Mr. Tompkins, but he'll get strong fast if -you feed him right." - -The vet twinkled out the front door and returned shortly, leading a -perfectly enormous coal-black Great Dane on a plaited leather leash. -Ponto did not look very weak to me, but I've always been fond of dogs -and I figured that kindness to animals might count in my favor. "Good -dog," I condescended. "Poor old fellow!" - -The poor old fellow gave a low but hungry growl and lunged for me with -bared teeth, dragging the vet behind him like a dory behind a fishing -schooner. I jumped into the den and slammed the door, while Ponto -sniffed, snapped and grumbled on the far side of my defenses. - -"Tell you what, doctor," I called through the panels. "Take him -upstairs and put him in my room. It's the one to the right at the head -of the stairs. He's just excited. Shut him in and as soon as he's -calmed down I'll make him comfortable." - -While this rather cowardly solution was being put into effect, I sat -down and thought it over. Apparently Winnie had been the kind of man -whose pet dog tried to rip his throat out. That was puzzling, since -from what I remembered of him at school, he had if anything been -only too amiable. I waited out the vet's last-minute report and -instructions, and then rang the bell for the maid. - -"Mary," I said, "will you help the doctor with his hat and coat and -then take Ponto a bowl of water. The poor old fellow's had a rough -time." - -The vet departed and I listened while the maid went upstairs. Then -there was a scream, the crash of breaking china and the sound of a door -being slammed. I bounded up the steps to find Mary, white-faced and -trembling, looking stupidly at the broken remains of a white china bowl -and a sizeable puddle of water on the hardwood floor outside my bedroom. - -The door of my wife's room burst open and Jimmie appeared with a wild -"What on earth!" - -"It's that dog, sir," gasped Myrtle. "When I come--came--in with the -bowl of water like you said, there he was lying on--on--your bed, like -a Human, and--and--" - -"And what?" I demanded. - -"And he was wearing your pyjamas, sir," she sobbed. "It's--it's--" - -"Uncanny," Germaine supplied the word. - -I gave a hollow laugh. "He probably remembers that he isn't allowed to -lie on the beds, Mary, and may have dragged my pyjamas up there to lie -on. Whenever I let him up on the furniture I always make him lie on -some of my clothes." - -"Oh," Myrtle said, suddenly calm. "Is that it? It was just that it -looked sort of queer to see his legs in the pyjama trousers." - -"Well, don't worry about it now, Myrtle," my wife remarked firmly. -"I'm not surprised it gave you a shock. He's such a big dog. I'll go in -and see that he's comfortable. Come on, Winnie! Let's take a look at -him. What's the matter?" she added, noticing a certain reluctance in my -attitude. - -"Nothing much," I martyrized. "It's only that he flew for my throat -when he got inside the door." - -"Nonsense!" she replied in the firm tone of a woman who knows better -and who, in any case, expects her husband not to be afraid of a mere -infuriated Great Dane. "You know Ponto always puts his paws on your -shoulders and licks your face every morning, as you taught him." - -My rollicking laughter was a work of art. "Of course, that was it," I -agreed, "and he'd been away from us so long that he was over-eager. -Come on, let's see if we can't make the poor beast comfortable." - -But I let her lead the way. - -The poor beast was lying panting on my still unmade bed. The flowered -Chinese silk pyjamas which I had worn at breakfast were indeed -strangely twisted around its gaunt body. The coat was across the -animal's shoulders and both of its hind-legs were sticking through one -of the trouser-legs. - -"There! Ponto! Poor old fellow!" cooed Jimmie in a voice which would -have charmed snails from their shells. - -Ponto gave a self-pitying whine and his tail thumped the pillow like -an overseer's whip across the back of Uncle Tom. My wife patted -the animal's head and Ponto positively drooled at her. She gently -disentangled him from among the pyjamas and hung them up in the closet. -As she turned toward the bed, he jumped to the floor, reared up, put -both paws on her shoulders and licked her face convulsively, giving -little whines and shiverings. - -"Poor old fellow, poor old Ponto!" she crooned. "Was he glad to get -home from the nasty old kennel? There!" And she massaged his ears. -"Come on now, Ponto," she remarked more authoritatively, "say good -morning to your master." - -The answer was a grand diapason of a growl and the baring of a thicket -of gleaming white fangs in my direction. - -"Ponto!" she ordered, as the beast positively cringed. "Say good -morning to the master!" - -He slumped to the floor with the grace of a pole-axed calf and -approached me slowly, ears back, hair bristling and teeth in evidence. - -"Ponto!" Germaine's cry was positively totalitarian but the dog lunged -at me and I barely had time to close the door in its face. - -A few minutes later, Germaine emerged looking bewildered. "I've never -known him to behave like this," she said. "I don't like it. It's always -been you he was so fond of and he barely tolerated me. Now he seems all -mixed-up. After you left, he calmed right down and came back and licked -my face all over again. What do you suppose is wrong with him. Can it -be fits?" - -I shook my head. "He doesn't act like fits," I said. "He's had a bad -go of distemper and is probably suffering from shock. Dogs do get -shock, you know. I remember in Psychology at Harvard they told us about -a very intelligent St. Bernard dog which was shocked into complete -hysteria by the supernatural. That is, they pulled a lamb chop across -the floor by a thread concealed in a crack between the boards. The dog -nearly had heart failure when he saw a chop moving by itself." - -"But what can we do?" she asked. "Let's send him back to the kennels -until he's cured." - -"Nope! From what Dr. Whatsisname--" - -"Dalrymple." - -"From what Dalrymple said, he'd started acting up at the kennels and -he--the vet, that is--thought Ponto would be better off at home." - -"But we can't have him going for you every time you use your room." - -"Then I won't use it. I'll sleep in the guest-room," I added swiftly, -lest she leap to feminine conclusions. "You might take him another bowl -of water--he's all right with you--and spread the New York Times on -the floor--and a damned good use for it--and bring out my clothes and -things. He seems to have quite a leech for you and we'll just leave him -there to think things over by himself." - -"How about his food?" she asked. "Shouldn't he have a special diet?" - -"No. I'll let him go hungry for a day or so. So long as he has plenty -of water it won't hurt him. Then when he's weak enough so as not to -be dangerous I'll bring him some nice dog-biscuits and warm milk and -he'll learn to love me the best way, by the alimentary canal." - -She looked at me closely, "You _do_ look rocky," she said. "You've had -a shock, too. Hadn't I better call the doctor?" - -I shook my head. "No more doctors, please. I'm out of condition, I -guess, and all this dodging Great Danes is hard on the nerves. I'll go -down and mix myself a brandy-and-soda. You might join me when you've -moved my things upstairs. We've got to talk over a lot of things." - -When I finally managed to settle down in my den with a stiff drink I -felt besieged, bewildered and backed up against the wall. There could -be no reasonable doubt about it--_the dog knew_! Ponto knew that I was -an interloper, that the real Winnie Tompkins no longer existed, that a -stranger was masquerading in his body and clothes. The uncanny instinct -of a dog had led him to the truth when even Winnie's wife had been -deceived. - -This was a new twist in the maze. I couldn't imagine the Master of -the Rat-Race watching with scientific detachment to see whether Frank -Jacklin would make it or would be disqualified in the first round. Of -one thing I was certain, unless I could establish some kind of personal -understanding with Ponto, suspicion would gather around me. For the -moment, Germaine did not doubt that I was her husband: my conduct had -puzzled her but she had lived with Winnie so long that it was probable -that she no longer specifically noticed him. Virginia Rutherford would -be more dangerous--she was a woman scorned and she had been tricked -out of an intrigue. She had every motive for digging out or even for -inventing the truth, but I had given myself a good excuse to keep her -at arm's length. She couldn't force her way into my clubs. I would -tell my office staff to keep her away from me, and she couldn't be so -ill-bred as to thrust herself into my home. If I could appease Ponto -and avoid Virginia, I had a fair chance of getting away with it. - -"Beg pardon, sir!" It was Myrtle. - -"Yes, Mary?" - -"Mrs. Rutherford is back, sir. She wants to see you." - -"Tell her I am not at home," I replied in a clear carrying tone. "And -that I never will be at home to her." - -"Oh, yes, you will." It was the red-head. She was wearing a long mink -coat and carrying a short automatic pistol. "Like it or not, Winnie, -_we_ are going to have a talk--now." She turned to the startled maid. -"And don't you try phoning the police, Myrtle," she added, "or the -first thing you will hear is this pistol going pop at Mr. Winfred -Tompkins of New York City and Bedford Hills." - -"That's all right, Mary," I added. "Don't call the police. Tell -Mrs. Tompkins that I'm busy. Mrs. Rutherford and I wish to have a -conversation." - - - - -CHAPTER 5 - - -As the door to the room slammed convulsively behind Myrtle, Mrs. -Rutherford relaxed, laid the automatic on the sofa between us, and -flung back her mink coat. She was an appetizing little number, if you -like 'em red-haired, well-developed and mad through and through. - -Instinctively I started to reach for the gun but was checked by her -laugh. - -"Take it, by all means," she said. "It's not loaded. I only needed it -for the maid. Tell me, Winnie, have you got her on your string, too? -The maid made or undone, as they used to say." - -"Virginia," I said firmly, "I told you earlier this morning that we -were through. There's nothing more to be said about it. It's finished, -done, kaput! All's well that ends." - -She laughed again, and looked at me closely. In spite of myself, I -began pulling nervously at the lobe of my left ear, a habit of mine -when confused which has always irritated my Dorothy. - -"There!" Virginia said finally, "that's it!" - -Her voice had a note of finality with a touch of total triumph that I -found disturbing. - -"Well, have you anything to say?" I asked. - -"Have _you_ anything to say?" - -"I've already said it, Virginia. Nice as you are and beautiful as you -are, we're washed up. It won't work and we both know it. So why not -shake hands and quit friends?" - -She took my proffered hand in hers but, instead of shaking it, examined -it carefully. - -"Very clever," she murmured. "You've even got that little mole at the -base of your thumb." - -"Of course I have. It's been there since birth." - -"Very, _very_, clever, Winnie," she continued, "but it won't do, my -Winnie, because you see you aren't my Winnie at all. You're a total -stranger." - -"I've changed," I admitted. "I'm trying to be half-way decent." - -"Whoever wanted Winnie to be half-way decent?" she mused. "Nobody. -He was much pleasanter as he was--a rich, friendly boob. As for you, -whoever you are, I'm on to your game. You aren't Winfred Tompkins and -you know it." - -I put some heavy sarcasm into my reply. "How did you ever guess, Mrs. -Rutherford?" - -She laughed airily, helped herself to a cigarette and leaned forward -while I lighted it so that I could not help seeing deep into the -straining V of her blouse. - -"Lots of things. In the first place, you call me 'Virginia' when we're -alone instead of 'Bozo' as you always used to do." - -"I stopped calling you 'Bozo' when I made up my mind--" I began. - -"Nuts to you, Buddy," she rejoined. "Then you kept pulling at your ear -as though you were milking a cow, while I was needling you. Winnie -never did that. When he was in a spot, he always reached in his pocket -and jingled his change or, as a desperate measure, twiddled his keys." - -"Don't judge my habits by my hang-overs," I insisted. "I'm not feeling -well and I've had a sort of psychic shock." - -"Winnie never said 'psychic' in his life, poor lamb," she observed. "He -didn't know what it meant. No, I don't know what your game is but I'm -on to you and we're going to be real buddies from now on or--" - -"Or what?" - -"The police," she observed quietly, "take a dim view of murder in this -state. Now I'm willing to be broad-minded. Winnie was a louse who had -it coming to him, I guess. I was playing him for a quick divorce and -marriage. Three million dollars is a lot of money, even in these days, -and it would have been nice to have been married to it. But it's even -nicer this way, I guess." - -The decanter was within reach. I poured myself another drink. "Have -some?" I asked. - -"And why not? What's yours is mine, and we both need it." - -"Why did you say it was nicer this way, Mrs. Rutherford?" I inquired. - -"Virginia to you, Winnie. It's because now I don't have to marry you -and I still have a pipe-line to the Tompkins millions." - -"So you _are_ going in for blackmail," I observed. "Suppose I -threatened to divorce Jimmie and marry you. After all, I still could." - -"A girl has her pride," she murmured. "Not that I'd mind having fun -with you, Winnie--as I think I'd better call you. But a wife can't give -testimony against her husband and I think I'd rather like to be able to -give testimony if needed. Besides, a husband has too many opportunities -to help the undertaker. There are accidents in bath-tubs and garages, -medicines get mixed up in the bathroom cabinet and there is always the -old-fashioned hatchet. No, since you've managed to get rid of the other -Winnie, somehow, I think I'll keep a safe distance and my silence, as -long as you make it worth my while." - -"Suppose I won't play?" I suggested. - -"Then I'll go to the police or the F.B.I.--they're supposed to catch -kidnappers, aren't they?--and tell them what I know." - -I stood up. This would be easier than I had expected. - -"Okay, Virginia," I said, "go right ahead. There's the telephone. You -can use it to call the Secret Service for all I care. See what luck you -have with your story, when my wife is here to testify that I'm Winnie -Tompkins." - -Her face paled and her eyes narrowed angrily. "Jimmie too?" she asked. -"Then you're both in it!" - -"We're both in what?" - -The door opened and Germaine Tompkins stood in the entrance. - -Virginia Rutherford looked trapped and she instinctively pulled her -mink back over her shoulders. - -"Nothing, Jimmie," she said at last. "I was foolish enough to hope that -if I came back and had a talk alone with Winnie, we could pick up -where we left off. He's been acting so strangely that he doesn't seem -like himself at all. And so are you. That's what I meant by saying that -you were both in it." - -"Virginia," my wife said firmly, "my husband told you to stay out of -this house--and it's my home, too--and now I find you here. Please go -or I'll call the police." - -The two women exchanged appraising glances which suggested that they -were both thoroughly enjoying the touch of melodrama that had come into -their well-fed lives. - -"No, it's my fault for letting her in," I said. "She sent in word by -Mary--" - -"You mean Myrtle." - -"--that she would like to see me. I agreed to do so, so you can't blame -her. We talked things over and decided that it's all off--a few moments -of madness, but that's all, and not worth wrecking two marriages for. -Isn't that so, Mrs. Rutherford?" - -Virginia shook her head. "No, Winnie, it is not so. Jimmie, I came here -with that gun. It wasn't loaded but the next time it will be. I made -Myrtle or whatever her name is show me in and I told her I would shoot -Winnie if she gave the alarm. Then I told him what I know about him." - -"And what is that?" my wife asked. - -"That he is not Winnie at all," Virginia declared. "That he is an -imposter, that he and perhaps you had done away with poor old Winnie. I -told him that I wouldn't tell his secret if he paid me to keep silent. -And he told me to call the police." - -My wife went over to her and took her hand. "Poor, darling Virginia," -she murmured, "why don't you go away and have a good rest? You've got -yourself all worked up for a nervous breakdown. Of course it's Winnie. -I'm married to him and I ought to know my own husband, shouldn't I? -You've simply got run down and all, with rationing and war-work. Why -don't you let Jerry send you for a few weeks to the Hartford Sanctuary -for psychoanalysis and a good rest?" - -Virginia dashed my wife's hand away. "In other words, you think I'm -crazy!" she snapped. - -"No, but I do think you're hysterical. This is Winnie, I'm Jimmie -and you're Virginia Rutherford. We've all been letting ourselves get -over-emotional and this war is a strain on everybody. Don't worry. -Jerry can fix it for you quite easily and I--we both will be glad -to help pay for it, if you're worried about the money. After all," -Germaine added wryly, "the whole thing is pretty much of a family -affair, isn't it? Let's keep it that way." - -Mrs. Rutherford reached over and grabbed the gun from the sofa. - -"All right, Germaine Tompkins, murderess," she grated. "If that's the -way you're going to play it, I'll play too. Don't worry about my mind. -Start thinking about the electric chair. Remember, in this state they -execute women who kill their husbands." - -Jimmie waited until the door closed behind the doctor's wife. Then she -turned to me with a curious expression of weariness. - -"Poor man!" she remarked. "You have got yourself into a bad mess, -haven't you?" - -I nodded. - -"It didn't seem like one while I was getting into it," I said. "It's -only now when I'm trying to get things straightened out that it seems -so awful." - -"Let's see," she continued. "How many women is it you've been trying to -keep away from each other? There's myself, of course, but wives don't -count any more, do they? And there's Virginia Rutherford and Myrtle, -and there was that blonde actress we met at Martha's Vineyard last -summer, and is it one or two girls at the office?" - -Here was where I could object with complete sincerity. "I swear that -I've not been fooling with any of the office girls," I said. - -"I know," Jimmie agreed wisely. "You always used to tell me that it was -considered bad for business to play with the help but after I saw the -way you went for Myrtle I decided that there were exceptions to every -rule." - -"Nobody in the office," I repeated. "I swear it." - -"Then perhaps it was the office next door. Maybe you brokers have -an exchange system for taking on each other's stenographers--charge -it to business expenses for getting information about each other's -dealings--but I know I've heard the name Briggs mentioned somehow in -your connection." - -"The name means absolutely nothing to me," I insisted. "If it will make -you any happier I'll admit to a hundred women but I'm through with all -that sex-stuff. From now on, I'm going to be a one-woman man." - -Germaine faced me with an air of resolution. "Would you mind giving me -a drink of brandy?" she asked. "I've something to say to you and I'm -afraid you won't like it." - -I went to the portable bar and poured her a pony of Courvoisier. - -"Here you are. Down the hatch! And now what is it you want to tell me." - -"Believe me, Winnie," she said, "it's not easy for me. But I'd better -say it anyhow. I can't keep on suppressing it. Who _are_ you?" - -"What's that?" - -"Who _are_ you?" she repeated. "You look like my husband but you don't -talk like him. His clothes fit you but Virginia Rutherford is _quite_ -right--you aren't Winnie Tompkins." - -"How did you guess?" - -"Don't think I'll give you away," she continued. "I won't because -you must have had a terribly important reason for doing whatever you -have done. You seem to be in deep trouble of some kind. I--I'd like -to help you, if I can. Don't think I'm hard on my husband. It's been -years since we--oh, you know. I married him for his money and I still -don't know why he married me. Yes, I do, but I've never liked to admit -it. He'd made a lot of money in the market and had built this house. -He needed a wife the way he needed an automobile, a portable bar, a -Capehart, a thoroughbred Great Dane and a membership in the Pond Club. -I was available, at a price, which he met--but that's all there is to -our story." - -"Poor Jimmie!" I sympathized. "We're both lost, I guess. No, I'm not -Winnie but I don't know who else I could possibly be. You see, less -than twenty-four hours ago I was a lieutenant-commander on a light -carrier in the North Pacific and--" - -Germaine slowly withdrew her hand from mine. - -"Oh!" she exclaimed softly. "Oh Winnie! Poor old idiot! I'll take care -of you and see that you get over this. Wait, I'll call the doctor right -away. The Hartford Sanctuary's a very nice place, and I can come over -every week to--" - -I shook my head. "You'll do nothing of the kind, my dear," I ordered. -"No doctor can help me on this one. Besides," I added, "how do you know -that I wasn't batty before and have just come to my senses." - -Her eyes were frightened. "All right, dear," she agreed. "I like you -better this way, anyhow." - - - - -CHAPTER 6 - - -"Thanks, Jimmie," I replied. "I'm going to try to stay this way." - -My wife sat down beside me and studied me closely. "You _look_ -different," she remarked. "To me, at any rate. You're sort of coming to -a focus. If only--. You're so different and--strange." - -Here was my chance to recover lost ground. - -"As near as I can make out," I said, "I've had a kind of amnesia. I -know you, of course, and my name, and that this is my house and that -Ponto is my dog, even though he tried to bite me. I know the Pond Club -and the Harvard Club, but that's about all I seem able to remember. -I can't recall where I work or where I bank, or who my friends are -or what kind of car I drive or what I was doing before yesterday -afternoon." - -She relaxed at the holy scientific word 'amnesia,' as though to name a -mystery explained it. - -"But you were saying something about being on an aircraft carrier in -the Pacific," she objected. - -I laughed. "That must have been part of a very vivid dream I was having -in a chair in the bar at the Pond, when Ranty Tolan woke me up. It was -one of those dreams which seemed so real that real life seemed like a -dream. It still does a bit. That's where my alleged mind got stalled -and I'm still floundering around. Help me, won't you?" - -"You didn't seem to need much help remembering Virginia Rutherford," -she remarked, "but I'll try to fill in some of the gaps for you. You -have your own firm--Tompkins, Wasson and Cone--at No. 1 Wall Street. -It's sort of combination brokerage office and investment counsel. You -once told me that your specialty was finding nice rich old ladies -and helping them re-invest their unearned millions. You bank at the -National City Farmers and your car is a black '41 Packard coupe." - -"That helps a lot," I thanked her. "Now how about my friends? If I go -to town tomorrow, I ought to be on the look-out for them. Business -isn't so good right now that I can afford to let myself be run in as an -amnesiac while my partners look after the loot." - -She frowned. "I don't know much about your friends in town, since so -many of them are in the war," she admitted. "There's Merry Vail, of -course, who roomed with you at Harvard, but he hasn't come out here -much since Adela divorced him after that business in Bermuda. Sometimes -you talk about the men you see at the Club but I've never been able -to keep track of the Phils and Bills and Neds and Joes and Dicks and -Harrys. You'll have to find your own way there. At the office, of -course, there's Graham Wasson and Phil Cone, your partners, but you -won't have much trouble once you're at your desk. Wasson is dark and -plump and Cone is fair and plump and they're both about five years -younger than you are." - -"The office doesn't worry me," I agreed. "I can handle anything that -develops there." - -"You know, Winnie," Jimmie remarked, "if I were you I wouldn't try to -go to town for a few days. The office will run itself and you need a -rest. I don't know much about amnesia but I've always heard that rest -and kind treatment--" - -"Uh-uh!" I dissented emphatically. "Worst thing in the world for it. -I've always heard that the thing to do is to go back over the ground -until you come to the thing that gave you the original shock and then -it all comes back to you. If I stick around Bedford Hills I'll just get -panicky over not being sure whether I remember things or not. I'll go -to town in the morning and see if I can't find myself." - -She laughed, as wives laugh. "You may be a changed man," she announced, -"but you're still stubborn as a mule. Tell me, to change the subject, -you say that you remember me. Tell me what I seem like to you, now -that you've changed, as you say, aside from age, sex, scars and -distinguishing marks, if any, and marital status." - -I closed my eyes and thought of Dorothy as she had been that last night -in Hartford before she walked out and I decided to join the Navy as a -Reserve Officer. - -"You are piano music on a summer night--something Scarlatti or -Mozart--thin, cool, precise, gay. You are apple blossoms against a -Berkshire hillside. You are the smoke of fallen leaves climbing into -the cool October sky. You are surf on a sandy beach, with the gulls -wheeling and the white-caps racing past the lighthouse on the point. -You are bobsleds and hot coffee and dough-nuts by a roaring wood fire. -And you're a lost child, with two pennies in your fist, looking in the -window of a five-cent candy-shop." - -Germaine relaxed. "Except for that last bit, Winnie, you made me sound -like a year-round vacation resort or an ad for a new automobile. You've -mentioned almost everything about me except the one thing I obviously -am." - -"Which is?" - -"A simple, rather stupid woman, I guess," Germaine sighed, "who's had -everything in life except what she wants." - -"All women are simple," I pontificated, "since what they want is -simple." - -"You moron!" she blazed. "Don't you see that no woman knows what she -wants until she is made to want it. You ... you never made me want -anything simple, except to crack you over the head with something." - -After she had left, I sat for a long time. There seemed to be nothing -to do or say. Winnie's domestic life was still in too much of a snarl -for me to do the obvious thing and follow Germaine upstairs, and into -her bedroom, lock the door, and kiss her tear-stained face and tell her -that I was sorry I had hurt her.... Before it would be safe to accept -her gambits I must first explore my business connections. Hadn't my -wife said something about girls in the office? - - * * * * * - -My first stop in the morning, after I had been careful to take a late -commuting train in to the city in order to avoid business men who were -sure to know and greet Winnie Tompkins, was the Pond Club. - -Tammy was behind the bar and as soon as I entered he turned and mixed -me a powerful pick-me-up. I drained it with the usual convulsive effort -and then pretended to relax. - -"Thanks, Tammy," I said. "That's what I needed." "Good morning, Mr. -Tompkins," he remarked. "I'm glad to see you back. You were looking a -trifle seedy--if you don't mind my saying so, sir--when you were in -here Monday afternoon." - -"I took a day off in the country and got rested up," I told him. "I -feel fine now. Anybody in the Club?" - -"Not just now, sir. A couple of gentlemen were asking for you yesterday -afternoon--that would be Tuesday. That was Commander Tolan, sir, and -a friend of his, a Mr. Harcourt his name was, who hasn't been here -before. They asked me if you were at your home but I just laughed. -'Him gone home?' I said. 'Not while he has a girl and a flat on Park -Avenue.' Begging your pardon, Mr. Tompkins, I knew you didn't want to -be bothered wherever you were and so I said the first thing that came -to my head." - -"You're doing fine, Tammy," I assured him. "I don't want to see anybody -for a couple of days. Now then, I'd like you to tell me what happened -here Monday afternoon. It's the first time in my life I've ever drawn a -complete blank." - -"Well, sir," the Club steward recited. "You came in about two o'clock -and sat down in your usual chair--that one in the corner. You said -something about having had lunch at the Harvard Club, sir, and had a -couple of Scotch and sodas here." - -"Was I tight, Tammy?" - -"Not to call tight. You didn't show it, and after a time you went to -sleep, like you was tired out. You was still sleeping when Mr. Morgan, -Mr. Davis and Commander Tolan came in. That would be a little after -three o'clock, sir. They made some talk about how you were sleeping -through the noise they made, that it would take a bomb to wake you. -Then, sir, I guess you had some kind of a dream. You began talking like -and thrashing with your arms and making noises. So Commander Tolan he -said, 'Jesus we can't drink with that going on' and went and shook you -by the shoulder until you woke up. You'd been dreaming all right, Mr. -Tompkins, because you talked wild when you woke up, about Alaska and -where were you. The others joked a bit about it after you left but I'd -take my oath, sir, that you weren't really what might be called tight, -Mr. Tompkins." - -"Thanks a million, Tammy," I said. "That's a load off my mind. I drew -a blank and didn't know where I'd been or what I'd been doing. Can you -let me have some money? I'm a bit short of cash." - -"Of course, sir. How much will you need?" - -"A couple of hundred will do," I told him, "if you have that much." - -"That will be easy, sir. If you'll just sign a check, like the house -rules says, I'll get it from the safe." - -He nearly caught me. Signing checks was something I simply could not do -until I had learned to imitate Winnie Tompkins' signature. I had tried -in the guest-room at Bedford Hills, the previous evening, and found -that my original signature as Frank E. Jacklin was completely unchanged -by my transmigration, and that my own copy-desk scrawl was the only -handwriting I could commit. I had burned the note-paper on which I had -made the crucial experiments and flushed the ashes down the toilet. One -of my objects in coming to the Pond had been to see if I couldn't get -money by simply initialing a chit. - -I hastily looked in my bill-fold. There was still a fair amount of -money left. It would last me until I found a way to draw on Winnie's -bank-account. - -"Never mind, after all," I told Tammy. "I guess I have enough to last -me until I get down to the office. If anybody asks for me, you haven't -seen me since Monday and don't know where I am." - -"Very good, sir," he agreed. "I'll take any messages that come for you, -sir, and not let on I've set eyes on you." - -My next stop was at an old hang-out of mine and Dorothy's from my -early newspaper days: a place on East 53rd Street, where you can get -a good meal if you have the money to pay for it and the time to wait -for it--and I had both. I knew that none of Winnie's friends would be -seen dead in the place and I didn't want to try lunch at the Harvard -Club, where I'd have to sign the dining-room order or the bar-check. -The place was reasonably uncrowded--it was not quite noon--and I had a -pleasant lunch. - -It was a little after one o'clock when I reached the Harvard Club. The -door-man glanced at my face and automatically stuck a little ivory -peg in the hole opposite the name of Tompkins on the list of members. -I checked my hat and coat and strolled through the sitting-rooms into -the large lounge-library beside the dining-room. A couple of men -nodded and smiled as I passed them, so I nodded back and said, "Hi!" -in a conversational tone. In the lounge I found a chair and a copy -of the World-Telegram, so I decided to catch up with the war-news. -The German Armies were beginning to crumble but there was still talk -of a stand along the Elbe and Hitler was reported fortifying the -mountain-districts of Southern Germany into a redoubt for a last -Valhalla Battle. The Pacific news was good. The fighting on Okinawa was -going our way and the clean-up in the Philippines was well in hand. The -Navy Department discounted enemy reports of heavy damage to American -warships by Jap suicide-pilots but, as an old Navy P.R.O., I could tell -that it had been plenty. I'd heard about the Kamikazes from some of our -pilots who had seen them off Leyte and I had no doubt that they were -doing a job on the 7th Fleet. Roosevelt had gone South for a couple of -weeks rest at Warm Springs, Georgia, and Ed Stettinius was in the final -throes of organizing the United Nations Conference at San Francisco-- - -"Hi, Winnie? Don't you speak to your old friends any more?" - -I looked up to see a lean, wolfish-looking man, with a gray moustache, -a slightly bald head and definitely Bond Street clothes. - -"Oh, hullo!" I said and returned to reading the paper. - -The newspaper was firmly taken out of my hands and the man sat down -beside me. - -"We've got to have a talk," he said. - -"Why? What's happened?" - -"There's been a lot of talk about you running around town in the last -twenty-four hours, Winnie. None of the other alleged friends we know -had the guts to tell you. But I thought your room-mate--" - -"So you're Merry Vail," I said stupidly. - -"You're in worse shape than I thought you were, Winnie," he replied. -"Yes, I'm Merriwether Vail who started his life-long career of rescuing -Winfred Tompkins from blondes and booze at Harvard in 1916. Now, if -you'll just crawl out of your alcoholic coma and listen to me for five -minutes before you take off for your next skirt, you'll learn something -to your advantage." - -"How about a drink, Merry?" I asked, to keep in character. - -"Not before five, so help me, and you'd better lay off liquor till you -hear this. Here it is. There's a story going the rounds that the F.B.I. -is after you. At any rate, at least one obvious G-man has been reported -in full cry on your foot-prints." - -I sat up, startled. This was too much, even for purgatory. What _had_ -Winnie been up to? - -"What am I supposed to have done, Merry?" I asked. "Trifled with the -Mann Act? Told fibs on my income tax return? Failed to notify the local -draft board that I was taking the train to New York? Bought black -market nylons for my mistress? or what?" - -Vail looked mysterious. "For all I know I may be letting myself in -for Alcatraz, old man, but the dope is that you've been violating the -Espionage Act, communicating with the enemy, or stealing official -secrets." - -I leaned back in my chair and shook with laughter. "Of all the pure, -unadulterated b.s. I've ever heard! I give you my word of honor as a -Porcellian that there's not a syllable of truth in it." - -Vail looked increasingly distressed. "If you're really innocent, you'd -better be careful. Ten-to-one you haven't an alibi, and you'll need -a lawyer. Slip me a bill now and retain me as your counsel. No, this -isn't a gag. Something's cooking, even if it's only mistaken identity, -and I've seen enough of the law in war-time to know that you'll be -better off with the old cry, 'I demand to see my attorney,' when they -march you down to the F.B.I. headquarters to answer a few questions." - -"Thanks, Merry," I said, "and here's twenty bucks to go on with. If -the police are looking for me, I'd better go down to my office and see -that things are apple-pie before they lock up the brains of our outfit. - -"Besides," I added, "you've just given me an idea of how I can make a -hell of a lot of money." - - - - -CHAPTER 7 - - -Tompkins, Wasson & Cone maintained sincere-looking offices on one -of the upper floors of No. 1 Wall Street. The rooms were carefully -furnished in dark wood and turkey-red upholstery, in a style calculated -to reassure elderly ladies of great wealth that the firm was careful -and conservative. - -The girl at the reception desk looked as though she had graduated with -honor from Wellesley in the class of 1920 and still had it--pince-nez -and condescension--but she was thoroughly up-to-date in her -office-technique. - -"Oh, Mr. Tompkins," she murmured in a clear, low voice, "there's a -gentleman waiting to see you in the customer's room, a Mr. Harcourt. -He's been here since ten o'clock this morning." - -"He's had no lunch?" I inquired. - -She shook her head. - -I clucked my tongue. "We can't have our customers starve to death, can -we? Send out for a club sandwich and some hot coffee. Give me five -minutes to take a look at my mail and then send him in. When the food -arrives, send that in, too." - -She blinked her hazel eyes behind her pince-nez to show that she -understood, and I walked confidently down to the end of the corridor to -where a "Mr. Tompkins" stared at me conservatively from a glazed door. - -My office lived up to my fondest dream of Winnie. It was an ingenious -blend of the 1870's and functional furniture--like a cocktail of port -wine and vodka. There were electric clocks, a silenced stock-ticker -in a glass-covered mahogany coffin, an elaborate Sheraton radio -with short-wave reception, tuned in on WQXR, and desks and chairs -and divans and a really good steel engraving showing General Grant -receiving Lee's surrender at Appomattox Court House, with a chart -underneath to explain who was who in the picture. - -The desk I was glad to note, was bare except for an electric -clock-calendar which told me that it was 3:12 p.m. of April 4, 1945, -and a handsome combination humidor, cigarette case and automatic -lighter in aluminum and synthetic tortoise-shell. A glance out the -window gave me a reassuring glimpse of the spire of Trinity Church. -There was a single typed memo on the glass top of the desk, which read: -"Mr. Harcourt, 10:13 a.m. Would not state business. Will wait." - -I pushed one of the array of buttons concealed underneath the edge of -the desk and a door opened to admit a largish blonde in a tight-fitting -sweater. - -"Yes, Mr. Tompkins?" - -"Please have Mr. Harcourt sent in," I said, "And when he comes, bring -your notebook and take a stenographic record of our conversation -and--er--what's your name?" - -She raised her well-plucked eyebrows. "I'm Eleanor Roosevelt, my -parents named me Arthurjean--after both of them--Arthurjean--Miss -Briggs to you!" - -"Very well, Miss Briggs, tell Mr. Harcourt I'll see him now." - -A moment later, she reappeared holding a card in her fingers as though -it was a live cockroach. "Sure you want to see this?" she asked. - -The card read: "Mr. A. J. Harcourt, Special Agent. Federal Bureau of -Investigation, U. S. Department of Justice, U. S. Court House, Foley -Square, New York 23, N. Y." - -"Of course," I replied, "I've been expecting him for some time." - -A. J. Harcourt was neat but not gaudy: a clean-cut, Hart, Shaffner and -Marx tailored man of about thirty-five, with that indefinable family -resemblance to J. Edgar Hoover which always worries me about the F.B.I. - -"Good afternoon, Mr. Harcourt," I said pleasantly, "and what can I do -for the F.B.I.?" - -Harcourt shook my hand, took a seat, refused a cigarette and cast a -doubtful glance over his shoulder at Arthurjean Briggs, who was working -semi-silently away at a stenotype machine. - -"Oh, that's my secretary," I explained. "I always have her take a -record of important conversations in this office. I hope the machine -doesn't disturb you, Mr. Harcourt." - -"If it's all right with you it's all right with me," he said -grudgingly. "I thought perhaps you'd rather have this private." - -"Not in the least," I replied. "Miss Briggs is the soul of discretion -and I can imagine nothing we could talk about that I wouldn't want her -to hear." - -The G-Man looked as though he was worrying over whether he ought to -call Washington for permission. They hadn't taught him this one in -the F.B.I. academy of finger-printing, marksmanship, shadowing and -wire-tapping. - -"By the way, Mr. Harcourt," I added, "I just learned as I came in that -you've been waiting for me since ten this morning. It's after three now -so I took the liberty of sending out for a sandwich and some coffee for -you. I thought you might like a bite of lunch while you are talking -with me." - -The Special Agent looked as surprised as though he had found Hoover's -fingerprints on the murder-gun, but he nodded gamely. - -"Here it is now," I remarked, as there was a knock on the door and -a knowing-looking boy placed an appealing tray-load of sandwiches, -pickles and coffee in front of Mr. Harcourt. - -"Now you go right ahead and eat your lunch," I urged. "Ask me for any -information in my possession and you shall have it. And of course -I'll have Miss Briggs send a complete transcript of our talk to you -at F.B.I. headquarters by registered mail. First of all, if you don't -mind, would you show me your official identification and let Miss -Briggs take down the number and so on. It's always best to put these -things in the record, isn't it?" - -The G-Man gulped and produced a battered identity card, complete with -fingerprints, number, Hoover's signature and a photograph which would -have justified his immediate arrest on suspicion of bank-robbery. - -"I imagine, Mr. Harcourt," I remarked, "that you've had plenty of time -in the last five hours to question members of my staff about whatever -it is you think they might know about my business." - -He looked up, almost pathetically. "I asked a few questions," he -admitted. "This is just an informal inquiry. Nothing for Grand Jury -action--yet." - -I didn't like that last word. - -"Do you think I ought to call my lawyer in before I proceed with our -talk?" I asked. "I resent your reference to Grand Jury action. So far, -I don't even know what you wish to see me about and you have just made -a libelous statement in front of a reliable witness. Is that the way J. -Edgar Hoover trains his Gestapo?" - -"I--well--" - -"Come on, Harcourt, let's get on with it!" I interrupted. "I'm a busy -man and you've wasted five hours of the time my taxes help to pay for, -just waiting to take more of my time." - -He pulled a black leather notebook out of his pocket and consulted it. - -"The Bureau was asked to interrogate you, Mr. Tompkins, on behalf of -another government agency." - -"Which? Internal Revenue? W.P.B.? The S.E.C?" - -"No sir, it was none of those. I'm not at liberty to tell you which -one. I am simply instructed to ask you what you know about U.S.S. -Alaska and naval dispositions in the North Pacific." - -I leaned back and laughed. "Now I get it," I said. "That's O.N.I, and -that triple-plated ass, Ranty Tolan, trying to win the war in the -barrooms of New York. It all goes back to a dream I had while I was -dozing at the Pond Club Monday afternoon. Something about the U.S.S. -Alaska being blown up off the Aleutians. Tolan was there when I woke up -and I passed a few remarks about my dream before I was fully awake, if -you know what I mean. That's all there is to it, Mr. Harcourt." - -The Special Agent made a number of hen-tracks in his notebook. - -"Thank you very much, Mr. Tompkins," he said. "No doubt you'll be able -to explain things if my chief wants to call you in. I don't think my -chief believes in dreams. Not that kind of dream. Not in war-time." - -I laughed again. "I'm afraid I can't help that. So far as I am -concerned, the F.B.I. can believe in my dream or stick it in the files." - -Harcourt coughed. "It's not easy working with O.N.I, or other -intelligence outfits," he said. "They never tell us anything. The -trouble with your dream seems to be that the general public isn't -supposed to know that the U.S.S. Alaska is in commission and that the -Navy department has had no word from her since last Saturday." - -"Don't let that worry you," I said. "If she was anywhere near the -Kuriles, she'd keep radio silence, specially off Paramushiro." - -"Oh!" Harcourt remarked. "O.N.I. didn't say anything about Paramushiro. -Thank you, Mr. Tompkins. We'll be in touch with you, off and on." - -He rose, very politely, shook hands again, thanked me for the food, -nodded to Miss Briggs and made a definitely Grade A exit. - -His steps died away down the corridor. Miss Briggs waited until he -was out of earshot then turned to me. "You God damned fool!" she said -fondly. "You had him bluffed until you talked about Paramushiro. Why -did you admit anything?" - -I looked up at her broad, pleasant face. - -"So you've made a monkey out of me. I alibied you up and down. Listen, -Winnie, the F.B.I. have been all over the joint since early yesterday. -We were warned not to whisper a word to you. There was an agent waiting -to grill me when I got home last night. I told him you'd been spending -the week-end with me." - -"You told him--" I was startled. - -"Sure! Why not? He wasn't interested in my morals. I told him about our -place up in the fifties and gave you a complete alibi from Friday close -of business until Monday noon. And now you have to make like a Nazi -with the ships in the Pacific. Say, what is it you've supposed to have -done--kissed MacArthur?" - -"Damned if I know, Miss Briggs. That's part of the trouble." - -"Lay off that 'Miss Briggs' stuff. That was to punish you for giving -me the fish-eye when you came in. I'm your Arthurjean and the market's -closed so you'd better catch the subway uptown with me and I'll cook -you a steak dinner at our place." - -This was too deep water for hesitation, so I took the plunge. Taking -my hat and coat I told the genteel receptionist that I'd be back in -the morning. I waited for Arthurjean at the foot of the elevators and -followed her lead, into the East Side subway and up to the 51st Street -station, on to "our place." - -It was very discreet--an old brown-stone front converted into small -apartments. There was no door-man and an automatic elevator prevented -any intrusive check on the comings and goings of the tenants. The -third-floor front had been made into a pleasant little two-room -suite--a "master's bedroom" (Why not 'mistress's?' I thought) with a -double-bed, dresser and chairs, and an array of ducks which revealed -the true Tompkins touch. There was a small sitting-dining room as -well, and a kitchenette with a satisfactory array of bottles in the -Frigidaire and a reasonable amount of groceries. - -Arthurjean took off her hat and coat, fixed me a good stiff drink and -then disappeared into the bathroom. After a good deal of splashing and -gurgling, she reappeared clad in maroon satin pyjamas. - -"There," she said, "now I feel better." - -I smiled at her. "Here's to Arthurjean!" I said. - -"Nuts to Arthurjean," she replied. "How about Winnie? You've always -been swell to me, and you know it. I don't care if you're a louse or -a souse. You can always come to me any time you're in trouble and -I'll fix you up. Now you're in trouble with the cops, so how about me -helping you? Huh?" - -"You're a good kid," I said truthfully, for Arthurjean was indeed one -of God's own sweet tarts. "The truth is I'm in all kinds of a jam. You -see, I can't seem to remember what I've been doing before last Monday. -It's sort of like loss of memory, only worse. This F.B.I. thing is only -one of my headaches." - -She looked at me questioningly. "So you don't remember where you were -before Monday?" she asked. She slouched across the room, leaned down -and gave me a hearty kiss. "Will that help you remember? It was like -I told that detective. You and me were right here in this place over -Easter and don't forget it." - -I sighed. I liked Arthurjean, though she was as corned-beef and cabbage -to Germaine's caviar and champagne. "Okay," I said. "I won't forget it." - -"Attaboy!" she agreed. "Now that we've got that settled, suppose you -tell me where the hell you really were over the week-end. You stood me -up Friday night and today's the first time I've set eyes on you since -you left the office Friday morning. Boy, you may have some explaining -to do to the F.B.I., but it's nothing to what you got to explain to -momma." - - - - -CHAPTER 8 - - -"And so, Arthurjean," I concluded, "my guess is that for some crazy -reason it's up to me to take up where Winnie left off and try to do a -good job with the hand he's dealt himself." - -She remained silent, hunched on the floor beside me, with her maroon -pyjamas straining visibly and a pile of cigarette butts in the -ash-tray at her side. - -"Give me a break," I pleaded. "When I tried to tell my wife--Winnie's -wife--Mrs. Tompkins, that is--all she could think of was to send me off -to a plush-lined booby-hatch until I was sane again. The others--at -least Virginia Rutherford--are beginning to suspect that something is -wrong and that damned dog knows it. So be original and pretend that I -might be telling the truth." - -She didn't answer. Instead, she stood up, stretched, strolled over to -the kitchenette and mixed us both two good stiff drinks. - -"Mud in your eye!" she said. - -"Glad to see you on board!" - -"I don't see why not," she observed conversationally. "I don't pretend -to be smart and I know that the other girls in the office think I'm -nothing but a tramp because I don't pretend I don't like men, but I'm -damned if I think that Winnie, who is one of God's sweetest dumb-bells, -could have dreamed up anything as screwy as this." - -"As I remember him, he wasn't any too bright," I said. - -"Skip it! He wasn't dumb in business. He picked up a couple of million -bucks and gave them a good home in his safe-deposit box. He wasn't so -hot on music and books and art--except for his damned ducks--but he was -a lot of fun. He liked a good time and he liked a girl to have a good -time. He should have been born in one of those Latin countries where -the women do all the work and the men play guitars, drink and make -love." - -I drew a deep breath. I had won my first convert. I knew what Paul -of Tarsus felt when he met up with Timothy. I thought of Mahomet and -Fatima, Karl Marx and Bakunin, Hitler and Hess. Crazy though the whole -world would consider me, here was one human being who could listen to -my story without phoning for an ambulance. - -"Tell me about this Frank Jacklin," Arthurjean remarked. "I don't get -all the angles about him and this Dorothy. Seems to me you--Winnie, -that is--told me he was the guy she'd had a sort of crush on at school. -Winnie was still sort of sore about it twenty years later." - -"It's hard for me to be fair," I admitted. "Jacklin was a big shot at -school and may have had a swelled head. Winnie wasn't so hot then--nice -but with too much money. Jacklin's people were poor, by comparison that -is. He got through Yale, slid out into the newspaper game, held his -job, married a girl, had a bust-up with his wife and joined the Navy as -a reserve officer after she walked out on him. The Navy assigned him to -P.R.O. work and sent him to the Pacific." - -"He sounds like a heel," she observed, "leaving his wife like that. -Tell me more about her. Is she pretty?" - -I thought a long time. "I don't quite know," I said finally. "I never -knew. She was necessary to me, long after I was necessary to her. She -had a mole on her left hip and a gruff way of talking when she was -really fond of me. I guess she got tired of living in Hartford and took -it out on me." - -"Any kids?" - -I shook my head vigorously. "Cost too much on a newspaper salary. She -said she didn't want any until we could afford them. I was fool enough -to believe her. Then when we could afford them she didn't want them. -Can't say I blame her." - -"Did she make you happy?" - -"Of course not! Who wants to be happy? She made me miserable, but -it was exciting to be around her. I never knew what I'd find when -I got home--a knockdown drag-out fight over nothing at all or -hearts-and-flowers equally over nothing." - -Arthurjean yawned. "That part's convincing," she agreed. "I'll play -this one straight. You're Frank Jacklin _and_ Winnie Tompkins rolled -into one. The point is, where do we go from here? Let's see you sign -Jacklin's name." - -I pulled out Winnie's gold, life-time fountain pen and wrote "Frank E. -Jacklin" over and over again on the back of an envelope. She studied it -carefully. - -"That's no phony," she agreed, "and it's nothing like Winnie's -handwriting. Think I could get a check cashed on it?" - -"Let's try," I suggested. "Tomorrow when I get to the office I'll -pre-date a check on the Riggs Bank at Washington. You mail it in for -collection and we'll see if it clears." - -She shook her head. "No dice! If I tried that, first thing we know we'd -have the A.B.A. dicks after you for forgery. Can you think of anything -else?" - -"Not unless you go to Washington and see Dorothy in O.S.S. and ask her -to verify my handwriting. Or, wait. You can go and talk to her and -notice whether she wriggles her nose to keep her spectacles up. You -can find out whether she's still nuts about Prokofiev. You can ask if -she still thinks that Ernest Hemingway is a worse writer than Charles -Dickens, and whether she still uses Chanel's Gardenia perfume." - -"That's enough," she interrupted. "But how'm I going to get to -Washington and do all these things?" - -"Next week," I said, "you and I can fly down on a business -trip--war-contracts, cut-backs, something official--and while I'm being -whip-sawed by the desk-heroes you can check on Dorothy. See if I'm not -right." - -She nodded. "That's one way. What can we cook up? The office is tied up -in estate work and that leaves no chance for Uncle Sam. You get what he -leaves the heirs and they tell me that the inheritance tax is here to -stay." - -I considered the problem. "Tell you what, Arthurjean," I replied. "I've -been thinking this over. The war's going to end this summer. What I saw -on the Alaska means that nobody can hold out against us. The Germans -are on their last legs, but most of the wise guys are saying that -it will take from eighteen months to two years to clean up Japan--a -million casualties, billions of dollars. This thorium bomb will do -the trick and the war will be over by Labor Day. There's a chance for -Winnie Tompkins to make another two or three millions." - -She laughed sardonically. "How?" - -"There's uranium stocks," I suggested. - -"All sewed up by the insiders. Last year you--or Winnie--got a query on -uranium and found that there wasn't any to be had." - -"There's wheat and sugar," I argued. "The world's going to be hungry. -There's a famine coming sure as hell. Buy futures and we'll be set." - -"Sure," she agreed, "if you want to buy Black and can get funds into -Cuba or the Argentine. But there are inter-allied pools operating in -sugar and wheat and you can't break into the game without connections -at Washington." - -"How about peace-babies?" I demanded. "We can sell our war bonds and -invest in something solid for post-war reconstruction. Say General -Motors or U.S. Steel." - -Arthurjean crossed the room and rumpled my head affectionately. "Baby," -she observed, "it's damn lucky for you and Winnie's dough I know my way -around the Street. Lay off heavy industrials until the labor business -gets straightened out. It's all set for a big strike-wave when the -shooting stops and a lot of investors are going to be burned. You can -sell short of course but you'll have to wait for that. If you must go -in for gambling, try the race-track or the slot-machines. Uncle Sam has -it fixed so that the only way you can make money out of the peace is -to be a Swiss or a Swede." - -"But that doesn't make sense," I objected. "In any place and at any -time, advance knowledge on what is going to happen is worth a fortune. -How about selling some of the war industries short?" - -She shook her head. "You wait till you've been to Washington. Some of -the smart guys down there may know the answers. Perhaps it will be -real-estate, if they can only get rid of rent-control. Probably it will -be surplus war-stocks but that's going to be a political racket. Anyhow -the tax-collector will be waiting for you, so why worry?" - -"Speaking of cashing checks," I reminded her, "how in hell am I going -to get some dough? How does Winnie sign himself at the City Farmers -anyhow?" - -She laughed. "He has three or four separate accounts. The one he uses -for purely personal hell-raising is just signed 'W. S. Tompkins.' Let's -see you try to write that. Remember he loops all his letters and draws -a little circle instead of a dot over the 'i'." - -I tried that a few times until she shook her head. - -"There isn't a bank-clerk in New York who wouldn't stop a check with -that on it. Let's see, he signed his name to something around here. See -if you can't copy it." - -She fumbled under a pile of magazines and finally came up with a copy -of "The Story of Philosophy" by Will Durant. - -"Winnie thought this would be good for me," she explained. "Here -it is: 'For Miss Arthurjean Briggs, with the compliments of W. S. -Tompkins.' He was like that--sort of formal--it gave him a kick. He -bought that for me second-hand after we'd been drinking Atlantic City -dry at an investment bankers convention. Try it." - -I tried the signature again but the effort was even worse than my -free-hand efforts. This time it looked like what it was--a clumsy -forgery. - -"Hell," I exclaimed, "I've simply got to do better than that. How about -my tracing it?" - -"You'd be surprised," she told me, "how easy it is to spot a signature -that's been traced. It's something about the flow of the ink and the -angle of the pen. No two signatures are exactly alike and that's why a -tracing gives itself away. They got machines which spot it." - -"Well, how'm I going to get some dough?" I demanded. "I can't draw on -Jacklin's Washington account--and the chances are there isn't much -there anyhow. And if I try to draw on Tompkins' account I'll find -myself in the hoosegow." - -She got up and mixed us another pair of drinks. "I got it," she -announced. "It won't be too nice for you but it's better than starving." - -"You mean you'll lend me some?" - -"Hell, baby, I got no money--twenty-five or thirty in the account and a -few hundreds in war-bonds. No, this is better. Just hold out your hand -and shut your eyes." - -It sounded like jewels. I leaned back in the chair, closed my eyes and -extended my right hand in front of me, palm upward. I heard her pad -into the bathroom. When she came back, her voice sounded strained as -she whispered: "This is it, baby. Keep those eyes shut!" - -There was a smooth, tingling sensation across the tips of my fingers, -then my right hand was suddenly warm and wet. I opened my eyes to see -Arthurjean holding a stained safety-razor blade in her hand and staring -at me, white-faced, as the blood trickled from my finger-tips. - -"Winnie--" she faltered, and slumped down in the divan. - -I hastily grabbed the handkerchief from my breast-pocket and wrapped it -around my throbbing fingers. - -"Ouch! Damn you!" I exclaimed. - -"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered. "I didn't want to hurt you. It seemed -the only way--" - -"You damned fool," I almost shouted at her. "Do you realize you flopped -with that blade in your hand and might have cut an artery?" - -"No, did I?" She scrambled up hastily and looked around. "Gee, I feel -lousy. Does it hurt much?" - -"Not yet. What's the big idea?" - -"Now you sound like Winnie," she replied. "He never got ideas easy. -Listen, you big slob, if you've cut your fingers you got to have a -bandage and if you got a bandage on your right hand, your signature's -going to be screwy. All you need do is fumble it and I or one of the -girls will witness it and the bank will clear it and you'll get the -dough." - -I thought that one over. "You've got something in your head besides -those big blue eyes," I admitted. "Now if you only have some iodine and -bandages we'll see if I can stave off lock-jaw." - -She giggled. "Lock-jaw's the last thing _you'll_ get," she said. "There -ought to be something in the medicine cabinet. Gee," she added. "I -suppose I'll have to get you undressed and dress you in the morning -just like a baby. Ain't that something?" - -"How about some food?" I demanded. "You said something about a steak -back at the office and all you've given me is Scotch and razor-blades. -You get on with your cooking and let me try to fix my hand." - -I went into the bathroom, located some mercurochrome and a box of band -aids. Once the flow of blood had slacked, I managed to incapacitate -myself sufficiently for the purpose of forging Winnie Tompkins' -signature. - -"Say, Winnie!" Arthurjean suddenly appeared at the bathroom door, with -an aroma of steak behind her. "I've just figured out something. If you -aren't Winnie but a ringer from the Aleutians, it's not decent for you -to see me in my pyjamas. We're strangers!" - -"Oh, keep 'em on till after dinner," I said. "I won't stand on -ceremony. I'm hungry." - -She laughed. "You sure can make like Winnie," she admired. "Jesus, the -steak's burning!" - - - - -CHAPTER 9 - - -"Say, old man, what happened to your hand?" Graham Wasson, plump, dark -and fortyish, but very clean-cut and with a Dewey dab on his upper -lip, was my questioner. He sat across the glass-topped desk in my Wall -Street Office, while Arthurjean Briggs typed demurely in the adjoining -office. - -"Changing razor-blades," I confessed. "The damn thing slipped and -before I knew it I made a grab for it. Lucky it didn't go deep. Hence -the surgical gauze and the lousy signature. Do you think you can get my -check cleared through the bank or should I write Winnie 'X' Tompkins, -his mark?" - -Wasson chuckled like a well-fed broker. "We'll get enough witnesses to -your John Hancock to make it legal," he promised. "Now what you've got -to do is to ease old lady Fynch into the trustee's delight and take a -gander at her former investments. I've brought the list with me. As you -know, she insisted that you okay the deal." - -I glanced at the typed list. "This stuff looks pretty good to me, -Graham," I said. "Detroit Edison's safe as the Washington Monument, -A.T.&T. is solid, and G.E. ought to do all right with this new -electronic stuff." - -"And how!" My partner agreed. "Boy! what a windfall! Stuff like that is -scarcer than hen's teeth on the open market. With close to a million -bucks to turn over, we ought to do pretty well on this. Here's what -we're buying for her." - -Wasson passed me a slip of paper. "The trustee's delight," he said. -"G-Bonds. You buy 'em, we should worry. No money back for ten years. -Morgenthau's dream-child." - -The slip was attached to a printed Treasury form. "See here," I -pointed out. "These damn bonds depreciate 2.2% a year for the first -five years and then start climbing up the ladder again, and they're -non-transferable." - -"That's it, Winnie. The trustee's delight," Wasson agreed. "They pay -2-1/2% a year if you hold them but if you try to sell them within -five years the discount means you only get about .03% on your money. -Once a trustee has put you aboard this roller-coaster, he can't -conscientiously advise you to get out." - -"Who dreamed up that swindle?" - -"Oh, a couple of dollar-a-year bankers we sent down to help the -Treasury win the war. It's a natural. It's patriotic to invest in -war-bonds. The yield's conservative as hell and you get it all back if -you wait long enough." - -"But what if the old girl dies within the next five years? Won't the -estate be liquidated? How will the heirs feel when they have to take a -loss of $60,000?" - -"That's their worry, Winnie," Wasson pointed out. "All we have to do is -sign the papers and la Fynch gets about $25,000 a year for the rest of -her life." - -"Instead of the $40,000 a year she's getting out of her present -investments now." - -"Sure, Winnie. We're not in business for our health. Industrials are -risky and Miss Fynch is awful set on beating Hitler. We take over her -present portfolio and take our chances on the market. If values shift -we're in a position to unload--but fast. She isn't. She only gets to -town twice a year, once between Bar Harbor and Long Island, and then -next time from Palm Beach to Long Island. Come on, Winnie, stick your -fist on these papers and I'll handle the transfers." - -I shook my head. "I'd like to think this over," I said. "If I was an -old woman and expected only five or ten more years of life, I'd be -hanged if I'd tie myself down to these financial mustard-plasters. It -sounds okay to be patriotic, but I think I'd stick to the greater risks -and higher yields and get a run for my money. Tell you what, Graham, -you phone and tell her I'd like to have a talk with her before she -makes up her mind." - -Wasson shoved back his chair and faced me, bristling. "I'll be damned -if I will. This is a natural and, handled right, is worth $100,000 to -the firm. You talked her into it and now if you're getting cold feet -you can talk her out of it. All I know is that you've gone nuts." - -"We aren't so hard up that we have to swindle old ladies." - -"Swindle my eye! What's wrong about $25,000 a year guaranteed by your -Uncle Sam?" - -"Less income tax," I reminded him. - -"Oh, sure--that--" - -"Well, it's about $15,000 a year less than she's getting now. If she -sold out and invested in an annuity she could get about $70,000 a year, -tax-free. No, I don't want to rush her into this." - -"Then you've forgotten how we made our pile in the first place," my -partner growled. "Phil Cone and I will have to talk this over. This is -a fine time to go soft on us." - -I grinned at him. "Go on, talk it over. If you want out, you're -welcome. I'd rather like you to stick around, as I'm on to something -really big and I don't want the Street to say we fleeced our clients." - -"I resent that, Winnie," Wasson snapped. - -"What else would you call it? Reinvesting?" - -"Listen," he exploded. "You built up this business. You invented the -methods. I'm damned if I let you call me a swindler for following your -lead!" And he stormed out, slamming the door. A moment later, he stuck -his head in again. "Forget it, Winnie. If you're working on a big -operation, count me in!" - -I studied the list of the Fynch investments again and the more I saw -it the more I wondered how anybody but a fool would fall for the -proposition of putting money in the government bonds for ten years, -when you could clean up outside government. - -There was a tap on the edge of my desk. I looked up to see Arthurjean. -"Mr. Harcourt is back to see you," she said. "I'll get set with the -stenotype. And don't worry about that Fynch dame. I'll give you a -fill-in later. She knows what she's doing." - -"Fine!" I told her. "Now you show Mr. Harcourt in and make with the -stenotype. Did you finish copying what we said yesterday?" - -Her mouth dropped open and her sweater quivered eloquently. "Omigawd! -baby! I clean forgot." - -Mr. Harcourt seemed much more vital and self-possessed than on the -previous afternoon--perhaps because he had obviously had a sleep, a -shower and a hearty breakfast, presumably prefaced by ten minutes of -vigorous push-ups and toe-touching in bathroom calisthenics. At any -rate he looked fit. - -"Morning, Harcourt," I said casually. "Sorry to tell you that Miss -Briggs was home with a bad headache last night and wasn't able to make -that copy of our talk yesterday." - -G-Men on duty are not supposed to smile without written permission from -their immediate superior but Harcourt must have had an extra helping of -Wheaties for breakfast. "Call yourself a headache, Mr. Tompkins?" he -asked. "That's who our man reported Miss Briggs had last night at 157 -East 51st Street, third floor front. Can I get her some aspirin?" - -"There are no secrets from the Gestapo," I observed, "and I have no -comment to offer except to say next time come on up and have a drink -with us instead of doing the G-Man in a cold and drafty doorway across -the street." - -The Special Agent gave an entirely unofficial wink at Arthurjean. -"Oh, hell," he remarked. "What's the use of all this coy stuff? The -Bureau isn't interested in your private life. What I wanted to say, Mr. -Tompkins, is that I reported our talk to my chief and he teletyped my -report down to Washington. We're not going to fool around with Church -Street on this one. The Director's going to take it up direct with -Admiral Ballister at the Navy Department. For my part, I told him I -thought it was all a pipe-dream but like I said the F.B.I. doesn't -believe in dreams that come true." - -Arthurjean crossed the room and stood behind him, pressing a little -unregenerately against the back of his chair, until Harcourt remarked -conversationally to U. S. Grant in the engraving, "I'm a married man, -baby, with a wife and kids in Brooklyn." - -My secretary smiled and gave him a smart tap on the top of his head. -"You're a good boy, junior," she told him, "and I'm all for you. But -don't you go making trouble for this dumb boss of mine or I'll call on -your wife, personal, and Tell All." - -Harcourt murmured to the engraving that unconditional surrender was -_his_ name, too, but that Tompkins was making so much trouble for -himself that he was damned if he could see how the F.B.I. could make it -any worse. In any case, he added more directly, he would keep in touch -with me and let me know whether I was wanted up at the Federal Court -House. - -"See here, Harcourt," I replied. "One good turn doesn't make a spring. -This is the screwiest case you've ever been on. If you can drop in and -visit Miss Briggs and myself on Saturday after lunch at our place, I'll -give you a fill-in that will rock the F.B.I. from its gats to its -toupees." - -"That's mighty white of you--and Miss Briggs," the Special Agent -allowed. "If the chief lets me, I'll meet you up there, say about 2:30." - -"Swell!" I said. "And which do you prefer--Scotch or rye?" - -"I don't drink on duty," he told me, "but I find Bourbon helps fight -off colds this early spring weather." - -After his departure, I locked myself in the office and with -Arthurjean's help, brought myself up to date on Winnie's business -operations. Tompkins, Wasson & Cone were not, as I had believed, a -high-toned bucket-shop. The proposed Fynch swindle was only the result -of a dopey old maid who practically insisted on helping beat the Axis -by turning her money into Government bonds. There was plenty of honest -graft and many a solid perquisite in straight commission work and -supervision of estates. The firm was not, of course, very scrupulous -but it always gave value for its transactions. It was, in fact, a -pretty slick set-up. - -There was a buzz on my inter-office telephone and the receptionist -announced: "Mr. Axel Roscommon to see you, Mr. Tompkins." - -"Oh, ask him to see one of the other partners, will you?" - -"I told him that you were too busy, but he said he must see you and -would wait." - -"He too?" I asked. "Okay. Send him in. Do you know an Axel Roscommon, -Arthurjean?" - -"Uh-uh!" She shook her head. "The name's sorta familiar. Something in -oil before Pearl Harbor. I can find out if you'll wait a bit." - -"Never mind," I told her. "I'll see him. You stay in the next room and -keep the door ajar so you can take a record." - -She laughed. "I can do better than that, boss. I'll switch down the -inter-office phones and keep the door shut. That way. I'll hear every -word you say. It's like a dictaphone." - -Mr. Roscommon was an extremely well set up man in the middle fifties, -about six-feet two, lean, with iron grey hair, a grey moustache, -steel-blue eyes and a bear-trap grip. He looked prosperous but not -worried by it. He spoke with a faint Irish lilt in his voice but his -manner was most direct and unHibernian. - -"Mr. Tompkins," he remarked. "You must excuse the lack of formality -but you will understand when I tell you that I am chief of the German -intelligence organization in the United States. Now don't think I'm -crazy or indiscreet. The only reason I have come to you is because my -agents in the F.B.I. tell me that you are involved in the sinking of -U.S.S. Alaska off the Aleutians. Thorium bombs, wasn't it? Chalmis was -a pretty smart chap and I warned our people that he was getting hot. -Now I don't ask you why in Wotan's name the Fuehrer thinks it makes -sense to have two intelligence services in this country. Probably -Berlin didn't like my last reports. No, don't get excited. I've engaged -in no subversive activities, I'm an Irish Free State citizen and if you -go to Washington you'll find that they know all about me. Hitler may -want the old Goetterdaemmerung spirit in our outfit but I can't see the -point of too much zeal." - -I offered him a cigarette. "What do you want to see me about, Mr. -Roscommon?" I asked. "For all you know there may be dictaphones planted -all over the place. My last visitor today was actually a special agent -of the F.B.I." - -Roscommon lighted his cigarette with a flick of a gold Dunhill lighter. -"That would be Harcourt--A. J. Harcourt--wouldn't it? A fine chap and -a conscientious agent. I'd heard he'd been assigned to your case. -You'll find him completely reliable. As you know, in time of war there -has to be _some_ practical way of maintaining direct confidential -communication between the enemies. Switzerland? Bah! All milk -chocolate, profiteering and eyewash. I wouldn't trust a Swiss as far as -I could throw the Sub-Treasury Building. I'm acting here for Berlin and -you have at least three men in Berlin to keep in touch with the German -Government over there. That's the only practical way modern wars can be -fought, eh? As Edith Cavell said last time, 'Patriotism is not enough.' -The fact is that even in war, two great countries like Germany and -America must and do maintain direct contact." - -I pushed the button for Arthurjean. "Miss Briggs," I asked, "have we -any brandy in the office?" - -Dead-pan and nonchalant, she crossed the room to a small safe, -disguised as a Victorian low-boy, twiddled the dials and revealed a -neat little Frigidaire. She prepared two brandies and soda, handed -them to us and returned to her office. - -"Prosit!" said I. - -"Heil Roosevelt!" Roscommon answered. - -"But what did you want to see me about?" I inquired. "_You_ may be all -right but _I'm_ already under investigation by the F.B.I." - -"Nonsense, old boy, nonsense," he reassured me. "If they, get -troublesome, let me know--I'm in the phone book and my girl will always -know where to reach me, day or night--and I'll tell Washington to stop -proceedings. No, Tompkins, what I wanted to tell you was that--when -you report back to your superior and I'll lay ten-to-one he's that -ass Ribbentrop--just tell him that the war's lost. Our game now is -to salvage resources for the next war, which will be against Russia, -unless I miss my guess. We've got to use these last few weeks and -days to rush funds, patents, papers, brains and organization out of -the Reich. Send them to Sweden, to Switzerland, to Italy. Fly them to -Spain, slip them in U-boats to Buenos Aires or Dublin. Tell Ribbentrop -that New York understands our problem and will play the game right -across the board, but there must be no shilly-shallying, no nonsense -about 'last stands.' If Hitler wants a Siegfried finish, let him have -it, but from now on our job is to save Germany as an asset for her -Western Allies and as a people whom the world will need to fight the -Soviets. Tell him that, will you, old man? Thanks most awfully." - -Roscommon finished his drink with an expert swirl of the glass, smiled, -shook hands and left the room as abruptly as he had arrived in it. I -picked up the outside phone. - -"Get me F.B.I. Headquarters," I said. "I wish to speak to Mr. A. J. -Harcourt. Thanks, I'll wait." - - - - -CHAPTER 10 - - -"Well, there it is, Harcourt," I ended my recitation. "Miss Briggs -believes me, my wife doesn't, and I don't expect you to. But if you're -interested, I can prove I'm Frank Jacklin any number of ways." - -The G-Man finished his drink and stared absent-mindedly at the ceiling, -while Arthurjean poured him a new shot of Bourbon and water--his fifth. - -"Mr. Tompkins," he said at last. "I'm drinking your liquor in your -house--or Miss Briggs' apartment, whichever it is--and it's not for me -to call you a liar." - -"Don't you dare!" Arthurjean warned him. "Not while I'm around, G-Man -or no G-Man. Say, what do the initials A. J. stand for in your name? -Abba Jabba?" - -"What do you think? Andrew Jackson, of course. No, Mr. Tompkins, I -won't call you a liar because, to tell the truth, I'm not sure that you -are. Lots of funny things have happened in this war. This might have -happened. But I can't do anything about it." - -"Can't you at least check on the Jacklin angle?" I asked. - -Harcourt shook his head. "Before I could do any checking, I'd have to -report my reasons to the chief. If I was asked for a reason, I'd have -to explain that I had grounds for thinking that Commander Jacklin's -soul--and the F.B.I. has never established a policy on souls--had been -blown from the Aleutians clear into Westchester County and is now -running round in the body of Winfred S. Tompkins, stock broker. That -report from me would go from my chief right up to J. Edgar Hoover, the -Attorney-General, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Cabinet and President -Roosevelt. Now, wouldn't that look nice on my record? Wouldn't that -just put me right in line for promotion? Be reasonable, you two. I'm -not saying I don't believe this yarn, but it would be worth my job to -act like I believed it--and I got a wife and three kids in Brooklyn, no -fooling." - -Arthurjean remained silent for a few minutes, "Andrew Jackson -Harcourt--" she began. - -"You haven't said anything about this sinister guy Roscommon," I -interrupted. "You could do something about him without worrying about -me and my story." - -"Roscommon?" Harcourt shrugged his shoulders. "Going after him would -remind me of the time we hit the Governor of North Carolina with a -Great Smoky barbecued bear. Roscommon is all he says he is and orders -are out not to touch him. How do you think we ought to fight this war, -anyhow? Blind-fold?" - -"What about that Great Smoky bear?" Arthurjean demanded irrelevantly. -"You-all from the South, honey-chile?" - -"The Old North State, sugar! And you?" - -"Tennessee, thank God! And the name's Arthurjean, Andy, and for the -millionth time I'll explain that my dad's name was Arthur and my -mother's name was Jean, so they ran 'em together, like Johns-Manville -or Pierce-Arrow, but it's all one word. No hyphen. So, there!" - -I urged them to get over their rebel yell and come back to the subject -of the bear. - -"Well, Mr. Tompkins," Harcourt explained. "It's this way. Up in the -Smokies we have a special way of cooking bear. All you need is a bear, -a bee-tree, a two-handed saw and a stick of dynamite. First, you kill -your bear. That's mighty important. You skin him and you gut him and -truss him up like a chicken. Then you ram him up as far as you can deep -inside a bee-tree, just below the honey, and wedge him in so he won't -slip. Then you start a slow fire underneath him inside the tree. The -fire sort of slow-cooks the bear, like a Dutch oven, drives off the -bees and melts the honey-comb. The honey just naturally drips down on -the bear meat while she's cooking. Just about the time the tree's ready -to fall--course, I should have explained you saw off the trunk just -above the honey so the bees can get away from the smoke and the old -tree will draw like a chimney--you set a fuse to a stick of dynamite, -toss it in the fire and run like hell. Well, sir, the dynamite goes -off and just naturally shoots the old roast bear out the tree like a -projectile. Then you pick it up, lug it back to the picnic grounds, -and I tell you, Mr. Tompkins, it's mighty sweet eating. Now this time -we nigh hit the Governor of North Carolina, he was making a political -speech over at the old fair grounds, and--" - -"I think I get the picture, Harcourt," I said, cutting in on him -rapidly. "We did pretty much the same thing with baby seals and popcorn -in the Aleutians. When we were after Jap subs, the depth-charges killed -no end of baby seals--concussion, I guess. So we'd pick 'em up in a -life-boat, clean them, stuff them with unpopped popcorn, and stick -them in the fourteen-inch guns. Then we'd touch off a reduced charge -behind 'em. Seals are naturally oily so they went out the muzzle like -a regular shell. The intense heat of the explosion not only cooked the -seal but popped the popcorn. That puffed out, set up air resistance and -reduced trajectory. Then we'd send a helicopter out to pick 'em up and -have 'em in mess. Cold with chili sauce, they were delicious. One time -when we were bombarding Attu, the crew of No. 3 turret forgot we had a -seal in the center gun and fired it at a Jap redoubt. It hit--" - -"I can see," Arthurjean remarked, "that I've been missing a lot of fun -here in New York, though I'll never forget the time we pretended we -found a dead mouse in a mince pie at the Waldorf--Now, who in hell can -_that_ be?" - -The door-bell rang insistently. - -Harcourt looked a little uneasy. "I thought it might save a lot of time -and trouble," he said, "if I asked Mrs. Tompkins to meet us here. I -told her that Miss Briggs was a friend of mine--sugar, you'd better -go in the other room and put on red night-things--so you don't need -something more _de trop_ than those to worry, Mr. Tompkins." - -"That's just dandy, Harcourt," I agreed. "Did you ever see a wife who -couldn't spot a sex-situation at a hundred yards up-wind on a dark and -rainy night?" - -"Can't say I did," the Special Agent admitted, "but I've never had but -one wife and she's busy with the kids." - -There was a knock on the door and Harcourt opened it with a courtly -manner. - -"Come right in, Mrs. Tompkins," he said. "My friend, Miss Briggs, is in -the other room and will be out in a moment. Mr. Tompkins and I--" - -"This," said Germaine, "is Mrs. Rutherford. After Winnie didn't turn -up for a couple of nights, we put our heads together and decided that -two could worry as cheaply as one. So when I got your message, I just -phoned Virginia and here we are. Hullo, Winnie, is this another of your -homes away from home?" - -Virginia Rutherford looked pretty much the way a roasting bear in a -bee-tree might be expected to feel while waiting for the dynamite to -explode: very sweet, red-hot and not giving a damn whether she hit the -Governor of the Old North State. - -"Hullo, Winnie," she remarked dangerously. "This another of your -tousled blondes?" - -"I resent that," Arthurjean said from the doorway. "This is _my_ -flat and I didn't invite you and I'll have you know that I'm a very -respectable--well, rather respectable--working girl." - -The effect of virtue was only slightly marred by the fact that, as she -spoke, a pair of silk panties slowly but inexorably slid below the hem -of her skirt and settled in a shimmer at her feet. Arthurjean looked -down. - -"Oh, hell, girls," she said, "What's the use? Have a drink!" - -"Thank you, Miss Briggs," Germaine replied. "I will. Make mine straight -Scotch and the same for Mrs. Rutherford. Are you, by any chance, -employed in my husband's office?" - -"I'm his secretary," Arthurjean admitted. - -"Winnie," Jimmie turned on me with a snap like those doors in Penn -Station which open by an electric eye, "and you swore that you had -nothing to do with the office-girls. I was fool enough to believe you." - -"At the time, dear," I explained guiltily, "I didn't know it myself." - -Harcourt came lumbering to my rescue. "Before you leap to any -conclusions, Mrs. Tompkins," he urged, "I think I ought to explain that -I represent the F.B.I. and that Mr. Tompkins came here today at my -request. Your husband happens to be in very serious trouble under the -Espionage Act. I personally am convinced that there's been a mistake -and that he's innocent, but my opinion is of no value unless I can -find evidence to support it." - -"What's he done?" Virginia Rutherford asked eagerly. "Will he go to -jail?" - -"Unfortunately, Mrs. Rutherford," Harcourt replied, "I'm not allowed -to discuss the nature of the charges against him. No formal indictment -has been lodged and if you can help me, none will be made. The -important thing is to know where he was and what he was doing from the -twenty-fifth of March until the second of April." - -"Why the twenty-fifth of March?" my wife demanded. "He was with me at -Bedford Hills most of that time. I, and the maid at the house, Myrtle, -can testify to that. I don't think he went to the office much that -week. It was Holy Week. He and I went to church." - -"Mrs. Tompkins," he said, "you are a true and noble lady. It's just too -bad that one of our agents has already interviewed the Hubble girl, who -testified that Mr. Tompkins didn't come home once all that week." - -Germaine sank back in her chair and looked at me with an air of -misplaced consecration. "Winnie," she urged, "go ahead and tell him -where you were. I'm your wife and I don't care what silliness you were -up to or what woman you were with, just so they don't send you to -prison." - -I smiled at her. "Jimmie," I replied, "I give you my word, I simply -don't remember. I don't know where I was. As I told you the other day, -I've drawn a blank as to what happened before last Monday afternoon." - -Mrs. Rutherford took advantage of the moment of incredulous silence -which followed this announcement. - -"Don't try to be chivalrous, Winnie," she urged me. "We hadn't planned -to advertise it, Jimmie, but Winnie spent that week with me. He rented -a flat for me uptown, Mr. Harcourt, about six weeks ago, and we put in -a whole week together. I daresay you think I'm a loose woman but--" - -Harcourt looked quite painfully embarrassed. "I surely do not want to -contradict a lady," he told her, "but the Bureau checked up on that -apartment yesterday. The janitor and the cleaning woman both stated -that, except for last Monday afternoon and evening when you were there -by yourself, neither you nor Mr. Tompkins had been near the place for -at least two weeks. The bed linen and the bath towels hadn't been used -and the food in the ice-box was stale. There had been no garbage." - -"Oh!" flared Virginia, "of all the low-down snoopers!" - -"The country's at war, Mrs. Rutherford," the Special Agent replied. -"And while I'm at it I might as well save Miss Briggs the trouble of -telling me that Mr. Tompkins spent that week here with her. He did not. -We've checked this apartment house most thoroughly, as well as Mr. -Tompkins' office." - -"Why that particular week?" I asked. - -Harcourt turned to me apologetically. "In view of your earlier -statements to me," he declared, "I'm sure you will understand this -explanation. A certain ship did not sail from a certain port until the -26th of March. A certain article was not delivered on board that ship -until after she had sailed. Before then, the individual who brought -the article to the ship had no knowledge which ship had been selected. -Before then, nobody on that ship had any knowledge that any article -would be brought on board and had no knowledge of the nature of its -voyage. Whatever arrangements were made must have been made during the -following few days. That, at any rate, is the working theory the Bureau -has adopted. Have you no idea of where you might have been in that -period, Mr. Tompkins?" - -I placed my head in my hands and thought back to that misty morning -ten days before, when the Alaska pulled out of Bremerton Navy Yard and -headed north through Puget Sound for Victoria and the Strait of Juan -de Fuca. I remembered how, as we returned recognition signals to the -Canadian base at Esquimault, a destroyer had put out, come alongside -and put a civilian passenger aboard us. I remembered the fuss he raised -on the bridge while we made a lee for the destroyer and hoisted a large -packing-case on board, and how it was hurried below decks with a Marine -guard. Then I thought of the run out west, past Dutch Harbor and Adak, -our light carrier slipping through the drifting fogs of the Aleutians, -while the slow Pacific swell pounded against our port beam and the -turbines whined and ship shook and the icy wind whipped across the -flight-deck. And I remembered that last night in the mess when Windy -Smith--of Texas, naturally--boasted that he-- - -"No, Mr. Harcourt," I told him, "I'm afraid that the things I remember -wouldn't help either of us. You go ahead and see what you can find out -about me, and so will I." - -"Winnie," Germaine said reproachfully. "Tell him where you were, dear. -It's no use pretending that you don't remember. I know that you can -explain. I know there's nothing _really_ wrong." - -Arthurjean walked across and put her hand on Jimmie's arm. "You'd -better have another drink, Mrs. Tompkins," she remarked, "and so had I. -This sort of thing is tough to take." - -Virginia looked up brightly at Harcourt. "If Winnie won't help himself, -I will," she said. "I'll find out what the big dope was doing and when -I do--look out!" - -"Come on, Jimmie," I told my wife. "Let's go home. I've had about as -much of this as I can stand. Harcourt, you know where you can reach me, -if you get the word from Washington. In the meantime, why don't you -follow up that Roscommon angle? That's the best lead I've struck." - -Harcourt finished his Bourbon. "Mr. Tompkins," he observed, "you're -quite right but there isn't a single thing I can do about it. We've had -top-level orders to lay off that guy and with the Bureau, orders is -orders." - - - - -CHAPTER 11 - - -When I entered my office on Monday morning, the genteel receptionist -informed me with some austerity that Mr. Roscommon was waiting for me. - -"Okay, send him in," I directed, bracing myself for what would probably -be a stormy interview. If Roscommon was as well-informed as he claimed -to be, he must know that I had already reported him to the F.B.I. - -"Smart work, Tompkins!" he beamed, giving my hand a vise-like squeeze. -"Working as I do with the highest echelons, I'm afraid I sometimes -forget the value of naiveté. You couldn't have invented anything better -calculated to slow down the Bureau than to report me as a Nazi agent. -Even the Director was impressed, though he'll see through your ruse -after a couple of days." - -"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" I inquired, "because your visit -will certainly arouse new suspicions. I assume I'm still under F.B.I. -observation." - -Axel Roscommon smiled. "Nothing to worry about, old boy, I assure -you. Naturally you'll have to go to Washington sooner or later and -explain things there. I suggest that you go next week, when the whole -Administration will be in a state of maximum confusion." - -I asked him whether that would be any change. - -"Absolutely, old boy. The war's been managed quite impressively well up -to now. After this week, with Roosevelt out of the way, things will -begin to fall apart and there will be plenty of pickings but the war is -already won, so that won't hurt." - -Roosevelt, I observed, was down in Georgia, according to the papers, -but that didn't mean he couldn't keep in touch with things in -Washington. - -Roscommon stood close against my desk and leaned forward on his hands, -facing me. "Listen carefully, old boy," he said, "and keep this to -yourself. Roosevelt will be dead before the week's out--on Friday the -thirteenth if there's any symmetry to be expected in this crazy world. -It's the same stuff they gave Woodrow Wilson over at Paris in the -spring of 1919. You may remember that chap Yardley wrote a book, 'The -American Black Chamber,' and told how the American Intelligence got -word of a plot to poison Wilson by one of America's allies. Not long -after, Wilson had a slight illness and a few months later had a stroke, -as they called it. You see your American Constitution--marvelous -document, that!--makes absolutely no bloody provision for the illness -of a President, and Wilson's paralysis paralyzed your government -for nearly two years, while America's allies cleaned up on the -peace-arrangements. - -"Roosevelt is tougher than Wilson was. They slipped him the first dose -at Teheran early last year. When he came back that spring he had a -slight illness--they called it influenza--and he was never quite the -same. Except for a few trusted social associates, close friends and -members of the family, he was kept in strict seclusion. Then, with -his amazing vitality, he began to throw off the stuff and staged a -magnificent political campaign last fall. So they had to try again at -Yalta early this year. The second time they gave him too much. He had -one bad attack on the cruiser coming back from the Mediterranean. When -he addressed Congress, he had the same gaunt look and thick speech -that Wilson had towards the end. The final stroke is due this week and -has been held off only because he's taking things easy. No, old chap, -Roosevelt's doomed and all I can tell you is that the Germans had no -part in it. Only five men in America know about this, and F.D.R. is one -of them." - -"You're talking utter piffle," I replied. "I can see how Hitler or Tojo -might want to get rid of Roosevelt but who else? Why don't you warn the -authorities. Or I could." - -Roscommon smiled rather sadly. "What good would it do? There's no -antidote after the first twenty-four hours. If Roosevelt hasn't warned -them, why should you? All that would happen would be to put yourself -under the blackest kind of suspicion. Just fancy the reaction of the -American Intelligence. You march in and say, 'See here, the President's -been poisoned and will die before the end of the week.' They promptly -call for an ambulance and an alienist and send you to St. Elizabeth's -for observation. Then the President does die. 'By the Lord Harry!' they -think, 'this chap we locked up said Roosevelt would die and now he has -died. He probably had a hand in it himself. Let's fix him just to be -safe!'" - -I nodded. "Yes, I can see that," I agreed. "Look at what happened when -Lincoln was assassinated. But if I'm not to pass word on to anybody, -what's the point of telling me about it--assuming it to be true, which -I doubt?" - -"Naturally you doubt me, my boy, naturally. All you need do is to wait -until Friday the thirteenth and if I'm right you'll know it and if I'm -wrong you'll know it. But I assure you that I am not wrong. The war is -over and Roosevelt is the only obstacle to certain long-range practical -arrangements for organizing the peace. The Old World, mind you, doesn't -like outsiders like Wilson and Roosevelt telling them what to do with -victory. From now on, America is going to be immobilized. It's all -rather simple, really, but I haven't time to explain how simple it is -because the explanation is bloody complicated." - -"You still haven't told me why you have passed on this fantastic story -to me," I pointed out. - -"Oh, that? It's just this, my boy. Sell the war short! Sell it -short! You must use all the funds that Ribbentrop gave you to get -a real nest-egg. With Germany defeated, our intelligence will need -funds--decentralized funds--and this is your chance to do an important -job. I don't care what the Foreign Minister told you to do with the -money. Forget him--he's a dead duck, anyway. Just take the cash and -sell the war short. Make a killing and then we'll be able to finance -future operations." - -After Roscommon had made another of his abrupt departures, I buzzed for -Arthurjean and told her to ask my partners to come in. - -Wasson was the same as he had been before--plump, dark-haired and -energetic. Philip Cone was taller, fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a quiet -manner and a sleepy expression. - -"Morning, Graham. Morning, Phil," I greeted them. "The other day, -Graham, you got peeved because I wanted to go slow on the Fynch -portfolio. I only had a hunch then but I knew we'd better not rush into -one of our regular reinvestment run-arounds. Now I've made a check and -I see the new line. Boys, from now on, we've got to sell the war short." - -"What do you mean 'sell the war short?'" Wasson demanded. "The Japs are -good for another year and those Nazis are fighting pretty damn well, -too. You don't mean to go America First, separate peace or any of that -rot, do you?" - -"You know me better than that," I reproved him. "No. My tip is that the -Germans will surrender within a month and the Japs before Labor Day. -What do we do to clean up?" - -"Je-sus!" Cone drawled appreciatively. "The bottom will drop out of the -market!" - -"No, Phil it won't," Wasson objected. "They won't let it. That would be -an admission that Wall Street is cashing in on the war." - -"Well, aren't we cashing in?" asked Cone, "I haven't heard a single -broker or banker committing suicide since Pearl Harbor." - -"Nuts to that talk!" Wasson replied. "No, Winnie, my point is that Wall -Street can't afford a peace-scare selling wave, and if stocks start to -drop the big boys will move in and support the market." - -"How about commodities, Graham?" I asked. "You know that end of the -business. The whole world will be hungry and naked. Can't we move in -there without risk?" - -Wesson laughed bitterly. "There will be only about eighteen governments -and government boards riding herd on you every time you move in with -real money in that racket. Anyhow, they tell me that this guy Roosevelt -has ordered the F.B.I. to move in on the Black Market." - -"Well, boys," I observed, "the way you put it we can't do a damn thing -to make money out of the same kind of tip-off that set the House of -Rothschild up for a hundred years after the Battle of Waterloo. That -doesn't make sense." - -Phil Cone smiled sheepishly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that, Winnie. We can -cash in but we'll have to step out of our field. We could shift a -million dollars to Canada. You can get a Canadian dollar for ninety -cents American. A year from now it will be back to par. That's better -than ten percent on your money in less than a year." - -"What about South America?" I asked. - -"Lay off the Latins, Winnie," Wasson advised me. "Brazil's the only -country in South America that's good for the long pull and just now is -no time to monkey with Brazil. They've got some politics just now." - -I considered things a bit. "Let's see if we can figure out a way to -make a quick killing," I said. "Suppose, for example, something drastic -happened--like Roosevelt dying on one of his plane-trips--to mark the -end of some of these controls. What would happen to the market?" - -Wasson chuckled. "If that guy popped off, there'd be dancing in Wall -Street and you'd have to shut down the Exchange because the ticker -couldn't keep up with the buying orders. Prices would go higher than -the Empire State Building. Hell! They'd hit the stratosphere." - -"Is that your opinion, Phil?" I asked. - -Cone shook his head. "Only a few suckers would feel like that, Winnie," -he told me. "The big-time operators would be shivering in their boots. -As long as F.D.R. is in the White House there's no limit to what they -can make out of the war. If Roosevelt died now, you'd see the bottom -drop out of the market and the damndest wave of labor strikes we've had -since 1890." - -"Damn it, Phil," I objected. "I wish you and Graham would get together -on this one. I can't quite follow all your ideas. Business conditions -and war-orders would continue, wouldn't they?" - -Cone shook his head again. "No," he insisted. "The business community's -got confidence in Roosevelt. Sure he's a tough baby, sure he's got a -lot of dumb Harvard men sore at him, sure he's got the labor leaders -_and_ the G.I.'s rooting for him. But he's done a good job with the -war, he's let people make money and some of his best friends are -multi-millionaires, like Astor and Harriman. If he was to die, we'd -have this Missouri guy--whatsisname? Truman?--and what can he offer?" - -"Got any comment on that, Graham?" I asked. - -"The way Phil puts it, it sounds reasonable," Wasson admitted, "but -I still say that the first reaction to anything like that would be a -buying wave which would send the market way up." - -I considered for a couple of minutes. "I can't say I agree with you," -I said at last. "The big boys wouldn't let that happen any more than -they'd let a peace-scare knock the bottom out of the market. What would -labor and the G. I.'s think and do if they read that the Stock Market -quotations went over the top at a thing like that." - -"Well, Winnie," Cone observed. "It isn't likely to happen." - -"That's so," I agreed. "However, I think it would be a good idea to -work out a representative list of industrials and go short on the -market generally for the next thirty days. We can unload the Fynch -portfolio as a starter. We ought to be able to pick up two or three -hundred thousand if we work it right." - -Cone nodded. "Graham and I will go to work on it now, and we'll have -the list ready before start of business tomorrow morning. That will be -the tenth, won't it?" - -Wasson looked uneasy. "I don't like it so much, Winnie," he said, "but -I've never seen you lose money on a hunch yet so I'll string along. -Come on, Phil, this is a hell of a big war we're trying to sell short. -Let's hope we don't fall flat on our face." - - - - -CHAPTER 12 - - -The phone rang. "Mr. Tompkins?" A girl's voice inquired. "Just a -moment, Mr. Willamer of the Securities and Exchange Commission will -speak to you." - -I didn't like that "will." "And who the hell, Arthurjean, is Mr. -Willamer of the S.E.C.?" I asked in an aside. - -"The woiks," she said. - -"Hullo, Tompkins," a clear phonogenic baritone inquired. "This is Harry -Willamer. I saw your list of selling-orders this morning and wondered -if you would drop in and see me." - -"Certainly," I said. "Shall I bring my books?" - -"Not necessary. This is entirely informal. As a matter of fact, I have -some gentlemen from Washington whom I think you will be interested in -meeting. This is entirely unofficial, of course." - -"How about meeting me at the Pond Club at one o'clock?" - -"That will be grand," Mr. Willamer answered heartily. "The Pond Club at -one o'clock it is." - -I turned to Arthurjean. "What kind of go-round is this? I start selling -and inside an hour the S.E.C. is on my tail. Isn't speculation legal -any more?" - -"Baby," she remarked, "anything's legal as long as you're in with the -right guys. All I can tell you is that Willamer is hot stuff. His aunt -is a cousin of Jesse Jones or maybe it's Henry Morgenthau. So you watch -yourself and don't do any talking out of turn." - -It was Tuesday, the 10th, and I had launched my plan of selling the war -short in a determined campaign to unload G.M. and U.S. Steel. I was -well covered in case of a rise, but there was already a million dollars -of the firm's money in the operation, behind the Fynch million which I -had used to break the ice. - -The Pond Club was the same as ever. Tammy was polishing the glasses in -his little bar and there were no fellow-members in evidence. After all, -I decided, they weren't likely to show up much before three o'clock. -However, I decided that privacy was called for, especially if Commander -Tolan put in an appearance. - -"Tammy," I explained, as he produced his usual pick-me-up and waited -for me to down it. "I'm expecting some gentlemen to join me in a few -minutes. Is there a room where we could have a private conversation and -still get something to drink?" - -"Well, sir, Mr. Tompkins," the steward said, "I think I could let you -use the Minnow Room. That's private and there's a dumbwaiter to the -bar. Just push the buzzer and say what you want in the phone and I'll -send it right up to you." - -"It sounds like perfection," I told him. "I'll go on up to the Minnow -Room. The gentleman I'm expecting is named Willamer and he'll have -some friends with him. Just send them up when they arrive. How do you -get there?" - -Tammy looked a trifle startled. "That's where you had your bachelor -dinner, sir," he reproved me. "Up the stairs and first door to your -left, sir. You'll remember it when you see it, I'm quite sure." - -Tammy was right. No one who had ever seen the Pond Club's Minnow Room -was likely to forget it. The wall on one side was lined solid with -illuminated tanks containing gold-fish making fishy little zeros with -their stupid mouths. The other walls were enlivened by frescoes of -drunken fish in various hilarious attitudes. Indirect lighting gave a -sort of Black Mass or Diabolical Fish-Fry effect to the whole. It was -definitely not a room to stay sober in. - -"Tompkins?" The door opened and an egg-smooth young man with a baldish -head and pale eyebrows stood in the entrance. "I'm Harry Willamer. Meet -the rest of the gang. Here's Winston Sales of the War Production Board, -Lieutenant-Colonel George Finogan of the Army Quartermaster Corps and -Commander Raymond Coonley of the Navy Bureau of Supplies." - -Except for the uniforms, they might have been cousins--they were all -fattish, baldish and blondish. They were all egg-like men, middle-aged, -all hearty in manner and all seemed to have no particular reason for -existing. - -"Well, gentlemen," I asked, "what will you have to drink?" - -"Scotch-and-soda," said Willamer. "Hell, let's make it Scotch for -everyone and save trouble." - -"I'd like a whiskey sour," objected Commander Coonley. "I've got -butterflies in my stomach after working with those hot-shots from -Detroit last night." - -"Okay," Willamer accepted the amendment. "One whiskey sour. Any other -changes?" - -There were none, so I signaled to Tammy and our order was filled. - -"Tompkins," Willamer remarked. "You'll excuse this short notice but -when I spotted your selling-orders in the market this morning I knew we -had to move fast. First of all, I'd like to know why you are selling, -when everybody else is buying." - -"Mr. Willamer," I explained, "it's none of the S.E.C.'s goddamned -business what or why I sell so long as I follow the regulations." - -Willamer laughed. "Who said anything about the S.E.C.?" he demanded. -"Oh, I get it. You thought this was an informal investigation by the -Commission. Right? My fault. Should have told you that this has nothing -to do with your firm's market-position or the S.E.C." - -I took a reflective swallow of Scotch. "Then what the hell _is_ this?" -I asked. - -Harry Willamer drew himself up, "We," he explained, "are the Inter-Alia -Trading Corporation. Your selling orders suggest that you don't expect -the war to last much longer." - -"I don't," I told him. - -"Neither do we," Willamer continued. "That's why we've been busy -organizing Inter-Alia. It's a neat set-up. Sales here, on the War -Production Board, is in a position to advise us of all cut-backs in -war-contracts and keep in touch with the whole contract-termination -program. Colonel Finogan is in the Quartermaster Corps and is the only -man in the Army--" - -"In the world, Harry," Finogan corrected him. - -"Right you are, George, in the world--who knows where all the surplus -war-stocks are located. His office routes them to the depots. That -in itself is worth a million dollars to the company. Anything from -jeeps to nylons, Colonel Finogan knows where they are and what price -will buy them. Commander Coonley is in the same position on Navy -Supplies. Between him and Finogan there isn't an ounce of anything from -parachute-silk to bull-dozers which we can't locate. As for me, I watch -the way money and markets move here in Wall Street." - -I finished my drink. "That sounds wonderful, Mr. Willamer, but what -has it got to do with me? You have the makings of a ten million dollar -corporation between the four of you." - -Willamer raised a soft, white, well-manicured hand in a -traffic-stopping gesture. "All but one thing, Tompkins," he said. -"We haven't got working capital to exploit this set-up. That's where -you come in. Tompkins, Wasson & Cone controls between three and -five million dollars and are smart operators. So long as you stuck -to conservative methods, no dice for Inter-Alia, but when I saw you -gambling on the early end of the war, I said to myself, this is where -we can do business with Tompkins." - -"How much do you need?" I asked. - -"Three hundred thousand would be enough to start with," Willamer -reckoned. - -"Half a million," Finogan amended. - -"Say you need half a million to start with and I put it up, what do I -get out of it?" I demanded. - -Willamer looked a little secretive. "Well, Tompkins," he admitted. -"You'll get good security for your money, of course, and a share in -what we make. Say a fifth, since there are four of us in it already." - -"That sounds reasonable," I agreed, "assuming you have a sure thing. -What's your first operation, once you get the money in Inter-Alia to -finance it?" - -Willamer looked still more secretive. "That is a firm secret, -Tompkins," he told me. "If you decide to come in with us, I'll let you -in on our plans, but this thing is too big to talk about until we see -the color of your money." - -I stood up. "Well, then, gentlemen," I announced, "will you have one -more round of drinks and then kindly get the hell out of here? I'm -delighted to have met you personally but I don't see the point of -wasting our time unless I know what I am putting my money into." - -"Tell him, Harry," Sales urged. "We can trust Tompkins not to take -advantage of our plans. The way we're set up we could block him easy -if he tried to double-cross us." - -"That's right," I said. "It's your plan and you have the inside track." - -"Well, then," Willamer explained, "here's our first operation. The -Army and Navy have huge stocks of atabrine and quinine--left over from -Africa and the South-west Pacific. As soon as the fighting stops, -Colonel Finogan and Commander Coonley will declare these stocks surplus -to be sold at spot-sales where they are. We will be the only bidders -and we get a world-corner on malaria. The whole world needs that stuff -and if we move fast, during the confusion after victory, we can sew it -up and make the world pay our price. We ought to double our money in -three months." - -"Double!" snorted Sales. "We ought to quintuple it like Papa Dionne. -South America is just lousy with dollars and here's a way to get 'em -back home. Malaria's a big item down there. No quinine, no oil." - -"Well, gentlemen," I told the Inter-Alia boys, "I'll have to think -it over. As Mr. Willamer knows, I'm pretty heavily committed in the -present market. Get in touch with me about the end of the month and -I might be able to put--say, twenty thousand dollars--into your -proposition." - -Willamer smiled unpleasantly. "Come, Tompkins," he said, "you can do -much better than that. Perhaps you don't realize that the S.E.C. might -just decide to investigate your firm's market-position. You can afford -to put in at least $100,000 now and, when you get out of your present -operation, make up the balance of that half million." - -I went to the dumbwaiter and pushed the buzzer. "Tammy," I spoke into -the phone, "will you come up here and show these gentlemen out of the -club. We've finished our talk." - -"Nothing doing," I said to the others. "I don't shake down well." - -Willamer blinked his watery blue eyes at me. "That's libelous," he -stated. "I'm a lawyer and I ought to know. You can't accuse me of -blackmail in the presence of witnesses. By God, Tompkins, I'll have the -examiners in your office at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. And I'll sue -you for damages." - -"Oh no, you won't," I informed him. "I didn't call you a blackmailer -and I doubt that your friends will care to testify. You didn't -know--perhaps I forgot to mention it--but this room is wired for -dictaphones and a complete phonographic record of this conversation is -already on wire. I'll send it over to the F.B.I. in the morning, unless -you--" - -"Excuse me, Harry," said Commander Coonley with an air of decision. "I -didn't hear any reference to blackmail by Mr. Tompkins. I'd better be -getting back to my office." - -"Me, too," chimed Lt. Col. George Finogan. - -"Nice to have met you, Tompkins," Winston Sales observed as he strode -briskly for the exit. - -Harry Willamer turned to me, not without dignity. "You son of a bitch!" -he remarked feelingly, and followed the others. - -I waited until it was reasonably sure that the Inter-Alia group had -left the building. Then I went downstairs to the bar and found Tammy -alone. - -"Tammy," I said. "You overheard our conversation down the dummy, didn't -you?" - -"Oh no, sir. Not at all, Mr. Tompkins. I--" - -"Of course you did, Tammy. You heard these gentlemen try to blackmail -me and you heard me tell them to go to hell, didn't you?" - -I languidly waved a twenty-dollar bill under his snubby nose. - -"Now that you put it that way, sir," the little bar-steward admitted, -"I do remember hearing that Mr. Willamer say that unless you gave him -$100,000 he'd start investigating your books." - -"Splendid!" I congratulated him. "Just remember that, when the time -comes. Now see if you can get me Mr. Merriwether Vail on the phone. -He's in the Manhattan Directory--a lawyer." - -"Merry?" I asked, after we had been connected. "I have a feeling I'm -going to need your legal services.... No, it's not that one ... it's -another kind of jam ... I'm being blackmailed.... No, you dope, it's -not a woman, it's an official.... Yes, I'll stick here until you can -get over.... What shall I order for you, a double Scotch?... Right! At -the Pond Club." - -There was one more move to make. I called Bedford Hills, -person-to-person call, and asked for my wife. After the usual duel -between local and suburban operators, Jimmie's voice answered. -"Winnie," she said. "Thank goodness you telephoned me. You'd better -come out at once. The most dreadful things have been happening." - -"It's not so wonderful here either," I told her. "Listen, Jimmie, you -come on in--" - -"It's Ponto," she said, paying absolutely no attention to what I was -saying. "He's drunk--yes, drunk! He managed to upset that decanter of -old brandy you keep on your night table and lapped it up. Now he's -howling and hiccoughing like mad and I'm afraid to go near him." - -"Oh, Jimmie, to hell with Ponto. Let him sleep it off. You come on -in to town. We've got to do some fast thinking. I'll meet you in the -Little Bar at the Ritz at five o'clock. Bring your night things, and -mine, too. We may have to leave town in a hurry. I'll explain when I -see you." - - - - -CHAPTER 13 - - -Merry Vail listened to my account of the encounter with the Inter-Alia -gang and then rolled his eyes toward heaven. - -"Poor old Winnie!" he expostulated. "Why didn't you try something -comparatively safe, like robbing a she bear of her whelps or yelling -'Hurray for Hitler' in Union Square? Harry Willamer is a vindictive guy -and his aunt or his mother-in-law is related to Jesse Jones. At least -that's what the Street believes." - -"What can he do to me?" I asked. "I have him cold on a charge of -blackmail." - -"Like hell you do!" said Merry. "First thing he'll check with the -F.B.I. to find out if there is a recording of your talk. And there -isn't. So it's your word and Tammy's against that of four high-ranking -government officials. You ask what they can do to you? You just call -Phil Cone at your office and see if they haven't started doing it -already." - -The steward made the phone connection and in a few minutes Cone's -languid voice was complaining over the wire. - -"Say, Winnie, what the hell have you been up to?" - -"Nothing, Phil. Why?" I asked. - -"It's just that the word's been passed to lay off Tompkins, Wasson -& Cone. The brokers don't want to handle our orders. You know Manny -Oppenheimer of Auchincloss, Morton, Caton, Beauregard & Oppenheimer? -You know how he used to lick your boots if you stood still long enough -for him to kneel down and stick his tongue out? Well, Manny cut me. -Yeah, that's right. Cut me! What's cooking? Even my best friends won't -tell me whether it's B.O. or dishpan hands." - -"Just keep on plugging, Phil," I urged. "They can't refuse to handle -our orders if we insist. I'll put in some calls on this.... Yeah, I'm -up at the Pond Club with my attorney ... I'll try to call you back. -That guy Willamer is back of this because I wouldn't go along with his -proposition." - -"Oh-oh!" Phil observed dismally. "That's enough for me. Think I'd -better join the Marines?" - -"You keep away from the recruiting-sergeant until we finish this -operation," I told him. - -I turned to Vail. "Merry," I said, "this is one for you to handle. -Brokers are trying to get out of handling our orders and tenth-raters -like Manny Oppenheimer are high-hatting Phil Cone. You put in a call -and find out what it's all about." - -Vail meditated. "Okay," he said at last. "You understand I'm acting as -your attorney now?" - -"Sure," I agreed. - -He dialed a number. "I'd like to speak to the U.S. Attorney's office," -he told the switch-board operator. "Yes, I'll wait.... Yes.... Oh, -Ned?... This is Merry Vail. I've been retained by Winfred Tompkins. -What I want to know is whether there are any charges against him.... -Yeah, he's with me now.... No, he won't try to leave town. Suspicion of -kidnapping?... No fooling?... That's cockeyed.... Listen, counselor, my -client is innocent and stands ready to answer all charges--" - -He turned to me. "Hell, he hung up!" - -"What was that about kidnapping?" I asked. - -"Oh, something completely screw-ball," my attorney said. "It's only -that his office has received an anonymous charge accusing you of having -kidnapped Winnie Tompkins and masquerading in his place. Ned also told -me you were in trouble with other governmental agencies and said he'd -see me in court." - -"Damn!" I objected. "That sounds like Virginia Rutherford's idea of -a snappy way to find out where I was before Easter. It doesn't make -sense. If I kidnapped Tompkins, who am I supposed to be? I'm ready to -take a finger-print test any time, even with these bandages on my right -hand." - -Vail clucked his tongue. "That attitude won't help," he said. "If you -don't look out they'll say your prints prove that you're the man who -kidnapped Charley Ross. No, Ned is full of prunes and he doesn't put -much stock in this kidnapping angle, but the wolves are after you all -right. Now I've passed the word, you can't leave the State, of course." - -"Damn you, Merry," I objected. "I never told you--" - -"You retained me, Winnie. That's enough. You'd be a damn fool to pull -out now. Every G-man in America would be after you. My advice is -to stick around. Today's the eleventh, Wednesday. Well, you have a -week-end coming up, so you might just as well go on commuting between -your office and Bedford Hills as be pulled off the fast freight at -Oneonta." - -"Damn that Rutherford woman!" I remarked. "She is the one who turned -me in to the District Attorney. Up to now I've just had a few friendly -passes from a nice guy from the F.B.I." - -"I can't advise you on the subject of your sex life," Vail said. "But -you have nothing to fear if you remember to cultivate a clean-cut manly -expression and an air of amazed innocence as you tell the Judge, 'Not -guilty, your Honor, and I reserve my defense.'" - -"What shall I tell Phil Cone, though?" I asked. - -"Wait a minute and I'll put in another call," Vail said. He dialed -another number. "I want to speak to Joe," he said. "Yes. Joe. Tell him -it's Merry Vail.... Joe, this is Merry.... Same to you. Say, what's all -this b.s. about Winnie Tompkins.... Oh ... the hell you say!... I don't -believe.... No, that's definitely not true.... If it was anybody but -you, Joe, I'd advise him to sue for libel.... Yeah, he's my client.... -Of course he's innocent.... Lay you five-to-one in thousands he is.... -Done!" - -Vail turned back to me. "That was the chief fixer in New York," he -told me. "His word is good. This kidnapping charge is a phony. Just -a move to tie you up. What they think they have on you is a charge -under the Espionage Act, communicating with the enemy. Joe was vague -but it sounded plenty tough. The S.E.C.'s passed out word to be cagey -in trading with you. They can't black-list you or freeze your funds -without a hearing, but they sure can put on the heat. How much did -Willamer want you to put into his racket?" - -"Half a million," I told him. "One hundred thousand now and the rest in -thirty days." - -Merry Vail drew a wry face, sucked in his lips and signaled to Tammy -for another drink. "As a member of the Bar and an officer of the -court," he remarked, "I can't advise you to pay blackmail. On the other -hand, if you could see your way to making a substantial investment in -the Inter-Alia Corporation, it might make things much pleasanter all -around." - -I shook my head. "No, Merry," I told him, "and you are through as my -attorney. I'll take my chances without a lawyer from now on, if that's -the sort of advice I pay you for. I don't mind a gamble but these boys -figure to use malaria to put a financial squeeze on the whole world. -Ever see a man die of malignant malaria, Merry? It's not nice and it's -not necessary, if you have atabrine or quinine. No, damn it, you go -peddle your papers and I'll fight this out alone. Tammy," I added. "Get -me the office, please. I want to talk to Mr. Cone again." - -Vail grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. "Like hell you'll do -without an attorney, you damn fool!" he said. "I'm sticking with you, -with or without a fee. Say," he added, "what's come into you to make -you act this way? You used to get the heebie-jeebies at the mere -thought of legal complications." - -"Phil," I said into the phone. "This is Winnie. Things are plenty bad -for me personally. You and Graham can pull right out now if you wish. -That louse Harry Willamer or somebody has put me on the spot and I'm -trying to prove I'm not a Nazi agent.... No, neither are you, but you -might have a hell of a time proving it. That's swell of you, Phil, but -I don't want to get you or Graham in trouble. Now's the time to pull -out of the firm if you like. Naturally I'm innocent but just now it's -tough. Okay, you take it up with Graham, will you? I don't want to have -to worry about either of you.... Sure I'm in a jam but it's not your -fault and has nothing to do with the firm...." - -When I put the telephone back in its cradle I looked up to see Merry -Vail staring at me. - -"Winnie," he said, "you're innocent for my money. Fun's fun but this -thing is dangerous. Now I'm your attorney and you'll sure as hell need -one so it's no use firing me. I don't know what sort of a frame they've -figured for you or why the F.B.I.--" - -I laughed. "Okay, Merry," I told him, "you're still my attorney. The -F.B.I.'s been swell. The Special Agent assigned to check up on me, A. -J. Harcourt, couldn't be nicer. I'd trust him not to pull a fast one." - -Vail frowned. "The F.B.I. may be swell," he answered, "but their hand -can be forced. They have to act on information received and superior -orders. Your man Harcourt may be the nicest guy in the world but if -he's told to bring you in he'll bring you in." - -"Then what's your advice, counselor?" - -"My advice to you, Winnie," he said, "is to try to forget about it. -Just go right ahead with your plans, whatever they are, just so you -don't try to leave this jurisdiction or go into hiding. The best thing -you could do is to go back to Bedford Hills and mind your own business -and don't let these government so-and-so's push you around. Hell, this -is a free country!" - -"But I phoned Jimmie to meet me at the Ritz at five o'clock," I -objected, "with our traveling things." - -Vail glanced at his wrist-watch. "It's not three yet. If you phone her -now the chances are she hasn't left. Tell her to stay put. Remember, -the less you act guilty or scared the safer you are. The dog doesn't -start to chase the rabbit until the rabbit starts to run." - -I phoned back to Pook's Hill and was rewarded by catching Jimmie five -minutes before the taxi was due to pick her up. - -"Hold everything, dear," I told her. "Plans have changed. I'm coming -out on the first train I can catch. How's Ponto?" - -"Thank Heaven you called," Winnie's wife replied. "I couldn't find your -dressing gown and your traveling case is in the room with Ponto and I -didn't want to disturb him.... Oh he's snoring like mad. Passed out -cold, I guess. He shakes the house. I never knew dogs got drunk, did -you?" - - * * * * * - -When I first arrived at Pook's Hill I had a definite program in mind. -First, I went to the kitchen, broke a raw egg into a tumbler and soused -it in Worchester sauce. Then I added a good slug of brandy from the -portable bar in my den. Armed with this Prairie Oyster, I went boldly -to the second floor, opened the door to my bedroom and contemplated the -debauched Great Dane. - -Really, I could never have believed that a dog could look so completely -blotto. Ponto was a bum in every sense of the word. He lay drooling and -snoring on the bed, dead to the world. - -"Ponto!" I ordered. - -An ear pricked up, then dropped languidly back again. Then a blood-shot -eye opened and shut. There was a half-whine, half snarl, interrupted by -a violent hiccough. - -"Here you are, Ponto!" I stated firmly, advancing on the bed, glass in -hand. - -The blood-shot eye opened again and the beast began to shake and -shiver. I walked up, lifted his jowl in one hand, made a little funnel -of his lip and poured in the Prairie Oyster. Then I clamped a firm -control on the jaws, held Ponto's head back and let it slide gulping -down his gullet. - -Ponto heaved. He shuddered. He shook himself free, leaped from the -bed and ran around the room, lurching, whining and shaking his head -violently. He stopped and sideswiped his muzzle with a clumsy paw. He -lay down on his back and rolled. - -Then the dose took hold. A noble expression seemed to pour over his -brow. His eyes opened wide and remained open, with a clear and friendly -gleam. He stood up, shook himself, ran into the bathroom, gulped some -water from his bowl very noisily, and then came bounding back. - -"Wuff!" He said to me. - -Then Ponto reared on his hind legs, placed two large paws on my -shoulders and proceeded to lick my face thoroughly with a rough, wet -tongue. I had made a friend, I decided. As Androcles had won the -lion by removing the thorn from its paw, so had I tamed Ponto by -administering first-aid. - -There was a tap at the door. It was Jimmie. "Are you all right, -Winnie?" she asked. "Is he still asleep?" - -"Asleep!" I was contemptuous. "No, he's awake. Ponto and I are pals. -We understand each other. He had a hang-over and I fixed him. We're -buddies now, aren't we, old fellow?" - -The answer was a low savage growl and I leaped through the door barely -in time to escape his earnest but rather shaky attempt to remove a -couple of pounds of meat from my exterior. - -"Hell!" I explained, "that beast's not human. Let's send him back to -the vet's and get something easier to live with--a Yorkshire or a -poodle." - -"I'd like a Chihuahua," said Germaine, "or one of those little Belgian -Schipperke gadgets." - -"How about a collie?" I asked. - -Germaine raised piteous eyes to me. "Do you want to make me ill, with -your talk of collies?" she asked. "Now come on down to the den and tell -me what's been going on in town." - -"Well, Jimmie," I began, "it's a long, long story--" - - - - -CHAPTER 14 - - -"If it's going to be long," she said, "we'd both better have a drink. -You always think better if you have a glass in your hand." - -"Now, what is it you want to know?" I answered, after we were -comfortably settled in front of the electric fire. - -"It's--it's just that everything is so queer," Germaine began. "You've -changed so that you almost seem like a different person. You even look -better, not so flabby, as though you took regular exercise. At least -I see a change, and then suddenly I find that you've been carrying on -with that Briggs girl and I can't tell whether you've really changed or -are just trying to fool me. She's a nice person, of course, and if you -_must_ have another girl, I'd rather have you pick someone--oh--safe -and comfortable like her. But you said you hadn't been playing with -the office girls. And then there's Ponto. He used to adore you and you -swore by him. Now he tries to bite you and you want to get rid of him. -And then there's all this talk about where you were during Holy Week -and that F.B.I. man and Myrtle tells me they've been asking a lot of -questions about you and Virginia. What _have_ you been doing, dear, -that you can't remember when our whole life may depend on it?" - -"Jimmie," I told her. "I wish to God I knew. You must believe me when -I tell you I can't remember things before Easter Monday. That was the -second and today is the eleventh and I can remember everything that's -happened since then. Before that it is all blank and all mixed-up in -that dream I had." - -She moved away from me, slightly. "You can't tell me that the F.B.I. -would be interested in your dreams," she said sharply. "Not in time of -war." - -"They are in this dream," I told her. "You see I dreamed--if you want -to call it that--that a certain American ship blew up in the North -Pacific. The trouble is that the public hasn't been told that there is -such a ship, like that 'Old Nameless' in the Solomons, and that the -Navy Department doesn't know what happened to it. _I_ believe that -it did blow up. Harcourt believes my story, in the main, but from -the F.B.I. angle they have to check up on whether I'm not part of an -Axis spy-ring which could have caused the explosion. If I could only -remember where I was and what I was doing the week before I could clear -myself." - -Her face lighted and she relaxed. "Oh, is _that_ all?" she exclaimed. -"I _know_ you couldn't have done anything like that. All you've -probably been doing is to go off with one of those silly girls of yours -to some out-of-the-way place. That ought to be easy to check, even if -you registered under a false name. For the first time, you know," she -added, "I'm almost _glad_ you've been chasing all those stupid blondes -of yours. It will make it easy to establish your alias." - -"Alibi," I corrected her. "Let me fix you another drink. From now on," -I added, "there are going to be no more blondes or red-heads. I like -Arthurjean Briggs--she's named Arthurjean for her father and mother. -It's one word like Marylou or Honeychile--but she's more like a friend -than a--oh--you know. You saw her. But I guess you're right. I must -have been chasing around so much my mind got tangled up in itself and -sort of blew a fuse. If I can't get my memory straightened out soon -I'll look up a psychiatrist and see if he can't fix me." - -"You know, Winnie--" Germaine began and then fell silent. - -"Yes, Jimmie?" - -She turned towards me and smiled rather wistfully. "You know, I was -going to say that you and I--perhaps--Well, it's so long since we've -been really--oh--_close_ to each other. I wondered--" - -"You mean that perhaps we ought to patch things up between us?" - -"Isn't that what a wife's for?" she asked. "I mean--I mean when things -get difficult it ought--there ought to be _one_ person to whom you -could turn." - -I slipped my arm around her and drew her close to me on the lounge. She -lowered her face against my coat and I could feel her shaking. - -"You're crying!" I said. "You mustn't cry." - -"Oh, Winnie, I've been so alone--so--" - -I raised her face to mine and kissed her, tasting the wet, salt tears. -Her lips were warm and soft against mine. Suddenly she pressed herself -against me and responded to my kiss so fiercely that we were both -startled. We sprang apart, almost guiltily. - -"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh--you haven't kissed me like that--" - -She raised her lips again and this time we held it. - - * * * * * - -What with one thing and another, I didn't get back to the office until -the Market closed on Thursday afternoon. I found my two partners in -pretty good control of our operations but frankly mystified as to the -cause of the official mugging of Tompkins, Wasson & Cone. We had laid -out two and a half millions in all, despite the attempt to scare us -off. The market had continued steady. - -Neither Graham nor Phil asked me any direct questions about the events -on Wednesday. They talked straight business and kept their curiosity -in check. It was close to half-past four when we finished our general -discussion of the operation, so I decided that they were entitled to -some kind of explanation in return for their loyalty. - -"See here, boys," I told them. "You've both been perfectly swell about -this rat-race the S.E.C. started. Harry Willamer tried to put the -squeeze on me for half a million dollars to finance him and a bunch of -official bastards in a shady deal. When I turned him down he threatened -to tie us up with a Commission investigation. I bluffed him out of it -at the time by pretending there was an F.B.I. dictaphone record of -our talk, so he laid off the heavy heat and just started needling us -a little. Any time now he'll make the check at the F.B.I. and when -he finds there isn't any record he'll try to tie us up tighter than -a drum. All we can do is wait it out. The market's going to start -dropping any day now and we'll clean up." - -"Oh!" Wasson said. "Was that it? Willamer's a bad actor. Thanks for -telling us, Winnie. Phil and I knew that there must be something screwy -when--" - -The door flew open and Arthurjean appeared, her face white. - -"God!" she said at last. "He was such a swell guy. He--" - -"Who? What's the mat--" - -"It's Roosevelt!" she choked. "He's dead. It just came in on the -ticker." - -"No!" - -"He died at Warm Springs." And she hid her face in her hands and left -the room, sobbing. - -Phil Cone stood up, paper-white, crossed over and turned up the radio. - -"Flash!" the announcer was saying. "Warm Springs, Georgia. President -Roosevelt died this afternoon following his collapse from a severe -cerebral hemorrhage. More in a moment. Keep tuned to this station." - -"Well, I'll be eternally damned!" I said. "So he was right--" - -Cone whirled on me. "You knew about this," he stated flatly "When we -were talking yesterday morning. You had more than a hunch. You knew he -was going to die." - -"Be your age, Phil," I told him. "How in hell _could_ I know?" - -"Je-sus Ke-rist!" Wasson growled. "This will knock holy hell out of the -Market. Lucky trading's closed for the day. They can't open tomorrow. -They'll have to shut down all the exchanges. They'll have to close the -banks. God! What a mess!" - -Cone still looked dazed. "No dancing in the streets?" he asked -bitterly. "I thought this was going to send values sky-rocketing." - -Wasson swung on him. "The hell with that talk, Phil," he snapped. "I -was just shooting the bull. Roosevelt dead! Jesus H. Christ! You know, -he wasn't a bad old buzzard after he got rid of all that New Deal -nonsense and set to work winning this war." - -Cone had recovered his poise. "Sure he did a swell job winning the war, -but now we're going to lose the peace, sure as shooting!" - -"Hell!" Graham's choice of expletives was strictly rationed. "This -means that Truman will take over. What sort of a guy is he? You got any -idea, Winnie? He's not up to Roosevelt, that's sure." - -I shook my head. "I don't know from nothing," I began. "Sh!" - -The radio announcer resumed his broadcast. "Warm Springs, Georgia. -President Franklin Delano Roosevelt passed away at four thirty-five -this afternoon, Eastern War Time, following a severe cerebral -hemorrhage. The late President had been spending a few days at his -Georgia retreat getting rested after his strenuous trip to the Yalta -Conference. Earlier this afternoon he complained of a severe headache -and almost immediately became unconscious. He died peacefully a little -later. His death came at a moment when American troops in Germany and -on Okinawa were driving ahead toward the victory he--" - -Cone switched it down again. "_He_ had a headache!" he muttered. "What -do you think _we're_ going to have?" - -The telephone rang. I picked up the instrument. It was one of those -automatic phonograph recordings. "The Stock Exchange will not be open -tomorrow by order of the Governors, out of respect for the memory of -the late President Roosevelt. That is all--The Stock Exchange will not -be open--" the metallic feminine voice went on. I hung up. - -"You're right about one thing, Graham," I said. "That was an automatic -message to say the Exchange will be closed tomorrow. It's probably on -the ticker, too." - -It was. - -Cone sat down suddenly, as though his legs had turned to rubber. - -"Now it will all start again," he said. "Sell out and pack up, pack up -and clear out." - -I crossed the office and put my hand on his shoulder. "Cheer up, Phil," -I told him. "It won't be as bad as that. Graham and I will stick with -you and that's true of Americans generally." - -Cone shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. "Thanks, Winnie," he remarked. -"You're a good fellow and a good friend. I've got something to say -to you. You won't like it. I got worried yesterday when you started -talking about Roosevelt maybe dying and I tipped the F.B.I. on what you -said." - -I laughed. "If the F.B.I. arrested every man in Wall Street who had -ever talked about Roosevelt dying the jails wouldn't hold them. Don't -worry, Phil. In your shoes I'd have done the same thing." - -The phone rang again. It was the receptionist. "Mr. Harcourt is here to -see you, Mr. Tompkins," she informed me. "Shall I ask him to wait?" - -"Tell him I'll see him in a couple of minutes," I replied. - -"This is it, boys," I told my partners. "It's the F.B.I. Now, the -Market's going to drop. It will be a bear market in a big way, -dignified as hell, and we're in ahead of the others. You two just carry -on. Try to get a line on this guy Truman. Some of our Kansas City -correspondents may have the dope. Phil, no hard feelings about this -F.B.I. angle. They've been riding me for days on some crazy story Ranty -Tolan started about me last week." - -Wasson looked at me coldly. "If I thought that you had anything to do -with this--" he began. - -"Oh skip it!" I begged him. "You know me better." - -I picked up the phone and told the receptionist to send Harcourt in. - -"Mr. Tompkins," he said. "I've been ordered to ask you to come up to -the Bureau's headquarters right away." - -"Am I under arrest?" I asked. - -"Well," Harcourt admitted, "I haven't got a warrant but I think maybe -you better come with me." - -"What's the charge?" - -"My chief will tell you what it's all about," he said. "My orders were -to bring you in for questioning." - -"Okay," I agreed. "I'll come along quietly. Phil, will you tell Miss -Briggs to ring up my wife and say I won't be home tonight and not to -worry. I'll be all right." - -Harcourt came and laid his hand on my arm. "Come along then," he -ordered gruffly. - -"How about my lawyer?" I inquired. "Graham, will you phone Merry Vail -and tell him I've been taken up to the F.B.I. for questioning?" - -Harcourt looked up at me. "Is Merriwether Vail your lawyer?" he asked. -"I wouldn't bother to call him. We've picked him up too. All your -associates, outside of business and--er--pleasure, are being rounded -up. The President's dead, Mr. Tompkins, and you're going to do some -talking to my chief." - - - - -CHAPTER 15 - - -The events which brought me into the office of Edward Lamb, Deputy -Director of the F.B.I., on Friday the thirteenth, had developed so -rapidly that I could scarcely believe that less than twenty-four hours -had passed since Harcourt had taken me into custody. - -We had gone to the Federal Court House in a taxicab (paid for by me) -where I was placed alone in a room for fifteen minutes. At the end of -that period I was informed that Washington had asked that I be sent -down for direct interrogation at the Bureau. I was told that if I -preferred I could demand a formal warrant of arrest but that Mr. Vail, -who had been released with an apology, advised me to go, and that I -could confirm it by telephone--which I did. I was told that there was -still no formal charge against me but they asked if I would let myself -be fingerprinted. To this I agreed and then sat back while arrangements -were completed to fly me down to Washington from the LaGuardia Airport. -Harcourt was to accompany me. That had been all. They allowed me to -phone Germaine and tell her I was going to Washington and invite her to -join me there as soon as I could get hotel accommodations. The F.B.I. -put me up for the night in one of their Manhattan hide-outs--an old -house on East 80th Street--and in the morning Harcourt and I had taken -the plane. The clock had barely touched noon when I was told that Mr. -Lamb was ready to see me. - -Lamb was a pleasant, youngish man--with that inevitable faint Hoover -chubbiness--whose roomy office with its deep leather easy chairs -spelled power in the F.B.I. I was amused to note that he followed Rule -1 of whistle-stop detection, by seating me in a deep chair, facing the -light, while he sat at his desk on a definitely higher level and with -the light behind him. - -"Well, Mr. Tompkins," he began, "we've had disturbing reports about you -from at least three different sources. Frankly, we still don't know -what to make of them and the Director thought it would be better if you -came here and talked to us." - -"Always glad to help," I assured him. "If you'll tell me what the -reports are, I'll try to explain." - -Lamb glanced at a file of papers on his desk. "The first one is an -allegation that you aren't Winfred S. Tompkins, but an imposter who has -kidnapped Tompkins and taken his place. That report was anonymous and -we don't attach any particular importance to it, although if necessary -we could use it to detain you for questioning under the Lindbergh Law." - -I stretched out my hands toward him. "My fingerprints were taken last -night," I said. "They ought to settle that question." - -Lamb laughed. "Unfortunately," he admitted, "it takes a little time to -establish identity by fingerprints. The first tentative identification -suggested by yours was a man named Jonas Lee. He is a Negro currently -employed in the Charleston Navy Yard. However, I think we can assume -that the final identification will bear you out. They're working on it -now." - -There was a buzz and he picked up the desk-telephone. "Oh, they do," he -remarked. "Good!" - -He turned back to me. "That was the Finger-Print Division. They're your -prints, all right, so we'll cancel the kidnapping charge." - -"What's the second strike on me?" - -"That's a report phoned in by one of your partners that you seemed -to expect President Roosevelt's death two or three days before it -happened." - -"I did," I explained. "A man named Axel Roscommon came to my office, -said that he was the chief Nazi agent in the United States, and told -me that Roosevelt had been poisoned at Yalta. I had already reported -Roscommon to the Bureau and was told to let him alone. Roscommon said -that only a few people, including Roosevelt, knew about the poisoning. -I wanted to pass on the warning but was told that it was too late, that -I would simply expose myself to suspicion. So what I did was to make -normal business preparations to take advantage of its effect on the -Stock Market." - -Lamb looked up at the ceiling and remained silent for a few minutes. -"So that's the way it was," he said. "For your personal information, -Mr. Tompkins, Roscommon told the Director the same thing a month ago -but when Mr. Hoover tried to warn the Secret Service he had his ears -slapped back. If I'd known about the Roscommon angle in your case I -would have told the New York office not to worry. I thought perhaps -that this was another angle on the same story." - -"Do you believe that President Roosevelt was assassinated, Mr. Lamb?" I -asked, point-blank. - -He shrugged his shoulders. "No, I do not," he replied. "Not officially, -that is. It is not inconceivable and the Secret Service is so set in -its ideas and methods that--well, frankly I'd rather not believe it. -I have no evidence, aside from a verbal warning which might have been -coincidence. Some of our toxicologists say that it could be done, -others deny that there is a virus which can produce the symptoms of a -paralytic stroke. In any case, it's outside of our jurisdiction." - -I heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank God I'm clear of that one," I said. -"I shouldn't like to be mixed up, even by accident, in anything like -that. I remember what happened to Dr. Mudd." - -Lamb nodded. "The doctor who bandaged Booth's leg after the murder of -Lincoln? Yes, I can see your point." - -"How about the third charge?" I asked. - -Lamb looked serious. "That's not going to be so easy, Mr. Tompkins," he -announced. "Harcourt reports that he doesn't think there's anything to -it, but Naval Intelligence has the jitters about this Alaska business. -It seems to be pretty well established that on the afternoon of April -second you stated that the U.S.S. Alaska had been sunk in an explosion -off the western Aleutians. That was over ten days ago and there is -still no word from the carrier. The last report came from Adak which -had picked the ship up by radar on the first. The report given us was -that you represented that it was all a dream. What worries the Navy -about this explanation is that no public announcement had ever been -made of the Alaska's launching or commission. She's a sneak-carrier -built under stringent security regulations and until you came into the -picture the Navy was pretty sure that there'd been no leak." - -I nodded dismally. "Knowing the Navy," I replied, "I can see how they -feel. All that I can suggest, Mr. Lamb, is that this is a case of -mental telepathy. There have been plenty of other instances of it on -record. Often they call it intuition or second sight. I can only say -that if you investigate and can find any other explanation I'll be -delighted." - -"I don't think that Admiral Ballister--he's the present head of O.N.I., -though they change so fast we almost lose count--will be satisfied -with the theory that it is a case of E.S.P. That's 'extra-sensory -perception' and there have been plenty of scientific experiments in -that field but the Navy doesn't know about them. And then, of course, -there was the bomb--" - -I nodded. "The thorium bomb--" I began, and stopped as I noticed an -official change in Lamb's attitude. - -"Exactly, Mr. Tompkins," he observed. "The thorium bomb. Nobody--at -least outside of the President, the Secretary of the Navy and Professor -Chalmis--was supposed to know that there was such a thing as a thorium -bomb. The security arrangements on the thorium project were so -drastic--" - -"Roscommon knew all about it," I said. "He also mentioned Chalmis to -me." - -The Deputy Director looked slightly ill. "He did, did he?" he growled. -"_That_ will teach the Navy not to let the Bureau handle domestic -security. Hell, this thing gets bigger and bigger every minute. If -Roscommon knew about it, then anybody could have known. Why, it's been -an offense against the Espionage Act, even to print the word 'thorium' -outside of chemical textbooks, and Chalmis is supposed to be in the -T.B. sanitarium at Saranac. Wonder what happened to him?" - -I leaned forward. "He's dead, Mr. Lamb," I assured him. "Everybody on -the Alaska is dead. The bomb went off and there's nobody left to tell -the tale." - -"How do you do it, Tompkins?" Lamb demanded. "If you will give us the -details and the names of your accomplices I think I can promise you a -life sentence instead of the electric chair." - -"Mr. Lamb," I replied, "You can promise till the cows come home. I--W. -S. Tompkins--had no connection with it at all and you can't prove that -I had. I know about it only because of--well, call it mental telepathy. -I could sit down and tell you exactly what happened on the Alaska -before Chalmis deliberately touched off the bomb, but I couldn't prove -it and there isn't a living soul who could support or disprove my -story. And if you place me under arrest I'll be in a position to sue -for heavy damages. False arrest on a charge of treason is no joke and -I'll fight." - -Lamb looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well?" he asked. "What would you -do if you were me? Let you go, with the Navy howling for action?" - -"There are two things I'd do," I told him. "First of all, I'd assign -a flock of agents to see if they can find out where I was and what I -was doing between the 25th of March and the second of April. Harcourt -tells me that was the critical period. I don't remember. It's a case -of amnesia, I guess. At any rate, I've drawn a blank. You have my -fingerprints and photograph. You ought to be able to locate something." - -Lamb shook his head. "That's not necessary now," he replied. "If -Roscommon knew about Chalmis and the bomb, the question of where you -were the week before last isn't important any more. We'd have to check -back for at least two years." - -"The other thing I'd do," I continued, "would be to let me go under -some sort of open arrest. Fix me up so I can see the intelligence -people here and give me a chance to convince them that--" I paused. - -"Convince them of what?" he asked tartly. - -"See here, Mr. Lamb," I said. "I'm in a hell of a personal jam. For -personal reasons I'm trying to clear things up. Believe it or not, this -business about the sinking of the Alaska and the thorium bomb is the -least of my troubles. I've got the damndest case of loss of memory I've -ever heard of. As Winfred S. Tompkins I can only remember as far back -as April second, but I can remember years before that as somebody else. -That's how I happen to know about the loss of the Alaska." - -"How?" he asked. "According to your theory, everybody aboard her is -dead." - -I nodded. "Just the same, I was on the ship when she blew up--in my -dream, I mean. If you give me a chance to talk to the intelligence -heads, I think I can prove to their satisfaction not only that I know -what I'm talking about but that my knowledge is perfectly legitimate." - -Lamb grinned. "The Bureau is in enough fights as it is without being -accused of sending a screw-ball around to bother the heads of G-2 and -O.N.I." - -I leaned forward. "I can see your point," I admitted. "I know that in -the Navy everybody is out to cut everybody else's throat. It must be -worse when two different Government Bureaus are involved." - -The Deputy Director looked at me. "You seem to know a hell of a lot -about the Navy for a stock-broker," he observed. "At any rate, that -idea's out. I won't give you introductions and--" - -"Okay!" I agreed. "Then let me try to do it my own way. I have some -friends in the O.S.S. I'll see if they can't get me in to see General -Donovan. If I have a talk with him, perhaps he'll agree to pass me on -to the others." - -Lamb laughed again. "You don't know Washington, Mr. Tompkins. General -Donovan's blessing won't help you," he declared. "They hate his guts -for trying to make them combine. However, if you think you can get to -see him on your own, go right ahead but for God's sake don't say the -Bureau sent you over." - -"All right," I agreed. "Then I take it I'm under open arrest. I won't -try to leave town without telling you. Any suggestions of where I can -find a hotel room for the next few days?" - -Lamb leaned back in his chair and grinned boyishly. "The Bureau has -a lot of authority," he declared, "but it's not God. There won't be -a hotel room to be had for love or money for the next two weeks. -Roosevelt's death is bringing everybody back to Washington. President -Truman is taking over and most officials are too busy to be bothered. -Usually, it's not hard to get a hotel room over the week-end but not -this time. If you can't get accommodations, phone back here and we'll -fix you up with a cot somewhere in the F.B.I. barracks." - -"Then I'm in the clear, so far as you are concerned," I suggested. - -Lamb smiled cryptically. "I didn't say that," he remarked, "and it -isn't so. We have nothing specific to hold you on, but the Alaska is -missing and, if you insist, the President is dead, and you're caught in -the middle." - -"What will it take to get myself cleared?" I asked. - -Lamb considered. "If you can get O.N.I, off our necks, with a clean -bill of health, we'll relax," he admitted. "But I give you twenty-four -hours to do it. Admiral Ballister's pretty worked up on this Alaska -business, and he wants action." - -I nodded. "Okay, I'll give it to him," I said. - -"Okay, Tompkins," he remarked. "It's your funeral. But remember, if -you're not cleared in twenty-four hours, we'll be calling you in again -and this time we'll give you the works." - -Luck was with me. I left the F.B.I. and walked up Pennsylvania Avenue -to the Willard. As I followed the queue to the registration clerk at -the desk I heard the man just ahead of me start to say: "I want to -cancel--" - -"Just a moment, sir," the clerk said, as he picked up the telephone. -"Yes, madam? No, I'm sorry--" - -I plucked at the man's sleeve. - -"Don't cancel, if it's for tonight," I said, "Here's a hundred," and I -held out two fifty dollar bills. - -The man nodded. "Okay, buddy," he agreed, pocketing the money. "The -name's R. L. Grant of Detroit." - -"Name, please," the clerk asked. - -"R. L. Grant of Detroit," I answered. "I have a reservation." - -"Right," he said. "Lucky for you you wired a week ago. Here you are, -Mr. Grant. Please register." - - - - -CHAPTER 16 - - -After lunch--which was poor, slow and expensive--I screwed up my -courage and telephoned the Office of Strategic Services. - -"May I speak to Mrs. Jacklin?" I asked the switch-board girl. She -promptly referred me to Information, who told me that Mrs. Dorothy -Jacklin was on Extension 3046, shall-I-connect you? - -A moment later a pleasant voice said, "Yes? This is Mrs. Jacklin." - -"Mrs. Jacklin," I told my wife, "my name is Tompkins, W. S. Tompkins. I -have a message for you from Commander Jacklin." - -"Oh," she said. It was not a question. "Are you a friend of Frank's? Is -he all right?" - -"He asked me to see you when I got to Washington and gave me some -special messages for you. I'm staying at the Willard. Are you free for -cocktails or dinner this evening?" - -Something of the urgency in my voice communicated itself to her and I -could feel her reverse her original impulse to refuse the invitation. - -"Why yes, Mr. Tompkins," she agreed. "I'd be glad to join you, for -cocktails, that is. Shall we say about half past five?" - -"Splendid! I'll meet you in the south lobby. I'm sure to recognize -you, Frank gave me such a good description of you. If there's any -slip-up, have one of the bellboys page me." - -"Thank you," she said. "I'll be there." - -As I laid down the telephone, my pulse was racing and my throat was -dry. How in God's name should I act with her? - -Half-past five crawled around. I filled in some of the time by phoning -the F.B.I. and telling Lamb's secretary I was registered at the Willard -under the name of R. L. Grant. I phoned Bedford Hills and told Jimmie -that I was in Washington and wanted her to join me at the Willard. She -was a little slow about getting the R. L. Grant angle but allowed that -she could register as Mrs. Grant or Mrs. John Doe if necessary and when -was all this nonsense going to stop? - -In spite of my assurance, I almost failed to recognize Dorothy. She -looked younger, smarter and infinitely more self-possessed, and the -tanned and muscular young man in uniform who accompanied her was -obviously not animated by brotherly sentiments toward her. - -"Mrs. Jacklin?" I asked. "I'm Tompkins. And--" I turned eloquently to -her escort. - -"Oh, this is Major Demarest," she said. "Thanks, Tony, for escorting -me. I'll see you later?" - -"Half-past sixish?" Demarest asked. - -"Say seven," Dorothy told him. "I'll meet you here, by the desk." - -So I was neatly bracketed. While Dorothy and I were talking, her -escort would be waiting--impatiently. There was no chance of a -prolonged operation. I must keep things moving. - -I took her to the rather garish cocktail lounge on the east side of the -hotel and ordered her a Bourbon old-fashioned and a Scotch-and-soda for -myself. - -"Frank told me that's what you like," I remarked, before she could -raise her eyebrows after I told the waiter to bring a sliver of lemon -peel to go with the old-fashioned. - -"Where did you know him?" she asked. - -I leaned confidently across the table. "Mrs. Jacklin," I told her, "I'm -in intelligence. Tompkins is my name but I don't use it much. I've -seen quite a bit of your husband during the past few years--here at -Washington and out in the Pacific. In fact," I added, "I might say that -I'm his closest friend. We were at school together, many years ago. I'm -surprised he never mentioned me." - -"How _is_ he?" she asked. "I know too much to ask _where_ he is." - -I looked gravely at her. "We don't know where he is," I replied. "His -ship hasn't been reported for nearly two weeks. He was on a special -mission. That's why I've looked you up. Frank made me promise that I -would if--I mean--he thought--" - -Dorothy drained her glass and gave me a long, strange look. "Are you -trying to tell me that he's dead?" she asked. - -"It's not official," I said. "It may never be confirmed, but I -personally am sure, as sure as I'm sitting here that you'll never see -him again." - -She looked down at the table and nervously tapped an unlighted -cigarette against her lacquered thumb-nail. "I'll have another drink, -if you don't mind," she said. "It's not that--well, our marriage was -over long ago--but, he--I--" - -I signaled our waitress and duplicated our order. - -"This is one of the times when my father told me to remember the -giants," she said. - -I raised my eyebrows. - -"My father was professor of philosophy at Wesleyan," she explained. -"He always said that it was impossible to imagine anything so big that -there wasn't something else bigger. He said that it stood to reason -that somewhere in the universe there was a race of giants so big that -it took them a million years to draw a breath. He said when things -seemed difficult just to think about that." - -"Sounds like the Navy Department," I observed. "Was he the one who -argued that there might be several sexes? Frank told me something--" - -She smiled. "Yes. That was when I was adolescent and having crushes -about boys. He said that somewhere there must be a place where, Instead -of two, there were six or seven sexes. He suggested that falling in -love under those conditions was really complicated. He was a nice man," -she added. "He's dead." - -"Your father sounds like a right guy," I remarked. "Frank said--" - -"How do I know you're telling the truth?" she suddenly interrupted. -"What proof have you?" - -Here I was on home-ground. "Frank thought of that. He told me to remind -you that you have a mole on your left hip, that you're nuts about -Prokofiev, that you don't think much of Ernest Hemingway as an author -and--" - -"The louse!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I know I oughtn't to talk about him -this way if he's dead but I didn't dream men told each other--" - -I pulled out my fountain pen and wrote my Jacklin signature rapidly -across the back of the drink-card. I pushed it at her across the table. - -"There!" I told her. "Recognize that, Mrs. Jacklin?" - -"Why!" Dorothy exclaimed. "It's his writing! Who _are_ you, Mr. -Tompkins? Only I could say that it's a forgery." - -"Listen, Dorothy," I began conspiratorially. "And if I call you Dorothy -it is only because your husband always spoke of you as Dorothy. I must -see General Donovan. This is much more than a matter of your husband -and yourself. It's a matter of top-echelon intelligence." - -She looked downcast. "The General's out of town," she said. "He's -trying to get back for the Roosevelt funeral but the man who's running -the show in his absence is Colonel McIntosh. Ivor McIntosh." - -There was a curl to her lips as she pronounced the name that told -me all I needed to know about the colonel. Still, beggars can't be -choosers and Colonel McIntosh was ever so much better than nothing at -all. - -"Very well," I told her. "Will you arrange to have me see Colonel -McIntosh tomorrow morning? Tell--" here I took a leap--"Tell him that -I'm from the White House." - -"You aren't, are you?" - -"Of course not, but I gather that's the kind of bait your Colonel -needs." - -"He's a very clever man," Dorothy belatedly defended him. "They say -he did brilliant staff-intelligence work under Stillwell in the first -Burma campaign." - -"That's the one we lost, isn't it?" I asked dryly. "No, Dorothy. Let me -see this Colonel. You know how to fix it--there's always one special -girl in an office that has the ear of a man like that. Frank swore to -me that there was nothing you couldn't do if you decided it was worth -while." - -She looked at me across the little round, black table. "Mr. Tompkins," -she said, "I have no way of telling whether you are telling the truth -or not. Frankly, if General Donovan was in town I wouldn't bother him, -but Colonel McIntosh is--you know--one of _the_ Chicago McIntoshes. -You never heard of him? Nobody else did either but here he is with a -British accent and if you can make the grade with him it won't worry -me." - -I ordered another round of drinks. - -"Tell me, Dorothy," I said, "not that it's any of my business, except -that I was a friend of your husband's, don't you feel any special -regret that he's probably gone west?" - -She took a man-sized swallow of her old-fashioned. "Not particularly," -she admitted. "In a general, normal sort of way, I'm sorry, of course. -He was nice even if we didn't get on very well. But we had almost no -interests in common and when we broke up it was for keeps. He was kind, -and on the whole, decent, but God! so stuffy and boring to live with. -Day after day, Hartford, Connecticut, writing and yessing, living by -minutes and dying by inches. He rather liked it. I couldn't understand -it. So you can see why I can't pretend to be prostrated. And perhaps he -isn't dead at all." - -I nodded. "He's dead if that's the way you feel about him," I said. "He -told me that his wife was a lovely girl with a mole on her hip and the -hell of a temper. He said it was like being married to a circus acrobat -or an opera singer--exciting but not happy. He said you had a habit -of--" I stopped in the nick of time. - -"Oh, he did, did he?" she snapped. "Well, Mr. Tompkins, I don't suppose -he ever told you that he snored or that--" - -"Skip it, please," I calmed her. "It's your marriage, not mine. I told -you these things so you'd know I was really sent to you by Frank. Now -you fix it so I can talk to McIntosh." - -"I will," she replied. - -It was the epitaph on ten years of marriage. I knew when I was -licked. Dorothy was what she had been when I had picked her out of -Middletown--as inaccessible as the root of a Greek aorist or as a -book of curiosa in a Carnegie library. She had not shown a trace of -recognizing Frank Jacklin inside the body of Winnie Tompkins, even -though my morning calisthenics were reducing my circumference. I was -licked. I was no Faustus to woo this Marguerite, especially when she -obviously had someone else on the string. The Master of the Rat Race -obviously meant me to play the hand he had dealt me, and no Joker. By -Godfrey, it would go hard with Dorothy's boss when I came to grips with -him. All the Navy men who had been hitched by Washington would applaud -me--Marty Donnell who had been sent out against the "Nagato" with the -wrong size shells for his guns; Abie Roseman, who had been cashiered -because he had refused to okay a travel order for the Admiral's -sweetie; Julius Winterbottom, who had died on the "Lexington"--and all -the gobs who had died. Well, win or lose, I'd give the F.B.I. a run for -its money and what could they do to me? Damn it! I was a civilian--one -of the guys that paid their salaries! - -Colonel Ivor McIntosh of the Chicago McIntoshes was one of those who -had been born with a platinum spoon and a broad "A" in his mouth. His -face bore the marks of years of application to the more expensive -tables, cellars and bedrooms. His uniform was in the U.S. Army but -definitely not of it--having a Savile Row touch that suggested the -Guards. He was, he told me, in charge of the O.S.S. "until Bill gets -back," and what could he do for me? - -"Colonel," I said. "I came to you in the face of strong opposition from -the F.B.I. I have first-hand information concerning the sinking of the -Alaska." - -"Nonsense!" McIntosh replied cheerily. "It was on the map five minutes -ago. I'm sure it's still there." - -I smiled. "The U.S.S. Alaska, sir," I explained. Colonels love to be -called "Sir," especially by a civilian. "I have the inside story of -the sinking of the carrier. The F.B.I. told me it was useless to try -to see you or Admiral Ballister. In fact, they ordered me under no -circumstances to mention the F.B.I. in connection with my mission." - -McIntosh toyed with a crystal elephant on his desk. "Exactly what _is_ -your mission?" he asked. - -I drew myself up, not without dignity. "I am with Z-2, Colonel," I told -him, "and as you know the Z Bureau reports only to the President." I -had heard of G-2, A-2, even X-2. Why not Z-2--to end all 2's. - -"Of course," he agreed without bending an eyelash. "But why have you -come to see me, Mr. Tompkins?" - -"Call me Grant, Colonel," I replied with a knowing smile. "That's the -name I'm registered under at the Willard. The reason I've come to you, -is that my orders, which were given to me personally last February by -President Roosevelt, were to consult the head of the O.S.S. if anything -went wrong. As you undoubtedly know, Roosevelt had a very warm feeling -for the O.S.S. and my instructions have been to work with your men -whenever possible. F.D.R. told me that, if I needed prompt action -at any time to come to this office and skip the other intelligence -services." - -Colonel McIntosh was only human, if from the Chicago McIntoshes. He -relaxed. He almost smiled. - -"I got back to this country less than two weeks ago, Colonel," I told -him. "I was working on the other end of the Alaska case--and it's a -tough one--when word came of the President's death. My report was due -to him at Warm Springs next Monday. Now I'll have to take it up direct -with Admiral Ballister. The F.B.I.'s trying to block me." - -"Why?" he asked, but he knew why. - -I shrugged my shoulders. "You know Washington, Colonel," I said. -"The F.B.I. tried to get control of Z-2 and was stopped by the other -services. Since then, they've refused all cooperation. And I must get -to see Admiral Ballister before he goes away for the week-end. Since -Roosevelt's death the whole town has changed and Truman is too busy and -bothered to see Z-2 reports." - -Colonel McIntosh put in some earnest home-work on the telephone. - -"Ballister," he said at last. "McIntosh speaking, O.S.S. A Mr. R. L. -Grant--that's not his name, but he's from Z-2--Yes, of course you -do. That's the special--Yes, that's right, Admiral. He has an urgent -report for you. He's been trying to reach you since Thursday but our -good friend J. Edgar has been blocking him--Sure, you remember--That -was a couple of years ago, when Edgar tried to grab Z-2 and we all -helped block it. Grant has some hot stuff for you, on the Alaska -sinking--Fine! Yes, he'll be over as fast as my car can take him. Oh, -not at all. Always glad to help--As you know, orders are to help Z-2 at -all times--no questions asked, nothing on paper--Righto!" - -McIntosh hung up and turned to me with an air of authority. "That was -Admiral Ballister, Mr.--er--Grant," he said. "He'll see you right away. -I'll have my chauffeur drive you over to the Navy Department. You can -talk freely to the Admiral. He's a sound man." - -I smiled wanly. I had won the first round of my match with the F.B.I. -Ballister meant nothing to me but I had to convince him that I was on -the level or Mr. Lamb would close in on me. In any case, I owed it to -my Navy friends to take a fall out of the Department. After all, I -couldn't be worse off than I already was, with the G-Men breathing down -my neck and me out on open arrest, on a charge of treason. The electric -chair doesn't look funny when there's even the faintest chance of your -sitting in it yourself. - - - - -CHAPTER 17 - - -"Name please!" asked the snippy young thing at the Navy Department -Reception Desk. - -"R. L. Grant," I told her. "To see Admiral Ballister. By appointment," -I added. - -"Have you any identification, Mr. Grant?" she inquired. - -"Of course not. Tell the Admiral that Z-2 has no identification. He -will understand." - -She looked at me very dubiously but dialed a telephone and muttered -into it. Suddenly she cackled, "You don't say? Sure! I'll send him -right up." - -She beamed at me. "The Admiral is expecting you, sir," she said. -"Here's your badge. Will you please sign this form?" - -She thrust a blue-and-white celluloid saucer at me, with a number on -it, and passed a mimeographed form, which I duly signed "Robert E. -Lee, C.S.A.," and which she duly accepted and filed. A Marine sergeant -appeared out of the shadows and led me up a flight of stairs and along -several unevenly paved concrete floors to an office where a battery of -Waves and Junior Lieutenants promptly took me in charge. - -Admiral Ballister was a civilian's dream of a Navy Officer--"every -other inch a sailor," as we used to say in the Pacific--with a ruddy -face tanned by ocean winds or rye whisky, grizzled hair, incipient -jowls, a "gruff old sea-dog" manner and a hearty hand-clasp. - -"Glad to see you Grant," he told me. "I've been checking up on Z-2 -since McIntosh called. You boys have been doing one hell of a swell job -on your security. There's not a word about you in our files." - -"Z-2, Admiral," I replied modestly, "is forbidden by the terms of -the Executive Order setting us up to put itself on record. We have -no identification, we get no glory, but a Z-2 agent was in the Jap -squadron that attacked Pearl Harbor and one of our men was military -secretary to Rommel in North Africa. At least two of our agents hold -the rank of General in the Red Army. As you know, sir, we report -directly to the President, and always verbally. Nothing on paper." - -"I know, I know," the Admiral agreed wistfully. "McIntosh is usually -all wet"--he paused for me to register a flash of strictly subordinate -glee at his meteorological witticism--"but he gave me a fill-in on the -fine job you did on the Alaska case." - -"I'm afraid I worried your O.N.I. group in New York, sir!"--in -addressing an Admiral, the "sir!" should not be slurred but should -come out with a touch of whip-crack, if you wish promotion in the U.S. -Navy--"They almost penetrated my cover as W. S. Tompkins, a Bedford -Hills stock-broker with offices in Wall Street, and reported me to the -F.B.I." - -"Oh!" Ballister seemed relieved. "So _you_ are Tompkins. No wonder -Church Street was worried. Of course, they didn't know you were Z-2." - -"Naturally I couldn't tell them, sir!" I confided. "I was due to -report to President Roosevelt at Warm Springs next Monday but since -his death, I have to report to you, according to previous White House -instructions. The new President hasn't had time to get orientated on -Z-2 operations and this Alaska business can't wait, sir!" - -Ballister did some dialing, asked a few terse questions--gruff old -sea-dog style--over the telephone and then turned to me. - -"It's lucky for you, Grant, you didn't try to report to the White -House. The Secret Service might have nabbed you," he said. "The -Naval Aide tells me that all Roosevelt's papers and records have been -impounded for the Roosevelt Estate under the law and that it may be -weeks before they are untangled. Now, tell me about the Alaska. We've -had no report on her since early on the second, when she cleared Adak." - -"Before I report to you, sir!" I replied, "I'd rather you ask me a -few questions about Alaska and Operation Octopus. In that way you can -satisfy yourself that I know what I'm talking about." - -"Good!" the Admiral grunted. "Wish O.N.I. had as much sense as Z-2. -Save a lot of time. When was Alaska commissioned?" - -"Late in February, sir! At Bremerton. Trial run in March to Pearl -Harbor, back to San Diego for fueling and up the coast to Bremerton -again. Latest U.S. light carrier in the Pacific. A sneak-job. 38 knots -at full speed, 8,000 mile cruising radius. Twenty-four planes--eight -light bombers, sixteen fighters. Anti-aircraft and radar out of this -world." - -Ballister studied the map of the Pacific across the room from his desk. -"Who is her commander and what's his nickname?" - -"Captain Horatio McAllister, U.S.N., sir! Commonly known as Stinky -McAllister. No reason assigned for 'Stinky,' at least so far as reserve -officers knew." - -"Stinky? That's because he once used perfumed soap before going to the -Midshipmen's Ball in Washington," the Director of Naval Intelligence -informed me. "It was his second year at Annapolis. Who was Stinky's -exec?" - -"Commander B. S. Moody, sir!" I answered. "His nickname is suggested by -his initials--a roly-poly sort of guy and hipped on boat-drills and all -that." - -Ballister glanced at a list on his desk. "Her chaplain?" he asked. - -"Father Eamon Devalera O'Flaherty, begob and begorra, savin' your -riverence," was my reply. "A grand man and a good priest. God rest his -soul." - -Ballister wriggled in his chair with some discomfort, as though he felt -he ought to stand at attention or order a volley fired over the ship's -side. - -"What about Commander Chalmis?" he inquired, with an air of baiting an -elephant-trap for me. "What job did he do?" - -"Chalmis was not a commander, sir!" I told him. "He was a civilian. He -had some kind of a thorium bomb and the chief job he did was to use it -to blow up the ship. The mission was to drop it on Paramushiro before -the Army could get going with its uranium bomb. Chalmis got cold feet, -sir! when he thought of the carrier instead. He argued that the Navy -Department would conclude that thorium was unreliable and drop the -atomic project until the end of the war." - -Ballister leaned back in his chair and gave careful consideration to -the design of his Annapolis Class pin. After a long pause, he swung -around in his swivel-chair and faced me squarely. - -"Grant," he barked, "I'm going to ask you an unofficial question. You -don't have to answer it. I have no authority over Z-2 anyway, but this -is mighty important to the Navy." - -"Go ahead, sir!" I told the Admiral, "if I can't answer it I'll tell -you why." - -"Do you believe," the Chief of O.N.I. asked slowly, "that Chalmis could -have been inspired by Another Government Agency to make a failure of--" -he paused. - -"Operation Octopus, sir?" - -"Right! Could Chalmis have deliberately destroyed Alaska and sacrificed -his life in the interest of General Groves and the Army's bomb?" - -Groves was a new name to me but I took it in my stride. I looked the -Admiral full in the eye--a thing which Admirals rate along with a -snappy "Sir!" as proof of initiative, intelligence and subordination on -the part of their inferiors. - -"I am not at liberty to answer that question, Admiral," I replied. "My -orders forbid me to discredit any of the armed forces of the United -States. After all, sir!" I added, "we must not forget that Professor -Chalmis paid for his loyalty with his life." - -Ballister's face lighted up with nautical glee. "I knew it! I knew it!" -he roared. "By God! I knew there was something wrong the last time I -consulted G-2, they were so smug and polite. I might have known that -they were cooking up something to get even with the Navy for winning -this war in the Pacific. My God! Grant, you have to respect the Army -for their fanaticism, if for nothing else. Here is a civilian like -Chalmis, a great scientist, proved 100% reliable by all of our tests. -We checked him for twelve months before we even approached him on the -thorium research. Yet the Army, the damned, stinking, two-timing, -gold-bricking, double-crossing, medal-splashing, glory-grabbing, -credit-claiming Army, gets next to him on the sly and persuades him -to blow himself up rather than let the Navy get ahead with its atomic -bomb." - -I nodded admiringly at his flow of language. "Admiral," I told him, -"when I came into this office I had a notion you were just another -Washington desk-hero. No man who can express himself with such -eloquence can have shirked his sea-duty. Mind you, sir!" I continued, -"I do _not_ state that the Army had a hand in this outrage. All I ask -is that you give me clearance to the head of Army Intelligence, whoever -he is now. They keep shipping them into quote war-zones unquote, so -they can qualify for active service pay and allowances, campaign -ribbons and citations, to back up a special act of congress for their -permanent promotion to the rank of Major-General." - -"West Point--" Ballister began and emerged panting five minutes later -after a personally conducted tour of the United States Military Academy. - -"Yes, Mr. Grant--" Ballister was all but chanting as he -concluded--"I'll send you over to see that prince of double-crossers, -Major-General Ray L. Wakely, director of Army Counter-Intelligence, -so-called. Mind you, he probably won't admit you to the Pentagon, -coming from me, or if he does he'll try to frame you--" - -"Z-2, Admiral," I answered him, "is entirely familiar with General -Wakely's methods and reputation. I can take care of myself, if you can -get me into the Pentagon. I have some reports, entirely apart from the -Alaska business, which belong to the Army and I should deliver them -to Wakely in person. As you know, Z-2 is not allowed to take part in -interdepartmental feuds." - -"That's all very well," Ballister barked at me, "but right is right and -wrong is wrong. You're not supposed to be blind to that, are you?" - -"You ought to know where our sympathies lie, sir!" I snapped back. "But -my orders are to see Wakely, if he's in charge of counter-intelligence." - -This was sheer bravado. As a matter of fact, I knew I ought to call it -a day now that Ballister was in my camp but the best way to keep him on -my side was to move against his Army opponents. I felt rather like a -slug in a slot-machine as it starts to hit the jack-pot. I would teach -the F.B.I. not to monkey with Winnie Tompkins. Z-2 had been a happy -thought. So far nobody had gagged on it and with Roosevelt's papers -tied up, the war would be over before any of the topside officials -guessed I had invented it. - -Ballister calmed down enough to buzz his secretary and tell her to get -General Wakely on the line, but fast. A moment later the gruff old -sea-dog was talking to the double-crossing Army Counter-Intelligence -Director. - -"Hullo, Ray? This is Ballister. How's your golf? Too bad! Neither can -I.... Well, there's a civilian here you ought to see ... Grant, R. L. -Not his real name, of course ... from Z-2.... Yes, Z as in zebra, two -as in two.... He's just cleaned up one of our worst headaches and says -he has some special reports for you.... No idea, Ray, he didn't tell me -and I didn't ask him.... Z-2 doesn't talk. No, not in the least like -our Edgar or Wild Bill. Can you see him today?" - -I shook my head. "Sorry sir!" I interrupted the Admiral. "I can't see -him until tomorrow morning at seven-thirty." - -The Admiral winced as though a cobra had suddenly appeared on his -blotter. Then he grinned maliciously. "Hold on a minute, Ray," he -said. "You can have your golf this afternoon, after all. Grant says he -can't see you until tomorrow at seven-thirty.... Yes, seven-thirty.... -No, ten o'clock will be too late, he says.... At your office at -seven-thirty, then." - -He hung up and turned back to me. "You know, Grant," he remarked, "I -wouldn't mind belonging to Z-2 for a few days myself if I could make -that scoundrel Wakely rise at an ungodly hour on Sunday morning." - -"His little Wac won't like it?" I insinuated. - -"Little Wac!" Ballister exploded. "She weighs a good hundred and sixty -pounds and stands five feet eight in her bedroom slippers. Naturally -she's working for the Navy. We have to establish _some_ liaison with -G-2. Poor old Wakely will catch holy hell from her for this. Have you -any other appointments I could help you with, Grant?" - -"No, sir! I did this to General Wakely because the last time one of our -Z-2 agents had to report to G-2, General Strong--you remember that old -hellion--kept our man waiting for two hours. That's as bad as though -you kept the President of the United States waiting." - -Ballister appeared slightly worried. "You know, Grant," he told -me, "I see your point. I sympathize with your attitude, but these -inter-service feuds can lead to trouble. The thing to do is to be -pleasant and friendly as hell and not get him sore over trifles, but -wait for a chance to stab him in the back. I think you would have -been wiser not to annoy General Wakely. When G-2 is annoyed, there is -absolutely nothing of which they are not capable. They are the most -unconscionable, unscrupulous, prevaricating, meretricious double-dyed -sons of bachelors on the face of the globe. Hitler," the Admiral -continued, "fights a clean war compared to G-2. You may be in Z-2 and -you may represent the Commander-in-Chief, Grant, but Roosevelt is dead. -Roosevelt is dead, sir. This guy Truman was in the Army--in the last -war and the Army is going to take him right over and run him and the -White House inside of six weeks. Hell, I wouldn't put it past them to -try to have the Army swallow up the Navy. So don't annoy Wakely if you -can help it, Grant." - -I shook my head. "If it's the last thing Z-2 ever does, Admiral," I -told him, "I still want to make a Major-General get up early in the -morning in order to see me." - -Ballister grinned. "Grant," he said. "How come you never thought of -joining the Navy. We could use men like you. Get in touch with me if -anything happens to Z-2. This here war may be just about won but then -there's no armistice in the battle of Washington." - - - - -CHAPTER 18 - - -There is no point in describing the various problems of logistics -involved in my reaching General Wakely's office in the Pentagon early -on Sunday morning. All the Pentagon stories have been invented and -told, including my favorite yarn of the German spy who was told to bomb -the building but decided to disobey his orders because there was no -point in robbing the Third Reich of its greatest asset. - -Wakely was a bluff, hearty type of soldier, with more bluff than heart, -who greeted me without emotion, waved me to a chair and proceeded to -get down to cases. - -"I've decided, Grant, and the Chief of Staff agrees," he informed -me, "that the time has come to liquidate Z-2. All of these irregular -agencies have been nothing but a nuisance since before Pearl Harbor. -Z-2 has been in the Army's hair for years. We've heard nothing good of -your outfit." - -"You are fully entitled to your point of view, General,"--I -have observed that Generals do not go for "Sir!" as eagerly as -Admirals--"but the decision rests with the White House. All I do is to -follow my orders." - -General Wakely exhumed a ghastly smile. "The White House ain't what -it used to be, Grant," he continued. "While Roosevelt was President -we couldn't do much about it, but now, by gad! the time has come to -coordinate the White House. This Z-2 business is played out anyhow." - -I started to say something soothing but the Chief of Military -Intelligence refused to yield the floor. - -"I've been checking on you, Grant," he told me, "since Ballister -phoned me yesterday. We have a pretty good counter-intelligence corps -in this country and I'm told that your name isn't Grant at all, but -Tompkins--W. S. Tompkins. You're linked to a fellow in the Navy named -Jacklin. No use pretending, Grant. Z-2 may be smart but our information -is that Jacklin is probably a double-spy for the Nazis. In fact, we -believe that Jacklin is really the notorious Von Bieberstein. We were -on his trail long before Pearl Harbor. He's a slick article, Von -Bieberstein is. We think that when things began to get hot he joined -the Navy, knowing that the Army couldn't touch him there. Then he seems -to have planted his common-law wife or mistress--an American born girl, -mind you,--in O.S.S. to keep him informed of Army operations. No, -Tompkins, we have him now. We have rounded up all his contacts and -accomplices." - -"General," I assured him, "somebody's eaten a bad clam. I can vouch for -Jacklin's loyalty as I would my own. Why, he was editor of a Republican -newspaper and went to Yale. He was at school with me. I've known him -for over thirty years. He's as patriotic as I am." - -This was not going as well as I had hoped. If it hadn't been for the -F.B.I. waiting to snap me up, I would have backed out of Wakely's -office on some excuse, however lame. - -Wakely snorted. "It just shows how far-sighted the Germans are. They -plant their agents here twenty--thirty--fifty years--yes, generations -before they are needed. Gad! this country's been asleep. Here M.I.D.'s -been hunting Von Bieberstein for the last ten years and what do we -find? We find that he's lived in this country all his life and holds a -reserve commission in the United States Navy! No wonder we had Pearl -Harbor! This time, Grant, we're sure of our facts and we're going to -take them to the White House." - -"You may be sure of your facts, General," I agreed, "but do you happen -to know a man named Axel Roscommon?" - -Wakely nodded. "Of course, a thorough gentleman. See him every week or -so at the Army-Navy Club. Well-informed, too." - -"Did he ever tell you that he's head of Nazi intelligence in this -country?" - -"Rubbish!" The head of G-2 detonated impressively. "He's nothing of -the kind. That's nothing but a smear put out against him by the F.B.I." - -"Well, General," I admitted, "I'm wasting your time. I have some -reports--" - -"Just a minute, Grant. I'm not done with you. We're going to finish -this Z-2 business right now." He pushed a button and uttered into his -desk-phone: "Sergeant! Bring those women in here." - -A moment later the door opened and Dorothy, Germaine and Virginia -appeared, each looking as bedraggled as any woman who has been awakened -too early. - -"Winnie!" Germaine's face lighted up like a traffic go-sign. She -crossed the room and kissed me. "I thought--" - -General Wakely coughed, severely. - -"Mrs. Tompkins," he announced, "I'm Major-General Wakely. This is G-2. -The C.I.C. has rounded up your husband's chief associates for this -interview. We're about to close in on the most dangerous Nazi spy-ring -in existence. You know Mrs. Rutherford, of course, and this other woman -goes under the name of Mrs. Jacklin." - -"My name _is_ Mrs. Jacklin," Dorothy replied with feeling, "and the -O.S.S. will want to know by what authority--" - -Wakely waved her and the O.S.S. aside. "Very clever, Mrs. Jacklin, -or should I say Mrs. Von Bieberstein?" He turned back to Germaine. -"Thanks in part to your husband, Mrs. Tompkins," he continued, "we -have at last got on the track of Hitler's ace operative in the Western -Hemisphere, Kurt Von Bieberstein, or should I say Frank Jacklin? We -almost had him cornered five years ago but he took advantage of the -confusion after Pearl--after the Navy let us--after the declaration of -war, and went into hiding as a naval officer. It was only by accident, -when Mr. Tompkins accidentally supplied the missing link, that we found -the trail again." - -"That's handsome of you, General," I said, "but I think that -Counter-Intelligence deserves full credit." - -He beamed at me. - -"And what am I doing here, General Wakely?" Virginia cooed at the -specimen of military manhood. - -Wakely smiled before he remembered that he was a pattern of military -efficiency. "You are known to Counter-Intelligence, Mrs. Rutherford, as -one of the best agents in Z-2." - -"But what is Z-2?" Virginia was frankly bemused. "Of course, I've heard -of Intelligence. Isn't that something that belongs to the Army?" - -The General oozed approval. "Gad! Tompkins, you train your agents -well. She'd never admit a syllable without your permission. No, Mrs. -Rutherford, Z-2 is to be liquidated and we're here to find this fellow -Von Bieberstein." - -Dorothy stood up. "I've heard all the drivel I propose to stand for," -she announced. "Frank is a decent, loyal American and it's not his -fault that we couldn't get along together. I've never heard of Von -Bieberstein in my life. Mr. Tompkins," she added, turning to me, "if -you had anything to do with this high-handed foolishness--you say you -knew Frank--" - -"Mrs. Jacklin," I told her. "I don't think that your husband, and I -knew him well, was disloyal for one moment of his life. In any case, -military intelligence can't lay a finger on your husband." - -"And why not?" Wakely demanded. - -"Because he's dead, General," I said. - -"Suicide, eh?" - -"No, sir. He went down with--" - -"Winnie!" Jimmie interrupted me as though descending from a fiery -cloud. "_Now_ I see why you've been acting so strangely. You're in -_intelligence_. Of course you couldn't tell _anybody_. Darling!" - -Even the General looked embarrassed. - -Dorothy did not relax. "I am going to leave this room and this -building," she announced. "And if anybody interferes with me, you are -all witnesses that I am being detained illegally. Just call the O.S.S. -and tell them that Army agents under General Wakely's orders broke into -my bedroom at six this morning and kidnapped me." - -She turned and left the room. Nobody stopped her. Wakely pressed the -buzzer again. "Sergeant!" he commanded, "see that Mrs. Jacklin is -escorted out of the building and that our people keep an eye on her." - -"Now, Tompkins," the General resumed, "what's this word about Von -Bieberstein being dead?" - -"If you'll have the ladies leave the room, General," I told him, "I'll -give you my report." - -Jimmie and Virginia withdrew, with visible reluctance. - -"Jacklin is dead," I told him. "I think that your agents are mistaken -in linking him to Von Bieberstein. In fact, I know it, because I think -I know who Von Bieberstein really is. But I can't tell you without -direct verbal authority from the President. I can tell you how Jacklin -died." - -Major-General Wakely became once more the man of action. "Good, let's -have it!" - -"The Navy Department," I began, "has been trying to beat the Army with -the development of an atomic bomb--" - -"The dastards!" Wakely all but screamed. "The dirty, treacherous, -sneaking dastards! You can't trust the Navy as far as you could throw -a battleship. By Gad! Tompkins, _this_ is going straight to the White -House." - -"They had a man named Chalmis who did something with thorium, General," -I continued. "I'm not a scientist so I can't tell you about the -process. It was simpler and less expensive than what General Groves is -trying to do with uranium." - -"Groves!" Wakely spoke with soldierly pride. "Now there's a West -Pointer for you! Four years and two billion dollars and he hasn't got -it yet, but by Gad! the old West Point spirit never accepts defeat. -He'll get a bomb if it takes fifty years and a hundred billion dollars. -The Navy can't match that kind of guts, Tompkins. They're all yellow, -the Annapolis crowd!" - -"Of course this thing wasn't anything like so good as the Army's bomb, -General," I assured him. "It was something whipped up in eighteen -months and cost less than fifty millions." - -"Pikers!" - -"Well, the Navy rushed through this sneak-bomb of theirs and sent -Chalmis with it on a surprise raid against the Kuriles, on the latest -light carrier, the Alaska." - -Wakely took a few portentous notes on a memo pad. - -"Jacklin was assigned to the Alaska and our information is -that he was with Chalmis in the ship's magazine when the -bomb--er--accidentally--er--went off. The ship was a total loss and -everyone aboard died in the explosion." - -Wakely got to his feet and stood rigid for a moment. - -"He was a brave man, Tompkins," he observed with soldierly emotion, "a -damned brave man. By Gad, I'm almost sorry we're going to liquidate -Z-2. We'd like to take you all over into M.I.D. but red tape won't let -us, eh? Have to be in uniform, under West Pointers or it isn't regular. -So Jacklin was one of your men and he died for the Army. He sank the -Alaska and killed himself and the inventor of the thorium bomb, rather -than let the Navy get away with this outrage. By Gad, Tompkins, General -Groves will have a laugh over that one. I'll go and apologize to Mrs. -Jacklin in person for our mistake. Von Bieberstein would never have -done that job. As you know, it's the Nazis who are backing the Navy -against the Army. If it wasn't for the Japs backing us against the Navy -we'd have a rough time of it in this man's war. Now Tompkins, this -thing is too big for us to handle. It's got to go up to the highest -echelons." - -I raised my eyebrows. - -He nodded. "Yes, this has got to be laid before President Truman -himself. By Gad, Tompkins, I'll see that you get to report to the -President tomorrow morning if I have to take you there myself." - -"As to Von Bieberstein, General," I said, "he can wait until tomorrow. -When you know who he is and where he is placed--with the President's -permission--you will probably decide to go away. After all, even you -would hesitate to arrest on a treason charge the--" I stopped. - -Wakely leaned across his desk. "Tompkins," he assured me, "I'll get Von -Bieberstein if it's the last thing I ever do. By Gad! If you help me, -I'll see that you get the Order of Merit, a Presidential citation and -the Orange Heart." - -"Don't you mean the Purple Heart?" I asked. - -Wakely snorted. "That's merely for combat duty. The Orange Heart is a -confidential decoration given to those who serve intelligence well on -the home front, even including civilians. It's like the Army E-Award -but is personal and worn on the _inside_ of the coat-lapel. It is -conferred on the recommendation of the Deputy Chief of Staff, G-2." - -He buzzed again. "Sergeant!" he barked. "Get me the office of the -Military Aide, the White House, and if they don't answer, wake up Harry -Vaughan at Blair House, even if he's still in bed, which he probably -is--the lucky stiff! Tell him this is top-priority." - -I sighed. The water was already far over my head, but it was too late -to draw back. I had to swim for the farther shore. - - - - -CHAPTER 19 - - -"The President will see you now, Mr. Tompkins," said the White House -usher, as he beckoned me to follow him. - -A pleasant, rangy, mild-mannered man rose from behind the great desk -and shook my hand. - -"Glad to see you, Mr. Tompkins," he said. "General Vaughan has been -telling me great things about your work. What can I do for you?" - -As I looked at the guileless, friendly face, my heart sank. Here was -one man who should not be deceived. It would be as easy as stuffing a -ballot box. - -"Mr. President," I told him, "when I left the Pentagon Building -yesterday, I had an elaborate report to submit to you. But I decided -that the President of the United States was entitled to the simple -truth." - -"That's right!" snapped the Chief Executive. - -"So if you'll listen to me for five minutes," I continued, "I'll tell -you the strangest story you ever heard." - -President Truman coughed. "General Vaughan has told me of the fine -work you've been doing for Z-2," he observed. "As you can imagine, I'm -terribly busy taking on this job." - -"Mr. President," I began, "to begin with, there's no such organization -as Z-2. If you'll listen for a few minutes I'll tell you the whole -story." - -I did. - -At the end of it, he smiled at me. - -"Mr. Tompkins," he said, "you're a married man, aren't you?" - -"Yes, Mr. President." - -"Then you tell Mrs. Tompkins for me that I want her to take you home -and take good care of you for the next few weeks. You've been overdoing -it. This Z-2 work has taken it out of you. You need a rest. Now don't -you worry about Z-2," he continued. "What you need to do is to take -things easy. The work will go right ahead. I'm putting Z-2 under -General Wakely. This country needs better intelligence services and -they ought to be concentrated under one responsible head, if you ask -me." - -"But I tell you, Mr. President," I insisted, "there never was such an -organization as Z-2. I invented it in order to clear myself with the -F.B.I." - -He flashed a boyish grin at me. "But there's no doubt that the Alaska -went down like a stone?" - -"She went up like a sky-rocket, sir." - -"Then this thorium bomb doesn't sound as though it was practical, -sinking one of our ships like that." - -"Mr. President," I argued, "any bomb will explode if it is -deliberately detonated. This bomb was deliberately touched off by -Professor Chalmis. He wanted to prevent its use in warfare." - -The President nodded. "Yes, yes, Mr. Tompkins. You explained that to -me before. Now you be sure to tell your wife to take good care of you. -When you're rested up, you come on down and see me again and we'll talk -some more about this Z-2 work of yours. We can use men like you in the -State Department. I'm sorry I don't know more about it, but all of -President Roosevelt's papers have been removed from the White House and -I don't even know what he told Stalin at Yalta. Perhaps you'd better -talk to the State Department before you take that rest. That's what -they're for. Thank you for seeing me." - -Two beefy Secret Service men appeared in the doorway. - -"Is there any particular man I should see at the Department, sir?" I -asked. "I want to get this whole business cleared up." - -The President stood up and shook my hand in dismissal. "Just go across -the street and tell them I sent you," he said. "Good day to you, sir." - -The two body-guards closed in on me, so I bowed slightly and withdrew -from the President's office. - -In the anteroom, I found General Wakely pacing up and down like the -father of triplets. - -"How did it go, Tompkins?" he asked. "You had five extra minutes. -Did you get a chance to give him a fill-in about the Navy and -you-know-what?" - -I shook my head. "My orders are not to discuss that matter any further, -General," I told him. - -"But what about Von Bieberstein?" the chief of M.I.D. demanded. "Can -you give me a lead?" - -"My instructions, General," I said, "are to discuss matters with the -State Department." - -"The State Department!" Wakely was outraged. "Why, they're nothing but -a bunch of Reds! They tell me there are men over there who have spent -_years_ in Russia." - -"If I am ever allowed to tell you who Von Bieberstein really is," I -told the General, "you will understand why I am not allowed to discuss -it with you now. This is a matter for the Big Three. It is out of my -hands entirely." - -At the gate of the White House drive I was suddenly halted by a -piercing "Hi!" It was Virginia Rutherford. She dodged her way between -two stalwart sentries and took my arm. - -"Winnie!" she cooed, as soon as we were across Pennsylvania Avenue, -"you utter devil!" - -It seemed safest to say nothing. - -"Winnie," she continued. "Do you realize that the Army of the United -States dragged me out of bed yesterday morning and flew me down here -just to discover that you are a bigger liar than I thought you were?" - -"Please don't blame me for General Wakely," I told her. "He's an Eagle -Scout in high places. I was getting on fine until you showed up, and -please don't raise your voice at me. If I know the Army, you and I are -being tailed right now by the counter-intelligence." - -Virginia snuggled closer to me, as we dodged through the crowd in -LaFayette Park watching the White House. - -"To think," she said dreamily, "that all this time you have been an -American secret service agent. Ain't that something?" - -Again it seemed safest to say nothing. - -"Yes, Winnie Tompkins, super-sleuth!" she continued with an edge on -her voice you could have shaved with. "All last winter, when I was -under the impression that we were canoodling from bar to bar, you were -working for Uncle Sam! It's one of the best stories of the war, Winnie. -Sleep with Tompkins and lick the Axis!" - -This was getting under my hide. "Virginia," I told her, "I have just -spent the last twenty minutes trying to convince President Truman that -I'm not a secret agent. He will have none of it. He says I've been -working too hard and need a rest." - -"You devil!" Virginia chuckled dangerously. "You absolute, utter -demon! Here is civilization at the crossroads and what does Winfred -S. Tompkins do to amuse himself. He strolls down to Washington and -persuades the Generals and the Admirals and the President that he has -been winning the war for them instead of winning the wife of his family -physician. That's what I call funny." - -"Have it your own way," I agreed. "If you can persuade General Wakely -that I'm a fake, more power to you. He believes that you are one of my -best operatives and nothing can shake him." - -"So that's what you call them? Your operatives? That's wonderful. If -I'm ever asked, 'Grandma, what did _you_ do in the second Great War?' -I'll say, Johnnie I was an operative under W. S. Tompkins, the ace -American Agent." - -"Would you mind not talking quite so loud," I again begged her. "Those -two men following us might misunderstand." - -She glanced over her shoulder. "You mean those five men following us, -don't you, Winnie?" - -I looked behind us. She was right. A group of five, if not six, people -were trailing along behind us. Lamb and the F.B.I., Ballister and the -Navy, as well as the Army's counter-intelligence and the O.S.S., were -probably represented. - -"Five is right," I agreed. "You see, Virginia, I'm a pretty important -person. You noticed, I hope, that President Truman took time out to -chat with me." - -"What's he like?" she asked irrelevantly. "Of course, Roosevelt was -all wrong but he had something on the ball. Who's this little guy from -Montana, anyhow?" - -"Missouri," I corrected her. "He's from Missouri and don't you ever -forget it. That's what he is, Virginia, a little guy from Missouri." - -We were at the Willard. - -"Here, Virginia, I must leave you," I told her. "You can't follow me -up to my bedroom and anyhow I have a message for Jimmie from the -President of the United States." - -"Nuts!" she answered brightly. "You're not fooling me for one little -minute. You've just lied yourself into a bigger jam than you've lied -yourself out of. Well, I'm on to your game." - -When I reached the room, there was no sign of Jimmie. This statement -should be qualified. She herself was not to be seen but various -articles of clothing were scattered around the room and there was a -rush and gurgle of water from the bathroom which suggested that my wife -was taking a bath. She was. - -"Winnie?" she called through the half-open door. - -"Theesa tha floor-waiter," I grunted. "You wanta me? I busy." - -"Waiter," she commanded, "please leave the room at once." - -"What'sa alla so secret, hey?" I asked, still speaking in subject-race -style. "Letta me see!" - -I took the handle of the door, wrenched it open and pushed. There was -an angry screech from inside, followed by an indignant, "Winnie, you -beast! Get out of here!" - -I didn't, so Jimmie dropped the bath towel she had draped defensively -across her shoulders and subsided laughing into a warm, soapy bath. - -"You are the absolute limit!" she declared. "I'll never forgive you for -this. Tell me, what the President was like?" - -"Very nice," I said. "He reminds me of one time I saw a little -fresh-water college football team play Notre Dame. You sort of wanted -the little guys to make at least one first down, but you knew that -if they did, it would just be an accident. No, Truman's one hell of -a nice guy but that doesn't mean he could lick Joe Louis. Anyhow, he -was complimentary about my work and he sent a message to you. Pity he -couldn't deliver it in person, like the floor-waiter." - -"For me?" - -I nodded. "He said that I needed a good long rest and that you must -take very good care of me." - -She looked up at me, large-eyed, through a haze of steam. - -"Oh, Winnie," she declared. "I _am_ so proud of you. To think that all -the time you've been doing secret intelligence! And I believed you were -just chasing around after those silly girls. Don't you think you could -have trusted your wife?" she asked. - -I shook my head emphatically. "That was part of my cover," I replied. -"If you hadn't been worried about me it wouldn't have looked natural. -If I'd told you, you wouldn't have worried and the Axis agents--" I -left the thought trailing. - -Germaine sucked reflectively on the corner of her wash-cloth. "Yes," -she agreed at last, "I can see that, but I don't see how I can ever -trust you again." - -I laughed. "Then don't trust me," I told her. "We'll still have a good -time. Suppose you get dressed now and come downstairs and we'll have -champagne cocktails to celebrate." - -"Celebrate what?" she asked, loosing the stopper with her toes. - -"Celebrate the liquidation of Z-2," I said. "It's being taken over by -the Army. My work is done anyhow. And tomorrow I have to see the State -Department. Mr. Truman tells me they need men like me--God help them!" - -"The State Department!" She jumped out of the tub, scattering water -lavishly on the floor and on me. "Are they going to make you an -Ambassador or something?" - -"Come down to earth, Jimmie," I urged her. "I'm a Republican from New -York; not a Democrat. I may have done an even better job than they -think I've done, but I know one thing I didn't do to qualify for a -diplomatic job." - -"What's that?" she asked, towelling herself vigorously. - -"I never contributed a dime to the Democratic National Committee," I -confessed. - - - - -CHAPTER 20 - - -There was a brisk knock on the bedroom door. I walked over and -opened it, to see F.B.I. Special Agent A. J. Harcourt. He gave me a -reproachful glance and pushed his way into the room. - -"I can only stop a minute, Mr. Tompkins," he said, "but I have orders -from the Director to call on you in person and present the apologies of -the Bureau for having inconvenienced you. If you had only told us you -were connected with Z-2 there would have been no trouble." - -"Sit down, Harcourt," I urged him. Then I crossed to the bathroom door. -"Don't come out until you're decent, dear," I called to Germaine. "The -F.B.I. is here." - -Some muffled instructions answered, so I went around the room and -picked up the various scattered wisps of silk and rayon, and thrust -them through to my wife. - -"That's all I was to say, Mr. Tompkins," Harcourt repeated, still -standing, "that the Bureau is mighty sorry about the whole business." - -"Sit down!" I told him again. "Now get this Z-2 thing straight. -There isn't any Z-2. I just invented it, trying to get myself out of -this jam. I never was a Z-2 agent. What I told these people was all -moonshine." - -Harcourt nodded. "We know, of course, that you're not allowed to admit -you're in Z-2 to anybody but the top guys, but we know that Z-2 does -exist. If it didn't how could the President abolish it?" - -"How's that again?" I asked, sinking into the one easy chair. - -"Yeah, special confidential Executive Order No. 1734, signed today, -abolishing Z-2 and transferring its duties to the War Department. -There was something else, too, about giving you the Order of Merit for -_quote_ special services which contributed usefully to the conduct of -the war. _Unquote._" - -"Listen here, Harcourt," I insisted. "I can't help it if the President -pulled a boner. I _told_ him there wasn't any such thing as Z-2 and -all he said was that I ought to take a good long rest. I simply got -so damned tired of trying to prove that I couldn't remember what -Winnie Tompkins had been doing before April 2, that I invented my own -alibi--Z-2." - -Harcourt scratched his head. - -"Cross my heart and hope to die," I assured him. - -For the first time since he had delivered his wooden official apology, -the Special Agent relaxed. "That's one for the book," he said with -deep feeling. "Mrs. Harcourt's little boy isn't going to let it go any -farther. So far, only the President of the United States, the Army, the -Navy, O.S.S. and the F.B.I. believe you were in Z-2. I'm not sticking -my neck out to tell them it's all a lot of malarkey. That leaves only -the State Department and the Secret Service. How come you've skipped -them? You must be slipping, Mr. Tompkins." - -"I'm seeing the State Department tomorrow morning," I explained. "I -think I'll let the Secret Service alone. Incidentally, Mrs. Tompkins -also believes all this Z-2 business. It will do as a stall until I -learn what I was really doing before I drew a blank." - -"Not for me!" - -We both looked up. In the doorway--which I must have forgotten to -latch--stood Virginia Rutherford. - -"No Winnie"--she began. "Oh, hullo, Mr. Harcourt--You haven't fooled -me. I know there's something behind all this business. Imagine the -nerve of that silly General, practically jerking me out of bed to come -down and listen to him babble about Von Bieberstein to that pretty Mrs. -Jacklin. Who is this Von Bieberstein anyhow? He sounds like a brewer." - -"Kurt Von Bieberstein," explained A. J. Harcourt, "is supposed to be -the ace Nazi Operative in the U.S.A. The Bureau has been trying to -locate him for the last ten years. We don't know what he looks like, -nothing about him, except his name. All we ever got on him was one -fragment of a short-wave message in 1935 and a letter in a code we -couldn't break, just before Pearl Harbor." - -The bathroom door opened and Germaine entered the room. "Well, -Virginia," she observed, "you seem to be making yourself at home. Mr. -Harcourt, have I no legal right to privacy in my hotel room?" - -Harcourt rose and bowed. "Certainly, ma'am," he told her. "If you -object to her presence you are entitled to order her out. If she -refuses to go, you can throw her out or call the house detective." - -Jimmie laughed. "Good! Virginia Rutherford, you get out of my bedroom -or I'll throw you out." - -Virginia relaxed back against the pillow. "Act your age, dearest," she -said. "You don't want any public scandal about your husband, do you?" - -"Oh!" Germaine paused. "Of course not!" - -There was another knock on the door. - -"Come in!" we chorused. - -This time it was Dorothy Jacklin. - -"Oh!" she exclaimed, none too brightly. "So we're all here." - -"This is Mr. Harcourt of the F.B.I., Mrs. Jacklin," I said. "He's an -old friend of mine." - -Dorothy turned to me. "There's one thing I'd like cleared up, Mr. -Tompkins," she said. - -"Yes?" I asked. - -"I certified to O.S.S. that you were with Z-2. I've checked over our -confidential files and I can't find any record of Z-2. Things like that -go on my efficiency rating and I might get into trouble. After all, -you were admitted to the Administration Building without the usual -references and identification. General Donovan is very strict about -such things." - -"There is no such thing as Z-2, Mrs. Jacklin," I assured her. - -"Aha!" Virginia chortled, "here it comes." - -"Winnie!" Germaine was hurt. - -"President Truman just today signed a special order abolishing Z-2 -and transferring its duties to the War Department. If you need the -references for the O.S.S. record that dear little colonel of yours can -get it from General Wakely at G-2. That's right, isn't it, Harcourt?" - -"That's right, Mr. Tompkins. All government intelligence agencies have -been notified. When you get back to your office, Mrs. Jacklin, you'll -find that O.S.S. has a copy of the order." - -Dorothy turned to me. "Isn't that lousy!" she exclaimed. "After all -the splendid work Z-2 did, to have the Army take it over and grab the -credit!" - -I shrugged my shoulders. "It's what we expect in this government -game," I said. "A passion for anonymity is not only expected of us, -it's rammed down our throats. Only Admirals and Generals are good -at intelligence. Period. However, I'm just as glad it's over. The -President told me to take a rest and I think it's a good idea." - -"Well!" said Germaine. "Of all ingratitude!" - -"I think the best idea is for us all to go downstairs and have some -champagne cocktails," I suggested. "Things often seem better that way." - -Harcourt looked grave. "I'm not allowed to drink on duty, Mr. -Tompkins," he observed, "but I'm not on duty now. Come on, Mrs. -Jacklin," he continued, "let's go on and show them." - -Dorothy looked startled. "Show them what," she asked. - -"Show them that we intelligence services can take it ma'am," the -Special Agent observed. "You're O.S.S. and I'm F.B.I. and these others -have just been consolidated out of the game." - -Dorothy flashed him a smile. "Well--" she began doubtfully. - -"Go ahead, Harcourt," I urged with malice aforethought. "Show her a -photo of your wife and three children in Brooklyn." - -He grinned. "That gag was strictly for Miss Briggs," he said, "but down -here I'm an unmarried man." - -"Pooh!" said Dorothy. "I never saw an administrator down here yet who -let himself worry about a wife and family somewhere else. The F.B.I. -must be weakening." - -Harcourt smiled. "Well, anyhow, Mrs. Jacklin, ma'm, the first round of -drinks is on me--just to celebrate Mr. Tompkins' happy release." - -I didn't care so much for that one. "Expense account, you spy-catcher?" -I asked. - -The Special Agent nodded. "Yep," he agreed. "My own expense. I was -ordered to apologize handsome to you, sir, for the Bureau, and by gum -we Harcourts do it right. What'll it be? Root beer or Moxie?" - - * * * * * - -The next morning, early if not bright, found me fumbling my way around -the corridors of the State-War-Navy building in search of the proper -official to handle secret intelligence reports. I finally unearthed him -in the form of six-feet of languid Bond Street tailored perfection--a -red-headed diplomat lily by the name of Dennis Tyler, Chief of the -Liaison Section. To him I addressed myself. - -"Oh, yes, so you're Tompkins--of Z-2," he observed. "Yes, yes. Quite -too tragic for you." - -"Tell me, Mr. Tyler," I inquired, "did you ever hear of Axel Roscommon?" - -Tyler leaned back in his chair and contemplated me soulfully. "Now -don't tell me that poor old Axel is a Nazi agent, Mr. Timkins--" - -"Tompkins, Mr. Wiley." - -"The name is Tyler, Mr. Tompkins," he grinned. "No, dear old boy--to -quote Axel--we do not _think_ that Mr. Roscommon is a Nazi Agent. We -know it. I had the devil of a time fixing it up with the F.B.I. so -they wouldn't arrest him. We can't let the Swiss--God bless their -cuckoo-clocks--represent Hitler over here. We need a man of the world -who realizes that milk chocolate has no place in diplomacy, to maintain -contact with the Third Reich. No, Axel's a fine fellow. He's on a -strict allowance. One military secret a month--usually a little one -and every now and then a phoney--so as to keep his job. He sees that -our people in Berlin get the same allowance. All very cozy and no harm -done." - -I nodded agreement. "Yes, Mr. Tyler," I told him, "I know the -picture. It's just that I have a hunch that Roscommon may be Kurt Von -Bieberstein." - -Tyler exploded. "Absolute, obscene rot, Tompkins! Not a word of -truth in it. Roscommon is foxy, if you like, but he hasn't got Von -Bieberstein's ruthlessness. No, we made a thorough check on our Axel, -before we let the Gestapo accredit him to this government. He's just a -good contact-man and a first-rate field operative--plays a dashing game -of backgammon and a sound hand of poker, holds his liquor well, and, -with an unlimited expense account, stands unlimited rounds of drinks. -No, we can't get on without Axel Roscommon. He's taken half the sting -out of my income-tax, he's so lavish with his friends. - -"What on earth made you confuse him with Von Bieberstein?" he -concluded. "Kurt's a devil. He's slipped through the fingers of every -Allied intelligence service. Even the Gestapo doesn't know much about -him. He's never been photographed or fingerprinted and he reports -directly to Hitler. Even Himmler has no file on him." - -"It was only this, Mr. Tyler," I told him. "It was Roscommon who warned -me two days before Roosevelt's death that the President would die -within the week. That isn't easy to laugh off." - -Tyler became deadly calm. "Don't ever repeat that story outside of this -room," he warned me. "We know who did it and why. We'll settle that -score some day. In the meantime, just forget it, unless you don't mind -diving into the East River in a concrete life-belt." - -"Then Roscommon wasn't guessing," I observed. - -"Of course he wasn't guessing. As a matter of fact, it was I who told -him. Just as it was I who told F.D.R. God! He was a good sport. He -listened to what I had to say and then do you know what he did? He -laughed. He said that so many Americans had died in this war that one -more made no difference and he ordered me to hold off until after the -peace treaty before getting the group responsible." - -This was getting too deep for me, but I owed it to Germaine to make a -grab for the brass ring. - -"President Truman was very complimentary about my work for Z-2," I -told him. "He wants me to take a rest now that the War Department has -taken over our work. After that, I wondered whether there mightn't be -something in the diplomatic service. The President thought I would be -useful here. I've plenty of money and--" - -Dennis Tyler groaned convulsively, hunched forward over his desk and -clutched his flaming red head in his hands. - -"--and you have a beautiful wife who would make a charming American -Ambassadress, no doubt: Yes, Mr. Tompkins, I see it all. You went to -a good school, no doubt you even attended Harvard. You just missed -combat service in the last war and were unfortunately too old for -this one. You know how to make money in Wall Street, if it wasn't for -those damned Roosevelt taxes. You do not speak French--except for the -purpose of 'La Vie Parisienne'--nor German nor Italian nor Spanish -nor Russian, not to mention Arabic and Chinese. You know nothing of -economics, sociology, natural science or political geography. You have -been to Canada, the West Indies and no doubt to 'Gay Paree,' and to cap -the list of your qualifications, you are a Republican and this is a -Democratic Administration." - -"Then there isn't a chance," I mumbled, my cheeks flaming with -embarrassment. - -"Did _I_ say that you had no chance?" demanded Dennis Tyler. "On the -contrary, you seem to be fully qualified for any diplomatic post -within the gift of this Administration, at least as much as any of a -dozen of our well-named envoys extraordinary. But, Tompkins, you're a -decent sort of chap. Don't do it! For your wife's sake, if not mine, -let the poor old State Department go to hell in its own quiet way -without speeding the process--Oh, well, I suppose I shall never learn. -Doubtless you will be our next Ambassador to Portugal and I shall have -one more black mark against me." - -I held out my hand. "If the popular demand becomes too great for me -to resist, Mr. Tyler," I assured him, "I may be forced to accept a -diplomatic appointment, but even then you would be safe from me. I -don't like double-talk." - -Dennis Tyler looked up, shook my hand and winked broadly at me. "Just -between us, Tompkins," he whispered, "who put you up to that Z-2 line -of yours? You have the whole town fooled. No, don't look virtuous, dear -old boy--again to quote the immortal Axel--I happen to know that you -can't possibly be connected with Z-2, because until yesterday, when the -Army grabbed it, I was head of Z-2 myself!" - - - - -CHAPTER 21 - - -"You were what?" I demanded. - -"I am--or was--the head of Z-2," Tyler replied. "You know, Mr. -Tompkins," he continued, "I find it most intensely interesting that -you should have picked on that particular combination--Z-2--for your -higher echelonics. In fact, I should like to have you psycho-analyzed, -in order to learn why you, of all people, should have selected the -super-secret insignia of the super-secret Roosevelt intelligence -outfit. Not that it matters now, of course," he added. "With this new -growth across the street I'd be lucky if the White House knew the -difference between Z-2 and B-29." - -I studied Tyler's face. Who he was, I had only a remote idea, so many -had been the different offices that had shunted me around. But in spite -of his airy-fairy persiflage and la-di-da manner, I felt that he was -straight. - -"Okay, chief," I said. "I confess. I robbed the bank but I didn't shoot -the cashier. That was Muggsy. You see, chief, it was this way--" - -Tyler sat back and heard me out from A to Z-2, in the history of my -last two weeks. - -"I can't expect you to believe me, Mr. Tyler," I concluded, "but I'd -like to have it on record somewhere in this town that I had told the -truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and all I get for it -is an Order of Merit citation." - -"Few escape it!" he cried. "My poor old bewildered Tompkins. Of course -I believe you. Stranger tales than yours have passed across my desk. I -have served under one President who _thought_ he was Jesus Christ, one -who _knew_ he was Jesus Christ and two who were afraid the voters would -realize that they were _not_ Jesus Christ. I have seen five successive -Secretaries of State who had no doubt that they were God's Vice-Regent -on earth. As for drawing a blank, Mr. Tompkins, that is no news to this -Department. What we diplomatic underlings fear is when our superiors -fail to draw blanks. Why I remember--but no matter." - -"Then what would you do if you were me, Mr. Tyler?" I asked him. "I'm -the innocent victim of the damndest set of circumstances ever dreamed -up." - -The red-headed young diplomat looked at me warily. "The -Department, sir," he said, "does not answer hypodermic--I mean -hypothetical--questions. What is good enough for the Department is good -enough for me." - -"But here I find myself," I reminded him, "in high favor with the -intelligence forces and with the reputation of a Don Juan in the bosoms -of my family, and no idea how I got there." - -Tyler chuckled. "I always knew they were plural," he said. "Think -nothing of it. Stupider men than you have stood in far higher repute in -this town and the reputation of Don Juan is easily acquired. For all -you know, you may be a perfectly sterling family man and quite devoid -of political intelligence." - -"How's that again?" - -"Just a figure of speech," Tyler answered airily. "Just the same, Mr. -Tompkins, it would be interesting to know why you picked on Z-2 and -where you got your undoubted talent for brass-knuckled duplicity. So -far as I can see, you've sold yourself as Z-2 to all the brass hats, -including the Kansas City lad who woke up to find himself President." - -"Again in my own defense," I said, "I did it only because the F.B.I. -had a gun at my back and were going to give me the works if I didn't -clear myself inside of twenty-four hours. I always thought," I added, -"that in this country you were assumed innocent until proved guilty." - -Tyler winked wickedly. "There's a war on," he announced, "and doesn't -the F.B.I. know it!" - -I bade the diplomat good-bye and left the State Department with a -sense of personal uneasiness. Who would have dreamed that there was a -Z-2 organization before I imagined it! If this kind of thing kept on -happening it mightn't be a bad idea to take a fling at the Hartford -Sanctuary and have myself psyched by experts. - -"Beg pardon, sir, but are you Mr. Tompkins?" - -The Hart, Shaffner & Marxed youngster who accosted me on the State -Department steps had a definite bulge under his left shoulder that -warned me he was armed. - -"Yes, and who are you, sir?" I inquired. - -"I'm Monaghan from the Secret Service," he told me. "The Chief wants to -see you." - -"And who is the Chief?" I asked. - -"Chief Flynn, of course," he said. "It's only a few steps over at the -the Treasury Building." - -"All right, Mr. Monaghan," I agreed. "I'll come along quietly. Am I -under arrest? Should I send for my lawyer?" - -"The Service don't go much for lawyers," he said. "This way, sir." - -With Monaghan at my elbow, I turned right on Pennsylvania Avenue and -walked in front of the White House and turned down East Executive -Avenue to the side-entrance of the Treasury. A few baffling twists and -turns in the corridors of Morgenthau, and I found myself in a large, -sparsely furnished room, facing a white haired Irishman. - -"This is Tompkins, Chief," Monaghan reported and left me with the -gimlet-eyed Secret Service executive. - -"You W. S. Tompkins?" he asked me. - -"Yes. And who are you?" - -"My name's Flynn." - -Neither of us said anything for a couple of minutes. He was obviously -waiting for me to ask him why I had been brought to him--so I -deliberately kept silent, pulled out a cigarette and lighted it. Seeing -no ash-tray, I flicked the burnt match on the official green carpet and -waited for him to open the conversation. - -"So you don't need to be told why you're here, Tompkins," he purred. - -"I came here, Mr. Flynn," I told him, "because one of your men -practically put a gun at my ribs in front of the State Department. What -do you want? A ticket to a prize fight? A good write-up in the papers? -Tell me what it will cost me and I'll pay within reason. I didn't know -that the Irish had got control of the Secret Service or I would have -mailed the money ahead--in cash, of course, no checks, all small bills -not consecutively numbered." - -Flynn scowled out the window in the general direction of the White -House. I dropped some more cigarette ash on the carpet. - -Suddenly he whirled to me. "We're here to protect the President," he -snapped, "and we don't propose to take any lip from you." - -I said nothing. Then I noticed the flag over the White House at -half-mast. - -"Why's that flag at half-mast, Mr. Flynn," I asked. - -"Because the President's dead." - -"Was he murdered?" I asked. - -"He was not! He died of natural causes, but we don't go for people -plotting to kill any President, even if he's dead. Our job depends on -it." - -I rubbed out the stub of my cigarette on the corner of his mahogany -desk and lighted another one. - -"Since Roosevelt wasn't murdered, what am I here for?" I asked. "I'm -a perfectly respectable New York business man. I'm registered at the -Willard and my wife can identify me. I have plenty of other references, -if you need them. The F.B.I., say, or General Wakely in Counter -Intelligence. If you have anything to ask me, I'll be glad to try to -answer questions, but I'm damned if I propose to sit here and let -myself be accused of something I never dreamed of doing." - -"And what are you going to do about it?" he asked. "Sue?" - -"Oh, I have no doubt that you can beat me up and send me to the -hospital, but as soon as I'm out I'll tell my story and then I guess a -man named Flynn will be looking for another job." - -Flynn smiled. "And why do you think the hospital will be letting you -go, Mr. Tompkins? Of course, if it was only for a broken leg or a -fractured skull, it would be easy, but what about St. Elizabeth's?" - -I raised my eyebrows. - -"Never heard of it," I said. - -"St. Elizabeth's," he explained, "is where we send people in Washington -who aren't right in the head. We have a lot of alienists and -psychiatrists there who can look you over, keep you under observation. -They can hold you there as long as they like, because if there's any -question about a man's sanity, they would be failing in their duty if -they let him go." - -"In other words, Mr. Flynn," I interrupted, "you threaten to send me to -the local lunatic asylum if I raise any objection to your methods. Is -that the game?" - -Flynn was on familiar ground here. "Mr. Tompkins," he asked me. "How's -your health? You don't look any too good to me. Don't you think you'd -be better for a little special care?" - -I laughed admiringly. "So that's how it's done, is it? Well, I never -thought the Secret Service was reduced to blackmail. Okay, I'll pay." - -"Who ever mentioned pay?" Flynn was indignant. - -"Nuts!" I replied. "Cops are all the same. They jail Capone for income -tax because they can't convict him of being a racketeer. You think -you're being cute by sending people to the booby-hatch if you have no -proof that they're dangerous. So, go ahead, send me to St. Elizabeth's -but don't think for one minute that I'm not on to the Irish." - -Flynn's face grew slowly and magnificently purple. "By God!" he -shouted. "What's the matter with Ireland, anyhow?" - -"Ireland?" Now he was on my ground. "Too proud to fight the war for -freedom. Ireland? To hell with Ireland! This is the United States of -America. What has Ireland to do with your duty to the United States?" - -Flynn slumped back in his chair, muttering. - -"Go!" he said hoarsely. "Get out of here, get out of this building, get -out of this town. By God Almighty, if I catch you here within the next -twenty-four hours, I--I--" - -"Scratch a cop and find a four-flusher," I observed incautiously. -"You're still looking for Booth in Ford's theatre and are figuring ways -to guard Garfield in the Union Station. For all you know, Roosevelt may -have been killed, but if he was, you know I had nothing to do with it. -The record shows I'm one of the few people who tried to do anything -about it. And you don't dare touch the man who told me." - -"Who was that?" Flynn demanded sullenly. - -"Axel Roscommon," I said, "another Irishman, so you don't dare lay a -finger on him." - -"Roscommon!" Flynn snorted. "A black Protestant from Ulster. He's no -Irishman, but I can't touch him, as well you know. The bloody British -in the State Department are protecting him." - -"So you take it out on me, eh?" I suggested. - -Flynn drew himself up. "See here, Mr. Tompkins," he said, "I've told -you to get out of Washington and stay out of Washington. In a job like -mine I have to follow my hunches and my hunch is that if you aren't out -of here by noon tomorrow we'll send you over to St. Elizabeth's for -observation. After all, we can't have people threatening the President." - -"When did I ever threaten the President?" - -"Sure and you did it just now," declared the Chief. "You used -threatening and abusive language about the President of the United -States, within the meaning of the Act, and the Secret Service is not -going to stand for it." - -"In other words, Mr. Flynn," I observed, "You can't win against the -Cops. Anything to keep their job. Okay, I know when I'm licked. I'll -leave town and I'll even beat you to the booby-hatch. If this is -sanity, I _want_ to be locked up." - -Chief Flynn hunched his shoulders and scowled at me. - -"Yes," I told him, "I'll check myself with the psychiatrists." - -"Mr. Tompkins," Flynn remarked quietly, "the more I see of you the more -I feel that you ought to have immediate medical attention." - -He lifted his telephone and began dialing a number. - -"And won't that look swell on your record," I said, "when President -Truman gives me a citation for the Order of Merit the same day that -Chief Flynn locks me up as a threat to the President." - -"Oh!" Flynn laid down the receiver and looked at me with dawning -respect. - -"Oh! is right," I replied, and left the room. - -Nobody tried to stop me as I walked out of the Treasury but I knew -that I must take no more chances. From now on it was a race to the -alienists, and the best hope for continued liberty lay with my getting -there first. - -I hailed a taxicab. "Drive me to the Phipps Clinic, Johns Hopkins -Hospital," I told the driver. - -"Jeeze, Chief! That's in Baltimore." - -"You are absolutely right," I told him, "and it's fifty bucks for you -if you get me there inside the hour." - -I sank back on the cushions of the rear seat. I had come out of the -Washington rat-race worse off than when I had entered it. Then it was -merely a question of my liberty. After three days it had become a -matter of my sanity. - - - - -CHAPTER 22 - - -The white-coated medical man--he said that he was associate -psychiatrist at the Phipps Clinic--beckoned me to follow him into a -side-room. He waved me to be seated and closed the door. - -"You see, Mr. Tompkins," he told me, "everybody's crazy." - -There is no point in recounting the stages which had converted my panic -flight from the wrath of the Secret Service into this interview with -one of Johns Hopkins psychiatric staff, except that I had been amazed -by the ease with which he had drawn me aside shortly after I had sat -down in the waiting-room. - -"Of course I realize, doctor," I replied, "that everyone must be -abnormal since that is how you establish an average normality. My case -is so peculiar, though, that I'd like to have you check on me." - -"Here we can take you only on the recommendation of a registered -physician or psychiatrist," he told me. "We're understaffed and -over-crowded as it is. My advice to you would be to return to your -home--you live near New York, you say--and put yourself in the hands -of your regular family physician. There are plenty of institutions -in your part of the country which are fully qualified to give the -necessary treatment. Even if you were recommended to us now we could -only put you on the waiting list." - -I murmured something vague about war-conditions and neurotics, but he -raised his hand like a traffic-cop and interrupted me. - -"The war, at least so far as active service is concerned, has taken a -load off us, Mr. Tompkins," he informed me. "You see, in normal times -people live under any number of pressures which force them to restrain -their natural impulses. War gives them outlets--including sex, a sense -of gang solidarity, and permission to commit acts of violence and -homicide--which would result in jail-sentences for them at other times. -Of course, there are a good many psychos coming out of actual combat -but the government takes care of them. No, the bulk of our current -cases are essential civilians: generals, administrators, politicians, -business executives--who find that the war simply redoubles the -pressures on them. Some of them are really insane in the medical sense -but their positions are so high that we dare not insist on their -hospitalization. Instead, we have a simple prescription which most of -them find no difficulty in taking. Perhaps it would help in your case." - -"What's that?" I asked. - -"Oh, just go out and get drunk now and then, and find yourself a -girl-friend. Blow off steam, in other words. Find an outlet for your -natural impulses. If the White House had consulted me, Roosevelt might -still--Oh, well, no use crying over spilt milk. Half the mental trouble -in this country is due to people trying to be something they are not, -and the other half is due to people trying not to be something that -they naturally are. Primitive people are rarely troubled with neuroses." - -"But you said that everybody's crazy, doctor," I objected. "How does -that fit into the picture?" - -"Mr. Tompkins," the psychiatrist remarked, "you must have noticed that -the only sane people today are the alleged lunatics, who do what makes -them happy. Take the man who thinks he is Napoleon. He _is_ Napoleon -and is much happier than those who try to tell him that he isn't. The -real maniacs are now in control of the asylum. There's a theory among -the psychiatrists that certain forms of paranoia are contagious. Every -now and then a doctor or a nurse here and at other mental clinics goes -what they call crazy and has to join the patients. My theory is that it -is sanity which is contagious and that the only sane people are those -who have sense enough to be crazy. They are locked up at once for fear -that others will go sane, too. Now, take me, I'm--" - -At that moment two husky young men came in and led him away. After a -short interval one of them returned. - -"I'm sorry this happened, sir," he apologized. "Dr. Murdoch is a -tragic case. He was formerly employed here and every now and then he -still manages to escape to one of our consultation rooms. He's quite -harmless. What was he telling you?" - -"That the only sane people in the world were the lunatics," I said. - -The young man nodded. "Yes, that's his usual line. That's what got him -committed in the first place. For my money, he's right but he oughtn't -to go around saying it. And what can we do for you?" - -I told him that the "associate psychiatrist" had advised me to put -myself in the hands of my family doctor and had prescribed a dose of -wine, women and song as a method of restoring my mental balance. I was -troubled by serious loss of memory, I said, and needed treatment. - -He nodded again. "Boy, when I finish my internship and start private -practice, am I going to clean up in the upper brackets with that one! -Murdoch's crazy to waste that on these people in Phipps. They can't -follow his advice. This one is strictly for Park Avenue." - -I left the clinic, phoned the hotel in Washington from a pay-booth in a -corner drug-store, and told Germaine to join me at Pook's Hill. I said -that I had had to leave Washington in a hurry and would explain when I -saw her. I added that I'd just had a consultation at Johns Hopkins and -had decided to take medical treatment. - -"I know one thing you don't need treatment for--your nerve!" she -replied and hung up on me. - -When I reached the house in Bedford Hills, I was welcomed by -Mary-Myrtle at the front door and by the loud barking of Ponto from my -bedroom. Germaine had not yet returned. - -"How's Ponto?" I asked the maid. - -"Oh, he's fine," she told me, "just fine. He eats his food and sleeps -regular and is just like he was." - -"Good, I'll take a look at him." - -I went upstairs and held my bedroom door ajar. - -"Hullo, Ponto old boy," I said in the curious tone one uses towards -dogs, children and public men. "Here I am back from Washington." - -He lay on my bed, with ears pricked up, gazing at me intently. - -"Yes, Ponto," I continued. "I got the Order of Merit from President -Truman himself and met all the big shots, so if you take a bite at me -now it will be sabotage." - -Ponto put his ears back and let his tongue dangle from the side of his -mouth, while his tail made a haze as it thumped delightedly on the -pillow. If he hadn't been an animal, I would have said he was laughing. - -"There, old fellow," I soothed him. - -He wuffed affectionately, jumped to the floor, and stood beside me, -panting and drooling. - -"Thank God, you're well again, Ponto," I told him. "We can't have two -loony people in this house. Now it's my turn to go to the vet's and be -treated." - -Ponto's answer was to lick my hand convulsively and wag his tail and -otherwise give a splendid impersonation of an affectionate "Friend of -Man" whose beloved master has returned. So I took him downstairs with -me and turned him out for a run on the lawn while I sat in my den and -tried to get my thoughts in order. - -What worried me most was Virginia Rutherford's sudden change in -manner. From having been definitely the woman scorned--angry, hurt and -hell-bent for revenge--she had adopted an air of friendly complicity -the moment I had left the White House. This made no sense to me. -Germaine was unchanged but that was because she was a simple woman who -was in the obvious process of falling in love with her own husband. -Whatever I did would be all right with her, which was a great comfort -but not much help. Then, too, I was beginning to get uneasy at the -increasing glibness and complexity of the lies I was telling. It was -almost as though I were playing a part for which at some time I had -once rehearsed. As Tyler had told me in the State Department, it -_would_ be interesting to know how I happened to invent the legendary -"Z-2." - -There was the crunch of gravel as an automobile slowed to a stop -outside, the click of a key in the lock and then Germaine was in the -den and in my arms, with all the etchings of ducks staring at her. - -"Winnie," she exclaimed. "You _are_ the most unexpected person. I had -the most awful time at the Willard after you phoned me. When I tried to -pay the bill they wouldn't take my check because my name wasn't Grant. -In fact, I had to telephone that nice Mrs. Jacklin before I could find -a bank that would give me the money. Then that Mr. Harcourt from the -F.B.I. came in and talked to me for the longest time. He seemed quite -surprised when I told him you had gone to Johns Hopkins. Don't you feel -well, dear?" - -"I never felt better," I assured her. "No, Jimmy, that was because -somebody in the Secret Service got the idea that I ought to be put in -an asylum. It's a nasty little trick of theirs, I gather, to send a man -to the booby-bin for life if they don't like him but have no evidence -against him. So I thought I'd play it smart and beat them to the punch. -That's why I went to Baltimore, to get a mental check-up at the Phipps -Clinic." - -"Did they--Are you--Are you all right?" she faltered. "I couldn't bear -it if--" - -I laughed and gave her a good hug. "I'm all right," I told her. "They -didn't have time to examine me but gave me two bits of advice. First, -I was to get Jerry Rutherford to handle my case. I guess you need -political influence now to get yourself locked up. And then, I was told -that I ought to have more licker and wimmin in my life. It seems I'm -getting in a rut." - -"Winnie!" - -"Uh-huh! They recommended it for curing highly inhibited cases like -mine. I'm repressed or something." - -"It must be something," Germaine observed fifteen minutes later. "Oh, -dear, I didn't even think whether the door was locked. I'm a sight. You -don't act repressed to me." - -She turned her face towards me, her eyes laughing. - -"In any case, I'll have to see a doctor," I said, "and it might as -well be Rutherford. He knows so much about me that I won't have to do a -lot of explaining." - -"Winnie!" - -Germaine swung her feet to the floor and straightened her clothes. -"Winnie," she repeated, "_must_ you go to a doctor? Can't we try the -_other_ prescription--I mean, give it a _good_ try?" - -I shook my head. - -"No can do. I've got to get my memory straightened out. You and -I--well, _we're_ all right now. But there's my business and then -there's the Secret Service. I _can't_ seem to remember a thing before -the second of April and I did so much lying in Washington, trying to -cover up, that I may get into real trouble. That's what Virginia said, -that I'd lied myself into a worse mess than I'd lied myself out of." - -My wife pouted. "Don't these treatments take a long time?" she asked. -"I remember when they sent Cousin Frederick to the asylum after -that time when he put tear-gas in the air-conditioners in the Stock -Exchange, it was three years before they let him out. Of course he -_was_ crazy, though we pretended it was only drink. That time he tried -to tattoo the little Masters girl--But won't they keep you locked up -and do things to you?" - -"Hanged if I know," I said, "but they can't keep me there a day longer -than you or I want. It isn't as though I was being committed to an -asylum. It's just that there's a bad crack in my memory. They'll try to -find out what's wrong and patch it up. Perhaps I won't have to stay -after all." - -"Do they let wives come and visit their husbands?" she asked dreamily. -"I mean--" - -"I've never heard that the medical profession encouraged that kind of -therapy," I told her. - -"Speaking of insanity," I continued, "Ponto, you will be glad to know, -is back to normal." - -She got up and made a face at me. "Of course," she remarked with -deliberate provocation, "If you think more of Ponto than you do of me. -I'm so glad, Winnie, to know that Ponto is better. He's your dog, isn't -he? What was wrong with him? What medicine did you give him? What did -the vet say--" - -She ended in a startled squeak and ran for the door. - -"You beast!" she exclaimed, turning on me, "it _was_ locked, all the -time. Oh, Winnie--" - -A thousand years later she said once more, "Oh, Winnie!" - -Then she laughed. - -"Just the same," she said, "I'm glad about Ponto. I still think I don't -like the way he's been acting." - -She yawned. - -"And now, sir," she added, "will you please let me go to my room. I'm -_still_ rather dirty from my trip and I ought to get a few things -unpacked. And besides," she laughed again, "I'm ravenously hungry." - -"So am I," I remarked truthfully, "but--" - -"I _know_ we're both crazy," she told me some time later, "and perhaps -they'd better give us a double-room at the asylum. But I know that -unless I eat something right away I'll be dead in the morning." - -"Let's see if there's anything in the ice-box," I said. "Mary's -probably given up dinner long ago." - -"Her name is Myrtle," Germaine corrected me. - - - - -CHAPTER 23 - - -Dr. Rutherford's office was tastefully furnished, in the suburban -medical manner, to suggest a Tudor tap-room. There was, of course, a -spotless chrome and porcelain laboratory connecting, as well as an -equally sanitary lavatory. - -"Good of you to squeeze me in, Jerry," I remarked to Rutherford. "Fact -is I need your professional opinion." - -Rutherford stroked his little dab of a moustache. "I've sent in my -application to the Army Medical Corps," he told me. "I hoped you'd come -to straighten out the money end." - -"That will be taken care of any time you need it," I assured him. "Miss -Briggs at my office will have full details. I'll phone her and my -lawyer to fix it up as soon as I get back to the house." - -"Well, what seems to be wrong with you, old man?" he inquired. "War -getting too much for you? Got a hang-over? Need vitamins? Bowels -regular? I must say you're got a better color and have lost weight -since the last time I saw you." - -"It's nothing wrong with my body, and I _have_ lost weight," I -explained. "It's my mind. I've had a complete loss of memory as to what -happened before April second. In Washington, I was lucky to avoid the -booby-hatch. They couldn't handle me at Hopkins, so they told me to -consult my family physician. I guess that means that you are elected." - -"Family physician is good," Rutherford remarked with a rather -unprofessional grin. "But hell! I'm no psychiatrist. Of course, in -practice around here I bump into a few psychopathic cases but I must -say you've never struck me as the type." - -I assured him that I was in dead earnest about this matter, that I must -somehow get myself certified as sane or I might be in trouble with the -government. - -"Rot, my dear fellow!" Rutherford assured me. "You've had some kind -of psychic trauma or shock that's resulted in temporary amnesia. That -could happen to anybody. You're as sane as I am." - -I asked him whether he'd be willing to sign a medical certificate to -that effect. - -"Well," he replied slowly, "that's another story. I'm not a specialist -along psychiatric lines. Up here I get mostly baby-cases, indigestion, -some alcoholism and now and then, thank God, a real honest broken leg. -My name on a certificate wouldn't mean much in sanity proceedings. -I'd rather have you run over to Hartford and see Dr. Folsom at the -Sanctuary. He has the stuff and the equipment to put you through the -standard tests." - -"That's okay by me, Jerry," I agreed, "but I'd still like you to put -me through a few paces so that your records will show that this is on -the level. If some bright boy in Washington decides to throw me in the -asylum for making nasty faces at the Big Brass, I want to have a clean -medical record for use in a counter-suit for false arrest." - -Rutherford stood up and looked out the window. "I'm a hell of a poor -choice for a man to look into your private life, after this business -with Germaine and Virginia," he observed. - -"That's why I want to keep it all in the family," I told him. "Listen, -Jerry, until she came out to Pook's Hill the other day I have no -recollection of ever setting eyes on Virginia. Under the circumstances, -she's as superfluous as a bridegroom's pajamas. I faked as well as I -could but the plain fact is that I have no memory of her, of you, of -Jimmie or anybody around here before April 2nd. Now that's not normal, -to put it mildly." - -"You know, Winnie," the doctor remarked professionally, "I think -that your quote loss of memory unquote is nothing but a defense -mechanism. I know a bit about your affairs and they seem to have got so -complicated--with three or four women on a string, business problems, -liquor and so forth--that you simply decided subconsciously not to -remember anything about them. Your mind's a blank as to everything you -want to forget." - -I shook my head. "The trouble is, Jerry, that my mind's not blank at -all. I remember a hell of a lot but it's all about another man." - -"How's that again?" - -So I told him the whole story, from beginning to end, skipping only -the bits about the thorium bomb and Z-2 for reasons of security, and -omitting the name of the carrier. He took notes and studied them for a -while. Then he looked up at me and smiled. - -"This beats anything in Freud," he observed. "I still stick to -my off-the-cuff diagnosis that you had something that gave you a -shock--it needn't have been anything big, you know; just a straw -that broke the camel's back--and then developed this loss of memory -as a defense mechanism. And this transfer of personalities with -Jacklin--metempsychosis is the fancy word for it--is not the usual type -of schizophrenia, but it falls into a pattern of wish-fulfillment. - -"You probably don't remember it but ever since I've known you, you've -been grousing about this fellow Jacklin, whom none of us have ever -met. It's been close to an obsession with you. I gather that you had -some kind of a school-boy crush on him, which he ignored, and your -feelings turned to hatred. You seem to have kept close track of him and -his doings all these years. Subconsciously you must have identified -yourself with him. I'm just guessing now--Folsom could make a -scientific check--but I should say that you may have developed a split -personality, based on envy and jealousy for this chap. Jacklin's had -to make his own way, while you've always had plenty of money and good -business connections, especially since you got over the depression. -He was in uniform, serving his country, and you were a civilian, -enriching yourself. He had separated from his wife while you were -tangled up with a lot of women...." - -"But how did I know that Mrs. Jacklin had a mole on her left hip?" I -asked. - -"Nine women out of ten have at least one and often more moles on both -their hips," he said, "as you should know. In any case, I take it that -you didn't verify the statement. No, Winnie, at the Sanctuary they can -deal with this sort of thing scientifically and tell you how to make -the readjustment." - -"My wife doesn't want me to readjust too much," I told him. "She'd -rather have me crazy and stick around with her than sane but off -chasing a bunch of skirts." - -"Can't say that I blame her, old man," he agreed, controlling himself -with a visible effort, "but that's her affair and nothing to do with -your case." - -"Quite!" I told him, "and let me say that you've been a hell of a good -sport about this mess. Believe me, Jerry, I'm not trying to alibi -myself so far as Virginia is involved, but I don't remember anything -about her and me that couldn't be taught in a Methodist Sunday School. -It's--it's almost as though I had been born again, given a last chance -to relive my life. If that's what trauma does for you, we ought to have -more of it." - -"Listen, Winnie," the doctor remarked. "This is between us, of course, -but the sanest thing you ever did was to get shed of Virginia. She's -fun and all that, but after a few weeks it's boring to live with a -one-track mind with red hair. Germaine is worth a dozen of her. Perhaps -when I get back from the Army, Virginia will have settled down enough -to be a doctor's wife. You'll see that she gets the money, won't you?" - -"Sure," I agreed, "and I'll give you a tip I learned at Hopkins. -The short-cut to medical riches. A loony psychiatrist there says he -always advises middle-aged men to do a little heavy drinking and woman -chasing, in order to get rid of their inhibitions. There ought to be a -fortune in that kind of medical treatment, especially in Westchester." - -Jerry Rutherford laughed. "Westchester's discovered the prescription -all by itself," he said, "and they're just beginning to learn that -when a middle-aged American sheds his inhibitions, there's damn little -of him left. Now, you'd better run along and get packed for a stay -in Hartford. I'll phone Folsom and tell him you're driving over this -afternoon. He'll fix you up if anyone can." - -"Swell!" I thanked him. - -When I got back to Pook's Hill, I called the office and told Arthurjean -that I was leaving for a rest-cure at the Hartford Sanctuary and -to tell my partners that I didn't want to be disturbed by business -affairs until further notice. I asked her to get hold of Merriwether -Vail and meet me at the Sanctuary as soon as they could make it. -They were to bring the necessary papers so that I could deed over -$15,000 to Dr. Jeremiah Rutherford of Bedford Hills, to be paid in -monthly installments of $1,000 to his wife. I added that there was -nothing seriously wrong with me but that the best advice I could get -recommended a rest-cure to head off a possible nervous breakdown. Then -I said good-bye to Germaine, gave Ponto a farewell pat on the head and -piled into my Packard for the drive to Hartford. - -The Sanctuary proved to be a large, pleasant brick building--something -about half-way between a country club and a summer hotel--in the better -groomed suburbs of Hartford, with a fine view of the Connecticut River. -The ample grounds were surrounded by a high spiked iron fence and the -gates to the driveway were closed, until I had identified myself to -the guard on duty. In fact, it reminded me of the routine of getting -admitted to the White House grounds, except that this time I was not -accompanied by General Wakely. At the front door, a uniformed attendant -took charge of my bags and gave directions to have my car sent to the -garage. Then I was ushered into one of those hospital waiting-rooms -that defy all interior-decorating efforts to give them a respectable, -homelike touch. - -A few moments later, a pretty nurse in a white starched uniform -directed me to follow her. We went through a door, which she was -careful to lock behind her, along a corridor and up one flight of -stairs to a pleasantly furnished bedroom, where my bags were already -waiting for me. She told me to get undressed and go to bed--which I -did, after she had carefully unpacked my belongings, removing my razor -and my nail-file. - -"Dr. Folsom will be by to see you in a few minutes, Mr. Tompkins," she -informed me. "Just ring if you want anything." - -After she left, I felt good and mad. How in blazes did they expect -to minister to a mind diseased, if they began by the old routine of -getting the patient stripped and bedded? Then I realized that this -was just a simple matter of establishing the institution's moral -superiority, at the very outset, and my anger evaporated. I lay back -and dozed for a few minutes until the door opened and a burly man, with -a glittering eye and strangler's hands, entered my room. - -"I'm Dr. Folsom, Mr. Tompkins," he informed me. "Dr. Rutherford phoned -that you were coming over for a check-up. Before we get down to -business, there are a few routine questions I'd like to ask." - -They were routine: Name, age, address, next of kin, annual income, -banking connections, name of recommending physician, and whether -patient had previously received mental treatment in an accredited -psychiatric institution. - -"Shall we mail the bills to Mrs. Tompkins?" he asked. - -"Hell, no! Give them to me. I brought along my check-book." - -Dr. Folsom nodded approval. "Here is the bill for the first week," he -said. "We generally ask our patients to pay in advance." - -He handed me a folded piece of fine bonded paper. On it, tastefully -inscribed, was the information that I owed The Sanctuary, Hartford, -Conn., $250.00 for room, board and attendance for the period of April -20-25, inclusive. There was a space for my signature and the doctor -thrust a fountain-pen into my hand. "Just sign there and we'll send it -to your bank for collection," he said. - -"What's all this fine print?" I suddenly demanded. - -"Oh, that's just a matter of form," he explained. - -"Wait a minute," I urged. "I was always taught that when in Hartford -you ought always to read the small print at the bottom of the page." - -I studied it out. "The above signature," it read, "constitutes an -agreement not to leave or attempt to leave The Sanctuary without the -prior approval of the Management." - -I looked at Dr. Folsom. "If you don't mind, doctor," I told him, "I'd -prefer to sign one of my own checks and have it cleared in the usual -way. What's the idea of having me sign away my liberty like that?" - -Folsom smiled disarmingly. "That's one of the ways we judge whether a -patient is really sane. Only a crazy man would sign it," he explained. -"More seriously, Mr. Tompkins, you must remember that a private asylum -has quite a problem in controlling its patients. They are not generally -committed to our care by court orders and usually come here only at the -request of their families with their own reluctant consent. Without a -signed agreement of that kind, we might be exposed to legal annoyances, -suit for damages or even a kidnapping charge, if a patient changed his -mind and decided to act nasty." - -"I see your point, doctor," I told him. "I've asked my attorney and my -private secretary to meet me here a little later today. I have some -business I must clean up before I can settle down for treatment. I'll -consult him about the kind of agreement to sign with the Sanctuary. -So far as I'm concerned, I don't see the necessity for any agreement. -I want to get a simple sanity test and see if you can recommend any -course of treatment for dealing with a serious loss of memory." - -"I'm not sure that it is the management's policy to accept a patient -under such unusual conditions," he said. "I'll have to consult my -associates." - -"See here, doctor," I replied. "All I want now is to have one of the -psychiatrists give me the works, tell me whether I'm sane or crazy, and -then I'll pull out. I don't want to stay here under false pretenses and -I don't intend to stay here a minute longer than I want to. I'll pay -any fee you charge, within reason, but I'm damned if I'll sign my own -freedom away, with Wall Street getting set to shoot the works." - -Dr. Folsom laughed. "I can't say that I blame you, Mr. Tompkins. And -you don't sound unbalanced to me." - -"But I want a document signed to that effect," I declared. "You see, -some of my business associates have been trying to have me adjudged -incompetent so as to get control of my money. It's about three million -dollars at present quotations. So I'm out to build up my defenses in -advance of the show-down. _Now_ do you understand?" - -"Oh!" The Director of the Sanctuary was enormously relieved. "That's no -trouble at all. I'll send up our business psychiatrist, Dr. Pendergast -Potter--he studied under Jung in Vienna, you know--and he'll give you -our standard businessman's sanity-test. We have quite a few cases like -yours, you know. It's surprising how many business partners seize on -insanity as a key to robbing their associates. It's done every day. And -our fee for this service will be five thousand dollars." - -"Five thousand dollars it is!" I agreed. - -"Good!" Dr. Folsom beamed. "I'll send Potter over right away." - - - - -CHAPTER 24 - - -When Dr. Pendergast Potter arrived, he proved to be a short, -square-built man, with a red spade beard and soft but shifty brown -eyes--like an Airedale's. He had, he told me almost at once, studied -with Jung in Vienna and I thought of that mischievous parody-- - - "Bliss was it in that Freud to be alive, - But to be Jung was very Heaven!" - -"Dr. Folsom tells me, Mr. Tompkins," Potter continued in a sort of -heel-clicking, stiff-bow-from-the-waist manner which was meant, I -suppose, to reveal his Viennese training, "that you have reason -to believe that your business partners are plotting against you, -conspiring to throw you in the asylum? This sense of special -persecution, sir, have you had it long? Perhaps when you were a child, -you hated your father? It began then, not so? And, later at school, -perhaps--" - -I got out of bed and advanced on the psychiatrist. - -"Dr. Potter," I informed him, "you are here for only one reason, to -certify that I am sane in the legal sense. For this service I am paying -the Sanctuary a fee of five thousand dollars. To which, of course, I -will add a personal fee of one thousand dollars to you, Dr. Potter, -assuming that you can sign a certificate of sanity with a clear -scientific conscience." - -Potter subsided in the arm-chair and cackled gleefully. "Boy, oh boy!" -he exclaimed, "for one thousand smackers I'd certify that Hitler is the -Messiah. Damn Folsom for sending me in blind! He didn't tell me it was -one of those." - -"Besides," I added, "I have a really serious loss of memory, which is -worth your attention, though I haven't time to go into it now. So get -ahead with your tests, please, and let's clean up this one." - -"Cross your knees, either leg!" he ordered and gave me a few brisk -taps just below the knee-cap with the edge of his flattened palm. My -knee-jerks were all that could be desired. - -"Good!" remarked Potter. "That's still the only physical test for -sanity that's worth a damn. Hell! They have all sorts of gadgets but -they all amount to the same thing: Is your nervous system functioning -normally or is it not? What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Tompkins? -Partners closing in on your assets or has your wife made book with -your lawyer?" - -"My only trouble," I informed him, "is that I'm damned if I can -remember anything that happened before April second of this year. -That's been getting me close to trouble and I'd like to clear it up. I -remember all sorts of things before then, but it's about another man." - -"Hm!" Potter suddenly looked formidably medical. "That's what I call -schizophrenia with a pretzel twist. We could keep you here and give you -sedatives and baths and exercises and analysis, but it would be just -the same if we left you alone. You've had some kind of shock causing a -temporary occlusion of personality, and the best thing you can do is -wait. Sooner or later there will be another shock and everything will -come straight again. What do you think you remember from the blank -period?" - -"Damned if I know," I replied. "I think I sank a battleship or killed a -President, or something." - -Potter laughed. "That's just a variation of the good old Napoleon -complex--which is an inferiority complex gone wild. You ought to take -up a hobby, like expert book-binding or watch-repairing. That would -give you a sense of power and you wouldn't feel the need for sinking -ships. Ten to one, you can't even shoot a decent game of golf." - -"I'm pretty good at poker," I defended myself. - -"That's not power, Mr. Tompkins, that's just shrewdness. You have a -profound sense of physical inadequacy. The record says you're married. -Any children?" - -I shook my head. - -"That's it," Potter declared. "We had a case like that in Jung's -clinic--a baker named Hermann Schultz, who insisted that he was the -Emperor Friedrich Barbarossa. We were baffled for a while, since -Schultz was married and had three children. Then we learned that his -wife was the girl-friend of one of the Habsburg Archdukes and that -poor Schultz was not the father of little Franz, Irma and Ernst. We -solved it for him with his wife's help. She agreed to have another -child. Of course, it was the Archduke's but Schultz never guessed. -He ceased to believe that he was the Barbarossa and became a highly -successful baker. What you ought to do, Mr. Tompkins, is to father a -child and then you will forget all this nonsense about battleships and -Presidents. Not so?" - -I grinned at him knowingly. "There's much in what you say, Dr. Potter," -I complimented him, "but what the hell can I do about it bottled up -here in the Sanctuary? Just give me a clean mental bill of health--in -case any of my partners try to pull a fast one--and I'll go home to my -wife and give earnest consideration to your suggestion. After all, if -that fails, I can always take up wood-carving. Or try another girl." - -"There are one or two around here--" he began, then checked himself. -"Well," he continued, "I can't say that I see anything really abnormal -about you. Sitting here, talking with you, I would have noticed any -psychopathic tendencies. We psychiatrists develop a sort of sixth sense -for the abnormal. I couldn't prove it scientifically, but I am sure as -Adam ate little green apples that there's nothing wrong with you that -can't be cured by a drink, a kiss and a baby." - -There was a brisk knock on the door and the nurse appeared. - -"Sorry to disturb you, doctor," she said, "but there's a man named Vail -downstairs with a writ of habeas corpus for Mr. Tompkins." - -Potter looked at me accusingly, as though Jung had never for-seen this -kind of complication. - -"Merry Vail," I agreed. "Yes, he's my lawyer. I told him to come here -but never dreamed--just send him up, nurse. In the meanwhile, doctor, -if you could get that certificate ready--" - -Potter again gave the effect of heel-clicking, and withdrew. - -Three minutes later Merriwether Vail and Arthurjean Briggs came -bursting into my room. - -"Glory be, you're still safe, old man," my lawyer announced. "When Miss -Briggs phoned me your curious message, we put two and two together." - -"And made it twenty-two?" I suggested. - -"No, we made it four. We weren't going to stand for any nonsense from -the F.B.I. and I owe them something for pulling me in for questioning. -And when you spoke of fifteen thousand dollars and a doctor, I had a -brain-storm. So I flew up here and swore out a writ from the Federal -Court. I got a deputy to help me serve it--cost me all of twenty -bucks--and here we are." - -I turned to Arthurjean. "Honeychile," I asked, "did you by any chance, -think to bring me some of the office brandy? I've been moving so fast -for the last three days that I'm out of training." - -My secretary turned her back, gave a sort of dip-dive-and-wiggle and -produced from God knows where a half pint bottle of what proved to be -excellent brandy, well-warmed above room temperature. I heartlessly -refused to notice Vail's pathetic signs of desperate thirst and passed -the flask back to Arthurjean. "Thanks," I told her, "that just about -saved my life." - -"Mr. Vail was all set that the doctors had hijacked you and were -holding you for ransom," she remarked, taking a short but deep drink -herself. "Seems like there's been a mistake." - -"Uh-uh!" I indicated strong disagreement. "I came here under my own -power and am about to leave under the same and in my right mind." - -"Whoever said you weren't?" Vail demanded. "God! we'll sue them for -libel." - -I shook my head. "It was the Secret Service and only God can sue them," -I said. "They took a notion to have me thrown in the Washington asylum -because they were sore at me on general principles. So I decided to -beat them to the draw and produce a certificate of sanity." - -Vail looked at me with amusement. "Worst thing you could possibly -do, old man," he informed me. "If you start going around showing -people proof that you're not crazy, first thing you know you'll be in -Matteawan. Now if you want to prove to anybody that you're really in -your right mind, you'll try to do the right thing by this little girl -here." - -In some bewilderment I looked at Arthurjean, whom nobody could -accurately accuse of being little. - -"What are you driving at, Merry?" I asked. - -"I refer to my client, Miss Briggs," he replied with dignity. "We have -strong written evidence of breach of promise." - -"Sugar-puss?" I turned to my secretary, "Don't tell me that you've -shown my letters to this legal lout?" - -She nodded. "Sorry, angel, but a girl's got to take care of herself in -this world. You remember where you wrote me, 'Be but mine and I shall -buy you a porterhouse steak with mushrooms'." - -"It was onions, darling," I insisted. "Onions aren't breach of promise. -Damn it! they're cause for divorce." - -"It was mushrooms," she repeated. "That was the same letter in which -you promised me hearts of lettuce, and ice-cream and--" she broke down, -sobbing with laughter. - -I pulled her face down to me and gave her a kiss. "You big slob," I -told her, "all you think about, with democracy at the crossroads, is -food. Take that shyster downstairs and wait for me. I'll be down as -soon as I collect my certificate. Even if I can't wear it on my coat -like a campaign-ribbon it will be nice to hang in my den alongside my -Harvard B.A. diploma and the moose I didn't kill--it was the Indian -guide but they don't count--in New Brunswick." - -Arthurjean laughed. "You sure do make your help sing for their supper, -angel," she told me. "And just because I call you angel don't you start -worrying about that nice wife of yours. From now on, I'll make like a -sister." - -So I smacked her on the porte-cochere and ordered her out of the room -until I got dressed. As the door closed behind her and Vail, I rang for -the nurse and asked to have my bags packed. - -"Goodness, Mr. Tompkins," she exclaimed. "Don't you like it here? We -understood that you wanted a rest-cure." - -She stood just a fraction of an inch too close to me and I was aware of -pretty brown hair under her starched nurse's cap, a whiff of something -that smelled far more expensive than antiseptic, and a pleasingly -rounded effect underneath the prim blouse of her uniform. So I put my -arm around her, gave her a friendly kiss and said, "Name, please, and -when do you get off duty?" - -"Emily Post," she answered, "so help me, but don't let that stop you, -and nine o'clock tonight." - -"Good," I told her. "Will you join us for dinner and a drink at--what's -the best hotel here now we've a war on?" - -"The Governor Baldwin," she replied. - -"Meet us at the Baldwin, then, as soon as you can get away. I'd like -you to meet my friends socially and--" - -She nodded brightly and hurried from the room, with a distinctly -unmedical motion of her hips. - -A moment later Dr. Folsom came lounging in, his strangler's hands -dangling at his side. - -"Sorry you feel you must leave, Mr. Tompkins," he told me. "Here's that -certificate. It will stand up in any court east of the Mississippi if -you have to use it. That will be five thousand, as agreed." - -I sat down at the little writing-desk and laboriously made out three -checks: one for five thousand to the order of the Sanctuary, one for -one thousand to the order of Pendergast Potter, and another for one -thousand to the order of-- - -"Any initials, Dr. Folsom?" I asked. - -"A. J.," he replied, "but just make it to the Sanctuary." - -"A. J. Folsom," I wrote on the final check and endorsed it with "W. S. -Tompkins," as well as I could with my still bandaged fingers. - -"What--" Folsom was startled. "Gosh! You're a white man, Mr. Tompkins. -And Potter will be glad to have this, too. He is--" - -"Think nothing of it!" I announced grandly. "The market's been working -for me all week, and this won't even cost you income-tax; I'll put it -down as a gift." - -Folsom's face was positively transfigured with gratitude and a devotion -that would not have been out of place in a stained glass window. - -"By George!" he insisted. "You _are_ a white man. I'd be proud to go -before the Supreme Court of the United States and testify--" He stopped -abruptly. "Are these checks good?" he inquired. - -"Oh, come, doctor, who's loony now?" I demanded. "Why would I expose -myself to a bad check charge just to keep out of a private asylum with -my lawyer fully equipped with a writ?" - -"That's so, that's so!" he beamed reassured. "Well, sir, it's been fine -having you here and any time--day or night--if you want refuge from the -stormy blast, just come out to the Sanctuary. We'll always be honored -to put you up and give you the best we have for as long as you care to -stay. Believe me, Mr. Tompkins, it may seem odd but you'll never find -warmer hospitality or a more sincere welcome than right here in this -little old asylum." - - - - -CHAPTER 25 - - -The grill in the Governor Baldwin was not crowded and we had no trouble -getting a pleasant table in the corner, while four colored men blew -into metal objects, hit things and delivered themselves of various -rhythmic noises. From time to time they paused, in order to allow the -perspiring couples who jiggled and writhed on the dancefloor time to -cool off. While waiting for Emily Post to appear, Arthurjean was very -subordinate, calling me "Mr. Tompkins" and acting, quite as the boss's -secretary should act when out for dinner with the boss. Merry Vail was -in high spirits and insisted on having the deputy who had helped serve -the writ join us for a drink. But the deputy was a pallid young man -with--he told us--a heart-murmur that kept him out of the armed forces -and he never touched anything strong. - -So we shed him ahead of the time when the nurse from "The Sanctuary" -showed up in a slick dancing-dress that seemed painted on her torso -and a make-up that was a tribute to the skill of the advertisers of -cosmetics. Vail took one look at her and his face lit up like Broadway. - -"Spring is in the air," he remarked to the world at large. "Will you -dance, Miss Post?" - -She flashed a smile that promised some and hinted at more, and said, -"You bet!" - -I watched them as they took the dance floor and the music took them. I -turned back to my secretary. - -"What gives, angel?" I asked. - -She beamed at me. "Winnie," she observed, "you're _it_. Perhaps the -most famous man in Wall Street, in a quiet way. You caught the market -just right. Mr. Wasson and Mr. Cone pulled out just right, before the -big operators decided they must be patriotic and support quotations -before you made too much money. We've cleaned up nearly three million -dollars and Mr. Cone's so happy about it he's got him a brand-new -girl-friend." - -"How about Wasson?" I asked. "Has success gone to his head?" - -"Oh, he's just the same as ever. He didn't bat an eyelash except to -say that you were one wise so-and-so to figure the break." - -"And how about yourself, Arthurjean?" - -She grinned at me. "I guess a girl can tell when she's washed up with -a swell guy. But you're not Winnie--not the Winnie I knew--and there -aren't going to be any fun and games from now on, I guess." - -She took a hearty pull at her highball. - -"So we're friends," she announced. "You've got a swell wife waiting for -you. If you ever need me, I'll be around. If you don't, that's okay -too. But Gawd, honeychile, we did have us some fun--Winnie and I. He -had a theory that monogamy was a kind of hardwood that grows in the -tropics, and that made him kind of nice to play with. What gives with -you?" - -I gave her a fill-in on the Washington trip and the events that had -brought me to The Sanctuary, and she listened with a growing smile. - -"Why--" she began, but the music stopped, and Vail and Miss Post -returned to the table. - -"Winnie," Vail announced, "spring hath come to Hartford, Conn., and -I've decided to take a room at this hotel. This is a mighty fine little -city, isn't it? Clean, vital, New England honesty and all that, not to -mention insurance. And--" His eyes strayed fondly in the direction of -the nurse who sat with eyes demurely downcast. - -"Okay," I told him. "This is the official opening of spring. Just give -me those papers I wanted to sign. The money for Dr. Rutherford, I mean." - -He stared at me. - -"You don't mean to say you were serious about that!" he exclaimed. "I -thought it was a gag to tip me off that you were being railroaded to -the asylum. Hell, I'll have the stuff drawn up and you can sign it on -Monday. There's nothing doing in town over the week-end and Rutherford -can wait. If you like, I'll try to beat him down. For my money, he'll -settle for five thousand and to hell with his family honor." - -I shook my head. "No dice, Merry. It's fifteen thousand--a gentleman's -agreement." - -"Hell! no gentleman has any business making agreements. That's what -lawyers are for." - -The music started up with a rather miscegenated attempt to marry -Mendelssohn's Spring Song to "Pistol-Packing Momma." He grabbed Emily -Post by the arm. "Come on," he urged. "Got to dance. I'll show you some -steps that aren't in the book of etiquette." - -"Why, Mr. Vail!" she agreed, and they were off again. - -I resumed my talk with Arthurjean. "You'd better stay here, too," I -told her. "It's getting late and they lock up the trains on the New -Haven road along with the cows." - -She looked the question at me. - -"Nope!" I replied sturdily. "I'm going to drive back and see whether -spring has come to Bedford Hills. Even commuters have children now and -then," I added. "They used to blame it on sunspots or Roosevelt but -now I guess they'll have nobody to blame but themselves." - -In return for a five-spot the hotel door-man told me how to find the -nearest Black Market gas-station, so I tanked up the Packard and worked -myself across country until I hit the Parkway. - -The night was clear and cool but there was a hint of blossoms in the -air. - -Vail was right. Spring had come to the commuters and I thought -sardonically of what could be expected at every country club the next -night--Saturday. I missed the turn-off for Bedford Hills and wasted -a couple of hours wandering amiss through the maze of Westchester -roads, but finally I found myself on a familiar road and soon eased -the Packard to a slow stop on the crackling gravel of the entrance of -Pook's Hill. - -I left my bags in the car and walked quietly along the grass until I -let myself in at front door. A muffled woof from the kitchen showed -that Ponto had drowsily recognized my tread as I tip-toed up the -stairs and into my bedroom. It was three o'clock in the morning and -the frogs were still jingling in the marshy meadows as I stood by the -window and tasted the night air. Then I undressed rapidly and put on a -dressing-gown and slippers. I turned off the lights and tip-toed across -the hall to my wife's bedroom. - -Her door was closed but, when I turned the handle, it proved not to -be locked or bolted. I closed it softly behind me and approached the -edge of the bed. Germaine was sleeping quietly, the faint glow of the -starlight outlining her dark hair against the white pillow. - -Suddenly she started. - -"What? Who's that?" she cried. - -I leaned over and brushed her hair with my lips. - -"It's me," I told her truthfully. "Everything's all right." - -"Hurry!" she murmured. "You'll catch cold." - -A moment later, she remarked conversationally, "Heavens! You _are_ -cold." - -Then she burrowed herself against me and wordlessly raised her lips to -mine. - - * * * * * - -When I opened my eyes in the morning the bed felt strangely deserted. I -reached over and found that I was alone. - -"Jimmie!" I called. "Jimmie!" - -She appeared at the bathroom door. - -"Hullo," she remarked. "Where did you come from? And what are you doing -there? Don't you know that all respectable married couples sleep in -separate rooms, according to 'House and Garden'?" - -"I'm not respectable," I told her. "Please notify the editor." - -"You certainly are not!" she observed. "You nearly gave me -heart-failure, sneaking into my room like that when you were supposed -to be in Hartford. It would have served you right if I'd called for the -police." - -"I'm just as good as the average policeman," I suggested. "Come over -here and I'll show you how we Tompkinses--" - -But she evaded me. - -"No, sir. We must set a good example to the servants. It's way past -breakfast time and I don't want Myrtle to guess that we're absolutely -shameless." - -Breakfast was waiting for us when we came downstairs and we gave -a reasonably good impersonation of an elderly married couple at -the breakfast table. I read the financial section of the "Times" -and Germaine again busied herself with the social page of the -"Herald-Tribune", now and then reading brief items about marriages, and -divorces, while I grunted noncommitally about the state of the market. -As a matter of fact, we both believed we had succeeded admirably when -our attention was attracted by a meaning kind of cough. - -It was Mary-Myrtle. - -"What is it, Myrtle?" Germaine asked with a radiant smile. - -"It's not my business to say so," the maid stammered, "but I wanted to -know whether you would really keep me on. I--I like it here--and I'm so -glad you're happy, Mrs. Tompkins." - -"Of course, you're going to stay with us, Myrtle, but however did you -guess?" - -"You can see it in your face, Mrs. Tompkins," she said, "and Mr. -Tompkins he was looking at the sporting page and talking about U.S. -Steel and A.T.&T. And--oh, it's nice." - -And she fled from the room. - -Germaine looked at me like the angel at the Gates of Eden. "There!" -she exclaimed. "That's what happens when I trust you. You can't even -find the right page in the paper to fake from. Next time I'm going to -marry a man who doesn't look so damned happy it's a give-away." - -"It's spring," I explained stupidly. - -"You know, Winnie," my wife said suddenly, "speaking of spring, I've -been thinking about Ponto. You've had him for five years now and I -think he's getting a little queer. Don't you think it would be a good -idea to send him to the kennels and have him bred? Perhaps that's all -that's been wrong with him." - -"Spoken like a woman, Jimmie," I said, "but I agree that it wouldn't do -any harm. I'll phone Dalrymple after breakfast and have him send over -for Ponto's Sacre du Printemps. He's got championship blood and, unlike -holy matrimony, there's money in it." - -She shrugged her shoulders unspeakably. - -"Poor Winnie!" she mocked. "You'd be worth millions if you'd been paid, -like Ponto." - -"It mightn't be a bad idea, at that," I remarked. "If you realize the -years of apprenticeship and training, the high degree of professional -skill required--" - -"Come here, then," she ordered, "I'll pay you." - -She did. - -"You won't forget about Ponto," she added breathless after her kiss. -"The poor darling oughtn't to be celibate in this household. I wouldn't -want it to happen to a dog." - - - - -CHAPTER 26 - - -On the morning of Monday, April 23rd (the date seemed unimportant -at the time), I took the early morning train into New York. Spring -had done its fell work and the club car was full of middle-aged -business-men, with dark circles under their eyes, prepared to fight -at the drop of a hat anyone who said they weren't as young as they -felt. With Jimmie's perfume still in my nostrils, I hadn't the heart -to deride them, so I did the next best thing and talked them into a -poker-game. - -By the time we pulled into Grand Central I was eighteen dollars and -seventy cents ahead, thanks to a full-house just before we reached -125th Street. - -Instead of joining my fellow-brokers in their Gadarene rush for the -downtown subway express, I strolled north along Park Avenue to the Pond -Club. - -At the Pond Club I found Tammy engaged, as ever, in polishing the -glasses behind his gleaming little bar. - -"My! Mr. Tompkins," he exclaimed. "You look as though you'd just made a -million dollars," he told me. "The usual, sir?" - -"It was nearly three millions, Tammy, and accept no substitutes. What I -need is concentrated protein. How about a couple of dozen Cotuits and -some black coffee?" - -The steward raised his eyebrows knowingly. - -"I'll mix you one of my Second Day Specials, sir," he said. "Funny -thing about that drink. One night, young Mr. Ferguson--he's a new -member, sir--was feeling merry and felt a sudden sense of compassion -for the statue of Civic Virtue in front of the City Hall. Of course, -I've never seen it but they tell me that it's a very fine work of art, -by a person named Mac Monnies, I believe. He wasn't a member of the -club, of course, but that's what I understand the name to be. So Mr. -Ferguson would have nothing for it but to take one of my Second Day -Specials down to the Civic Virtue and give him a drink. It seemed that -Mr. Ferguson felt quite sorry for the statue down there in front of -LaGuardia without any company. So he took a cab downtown and poured the -drink down the mouth of the statue for a joke, like. But here's the odd -thing, sir. They had to throw a canvas over the statue and send for a -man with a hacksaw before the Mayor decided it was proper to expose it -to the citizens again." - -"Then bring me a double Second Day Special, without cold chisels or -hacksaws, if you please," I ordered. - -He smirked knowingly but had the tact of good club servants to say -nothing. I sipped his concoction, which tasted entirely unlike the -egg-nog it outwardly resembled. A moment later, I tried another sip. It -was not at all unpleasant, so I drained the glass. This, I decided, was -exactly what I needed, so I drank the second one without drawing breath. - -"Ah-h-h!" I beamed. "That is much better. Now if anybody phones me, say -I'm not here, unless it's one of my friends." - -"Would that be true of that Mrs. R., sir?" he inquired. "That lady with -the red hair you told me about, Mr. Tompkins?" - -"If Mrs. Rutherford calls," I said, "let me know." - -He smiled slyly. "Then I was to deliver a message to you from her, sir. -She wants you to call her at the apartment, she said. Circle 8-7326, -the number is. She said it was important." - -I dialed the number. Virginia answered. - -"Winnie?" Her voice was cool and amused. "You'd better come up here in -a hurry. It's urgent." - -"Where is here?" I asked. - -"At our place, the apartment," she said. - -"Better give me the address," I suggested. "I can't seem to remember." - -"Winnie, that particular joke is getting tiresome. You know perfectly -well it's 172 East 72nd Street and the third floor front. The name, -naturally, is Smith." - -"John Smith?" I inquired. - -"Natch! And hurry, unless you want to be in worse trouble than you can -imagine." - -I signaled to Tammy. "One more Second Day Special, please." - -He looked worried. "Are you quite sure, sir," he demurred. "Two is as -much as I've ever seen a man take." - -He returned to his mystery and produced the fatal brew. I drank it -slowly. By Godfrey! this was more like it. I tossed him a five-dollar -bill. - -"Just remember that you haven't seen me," I told him. - -"Quite, Mr. Tompkins." - -I managed to snag an uptown taxi and rolled in comfort to 172 East 72nd -Street. - -I pressed the button marked Smith and was rewarded by a clicking of the -latch. I climbed the stairs and on the third story tapped the little -brass knocker. The door opened and Virginia appeared clad somewhat in a -white silk dressing-gown and with her red hair sizzling out at me. - -"Come in, stranger," she said. - -She closed the door and settled herself comfortably, with a cigarette, -on the suspiciously broad day-bed. I sat down in a very deep easy -chair, facing her, and lighted a cigarette too. - -"Well?" I inquired. - -"Winnie," she began, "you know I never try to interfere with your -private life or try to ask questions, but don't you think this farce -has gone on long enough?" - -I flicked some ash on the carpet and tried to look inscrutable. - -"You know what you are doing, of course," she continued, "and your -performance in Washington was magnificent, but just between ourselves, -can't you relax?" - -Although the windows were open, the room seemed oppressively warm. I -threw back my coat and confronted her without speaking. - -"Of course," Virginia continued, "I know we've got to be discreet. -There can always be dictaphones and detectives and it seems that the -F.B.I. knows all about this place, but can't you just--" - -She jumped up and faced me. With an angry movement, she snatched off -her dressing-gown and flung it on the floor. - -"There!" she said. "Is there anything _wrong_ with me? Am I repulsive? -Or don't you care?" - -It must have been the three specials that lifted me from the easy chair -and whisked me across the room to the embattled red head, but it must -have been my guardian angel that prompted my next move. I pulled out my -fountain pen and wrote rapidly on the back of an envelope: "I suspect -that we are watched." - -Her eyes widened and she quickly grabbed her gown and draped it around -her. I laid my finger to my lips. - -"What I came to see you about, Virginia," I said, "is to tell you, once -and for all, that all is over between us." - -That was a mistake. She gave me a wink, dropped the gown and came and -sat beside me on the arm of the chair. - -"I too, Winfred," she said dramatically, "have become increasingly -distressed by your apparent coldness." - -She cuddled down and planted her lips on my ear while her tongue -flicked like a little snake's. - -"No," she continued, "the time has come, Winfred, when we must face -the facts, unpleasant though they may be. I was never meant to be a -part-time girl for any man." - -Her sharp little teeth nipped my neck savagely. - -"Virginia," I said, "what I had to say--what I mean is--" - -I never said it. Her mouth was suddenly glued to mine and she melted -into my arms. - -"Damn you!" I told her. "There." - -The apartment door-bell was buzzing like an accusation. - -"Tell them to go away," she murmured. "Say we're not at home." - -I disentangled myself, ran to the door and jiggled the button that -released the downstairs catch. "Go and make yourself decent," I told -her. "I'll stall them if you aren't too long." - -I listened as the footsteps slowly mounted the stairs. It was a man's -step. Then came a brisk tap on the brass knocker. I opened up. It was -A. J. Harcourt of the F.B.I. He seemed rather surprised to see me. - -"Good morning, Mr. Tompkins," he began. "I thought that--" - -"Oh, come on in," I urged him. "Mrs. Rutherford will be out in a -moment. I--we...." - -He nodded. "You certainly do get around," he admitted. "Last the Bureau -heard you were a patient up in Hartford, and here I find you in--" - -"In a love-nest," I suggested. "A den of perfumed sin. A high-priced -hell-hole. I got here about ten minutes ago. Mrs. Rutherford said that -I might be in trouble but she didn't get around to explaining what -trouble." - -He grinned. "When a girl speaks of trouble, she means herself," he -orated. - -"Oh, is that so?" - -Virginia appeared at the entrance to the bathroom, completely though -revealingly clad, and advanced into the room brandishing her sex like -an invisible shillelagh. "And what has the F.B.I. to do with me, Mr. -Harcourt?" she demanded. - -Poor Harcourt looked abashed but made a speedy recovery, getting out of -the rough in one stroke. - -"Now that Mr. Tompkins is here, Mrs. Rutherford, mam," he said, "I have -nothing to see you about. We heard he had gone to a private asylum in -New England and I was told to see you and ask if you knew any of the -circumstances." - -"Oh!" Virginia sat down on the rumpled day-bed. "That sounds rather -like a lie, you know." - -"That's not my fault, mam," Harcourt replied. "My chief gives me my -orders and I follow them without being asked for my opinion. If the -Bureau wants to check on Mr. Tompkins through his friends--" - -Virginia beamed and dimpled. "You couldn't do better than come to me," -she admitted. - -"Well, here I am," I told him, "and Mrs. Rutherford needn't feel -bothered. What is it now?" - -"We just wanted to get the rights of your run-in with the Secret -Service," he told me. "Our liaison there told the Director that you -stood Chief Flynn on his ear and that Flynn threatened to swear out a -lunacy warrant against you. How come?" - -I gave him a full account of my encounter with the Secret Service and -ended by producing the certificate of sanity signed by Dr. Folsom. - -"There it is," I declaimed. - -The Special Agent smiled. "You're nothing if not thorough, Mr. -Tompkins. Have you had any luck filling in that blank period before -Easter? The Bureau would feel much happier if you could remember. Now -don't get me wrong. The case against you is closed. You're off our -books. We believe that you're telling the truth, but just the same it -seems funny you can't remember." - -Virginia Rutherford turned on him, like a battleship bringing a battery -of 16-inch guns to bear on a freighter. "Perhaps he has a good reason -for not remembering," she remarked. "Perhaps he went somewhere, with -some one--in skirts!" - -"That's just what puzzles us," Harcourt admitted. "We've had fifty -agents from the New York office alone making checks, as far north as -Montreal, in Portland, Boston, Providence, and even Cincinnati and -Richmond. We've checked trains, buses, airlines and the garages, as -well as the hotels, boarding-houses and overnight cabins. There isn't -anybody that can remember seeing Mr. Tompkins, with or without a woman, -during that week." - -"Then you're still investigating me?" I asked, while a chill went down -my spine. - -The Special Agent shook his head. "Not at all, Mr. Tompkins. Like -I told you, the investigation was called off last week, when we -established your Z-2 identity. This is just the result of the inquiries -we started the week before last." - -"And you can't find a trace?" I asked. - -"Not a thing," he said. - -Mrs. Rutherford turned to me, flung her arms around me and planted a -far from sisterly kiss on my lips. "Winnie, old dear," she observed, -"you are simply incredible." - -And she left the apartment. - -"Wonder what she meant by that?" Harcourt mused. - -"We're probably happier in ignorance," I told him. "Come on, A. J., -I'll buy a taxi down town. I've got to stop in at my office and gather -some of my unearned income. They tell me we've made nearly three -million dollars in the last ten days." - -Harcourt consulted his note book. "The Bureau's figures put it at -two million eight hundred seventy thousand and two hundred forty-six -dollars and seventy-one cents, if you want to know," he said. - -"So you _are_ keeping me watched," I remarked. - -"What do _you_ think?" asked Special Agent Harcourt of the F.B.I. - - - - -CHAPTER 27 - - -"What's the big idea?" I demanded. "I thought I was in the clear." - -Harcourt looked somewhat embarrassed. - -"Perhaps I oughtn't to tell you this, Mr. Tompkins," he explained, "but -like you said, you're in the clear with the Bureau. We've checked and -double-checked and any way we slice it, you're still okay. Maybe you're -Tompkins with a lapse of memory, maybe this yarn of yours about Jacklin -is on the level, but we're sure of _you_." - -"Then why all this interest in me?" I asked. "You've been swell with -me personally, but it's getting on my nerves having you pop up all the -time. Though I must say I was relieved when you showed up today. Mrs. -Rutherford--" - -He grinned. "Red heads spell trouble anywhere, any time," he observed. -"No, it's this Von Bieberstein we're gunning for. Mr. Lamb at the -Bureau has a notion that Von Bieberstein may have some connection -with you that you don't know about. He might be using your office as -a post-box or be somebody that you know as someone else. It sounds -screwy, I know, but this Von Bieberstein is a slick baby. For all I -know, he might even be a woman." - -I glanced inquiringly in the direction of Virginia's apartment. - -"Not for my money," he said. "We've checked her, too. And it isn't that -Tennessee secretary of yours, either. There's a girl for you. We've got -her biog right back to the Knoxville doc that delivered her. But the -Bureau doesn't think it's an accident that you turned up in the middle -of this case, so I've been told off to check on all your contacts. -Seems mighty funny, you a millionaire and me an average guy even if -Arthurjean still thinks I got a wife in Brooklyn, but it's the war, I -guess." - -"'Says every moron, There's a war on!'" I quoted. I scratched my head. -"If only I could remember that blank spot, I might be able to help you." - -Harcourt studied his finger-nails attentively. "We're taking care of -your office contacts, of course, and we have a couple of men working -up in Bedford Hills. But New York's the hell of a big town and almost -anything could happen to you outside of your office and your clubs. Got -any ideas?" - -"What sort?" - -"Well, there's always women but I guess we've carried that line as far -as it will take us. We've checked the doctors and the dentists and the -bars and the nightclubs. How about astrologers, say? Hitler made use of -them in Germany. He might use 'em over here, though we've screened 'em -all since before Pearl Harbor." - -I laughed. "I doubt that a man like Tompkins would use astrology," I -told him. - -Harcourt shook his head. "That's where you'd be wrong. You'd be -surprised how many big Wall Street operators go for that guff." - -"It doesn't register," I replied, "but I'll phone the office and see if -Miss Briggs knows." - -When I made the connection, Arthurjean informed me that the phone had -been ringing all morning and when would I be in. Vail, she reported, -was still in Hartford with a bad case of Emily Post. I asked her about -astrologers and she said she didn't know but would find out. In a -little while she reported that Phil Cone thought I'd once gone to see -that Ernestina Clump that used to advise the Morgan partners. - -"Okay," I told her. "I'll be in about four this afternoon and will -handle any calls or visitors then." - -I turned to Harcourt. "It doesn't sound like much but Phil Cone thinks -I once consulted Ernestina Clump. Want me to make an appointment?" - -He nodded, so I looked up her number and dialed the office in the -Chrysler Building where Miss Clump kept track of the stars in their -courses and the millionaires in their jitters. - -Arranging for an immediate appointment through the very, very -well-bred secretarial voice that stiff-armed me was not easy until -I said that I would pay double-fees. Then she believed it might be -arranged. "That will be two thousand dollars," she imparted, "and you -must be here at one o'clock precisely." - -As we taxied downtown together, Harcourt was uncommunicative, except -for the remark that it was right handy to Grand Central and would be no -trick to stop off before catching trains. - -Miss Clump, as it turned out, was a motherly woman whose wrinkled -cheeks and plump hands suggested greater familiarity with the -cook-stove than with the planets. Her office showed the most refined -kind of charlatanry--everything quite solid and in good taste, with no -taint of the Zodiac. At a guess, about ten thousand dollar's worth of -furnishings was involved and I imagined that the annual rental might -run as high as six thousand. - -"Well, Mr. Tompkins," Miss Clump remarked in a pleasant, homey voice -with a trace of Mid-Western flatness, "I wondered when you would be in -to see me again. The stars being mean to you? Or is it another woman?" - -"Let's see," I stalled, "when was the last time I consulted you?" - -She cackled. "Young man, you've been comin' to see me, off and on, the -last ten years. Last time was in March. That was about the red-head. -Virgo in the House of Scorpio you called it." - -I nodded. "That would be it, I guess. She's more scorpion than virgin." - -She patted my hand comfortingly across the table. "They all are," she -said, "unless they're really in love. Then even the stars can't stop -'em. What's the matter now?" - -"Police," I said. "Loss of memory. Women and money are all right but -I'm being followed and I've drawn sort of blank for the whole month of -March. Can you take a look at my horoscope and tell me what the stars -were doing to me then?" - -She stared at me shrewdly. "Police," she remarked. "Land's sakes, I -don't want trouble with the police. Young man, you--" - -I hastened to interrupt her. "That's only a figure of speech. I'm in -trouble with the government. Just tell me what I was doing in March and -give me a hint of what lies ahead next month." - -She examined the chart carefully and made a few pencilled notes on a -scratch-pad. Then she looked up at me in bewilderment. - -"This doesn't make much sense, Mr. Tompkins," she told me, "but here it -is. So far as I can make out, in March you went on a long trip and had -some kind of bad accident. There's Neptune and Saturn in conjunction -under Aries and Venus in opposition. That could mean more trouble -with that girl, I s'pose. Then early in April you came under a new -sign--money it looks like, lots, of it, and Venus is right for you. It -looks like happiness. Now for the future, there's something I don't -understand. There's a sort of jumble--an accident mebbe--right ahead of -you and then some kind of crisis. You're going to live quite happy with -a woman for a while--and, well, that's all I can see, except--" she -paused. - -I raised my eyebrows. "Except what?" I asked. "I want the truth." - -She lowered her head. "It _might_ be a bad illness," she said, "but -it's the combination I generally call a death--somebody else's death, -that is. You aren't planning to murder anybody, are you?" - -I leaned back in my chair and laughed heartily. - -"Good Lord, no! Miss Clump. And even if I did I have money enough to -hire somebody to do it for me--like the government. Here's a check for -you," I added. "Two thousand, I think you said." - -"Be careful," she told me in a low voice, almost in a whisper. "Be -very, very careful. I don't like to see that combination in the stars. -It might mean bad trouble." - -I rejoined Harcourt in the downstairs bar of the Vanderbilt Hotel and -gave him a quick account of Miss Clump's forecast. - -"That looks pretty hot," he allowed, "except that it sounds like -anybody. The usual line is money coming in, successful trouble, and -just call again sometime. Anyhow, the Bureau doesn't handle murder and -you don't look like a killer to me, even though you've got yourself -back in good shape, physically, I mean." - -"She sounded pretty much in earnest," I told him, "but I'm damned if I -know where I'd begin if I went in for a career of killing." - -"So you think she's on the level?" he asked. "It's all hooey to me." - -I considered carefully before I answered him. - -"The astrologers claim," I told him, "that they practice an exact -science. They have won law-suits based on that claim and have won -exemption from the old statutes against gypsies and fortune tellers. -Miss Clump is a good showwoman. Her fees are high as the Chrysler -Building and her office costs plenty. No stuffed owls or dried bats or -any junk that would make a businessman think he was going slumming. -When she talked to me she seemed honestly surprised at what she claimed -she saw in the stars and she certainly sounded entirely in earnest when -she warned me. My guess is that she's on the level and has nothing to -do with Von Bieberstein, if there is such a person." - -Harcourt sipped his Coca-Cola, being on duty and hence not drinking, in -official silence. - -"Yeah," he agreed at last. "Could be, though we'll have to check her -and her secretary and her clients, right up to but _not_ including -Democratic Senators and Cabinet officers." - -"How about barbershops?" I asked him. "Or drugstores? I've always -thought they'd make the best intelligence centers in America. You can't -keep track of everybody who buys a dime's worth of aspirin or a package -of Kleenex. What's to prevent the cigar counter at any hotel or drug -store being the place where two Nazi agents meet. The clerks wouldn't -know them and in a town like this nobody would even notice them." - -The Special Agent finished his drink and banged the glass down on -the table. "That's just the trouble with this town," he announced. -"There's so many services here that everybody uses you can't possibly -check them. Well, you run on down to your office and see if you can't -find out something else. Thanks for the lift on Miss Clump. Now I've -got to call headquarters and get a special detail to go to work on her." - -"You don't seriously think that she knows anything about Von -Bieberstein, do you?" I asked. - -He smiled ruefully. "No, I don't, but the way you describe her, -she's a sort of nice, old-fashioned woman, and yet she drags down a -thousand bucks for fifteen minutes of astral horse-feathers in this -tough burg. There's something screwy about a set-up like that. Now -I've seen the files on most of the big-time astrologers that operated -here--Evangeline Adams and Myra Kingsley were tops in their time--and -there's not one of them can touch this Clump woman for money. I don't -forget that the first woman I ever arrested--it was before I joined the -Bureau and I was on the homicide detail in Raleigh--was just as sweet -and gentle as your Aunt Minnie. All she'd done was poison her husband -and her two children so's to be free to sleep with her brother-in-law. -So it's going to be plenty work for the Bureau to check this one, -before we're sure she's okay." - -I told him that I didn't enjoy being put in the position of an F.B.I. -Typhoid Mary, who automatically exposed his acquaintances to immediate -visitations of G-men. - -"Shucks! Mr. Tompkins," he assured me, "they'll never know we're -around. We got a pretty smooth outfit now and we have ways of checking -you never dreamed of. When we go to work, we do a neat job and if we -don't learn anything, well, that's that--but we don't bother folks -while were doing it." - -"All right," I agreed. "I'll be down at the office until the morning." - - - - -CHAPTER 28 - - -The highly respectable receptionist at the office of Tompkins, Wasson & -Cone almost smiled at me. - -"There are several gentlemen waiting for you, Mr. Tompkins," she -announced. "Some of them have been here since before lunch. Do you plan -to receive them or shall I ask them to return tomorrow?" - -"No, I'll see them in a few minutes," I replied. "Miss Briggs will let -you know." - -No sooner had I settled down at my desk, however, than Graham Wasson -and Phil Cone came dancing in, wreathed in tickertape. - -"We're rich! We're rich!" they chanted. - -"Where's the Marine Band and 'Hail to the Chief'?" I asked. "How rich -are we, anyway?" - -"We cleaned up," Wasson said. "Just a bit under three million in -one week. It was as you said. We went short of the market and after -Roosevelt's death, boy! did they liquidate! And thanks to Phil here, we -got out before the big boys put the squeeze on the shorts." - -"That reminds me, Winnie," Cone interrupted, "one of the mourners -in the customers room who's waiting to see you is Jim DeForest from -Morgan's. He's been waiting here since two o'clock. You'd better see -him quick, huh? We don't want to keep 23 Wall waiting, do we?" - -"Nuts, Phil," I told him. "I'll see them in the order of their arrival. -That's what they do at Morgan's when you haven't got an appointment." - -I pushed the button for Arthurjean. - -"Who's been waiting the longest, Miss Briggs," I asked. - -She consulted a little pack of memo forms. "There's this Mr. -Sylvester," she said. "He was here when the office opened and has been -waiting here all day. He wouldn't state his business." - -"Okay," I replied. "Send him in or he'll faint from hunger." - -Mr. Sylvester was florid in a quiet Latin way and looked as though -he might be anything from an operatic tenor to the proprietor of a -gambling ship. He waited until my partners had withdrawn. - -"Mr. Tompkins," he said, speaking quietly, "I represent a syndicate -that's reorganizing the free market in meat. We need a real smart guy, -well-connected, like yourself, to head it up and keep track of the -money. We'll pay a million dollars a year any way you like it--Swiss -banks, Havana, Buenos Aires, Mexico City--and no tax." - -"I'm always interested in a million dollars but I never did like -Atlanta," I told him. - -"Atlanta!" He shrugged his shoulders. "We got lawyers could talk Capone -outa Alcatraz and we got a fix on the Courts, too. What would you be -doin' in Atlanta?" - -"I doubt that they'd make me librarian," I said, "and I don't think I'd -make the ball-team, so I guess I'd have to work in the laundry. What's -the trouble with the black market, anyhow? Seems to me you've got -O.P.A. right in your corner." - -"Too many amateurs and outsiders," he told me, "just like with -Prohibition. Meat's bad and too many cops get a cut. We aim to do like -the beer syndicates--organize it right, keep prices reasonable, have -the pay-off stabilized, make it a good banking proposition. We've -checked on you. You're smart. Would a million and a half do?" - -I shook my head. "I've got a million and a half," I remarked. - -"Okay," Mr. Sylvester straightened up, shook my hand and gave a little -bow. "Think it over!" he urged. "If you change your mind put an ad in -the Saturday Review personal column. 'Meet me anywhere, Winnie!' That's -cute. 'Meet' and 'Meat,' see? Our representative will call on you." - -I asked Arthurjean to send in the next visitor and to my surprise she -announced DeForest. - -"Hell!" I told her. "There must have been others ahead of him." - -"There was," she said, "but they agreed to let him see you first. They -said they'd be back tomorrow. They were from Goldman Sachs and Lehman -Brothers so they wanted to give Morgan's first crack at you, I guess." - -Jim DeForest proved to be one of the vaguely familiar figures I had -noticed flitting around the Harvard Club. - -"Winnie," he said, "I just dropped in to say that we have been pretty -well impressed by the way your firm handled itself in this recent -market. Mr. Whitney wanted to know whether it would be convenient for -you to drop in and have a talk with him soon." - -"Today?" I asked. - -DeForest glanced at his Rolex. "Today's a little late," he remarked, -"but give him a ring tomorrow. No, damn it! He's leaving for a short -trip to Washington. Make it next week and he'll have plenty of time for -you." - -"What's it about, Jim?" I asked. "Don't tell me that I'm going to be -offered a Morgan partnership?" - -He looked as though I had burped in church. - -"I hardly think so," he replied. "If that were the case, Mr. Lamont -would have seen you somewhere uptown. You know the way they gossip in -the Street. No, I rather fancy that Mr. Whitney wants you to be one of -our brokers for floor operations. Or, he might, since you specialize -in estate work, want you to help with some of the new issues we are -planning to underwrite." - -"Either way would suit me fine, Jim," I told him. "Do you know," I -continued, "this is the second happiest day of my life. The first was -when I got married." - -DeForest seemed a bit relieved and permitted himself a worldly smile. - -"And today," I continued, "I received the greatest honor that can come -to an American in Wall Street. Believe me, Jim, this means more than -having just cleaned up three million dollars in straight trading. After -all, what is money worth if it can't buy what isn't for sale?" - -This idea seemed to be taken under DeForest's advisement for future -consideration but he let it pass. After all, a million dollars is dross -compared to the approval of the employers of men like Jim DeForest, -still limping along on twenty-five thousand a year twenty years after -graduation. - -"Grand to have seen you, Winnie," he said, indicating that the audience -was at an end. "I'll tell Mr. Whitney that you'll see him next week. -And of course, no talk about this. We don't like to encourage gossip -about our operations." - -I promised that I would be silent as the grave, not even telling my -partners or my wife. "After all," I pointed out, "it's not a good idea -to arouse false hopes. Perhaps Mr. Whitney will change his mind." - -"I hope not," DeForest said solemnly, as though I had mentioned the -possibility of the Black Death. "I most certainly hope not. We don't do -business on that basis, you know." - -"Well, Miss Briggs, who's next?" I inquired, after DeForest had -withdrawn with the affable air of royalty inspecting a clean but -second-rate orphan asylum. - -"Since those bankers left, there's only three waiting. One's a general -but he comes after this other man, what's his name, Patrick Michael -Shaughnessy, whoever he is." - -"Send in the Irish," I told her. - -Mr. Shaughnessy was an Irish-American counterpart of the Mr. Sylvester -who wanted to reorganize the free market for meat. He was a natty -dresser and he spoke out of the corner of his mouth. - -"Mr. Tompkins," he told me, "I'm from, the Democratic National -Committee. The Chairman--and gee! Bob's a wonder--wanted to ask whether -you'd consider a diplomatic appointment." - -"Of course, I would," I replied, thinking of Germaine's artless desire -to be an Ambassadress, "but that depends on where I'm sent and that -kind of thing. What have you in mind?" - -"There's only one post open right now," he remarked. "That's Bolonia or -Peruna or hell, no, it's Bolivia. That's somewhere in America, ain't -it?" - -I agreed that Bolivia was located in the Western Hemisphere. "That's -where the tin and llamas come from, Mr. Shaughnessy," I educated him. -"The capital city of La Paz is located about twelve thousand feet high -in the Andes and the inhabitants are mainly Indians. I don't think that -Mrs. Tompkins would care for it." - -His face fell. "You'd be an Ambassador, of course," he informed me, -"and that's always worth something. But the Boss said--that's Bob, of -course, we all call Bob the Boss--that if you wouldn't fall for Bolivia -to ask you what about Ottawa. That's the capital of Canada. It's right -next to Montreal and those places and there's good train service to -New York on the Central any time you want to run down for a show or a -hair-cut. Bob said Canada was a real buy." - -"Oh, a buy?" I remarked. - -Shaughnessy looked at me shrewdly. "Uh-huh!" he replied. - -"How much will it cost me to be Ambassador to Canada?" - -Shaughnessy was faintly aggrieved. "The Boss don't like to talk about -money and jobs that way, Mr. Tompkins. He always says think of the -chance to serve the country. Say, you're a good Democrat or if you -aren't a Democrat you're the next thing to it, a Republican that is, -and you want to make a contribution to the Party. We always got a -deficit, see. If there ain't one now there's one coming right up. Say -you lay two or three hundred grand on the line. That goes a hundred -grand to the Committee and another hundred grand divided among the -State Committees. You see, we got to take care of the Senate so they'll -vote to confirm you and there are some operators up there what won't -vote for nothing 'cept they get taken care of first. Then the rest -we put into a dignified publicity campaign, to build you up with the -public and let the Canucks see they're getting something special when -the President nominates you." - -I considered this one carefully. "Do you let me pick the public -relations firm that handles that end of the campaign, Mr. Shaughnessy?" - -He grinned artlessly. "I should say not!" he chuckled. "How do you -think we boys on the Committee make a living? No, we pick the firm -that does the job and that's all you need worry about. We own 'em. So -you see you're protected right across the board. Any time we sell an -Ambassadorship, we deliver." - -"Doesn't the State Department have something to say about it?" - -Shaughnessy told me exactly what the State Department could do about -it, so I told him to let me have a few days to think it over. After -all, three hundred thousand dollars was quite a lot of money to pay -for a diplomatic post. It wasn't as though I could make it pay off in -Scotch whiskey or mining shares as in the past. - -"That's what you think," the agent of the Democratic National Committee -rapped out. "Listen, Mr. Tompkins, if you buy that job take me along as -your private secretary and I'll show you how to make it pay like a bank -and no ifs. What shall I tell the gang?" - -"Tell them I'm definitely interested," I replied truthfully, "but I'd -like a couple of weeks to think it over." - -My next visitor was General Forbes-Dutton of the Army Service Forces. - -"Remember me, Winnie?" - -"Why sure!" I replied with great cordiality. "If it isn't--" - -"That's right," the General interrupted. "Well, boy, after Pearl Harbor -I got me--I was asked to go to Washington to help out, so the bank -said it was my duty, that they'd hold my job for me, and I've been -there ever since. I'm on Westervelt's staff, in charge of financial -procurement policies. Neat, eh?" - -"So you're still working for the bank?" - -"Not _for_ them, Winnie. _With_ them. We're both working for the -government. Financing war-contracts, you know. Now Westervelt's heard -good things about you, Winnie. He was much impressed by the way you -turned down that gang of chiselers who tried to horn in on the quinine -deal. They're all out. He's got a big job in mind for you. How'd you -like to be a Brigadier-General?" - -"It's a little late for that," I told him. "The war's almost over." - -He laughed very heartily. "It's a honey of a job, Winnie. Here's what -gives. This war's almost over, as you say. Then the Army will have -the job of selling off the stuff it doesn't need and boy! it has -everything. We've just about cornered everything there is and the whole -world's going to be crying for the stuff. We want a good trader in -charge, who knows how to play ball with the boys, realistic that is. -No star-gazer, eh? And that's where you come in. There's millions in -it. Hell! there's billions. We got to go slow in selling it or we'd -bust the market, wreck values and stall reconversion, so we had us a -brain-storm when we heard how you cleaned up in the Funeral Market. How -about it? Want to play ball and get next to the biggest break you ever -heard of?" - -I looked Forbes-Dutton squarely in the eye. - -"Isn't it going to be a headache?" I asked. "I mean, won't there be a -stink in Congress about it? I'm no fall-guy." - -The General shook his head. "Congress is in on it, every man jack of -them outside a few screwballs," he assured me. "We got a deal worked -out in every District--all legal and clean, of course--so there isn't -a Senator or Congressman that can't march right up to the trough and -get his. Hell! there's so much of it--food, tractors, jeeps, clothes, -ships, machine-tools, factories even--that we could buy every -Congressman ten times over and still have plenty of glue. With you on -top--" - -"It still sounds as though you were looking for a fall-guy," I told him. - -He again laughed merrily. "Anywhere you fall in this surplus game you'd -still land soft and be in clover. What about it? Shall I phone the -Pentagon?" - -"Sorry to stall you," I said, "but I've got to think it over. I've got -to talk to my lawyer. I'd still like to come down to Washington and -study the angles." - -"Angles? Hell! This hasn't any more angles than a big ripe watermelon. -Brigadier-General's not a bad title for a post-war use. When these -G.I.'s come back they'll want to find soldiers running things. Okay, -Winnie, I see your point. I'll tell the General you'll be coming down -to look the ground over. You'll get the Order of Merit, of course--" - -"I've already got it," I informed him. - -"The hell you say! That's wonderful. Well, then we'll fly you over to -London or Brisbane and give you a couple of theatre citations to dress -you up. After a couple of weeks on Ike's or Mac's staff you'll have a -build-up like nobody's business. Then we make a killing. 'Bye!" - -When the door closed behind General Forbes-Dutton I called for -Arthurjean. - -"Honey," I told her, "get me a snort of brandy and accept my personal -apologies to the entire female sex for any time I have ever made use of -the word 'whore'." - -"What's eating you, Winnie?" she asked. - -"I've just been propositioned by two gentlemen who would be -complimented if you called them prostitutes," I told her. "The only -honest man I've met today was that first little guy. All he wanted me -to do was to help reorganize the Black Market. Who's left now?" - -"There's only this one man who calls himself Charles G. Smith and has -been waiting some time. He looks like a crank. Shall I give him a -hand-out and tell him to go away?" - -I shook my head. "I can't take much more of the current brand of -patriotism." - -Charles G. Smith was a small, wispy man, with a protruding Adam's -apple, buck teeth and shabby clothes. He ignored my outstretched hand -and advanced on me, with a glittering eye. - -"Mr. Tompkins," he announced, in a curiously deep, velvety voice, "you -have made millions of dollars that you must soon leave behind you. -You have invested years of your life in collecting and keeping those -dollars--little disks of metal, little slips of paper. What have you -invested in the only thing you will be permitted to take with you when -you leave?" - -"What do you mean?" I asked. - -"I mean your immortal soul, Mr. Tompkins, your immortal soul," said Mr. -Charles G. Smith. - -"Oh Lord! A religious crank!" I exclaimed. - -"Naturally," he agreed proudly. "I'd rather be crazy about God than -nuts about money. Why not?" - -I looked at him with growing respect. "Why not, indeed?" I thought. - -"My case is out of your line, Mr. Smith," I told him. - -"They all say that," he replied, "but God doesn't think so." - -"My case _is_ different," I repeated. "You see, I have not one but two -immortal souls." - -He nodded benignly. "I know," he said. "God told me that you were in -trouble." - -"That sounds as though you and I were buddies, Mr. Smith," I observed. -"Where can I find Him? It will take God Himself to straighten out my -case." - -Smith shrugged his shoulders. "You can't find Him," he said. "You've -got to wait until He finds you." - - - - -CHAPTER 29 - - -"Nonsense!" Germaine said emphatically. Hers was the authoritative tone -of a mother assuring her child that the lightning cannot possibly hit -the house in a thunderstorm. - -"I don't see how you can call it nonsense," I told her. "There he stood -in my office, a little man with a big Adam's apple, telling me that -God was on my track. I'm used to being followed by the F.B.I., but now -this!" - -She stretched out in her chaise longue before the bedroom fire until I -thought of the Apostle who stated that the Lord delighteth not in any -man's legs. Obviously, he had never seen my wife's gams. - -"He sounds like a religious maniac," she observed. - -"He admitted it, Jimmie. He was even proud of it. When he was standing -there he seemed to make more sense than most things that happen in Wall -Street. He could be right." - -Germaine giggled. "If God finds you, Winnie," she said, "I hope He -doesn't arrive when--I mean, it might be rather embarrassing?" - -"Again the one-track mind," I remarked. "You don't suppose that sex is -any news to the Old Man, do you? He invented it, darling." - -"You know, Winnie," she replied dreamily, "sometimes you are almost a -poet. Just the same, if He came after me I'd like to have Him find me -with a new hairdo." - -"So far as I am concerned," I told her, "it's just as well the Old -Man didn't catch up with me on some recent occasions. He might have -received a false impression of my eligibility for the Club." - -"Pooh!" Germaine remarked with great decision. "He'd better not try any -nonsense with you if I'm around. You're my Winnie and you're going to -Heaven right along with me if I have to cheat the Customs." - -I yawned. "I hope Saint Peter will be suitably impressed and not like -those tough guys at the Port of New York. What I'd really like to get -at is all this business about Von Bieberstein. I'd never heard of him -till last week and now it's got me jittery. Who he is God only knows -and He hasn't tipped off the F.B.I." - -"I'm not very religious, darling," my wife said, "but from what I -remember from Sunday School, God wasn't supposed to be a tattle-tale. -He'll take care of Von Bieberstein, if there is such a person." - -I laughed. "If there isn't, the F.B.I.'s going to look awfully silly -when they come to write the history books. J. Edgar Hoover would turn -over in his job at the very thought." - -"You know," she continued drowsily, "I think that Von Bieberstein is -just a name they've given to all the things they can't solve. Like -luck. You know the way people say, 'Bad Luck!' Well, the F.B.I. says -'Von Bieberstein' every time a ship sinks or a factory makes the wrong -kind of shell. You wait and see, Winnie, and you'll find out I am -right." - -"Speaking of luck," I asked, "What's the news from the kennels? Has -Ponto met his fiancee yet or haven't the banns been published?" - -"Dalrymple seemed to think that it would be very easy to equip him with -a suitable girl friend," she said demurely. "It appears that there's a -war-time shortage of sires or something, so I gather that there's no -particular problem in Ponto's love-life. Dalrymple said we could come -and get him the end of the week--Friday or Saturday. Poor dear. I think -we ought to put orange blossoms in his dog-biscuit when he gets home." - -I laughed. "That's one load off my mind. I hope you're right and that -it will steady him down. They say that the responsibilities of marriage -do wonders for a young dog. It makes him respect property, maintain the -social order, and vote the straight Republican ticket." - -"Idiot!" - -"Yes, I'm thinking of running Ponto in the next election. He'd make a -mighty fine Governor and he'd be sure to leave his mark in the Senate. -Who knows, we might even elect him President." - -Germaine stretched again, with considerable candor. "Darling," she -announced, "you're dithering. Let's go to bed." - -"Not until we get this religious argument straightened out," I -objected. "I think I owe it to Mr. Smith to make some kind of move. The -politicians and the psychiatrists have failed me. There's only religion -left. And besides, I still have half of my drink to finish." - -I put another birch-log on the fire and watched as the flames -brightened and cast a flickering glow on the canopy of my wife's bed. - -"My idea's this," I told her. "It's very undignified to sit around -waiting for the Old Man to look me up, if He's really trying to find -me, as Smith says. I think I'd better start a search party of my -own. There are no doubt a lot of things He'll want to ask me about, -but there are some points on which, damn it! I'm entitled to an -explanation." - -"You talk such rot, darling," she murmured. "Wise gods never explain -anything. It's take it or leave it. You just wait. You'll see." - -"I'd like to know who Von Bieberstein is, just to get ahead of A. J. -Harcourt. If the Old Man won't tell me that, at least I'm entitled to -know who I am." - -"You're my Winnie," she repeated half-asleep. "I'll see that you get -past the immigration authorities. I'll smuggle you in under my skirts, -like Helen of Troy. St. Peter's far too respectable a man to try to -see what I've got there." - -"Now _you're_ maudlin," I told her. "From what I know of Greek -costumes, Helen of Troy couldn't have smuggled a Chihuahua into Troy -under what _she_ wore. Anyhow, these saints have X-ray eyes that can -spot a sin right through skirt, girdle and brassiere. Besides, I weigh -too much. I'm much more like the unforgivable sin. Suppose I just -pretend I lost my passport." - -"It will be all right, darling," Germaine assured me. "And if they -won't let us into Heaven, God knows they'd be delighted to put us up -in Hell. It would raise the value of real estate overnight. I can just -hear the Devil arguing with prospective tenants. 'We have such nice -people in the next bed of coals. They're from Westchester and the -name's Tompkins'." - -"Any time a real estate agent urges you to take a residence, that's -Heaven," I told her. "You dither delightfully, especially when you're -half asleep. But I don't want to get into Hell on false pretenses. It's -not fair to the management. What I propose to do is to go out, and see -if I can't find the Old Man before He finds me, and see if I can't -fix up my passport right now. As you say, it could be embarrassing -otherwise. Then I'll march straight up to Him, look Him in the eye and -ask Him what the Hell He means--" - -She sat up and held out her glass. "More brandy," she ordered. - -I fixed her drink and my own and looked at the coals of the log-fire. - -"How are you going to set out?" Germaine asked. "No, don't laugh, -darling. It might be quite important. You see, if I--if we--Oh, if we -should have a child, it would be good to know--" she paused, at a loss -for words. - -"It does sound crazy, doesn't it?" I said. "'Middle-aged Stock Broker -Cleans up in Wall Street, Looks for God.' Well, I suppose the best -thing to do is to consult the clergymen." - -"Then you'd better not start in Westchester," she advised. "They're all -bleating celibates like poor old Ponto or broad-clothed men of affairs -who shoot a darn good game of golf and never offend the vestrymen. -I'd try New York City, if I were you, Winnie. They have the best -architects, the best food, the best doctors, the best actors, and the -best red-heads in the world. They might even have the best clergymen." - -"That doesn't follow," I told her, "but I agree the chances are better -there than up here." - -"I'm going to approach this thing scientifically," I continued. "I'm -going to pick a Protestant--probably a Presbyterian--" - -"Yes," she agreed. "_Do_ pick a Presbyterian. They build such lovely -New England churches and they believe in infant damnation, or is that -the Mormons?" - -"Shush!" I rebuked her. "As I was saying when you so rudely interrupted -me, a Presbyterian, and they believe in predestination with only -occasional leanings to infant damnation. And then I'll try a Jewish -Rabbi. I'm told that they are very highly educated men with a grasp -of spiritual fundamentals as well as a remarkable fund of practical -knowledge. And, of course, a Catholic priest." - -"Not Father Aloysius Murphy!" Germaine besought me. "I couldn't bear it -if you consulted him. I don't know why and of course I'm not a Catholic -but every time I hear him on the radio I wish the Pope would send him -as a missionary to Russia. Please don't pick any of these fashionable -priests or rabbis, darling. Try to find simple, poor men who aren't -trying to advertise themselves or raise money." - -I finished my drink and picked her up in my arms. "It's long past -bed-time," I told her. "Here, drink it down and I'll put you to bed. -I didn't know you gave a damn about religion and here you are talking -like a Joan of Arc or--" - -She put her empty glass down on the bed-side table and slipped out of -her dressing-gown. - -"You don't know me very well," she said quietly. "To you, I'm just your -wife, not a separate person at all, and it's rather nice, but--No, I'm -not religious and Heaven knows the saints would have hysterics if they -heard you call me Joan of Arc. It's just that--Well, I was brought up -on church and Sunday School and the Catechism and forgot it all as soon -as I graduated from Miss Spence's and had my coming-out party. But -they are all so proud and grand, these clergymen. They are so sure of -themselves. I once went to an Easter service in Washington, it was at -St. Thomas's, when the sermon was entirely devoted to a passionate plea -for money, money, money. I've never met a clergyman yet who didn't hint -that while the Lord loved my soul, the Church would settle for cash." - -"I suppose the churches need money like everybody else," I suggested. -"At least they don't charge admission like the movies." - -"Oh, I know they need money but they can't need money as much as people -need goodness or God or whatever it is they do need. I'd like to find -a single good simple man who wasn't too sure of himself. Well, I -can't explain. Get undressed and come to bed, darling. The sheets are -bitterly cold." - -I chucked my clothes onto the chair by the fire. - -"Hell!" I exclaimed. "That would be too awful!" - -Germaine made a vague questioning noise. - -"Suppose we are resurrected not as we'd like to be but as we are. You'd -be safe. You have the build of an angel and you'd be a knockout with -wings, but I'd look like a ringer even in the best of haloes and with -this weight I'd need a terrific wing-spread to get off the ground. Even -then, I'd have to have a run-way." - -I fixed the fire so it would keep burning for a couple of hours and -adjusted the fire-screen so that there was no chance of a stray spark -landing on the carpet. Then I crossed to the window overlooking -the lawn and opened it on the cool spring night. The moon, now -suspiciously less virginal in figure but still shamelessly serene -in silver, rode in the western sky and the scents of spring drifted -in on the light breeze. There was no sound save the distant jingling -of the peepers and the near-by rustle of the dry vines outside the -window-frame. - -"I wish to God I knew who I am," I muttered. - - - - -CHAPTER 30 - - -"No doubt you'll be asking me to reconcile predestination and free -will," observed Dr. Angus McGregor, minister of the Tenth Presbyterian -Church of Manhattan. - -"That wasn't quite my question, sir," I replied. "I asked you whether -you could justify the Lord's putting my soul into another man's body. -Am I to be responsible for the sins the other man committed?" - -"Ah!" Dr. McGregor remarked, with relish, "It is the Lord's doing -and it is marvelous in our eyes. No doubt he kens what he's about. -It will all be made known on the great Day of Judgment. Now about -predestination and free will, you'll have marked that many grand -philosophers and divines have debated the point. 'Tis a nice point. -'Tis the theological _pons asinorum_." - -"Yes," I interrupted, "but do you consider that I am bound by this body -or will I be returned to my own before I come to the Judgment? And is -my soul involved in another man's sins?" - -Dr. McGregor drew a deep puff on his pipe. "Oh aye!" he declared. -"The principle of vicarious sacrifice has been observed ever since -that ne'er-do-weel Cain asked, 'Am I my brother's keeper?' Aye, Mr. -Tompkins, surely you are involved in the sins of others. Take your -own case now. I believe your tale. Fearful and wonderful things have -happened in this weary world, before now, by the will of the Lord. -It is written by the Roman historian Tacitus that the pagan emperor -Vespasian--that grand benefactor to whom the world owes the fine -invention of the public comfort station--performed miracles in Egypt, -making the blind to see, and healing the cripples. These miracles are -as well attested as any in Holy Scripture. If the Lord permitted to a -heathen potentate these gifts of spiritual healing, can I deny that -He might for His own good reasons permit your soul to inhabit another -man's body?" - -"But what is my moral responsibility in this predicament, Dr. McGregor? -Where does my duty lie?" - -"It is all related to yon matter of free will and predestination," he -insisted. "Your duty, man, is to fear the Lord and praise Him. You will -have taken this other man's wife, will you not? You will have taken his -money and his home, his name and his business. Aye, if you take these -likely you will take his sins as well. Dinna believe that the Lord has -no a reason for all this. - -"Now," he continued, "'tis no great difficulty to reconcile free will -and predestination." - -"I'm not a religious man, doctor," I cut him off, "but you have given -me help. Will you accept a check for your church--say a thousand -dollars?" - -"Aye, Mr. Tompkins, I will that! I cannot help you but I can only tell -you to put your trust in the mercy and the justice of the Lord. 'Tis -all a man can do." - -So I wrote out a check for a thousand dollars to the order of the Tenth -Presbyterian Church of Manhattan, and shook his hand. - -He thanked me. "Now," he announced. "I must be on my way to comfort a -poor body that's dying o' the cancer. 'Tis an old lady and she takes -great comfort from her pain in the thought that she has been chosen by -the Lord to suffer for the sins of others. 'Tis no a sound theology, -mind you, but 'tis a mighty solace as her time comes nigh." - - * * * * * - -My next stop was at the office of Rabbi Benjamin Da Silva of the Temple -Ben-David. Him I had located by consulting the classified telephone -directory and had made an appointment to meet him in his study in the -Synagogue. He was a slender, quietly dressed young man, with the eager -face of a scholar and the air of repose of a mystic. The walls of his -room were lined with books and as I noted Hebraic, Greek, Latin and -Arabic titles, as well as German, French and English, I realized that I -was dealing with a deeply cultured man. His voice was musical and low, -as he asked me to be seated. - -"Rabbi Da Silva," I began, "before I begin I would like to ask you to -accept on behalf of your congregation a gift of a thousand dollars as -a token of my gratitude for consenting to hear my story. Perhaps you -can help me, perhaps not. As you realize, I am not of your faith but I -need your wisdom. I am trying to find my soul." - -"So are we all, Mr. Tompkins," the Rabbi assured me. "What is your -problem?" - -I recited the events which made it imperative for me to recollect the -events prior to April second; I told him of the reasons that convinced -me that I, Frank Jacklin, was living in Winfred Tompkins' body; I -outlined the moral and personal problems involved in this confusion of -personalities; I indicated the psychiatric and other tests that had -been made. Naturally, I did not mention the Alaska, the thorium bomb, -Z-2 or Von Bieberstein. - -When I had completed my account, Rabbi Da Silva gazed abstractedly at -the small coal fire which smouldered in the grate of his study. - -"Why did you come to me, Mr. Tompkins?" he asked. - -"Because I hoped that in your studies of the human soul, you might have -found knowledge that would help me." - -He sat silent for some minutes. - -"For many centuries," he began at last, "there has been a curious -belief among you Christians that the Jewish rabbinate possesses mystic -knowledge of the occult. No doubt that belief derives from the early -Middle Ages when the Jews became in part the means by which the science -and culture of the Saracen East was brought to the ignorant barbarous -West. That service was turned against us by the superstitions and -prejudices of Christendom and we were regarded as akin to sorcerers and -witch-masters. Even today in Germany, we are paying for our crime of -having brought enlightenment to Europe in the Dark Ages." - -"Then you can't help me?" I asked. - -"I did not say so, Mr. Tompkins," the Rabbi replied. "Certainly I -cannot help you in any occult manner. I cannot pick a book from the -shelves, mutter a few words in Hebrew and resolve your spiritual -problems with a whiff of brimstone. The casting out of devils is not -included in Judaism. Indeed, it has gone out of fashion in Christendom." - -"What can you suggest?" I inquired. "Many important events, including -the possible capture of a dangerous Nazi spy, depend on my recovering -my memory." - -"Even with that inducement," the Rabbi remarked with an ironic smile, -"I am not in a position to urge any particular course on you. Assume, -for the sake of argument, that you are the victim of what is called -a demoniac possession, Mr. Tompkins. Are you sure that you would be -benefited by casting out the soul of Frank Jacklin and resuming command -of your own personality? Is not Winfred Tompkins a better and happier -man under the influence of Jacklin than he was as himself? In other -words, Mr. Tompkins, you may not be seeking to cast out a devil at all, -but an angel of the Lord. Of course, I am speaking in moral metaphor -and not as a scientist or a theologian. My advice to you would be to -ignore your loss of memory and live out your life as best you can and -be thankful that whatever it is that caused this change has been for -your betterment and has brought happiness to others." - -I shook my head. "I know that I am foolish to insist, Rabbi Da Silva," -I said. "What you say is just about what the psychiatrists advised. Yet -I must open that locked door and see what is hidden in the secret room." - -Da Silva smiled gently. "Yes," he agreed, "I see that you must. -Bluebeard's wife felt much the same and the charm and universal meaning -of that great fable is that humanity must always open the closed doors, -even at the risk of destruction. All wisdom urges us to leave well -enough alone, yet our instinct is wiser than wisdom itself. God bless -you, Mr. Tompkins, and may you come to no harm if you find the key to -this locked room." - -"Thank you, sir," I said. "Now there remain only the Catholics. Perhaps -a parish priest--" - -"I shall be very much surprised if a priest advises you differently, -Mr. Tompkins," the Rabbi observed. "Drop in again some time and tell -me, will you?" - -I gave him his check for the Temple Ben-David and went on to the -rectory of St. Patrick's-by-the-Gashouse, where I asked for the priest. - -"Sure, Father Flanagan's celebrating Mass," the aged housekeeper -rebuked me. - -"I'll wait," I told her. "I have a contribution for the church. I must -give it to him personally." - -"Glory be!" she remarked, and withdrew, muttering. - -Father Flanagan was a burly, well-built young Irish-American with a -friendly smile and a crushing handshake. - -"Mrs. Casey tells me you have something for the church, Mr.--" - -"My name's Tompkins, Father. I have a check for a thousand dollars. -I'll give it to you now. There are no strings to it but I'd like to ask -you to help me." - -"Well, I'll be--You know, Mr. Tompkins," Father Flanagan told me, "just -this morning at breakfast Mrs. Casey said she was praying that we'd -finish raising the money for the new altar before the Bishop's visit, -and here it is. Isn't that wonderful, now?" - -"There you are, Father," I told him, "and welcome to it." - -"Thank you, Mr. Tompkins," the priest said simply. "I shall remember -you in my prayers and so, no doubt, will Mrs. Casey. You're not a -Catholic, of course?" - -"No," I replied. "I don't seem to be anything that makes sense -medically, legally or morally. I need help." - -So I told him the whole story from beginning to end, and added the -advice I had already received from Dr. McGregor and Rabbi Da Silva. - -Father Flanagan heard me out and then considered carefully. - -"I've heard some strange things in Confession," he stated at last, "but -they never taught us at Notre Dame how to deal with a problem like -yours. I'd rather like to consult the Bishop before I undertook to -advise you. Do you mind?" - -"Yes, I do," I told the priest. "It's no disrespect for your bishop. -It's just that I feel that this problem must be solved on a low level -rather than by the higher echelons. In the Navy, we soon learned that -the best way to get a problem loused up was to refer it to CINCPAC. -What is your own reaction to my story?" - -Father Flanagan pursed his lips and pondered for a moment. "Speaking -as a man," he said, "and not as a priest, it looks to me as though you -were sitting pretty, Mr. Tompkins. Naturally, I have no explanation for -it and the psychiatrists seem to have given you a clean bill of health, -so maybe you're not crazy. I have a vague idea that there's reference -to something like your experience in the Patristic writings which I -read when I was studying for the priesthood. It's all mixed up with the -Gnostics and necromancy but it's hard to tell how much you can accept -literally in that material. Pagan literature is full of it, such as -Apuleius' 'The Golden Ass', in which a witch turns a man into a donkey, -but that's admittedly fancy. As I say, you seem to be sitting pretty. -By your own account, Commander Jacklin's life was pretty much of a -failure and Tompkins was not exactly what you could call a huge moral -success. Yet you, as Jacklin, seem to be doing a pretty good job with -Tompkins' life. Why don't you let it go at that?" - -"I can't, Father," I told him. "I've got to find out what Tompkins was -doing just before Easter. Even if it's only for that one week, I've got -to know." - -"And you say that so far nobody has been able to help you?" - -"Nobody," I replied. "The doctors call it trauma and say that my memory -may come back to me at any time, but I can't wait." - -He smiled. "'Can't' is a big and human word. Have you tried hypnotism? -Or scopolamine? They aren't exactly liturgical and my Bishop would have -a fit if he heard me mention them--he considers them on a par with -mediums and spiritualism--but they have some value in restoring memory." - -I slapped my knee. "Thanks, Father!" I exclaimed. "You've given me an -idea. I'll try a medium." - -The priest looked grave. "I wouldn't do that, now, if I were you, Mr. -Tompkins," he told me. "That kind of thing is too close to Black Magic -and devil-worship for decent men to play with." - -"I hope I don't shock you, Father Flanagan," I replied, "but if God -can't help me, I'll have to go to the Devil." - -"I shall pray for you, Mr. Tompkins," the priest said. - - - - -CHAPTER 31 - - -After I left St. Patrick's-by-the-Gashouse I went to a corner saloon -and telephoned the F.B.I. I asked for Harcourt but was told that he was -out to lunch, which reminded me that I was hungry. A private treaty -with the bartender brought me a steak sandwich, and no questions -asked. Apple pie and coffee followed, and were not too horrible. I -smoked a cigarette, drank a second cup of coffee, and called the F.B.I. -again. - -This time Harcourt had returned from lunch and he talked as though he -had swallowed the Revised Statutes of the United States but that they -gave him indigestion. - -"See here, Andy," I told him at last. "I'm not looking for legal -advice, I want to consult a medium. Any medium. If I picked one out of -the phone-book you'd have the headache of checking on her, as I suppose -you're checking on the clergymen I saw this morning. So this time just -save yourself the trouble, and tell me who I should see." - -"The Bureau doesn't endorse spiritualists," he informed me, but the old -J. Edgar Hoover spirit was running thin and his heart wasn't in it. - -"I'm not asking the Bureau to endorse anything, not even a candy -laxative," I replied. "Just you tell me the name and address of one -reasonably respectable medium and I'll take care of the rest. And don't -pretend that the Bureau has no record of mediums in New York City." - -"Mr. Tompkins," he said--and I could fairly hear the hum of the -recording machine on the telephone--"The Bureau does not endorse any -so-called spiritualist mediums. Naturally, under the leadership of our -present Director, the New York office has made a close check on all -self-styled spiritualistic mediums in this city. One of these who has -established her bona fides for purposes of identification only is Madam -Claire la Lune, 1187 Lenox Avenue." - -"Eleven eighty-seven Lenox," I repeated after him. "That's in Harlem. -Madam Claire la Lune sounds like the dark of the moon to me. Say, Andy, -hasn't she a friend named Pierrot?" - -There was a pause at the other end of the wire. "No, sir, Mr. -Tompkins," came the F.B.I. official voice. - -"Okay," I told him. "I suppose you'll have to check on her as on -everybody else but I wanted you to start calling the shots so as to -save trouble for all of us. I'm going to consult Madam Lune, so you can -tell your agents to rendezvous at 1187 Lenox Avenue. I'll be there in -about twenty minutes." - -Eleven eighty-seven Lenox did not seem prepossessing from the spiritual -angle. Madam la Lune's apartment was on the third floor, walk-up, and -smelled of cabbage, diapers and African sweat. Madam la Lune herself -was a light mulatto with a superb figure and a face so deeply scarred -by smallpox that it looked like a map of Southern lynchings since 1921. - -She seemed reluctant to deal with me on a professional basis, even -after I had offered her a twenty-dollar bill, until I told her that the -F.B.I. had recommended her and that I needed her help. - -"Oh," she said. "Tha's differ'nt. Jest you wait till I turn down my -stove." - -She ushered me into a close and smelly little room, with black velvet -curtains and a couch covered with black sateen. Madam la Lune lay down -on the couch and directed me to turn off the electric light from the -switch by the door. Although it was still early afternoon, the room -was so dark that I could barely make out the form of the medium or find -my way back to my chair. - -For a time there was no sound except for the deep regular breathing of -the medium. Then suddenly came the shrill voice of a pickaninny. - -"I'se here," the voice cried. "It's Silver-Bell, mammy, I'se here." - -I smiled to myself in the Harlem dusk. It was so obviously the usual -racket. There was the medium in her ten cent trance--the voice of her -"control" was coming through. I had only to ask and I would receive a -vague and blotting paper reply to any question. - -"I'se here, mammy," the child's voice repeated. "What you want, mammy? -Silver-Bell's here." - -Madam la Lune snorted and snored on the couch. My eyes had become more -accustomed to the dim light and I noticed how she had loosened her -blouse so that her superb bust rose in twin-peaked Kilimanjaro against -the wall. - -"Silver-Bell's here, mammy," the child's voice said again. "What you -want?" - -"I want," I said, "to speak to Frank Jacklin. He died in the North -Pacific about three weeks ago." - -There was a pause, during which the snorting breaths of the medium were -the only sound in the smelly little room. Then the child's voice rose, -shrill and petulant. - -"You funning, mammy, you funning. They ain't no Jacklin over here. -Jacklin ain' dead. Jacklin sittin' right by yo' side, mammy. He police, -mammy, he police." - -Madam la Lune stirred and I sensed her sightless eyes turning, turning -toward me in the dark. - -"No, I'm not police, Silver-Bell," I said. "If you can't find Jacklin, -I want to speak to Winnie Tompkins." - -For several minutes there was a long silence. - -Then came an impish giggle. - -"Here's Mr. Tompkins, mammy, but my! he do look funny. He don' look -like he used ter look." - -Again silence. - -"Here he is, mammy. Here he is. What do you want to know?" - -"Ask him," I said, "whether he is well and happy." - -The hair rose on the back of my neck and a slow shiver ran down my -spine as the answer came. The answer was the familiar barking of a -dog--deep, strong, savage. - -"Is that you, Ponto?" I asked. - -The answering bark came "Woof! Woof!" - -"Where is Mr. Tompkins?" - -More "woofs." - -"Where is Commander Jacklin?" - -Silence. - -"Are you alive?" - -"Woof! Woof!" - -"Am I alive?" - -Silence. - -"Is your name Ponto?" I ventured again. - -"Where is Von Bieberstein?" I demanded but my question was drowned in a -storm of barking. - -"I's tired, mammy," came the child's voice. "Silver-Bell's tired." - -The voice trailed off, leaving me in the stifling little Harlem parlor -with the mulatto woman snoring. - -I sat, bemused, in the straight-back chair across the room from her. -My eyes had now got used to the thin light that filtered around the -heavy black curtain. I noticed a fleck of white about the corners of -her mouth and I made silent note of the way her body heaved with its -tortured breathing. After a while, she stirred. - -"You theah, Mr. Tompkins?" - -"Yes, I'm here." - -"You fin' out what you wan'?" she inquired. - -"I found out that you're a fraud," I told her. "You're welcome to my -money but I'm damned if I think you've earned it." - -She sat up and adjusted her clothing calmly. "What for you say that, -Mr. Tompkins?" she demanded. "Spirits come, and spirits go. You ask -questions. Maybe they give you the answers. I don't know." - -"Very clever, Madam la Lune," I observed. "Harcourt phones you I'm on -my way and tells you what to do. I'm supposed to come in and swallow it -all. Well, I'm not interested in that game. All I want to know is how -you managed to imitate my dog?" - -Madam la Lune rose and peered at me in the dusk. - -"White man," she said. "What dog you talkin' about? I ain't seen no -dog." - -The words I had planned to fling at her died in my throat. Fraud or -not, she was superb. Her pock-marked face had a haughty dignity and her -bearing was that of a great queen. - -"I'm sorry," I apologized, without knowing why. "I'm in trouble. I -hoped you could help me. All I got out of your trance was a child -laughing and a dog barking." - -Her eyes glowed in the twilit room. - -"What this dog?" she demanded. "You know this dog?" - -"Yes," I told her. "It's my dog. His name is Ponto. He's a Great Dane -and he's at the kennels." - -"You go, Mr. Tompkins," she ordered me. "You better go fast. That -dog--wha's his color now?" - -"Black," I said. - -"Yes, black," She rolled her eyes until I saw the whites. - -"That black dog don' mean no good to you or yours. You keep away fum -that dog, Mr. Tompkins. No, suh, I don't want you money. There's no -luck with you, white man, with that black dog. I don' know how Ah -knows, but Ah does know." - -As I walked out into the bright cool air of Lenox Avenue, I felt -relieved. Madame la Lune was an interesting enough type. She obviously -had the primitive sense of second sight, intuition, whatever it is, -that let her penetrate behind human appearances. The medium business -was just a trade trick. In Africa or Haiti she could have been a -witch-doctor with a pet snake. In New Orleans, even, she would be a -voodoo priestess. Here in Harlem, she had become a medium. Of course, -she was a fraud, but how had she imitated the barking of the Great Dane? - -Then I laughed so loudly that a passing colored man sheered violently -away from me. Of course, that was it. I had been right all the time. -This was Harcourt's work. He had recommended Madame la Lune to me and -then told her how to behave. Damn his insolence! - -I stopped dead and only stirred when the violent and prolonged sounding -of an automobile horn reminded me that I was standing in the middle of -a cross-street. How did Harcourt know about Ponto when he had never -seen him? And how could he tell the medium how to imitate Ponto's bark? - -On the next corner was a dive--a saloon that advertised "Attractions" -and from whose doors welled the jungle thumping of Harlem jazz. - -I slipped in and sat down at a corner table. A tall, colored girl, -whose scanty white silk blouse was not designed to conceal anything, -came over and leaned down to take my order. - -"Wha' yo' want, honey-man?" she asked sullenly. - -The band on the platform let loose with a blast of traps and trombone. - -"Let's dance," I said. - -She nodded with a curious dignity and I found myself parading, dipping -and swaying around a tiny dancefloor, while the black girl pressed her -body against me despairingly. - -I pulled off to the side and led her back to my table. - -"Why do you do this?" I asked. - -She said nothing. - -"You need money?" I asked. - -She still said nothing. - -"Here!" I said. - -I pulled out my check-book and wrote out a check for a thousand dollars -payable to cash. - -"This is for you," I told her. "Take it and do whatever you want to do. -The check's good." - -The girl looked at me, took the check, studied it. Then she rose, in -complete silence, looked at me again and left me. She shrugged her -way through the dancers and the waiters to the rear of the room and -disappeared. I did not know her name and I never saw her again. - -A high-ochre girl came over. - -"Change yo' luck?" she asked, bending over so that I could see down the -front of her scant-cut dress. - -"My luck's done changed," I told her. "Give me a drink and here's a -ten-spot for yourself. And I'll be on my way." - -She tucked the bill down the front of her dress. "May you have good -luck, man," she said gravely. - -As she said it, her eyes widened and her mouth hung open. "Gawd!" she -muttered. "The black dog's follering you!" and fled. - -"I know," I said to the room at large, and left without waiting for my -drink. - - - - -CHAPTER 32 - - -I walked down Lenox Avenue to the first cigar-store and telephoned the -office. - -As soon as I was connected with Arthurjean I asked her to meet me at -her apartment as soon as she could make it. Then I hailed a cab and was -driven south through Central Park to the upper east Fifties' and my -secretary's apartment. She was waiting. - -"Gee, honey," she exclaimed. "I just got here. What's cooking?" - -I followed her in and went straight to the kitchenette. I poured myself -a stiff drink and downed it rapidly. I poured myself another and -turned to see her staring at me. - -"You look terrible," she told me. "What's happened to you?" - -"I can't tell you," I replied. "You'd think I'm crazy and you'd turn me -in." - -"I will not!" - -She came up close to me and looked me square in the eye. "I don't care -if you're crazy as a bed-bug," she announced. "Go on and 'pit it out in -momma's hand. I won't squeal." - -"Sit down!" I ordered, "and get yourself a drink first. This is tough." - -She sat and listened quietly as I outlined the latest developments. - -"So you see," I concluded, "I _can't_ tell anyone. They'd have me -locked up for keeps." - -She nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. "I can see that.... Maybe your wife--" - -"I couldn't tell _her_," I contradicted. "It would be too damn cruel -just now when she's really happy." - -Arthurjean sat and thought for a while. "Yep," she remarked, as though -she had just concluded a long argument. "You're right. You can't tell -nobody _that_. How about this nosey A. J. Harcourt? Won't he find out? -He's still having you tailed." - -"I don't see how he could," I told her, "unless that Madame la Lune is -a complete phoney--which doesn't make sense. She and I were alone in -the room. If it was a plant, there's nothing to tell. If she's on the -level she won't remember what went on." - -"That's no plant," Arthurjean Briggs announced. "It wouldn't make sense -for the F.B.I. to pull it. Harcourt sent you there in the first place -but he wouldn't put her up to a trick like that." - -"He'll be hot on my trail then," I said. "All those clergymen I saw -will have to be checked--when all the time--" - -"Do you know what I'd do if I was you," she said abruptly. "I'd get rid -of that damn dog--but fast." - -"You mean sell it?" I asked. - -"I mean kill it. It isn't natural, acting that way. It's been worrying -you nigh crazy, that's what it's been doing. You just take it to the -vet's and have it chloroformed. They do it all the time on account of -the rabbis--" - -"Rabies," I corrected. - -"That's right, but they do it, don't they? You don't have to get -permission. He's your property. You can tell the vet he bit you--" - -I started up. "Hell!" I exclaimed. "I've got to get him away from the -kennels fast. It's--it's--" - -Arthurjean put her large, strong hand on my shoulder. - -"There, honey," she soothed me. "It's all right. It's going to be all -right." - -I looked at her and realized that she hadn't believed a word of my -story. - -"See here--" I began, when the door-bell rang. - -"Two-to-one it's Harcourt," I remarked. - -"I hope so," said Arthurjean coloring faintly. - -"Well, what's all this about?" I demanded, as a slow blush gathered in -sunset fury upon her pleasant face. "Why, Arthurjean--" - -"Lay off," she begged. "He's a nice guy and he hasn't got that -family in Brooklyn he kept talking about. You and me are washed -up--and--well, he's from the South, too, and he talks my language." - -"Good luck," I told her. "But he's also on the doorstep, so take hold -of yourself." - -He was. She did. - -"'Evening, Miss Briggs," the Special Agent said politely. "Any luck, -Mr. Tompkins?" - -I shook my head. - -He looked reproachful. "Oh, come now," he pleaded. "_Something_ must -have happened. You got out of Harlem like a bat out of hell and almost -shook the agent who was tailing you. You don't look to me like nothing -happened. Have you filled in that gap? Started to remember anything?" - -"On my word of honor, Andy," I swore, "I haven't remembered a thing. -The gap's still there." - -He said nothing for a few minutes and exchanged a glance with -Arthurjean. - -"Something must have happened," he requested. "You've changed. Come -clean, can't you? I'm only trying to help you." - -"I can't tell you much of anything," I told him. "You wouldn't believe -me if I did. There's been a sort of locked door inside my mind for the -last three weeks. Now the door's unlocked and is beginning to swing -open. I haven't looked inside, but I think I know what I'll find. I -can't tell you more than that now." - -"But you're going to look, aren't you?" he asked. - -"I've got to look," I said. - -He sighed. "Well, we'll just have to keep an eye on you so as to be -around when you do. See here, Mr. Tompkins, you know your own business -but this Von Bieberstein guy is nobody to monkey around with. He's -plenty tough and he'd as soon kill as sneeze. Can't you give me a hint? -I'm trained to take those risks and know how to take care of myself, -and anyhow the Bureau is back of me." - -I leaned back in my chair and laughed and laughed and laughed until I -noticed that both Arthurjean and Harcourt were staring at me without -smiling. - -"Sorry," I apologized. "It's just that something struck me as -rather funny. Well, Arthurjean, I'll be catching the train back to -Westchester. You and Andy blow yourself to a dinner at my expense. I'll -go down to the vet's first thing in the morning and follow your advice. -Good night, Andy. I'll be seeing you." - -That night I locked myself in my bedroom and slept alone. Germaine was -worried but I put her aside with the explanation that I had a splitting -headache--too much to drink, probably, was my explanation. The truth -was that I didn't want to see or talk to my wife so that she could not -guess the perfectly appalling knowledge that had come to me. - -This was insane, I repeated to myself. Even Arthurjean Briggs, who -had sworn never to turn me in, had not believed it. Yet no other -explanation was open to me. The dog's whole conduct since that fatal -afternoon of April second was consistent only with the utterly -irrational theory that the body of the Great Dane had been possessed -by the soul of Winnie Tompkins at the very moment when the latter's -body--now mine--had been possessed by the soul of Frank Jacklin. - -Everybody had a fairly nice set of words for the latter -phenomenon--trauma, schizophrenia, neurasthenia, the Will of God--and -the best advice was uniform: forget about it; it will wear off in time; -take things easy, you've been working too hard; everybody's crazy. - -Now just imagine trying to convince the F.B.I. or a psychiatrist that, -in addition to this delusion, you know for a fact that a Great Dane -is now inhabited by the soul that once resided in your own body. I -could hear the clanging of the gong on the private ambulance as it -raced me to the nearest asylum, I could feel my arms already in the -strait-jacket. No one must ever know; Arthurjean must never tell. If -she doubted me, she must never tell. - -The way I figured it was this: Winnie had been asleep at the Pond Club. -He had been worried about Ponto and Ponto was desperately ill--dying -even--from distemper. Both of their--what was the word?--their _ids_ or -_psyches_ were relaxed, weakened, off-guard. Then the atomic explosion -in the Aleutians, by some freak, had hurled my soul half-way around -the world into the sleeping body of Winnie Tompkins. His soul had then -crowded into the body of Ponto. Ponto's soul--if dogs have them, which -I don't doubt--was out of luck. Permanently withdrawn. - -Crazy? I'll say! I was the only person alive who knew that it was true -and nobody would ever believe me, if only for the reason that it would -always be much simpler to lock me up. - -Quite obviously, Ponto knew that he was Winnie and resented my presence -in his home. He had shown the jealousy and ill-temper natural to a man, -instead of the friendliness of a dog. He had been humanly jealous of -Germaine. - -Suddenly I chuckled. By George! this was rich. Winnie in turn -undoubtedly believed that I was Ponto. The Jacklin angle was outside -of his range. No wonder he was furious with me when he saw that his -household pet--a Great Dane--masquerading in his human body, had -usurped his place in the affections of his wife and in authority over -his home. Only hunger, which brings all things to terms, had broken his -rebellion against this monstrous confusion. It must be tough to find -yourself reduced to dog-biscuits and runs on the lawn. - -I knew what I must do. Arthurjean had been right. The only way I could -make myself secure was to have Ponto killed. Would this be murder? I -wondered what Father Flanagan would make of it. Probably he would say, -"Yes, it is murder if you believe that Winfred Tompkins is Ponto." -Yet until Ponto was dead, there could be no security for me. At any -moment, if the psychiatrists were right, the change might come, with a -small shock, and Winnie Tompkins would resume lawful possession of his -body, his home, his wife, his money, while I--Commander Frank Jacklin, -U.S.N.R.--could count myself lucky to be allowed to sleep on a smelly -old blanket on the floor in the corner and eat dog-biscuits and be -offered as a thoroughbred sire. - -There was still time to stop that nonsense. The strictly practical -thing to do was to go to the kennels first thing in the morning. -Then I'd take Ponto away from Dalrymple and drive down to White -Plains and find a vet to give him chloroform. Thus I would be safe -from the possibility of having Winnie reoccupy his body and drive me -into Ponto's or, worse still, into the stratosphere to join the mild -chemical mist that was all that remained of the body of Frank Jacklin. - -All right, it was murder then. I would be murdering Winnie Tompkins, -but I would be the only one who would know it--the Perfect Crime. I -laughed to myself at the thought that now Harcourt would lose his last -chance to learn what Winnie had done in that fatal week before Chalmis' -thorium bomb had blown me and the Alaska into the Aurora Borealis. - -Although it was a cool night, I was perspiring violently. My nerves -were shot to pieces. After this, I would need a rest. Winnie's business -was in good shape. I could afford to keep away from the office for -a time, until I grew a new face, as it were, after this shattering -discovery. Then Jimmie and I--perhaps we would have a child. I'd be -damned if I'd let my son be a stock-broker with a Great Dane--I might -even take the Ambassadorship to Canada. The Forbes-Dutton scheme -sounded too raw even for Washington--it would backfire into another -Teapot Dome. - -I drew a deep breath and relaxed in my bed. My course was plain. First -of all, I'd attend to Ponto--burn my canine bridges behind me. Then -I'd take Dr. Folsom at his word and go to the Sanctuary for a couple -of weeks. My nerves _were_ shot to pieces and if I didn't tell him or -Pendergast Potter about this latest wrinkle in transmigration they -would have no reason for detaining me against my will. Oh, yes, I'd -have to see that Rutherford got his money. Merry Vail was still in -Hartford, damn him and his nurse! Well, the thing to do was to stop off -at Rutherford's office on the way to the kennels and give him a check. -Vail could fix up the papers later. Once Ponto was dead, I could relax. - -_Was_ it murder? Well, that depended on how you look at it. Certainly, -I was doing a better job of managing Winnie's life than he had done or -could do. Look how I straightened out his mess with women and had made -Germaine happy for the first time in her life. Look at the killing I -had made in Wall Street, three million smackers just by using my head. -Look at the way I had sold myself to the authorities at Washington, -except for the State Department. The happiness and welfare of too many -people now depended on my staying in charge of operations instead of -Winnie Tompkins. Here, at least, was one case where the end justified -the means, and nobody could call it murder. - -And anyhow, chloroform is an easy death. You choke and gag a bit at -first but then it's all easy, like falling off a log. You just go to -sleep and never wake up. It would be the kindest possible exit for a -man who had done no good in the world. I drifted off to sleep. - -I awakened with a start, as though a voice had summoned me. The -moonlight was streaming through the bedroom window. I knew what I must -do. I got out of bed, crossed the room to the clothes-closet, felt over -in the corner until my fingers found the knot-hole in the smooth pine -lining. I pressed and there was a click. I reached down and lifted the -sloping shelf for shoes. There, underneath it, lay a small, neatly -docketed file. - -There were many papers and the record went back for years. I switched -on the light and examined the contents of the envelope marked -"Thorium." It was all there--the ship--the names--the ports--the -mission. There was documentation on Jacklin. I ran through it. It -was accurate and included a specimen of my signature. There was a -cross-reference to Chalmis and a small file on someone named Kaplansky. -Irrelevantly included was a folder which contained three cards labeled -"Retreat--Holy Week." "St. Michael" and "Stations of X!" - -I crossed to the fireplace and put the papers in the grate. For an hour -I sat there feeding the flames with the record of betrayal and infamy. -Names, places, dates--I glanced at them, forgot them and burned them -with rising exaltation. Thank God! that load was off my conscience. -I might have to answer for Winnie's sins but I was damned if I'd be -responsible for his crimes. And the killing of Ponto was no longer to -be murder, it was an execution. For Ponto was Tompkins and Tompkins was -Von Bieberstein. - -Dawn was beginning to smudge the windows when the last paper had -been burned and the ashes crushed to fragments beyond the power of -reconstruction by forensic science. Without Winnie the organization of -his gulls and dupes would fall apart and the thing that had been Von -Bieberstein would cease to exist. - -Another thing was clearer, too. Winnie Tompkins had had an obsession -about Jacklin. Finally, through some combination of fatigue and mental -shock, a Jacklin personality had taken control. Call it schizophrenia, -Jekyll-and-Hyde, or whatever, there was a fair chance that I was still -Winnie, but his better self. The dog had been another obsession. The -dog was to blame? Well, if I believed it, it might be true, like the -old scape-goat system. I was physically the same man who had been Von -Bieberstein and had blown up the Alaska, planting evidence that would -throw the blame on Jacklin. In my heart and spirit, it was as though I -had been recreated. All the evidence had been destroyed. - -I switched off the light and returned to bed. I fell asleep almost at -once, for now I knew that I would be safe and that Germaine would be -safe. There was no record left and soon Ponto, too, would be gone. - - - - -CHAPTER 33 - - -Wednesday, the twenty-fifth, dawned bright and fair. My mind was fully -made up and I was feeling fine. Germaine was still anxious about me -at breakfast but I soon convinced her that there was nothing serious -involved. I laughed secretly as I said it. - -"You know," I told her, "I think I'll drive over to Hartford and have -those people at the Sanctuary look me over again. I think I need some -kind of rest--the reaction, you know." - -My wife raised no objection. In fact, she seemed rather relieved as -though my aloof conduct of the previous night had been a shock to her -self-confidence. - -"I'll stop off at the kennels on my way over," I added, "just to make -sure that Ponto is all right." - -My plan was to remove the dog and drive to White Plains. Then, if there -was any issue raised as to my need for a rest-cure, it would appear -that I had inexplicably ordered my favorite dog chloroformed. That -would clinch it with Germaine as nothing else could. - -She seemed rather subdued as she went upstairs and helped me pack my -things in a suitcase. She did not offer to kiss me good-bye as I drove -the Packard out of the garage and rolled around the graveled drive -toward my road to freedom. - -First, of course, I stopped at Dr. Rutherford's office. It was early -in the morning and he hadn't finished breakfast. The maid admitted me -to the reception-room and while waiting for him, I made out a check -for fifteen thousand dollars to the order of Jeremiah Rutherford, and -marked across the back, "For Professional Services." - -"Here you are, Jerry," I informed him when he finally appeared. "I -would have got it to you sooner except that my lawyer went off the deep -end with a girl in Hartford. He should have had the papers ready on -Monday and here it is Wednesday." - -"Thanks," he said briefly. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked. "You look -a bit shaky." - -I laughed. "Set it down to my liver," I told him. "I had a wet night -last night and am a little rocky this morning. As a matter of fact, I -think I'll run over the The Sanctuary and ask Folsom to put me up for a -few days. My nerves are shot to hell." - -"Good idea," he murmured absently. "I'll go down to the bank and put -this in for collection. My Army papers came through yesterday and I'm -all set." - -I climbed into my car and tooled along the roads until, after inquiring -at a couple of filling stations, I located Dalrymple's kennels. - -"I've come for Ponto," I told the vet. - -Dalrymple seemed rather embarrassed. "Are you sure you need him?" -he asked. "He's just served Buglebell III--that's the prize-winning -brindle bitch owned by one of the Fortune editors--and I was planning--" - -"You can cancel your plans," I informed him. "And as for Buglebell's -pups, I'll buy the litter. What _were_ your other plans, anyhow?" - -Dalrymple was quite abashed. "Not exactly anything, Mr. Tompkins, -sir," he said. "It was only that--" - -I nodded majestically. "Once is enough," I said, "and you can be -thankful I don't report you to the Kennel Club for bootlegging -thoroughbred puppies. Ponto comes with me--now." - -"Yes, sir, Mr. Tompkins," the vet agreed humbly. - -Dalrymple was a broken man but Ponto was not a broken dog. However, -marriage coming so soon after distemper had curbed his spirit and he -slouched into the Packard. - -As soon as I was out on the main road again, I stepped on the -accelerator, heading the car southward in the general direction of -White Plains. - -Ponto sat panting on the seat beside me, but in his weary eye I saw -all the Westchester stock-brokers who had ever annoyed me. I also saw -Winnie, and Winnie was to die. - -I admit that I was day-dreaming a bit as I rounded the turn. In any -case, I was driving fast and had not fully accustomed myself to -handling the Packard. The other automobile backed violently out of the -driveway on the right, the dope of a driver not looking to see if there -was any traffic coming. I slapped my foot down on the brake, missed -and hit the accelerator. The Packard gave a wild leap ahead. The other -car--a battered old Chevrolet--completely blocked the road. I jammed on -the hand-brake and twisted the steering gear so that the Packard ran up -the bank of an elderly apple-tree. My head snapped forward, there was a -blinding flash and then complete blackness. - - * * * * * - -Seconds or centuries later I opened my eyes. The old Chevy seemed to -have pulled away and was now parked ahead of us along the righthand -side of the road. My wind-shield had not shattered and, so far as I -could see, no major damage had been done to my car though I hated to -think of the fenders. I ached in every limb. - -My neck itched intolerably so I scratched it with my left leg. I shook -myself. "Well, I'll be damned!" I exclaimed, only to hear a deep growl -that seemed to originate from within my hairy chest. - -I glanced over my shoulder. There, in the seat beside me, hunched -forward over the steering-wheel, sat a heavy-built man, a thin trickle -of blood sliding down his cheek, his eyes closed and his lips open, -while he snorted with concussion. - -Instinctively, I called for help. My reward was a series of loud, -angry barks. Again my ear itched and I scratched it again with my left -leg. It seemed that I had become a dog. The man beside me stirred and -moaned. Then he opened his eyes. - -"Ponto," he said dreamily. "Good dog!" - -The driver of the other car walked back and was standing by the window. - -"You all right, mister?" he asked. "You was doing fifty easy. Lucky for -you I see you coming." - -The man in the driver's seat gave a feeble smile. "My fault," he -admitted. "I was day-dreaming. Lucky this heap has good brakes. Are you -all right? Any damage, I mean?" - -The other man laughed. "Sure," he said. "I'll go on now, just so -you're all right. Want a doc?" - -"Uh-uh!" the man on the seat beside me shook his head. "My name's -Tompkins and I live in Bedford Hills. If there's any damage, it's my -fault and I'll pay for it. Sure you're okay?" - -"Yep!" agreed the owner of the Chevrolet. "You got a cut or something. -Reckon you'd ought to see a doc." - -"I will," said the man beside me. "Don't worry. I'll be all right. Just -bumped my head a bit." - -We waited until the Chevrolet had rattled itself around the turn of the -road. Then the man cautiously tried the gears and disinfiltrated the -Packard from the apple-tree. He got out and inspected the car carefully -for damage and then climbed back behind the steering-wheel. I started -to ask him a question. It was a whine. - -"Why Ponto!" he exclaimed. "You old black devil. How are you, hound? -Long time no see." - -"Hot damn!" he exclaimed, after a pause. "Have I been on a _drunk_! You -know, Ponto, I dreamed that I was you and if there's anything in dreams -I bet I'm the only Republican in Westchester County that ever married a -brindle bitch named Buglebell. - -"Let's see," he continued. "Where were we? Earlier today I went to the -Pond Club and had a couple of drinks. How in hell do I find myself -here? I must have drawn one hell of a blank, Ponto, the damndest blank -I've ever drawn in my life." - -His eyes looked down on the seat beside us, where I had left a copy of -the morning New York Times. - -"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "That's funny. Here it is. Good Lord! the -twenty-fifth of April! So I've been out for three weeks. That is a -blank to end all blanks." - -He whistled tunelessly between his teeth. Then he cast a glance toward -the back seat, where my suitcase rested. - -"What gives," he inquired. "I'm not leaving home, for God's sake? -Ponto, old boy, you just stick by me and we'll go back to the house and -see what this is all about." - -"Yes," I barked at him. - -"That's a good dog," he said affably. "That's a good Ponto." - -He backed the Packard into the driveway that had been my nemesis and -turned the car around. - -As we approached the house he slowed the car to a dead stop. - -"Ponto," he told me. "Here's where you and I go into a committee of the -whole. What's been going on around here? There's been one hell of a -mix-up if you ask me. I had a dream--" - -The sooner I got his mind off this subject the safer I would be. I laid -my ears back and woofed. - -"Attaboy!" he agreed. "Now let's take a look at this paper.... What? -Roosevelt's dead? Why doesn't anybody tell me these things? And -Germany's about to flop? Whew! Who would have dreamed it? You know, -hound, I feel like Rip Van Winkle coming back after twenty years sleep." - -I tried to look ingratiating and let my tongue loll fetchingly out of -the side of my mouth. - -"Say!" he exclaimed harshly. "Now it's beginning to come back. You -took my place while I was--God! have _you_ ever been introduced to -a great big dog and told she's your wife? Well, damn it! you and -Jimmie--Oh, hell, this is one godawful mess! What's been happening -around here, anyhow? Am I going nuts?" - -I pricked up my ears and gave a false, loving whine. I licked his -stinking hands. - -"Okay, okay," Winnie agreed. "It's not your fault. But what the hell -happened is beyond me. I hate to think of those prime asses, Phil and -Graham, in this market. And what happened to Virginia? That's one gal -you didn't know about, Ponto. She's for me, and how!" - -He took another look at the paper. - -"Oh, the hell with it!" he growled. "If Jimmie doesn't like it, she -knows what she can do about it. Let's go on home, Ponto, and just tell -her man-to-man where she gets off." - -I barked. - -He put his foot on the accelerator and whirled up the drive to come to -a stop in front of Pook's Hill. - -Before he had switched off the engine, the front door opened and -Germaine appeared. - -"Heavens!" she exclaimed, "you're back early. Have you changed your -mind again?" - -"Yep," Winnie said. "I decided to come back home, after all." - -She smiled. "I'm glad," she told him. "I couldn't make out why you were -so keen to go back to Hartford so soon after you got out. You come on -in, darling, and Myrtle and I will take care of you. Gracious! There's -blood on your cheek. Did you hurt yourself?" - -Her voice was warm and loving and made my hair rise slightly. If he -tried any monkey-business with her, I'd rip his throat out. I growled. - -"Oh, good!" she laughed. "You got Ponto. Did he have a nice honeymoon, -poor darling? Is Dalrymple satisfied? Would you like to put in for one -of the pups?" - -I growled again. - -She laughed. "Oh, Winnie, he looks so shattered. He--what _did_ happen -to your head, darling?" - -He grinned. "We almost had an accident. I was headed towards the -Parkway when a car backed out. We bumped into an apple-tree. No harm -done but I was knocked out for a few minutes and I guess it must have -shaken me up." - -She lifted her face to his and kissed him until I could feel thick, hot -rage mount inside my throat and force itself out in a deep rumbling -growl. - -"Look," she said, "he's jealous. Poor Ponto!" - -And she kneeled beside me, put her arm around my neck and pressed my -head affectionately. - -"There!" she said briskly. "You're a good dog. You're my Ponto and I'll -take care of you." - -Tompkins glowered at me and her. - -"Stop driveling over that damn dog," he said, "and come on into the -house." - -Germaine gave me a farewell pat on the head. - -"He's such a good dog," she announced, "and now that he's been properly -married he'll settle down, I hope. I've been quite worried over the way -he's been acting. But it's all right now, Ponto, isn't it? Was your -girl-friend nice, old boy? Huh? Are you happy?" - -I tried to explain things but all that came to my lips was a series of -whines and growls. - -"Come along, Jimmie," Tompkins insisted. "I'm cold. Damn it all! I've -had a shock and all you can think of doing is to slobber over a dog. -Let him have a run." - -So she got off her knees and followed him obediently into the house. - -I sat for a moment, pondering my predicament. - -This was Fate. Three seconds would have made all the difference but -here I was, a dog. Conditions were reversed and I might as well be -philosophical about it. Winnie never dreamed that conditions were not -as they had been before the second of April, just as though Frank -Jacklin had never existed. The chances were that he would continue to -believe that it was all a dream, an hallucination. As for the F.B.I. -and Von Bieberstein, putting first things first, that was no longer -any of my business. Dogs were not expected to develop patriotism: that -luxury was reserved for human beings. All I could do now was to wait -my chance. Perhaps the time would come when I could repossess Winnie -Tompkins' body. Then, by George! I would not waste one minute but would -have him chloroformed at once. In the meantime, my cue was to be a good -dog. - -There was a shrill whistle from the house. - -"Ponto!" Winnie's voice called. "Come here, Ponto. That's a good dog! -Come on, Ponto! That's a good dog!" - -I ran, wagging my tail, to the open door and on all fours entered the -house I had left only two hours before as its proud master. - - - - -CHAPTER 34 - - -I was lying down in the kitchen, near the stove, on an old rug which -Mary-Myrtle had spread for me. She was really a nice girl. My educated -nose informed me that she was kind, young and affectionate. When -she entered the room I used to rear up and place my forepaws on her -shoulders and lick her ears. She liked me. She used to put her arms -around my neck and press against me and give me a smack on the back and -a "Go on with you, can't you see I'm busy?" - -I was lying by the stove when Winnie Tompkins entered the kitchen. -Mary-Myrtle was bending over the stove, fussing with a saucepan of -vegetables. I was quietly sniffing with interest the combination of -cooking-smells and the scents from the warm spring afternoon. Winnie -strolled across the kitchen, took his thumb and forefinger and gave her -a hard pinch on her buttock. - -"Oh! God!" she shrieked and turned to confront him. "Oh, you!" she -observed. "I thought you'd got over all that!" - -He whistled between his teeth, put one tweed-clad arm around her -shoulders and pressed her to him. - -"Go on!" she said, in a half-whisper. "I'll call Mrs. Tompkins." - -Still whistling, with his free hand he tilted her chin up to his face, -stooped over and kissed her. I could see her hands flutter and press -against his chest for a moment, then relax, then clutch him fiercely, -as her lips thrust against his mouth. I rose and growled. - -"Hello!" Winnie exclaimed. "Why if it isn't Ponto? You jealous again, -old boy? We can't have a moralist around here, can we, Myrtle?" - -He turned and kissed her again. - -I stalked over and stood, rumbling a bit, beside her, ready to attack -if he carried his dalliance beyond decorum. - -"Let me go, sir," Myrtle begged in a hoarse whisper. - -"Tonight?" he asked, holding her close. - -"Yes," she sighed. "I'll come down, sir. Tonight, when the dishes are -done and the house asleep." - -He snapped his fingers at me, with an air of assured authority. "Come -on, Ponto," he commanded. - -I followed him with murder in my heart, my toe-nails clicking on the -parquet floor, my tail wagging with slow servility. He led the way -upstairs to my wife's bedroom. He tapped on the door. - -"Come in," Germaine called. "And here's Ponto!" - -I padded across the room to the chaise longue and lay down beside her. -I gave her silk-clad leg a poke with my nose. She smelled lovely. - -"Thank you, Ponto," she said courteously. - -I rested my head on my paws and looked at Winnie. He absent-mindedly -pulled a cigar out of his pocket, bit off the tip and lighted it, -after spitting the shreds of tobacco in the general direction of the -fireplace. I could feel Germaine go tense. - -"I'm so glad you decided not to go to Hartford after all," she remarked -quietly. "It's much nicer for you here. Myrtle and I can take care of -you and see that you have a good rest. Poor darling, you must need one." - -Winnie blew a heavy puff of smoke toward her bed-canopy. I could tell -by the way he answered her that he was feeling his way. - -"Yeah," he agreed. "I might as well get a sample of this far-famed -suburban home-life you read about." - -She jumped up and put her arms around his neck. - -"It's not so bad, is it, Winnie?" she asked gently. "You know--I -suppose it's silly to tell such things--but last night I dreamed we -were going to have a baby." - -"Good Lord, Jimmie!" he drawled. "I hope not. You know as well as I do -that we aren't the kind of people who have kids. If you think there's -any danger of it, there's a doctor I know in New York who'll put a good -stop to it." - -Germaine's hand fluttered helplessly at her breast and her face went -white and peaked. A sharp whiff of the acrid sense of human anger and -fear came from her body. I rose and eyed Winnie steadily. I was careful -not to growl. - -"Why, I thought--" she began. "The other night, I mean, it was all -so--What's the matter? What has changed?" - -He gave a sort of neighing laugh. "Oh nuts, Jimmie! We aren't the -type. Say it's spring or what-have-you? Just for that are you going to -go through hell just to have a little animal that will go 'Aah-Aah-Aah' -at you?" - -Germaine stood up. "Yes," she said. "I am. If that's the way these -things happen, that's what I want. If it doesn't happen I never want -to see you again so long as I live. But if it does, it will be _my_ -business, not yours. I want this baby. You loved me the other night. -You needed me. We needed each other. I can't throw that away, like -a--like a dead cigar butt." - -He thrust his cigar into the corner of his mouth, a la Churchill. "So -that's the way it is, is it?" he demanded. "Okay, but how am I expected -to know that it wasn't Jerry Rutherford--" - -"Oh!" Germaine looked at him in utter, white-lipped silence. "You know -that can't be true." - -After a minute she spoke to him quite gently. - -"Winnie," she told him, "you know, I think you really ought to go to -the Sanctuary, as you planned. You do need a rest, dear, and it would -be better if you took it there where they have trained attendants and -good doctors. I'll be waiting here till you come back. Do go, darling. -It will do you a world of good. Everything will work out for us all -right now." - -"So you want to railroad me to an asylum, eh?" he snarled. "Well, nuts -to that! As far as I'm concerned, we're back on the old basis. You go -your way and I go mine. And no brats, mind you! or I'll call the whole -thing off. Is that clear?" - -"Yes, Winnie," Germaine replied, in a small, frightened voice. "You -make yourself perfectly clear." - -"Okay," he told her. "Come on, Ponto!" - -He had the nerve to snap his fingers at me. Not even when I had him -in the Packard, headed for White Plains and chloroform, had he stood -nearer death, but Germaine's hand--cold and little--rested briefly on -my ears and I mastered my rage. - -I followed him into his bedroom and he slammed the door behind me. - -"See here, you black son of a bitch," he truthfully addressed me. "You -seem to have made one hell of a mess of my affairs. Oh, I don't suppose -you can understand me now that you're a dog again, but just the same, -for two cents I'd send you to the boneyard. I've still to find out how -much hell you've been raising with my business, but damn it all!!! -Couldn't you _tell_ that it didn't suit my plans to be clubby with -Jimmie?" - -I padded loyally across the bedroom and laid my head on his lap. He -milked my ears automatically and I rejoiced, because the more he -thought of me as Ponto the less likely he was to discover my human -personality. I had not yet decided when to kill him. - -"Yes, damn it! hound," Winnie continued. "This is one thing the -experts will never know about. It's out of this world. Three weeks as -an involuntary Great Dane, ending up in a shot-gun marriage with a -big brindle bitch named Buglebell III! If you want to know my idea of -shooting ducks in a rain-barrel, that is it. No privacy at all. Just -an old boy writing things down in the stud-book. Jimmie may think I'm -mean but after that experience who wants off-spring, cannon-fodder or -kennel-fodder? I don't. Neither would you, Ponto. I suppose," he added, -"that legally speaking you are the putative father, not me. Gosh! what -an experience!" - -He reached over to the night-table and pulled the brandy-bottle out -from the little cupboard, which was neatly fitted out with glasses, -bottle-openers, a syphon and a decanter. He glared accusingly at the -bottle. - -"Damn you!" he exclaimed, "It's almost gone. My best brandy! Whoever -told you you could touch my liquor? Oh, well, can't say that I blame -you. Here, I'll let you smell the cork." - -He held it out at me and I sniffed it dutifully. I jumped back, -sneezing. - -"Not so keen about it, eh?" he demanded gruffly. "Well, just to even up -the score I'll make you drink some." - -He grabbed my lower jaw with his free hand and forced my tender lips -against my sharp teeth until I opened my mouth. Then he poured some of -it down my throat. I choked, but got it down. - -"Atta dog!" he praised me. "Now you just stick around and you'll see -some fun." - -He went out and closed the door, leaving me alone in the darkened room. - -An hour or so later, the door reopened and Winnie swaggered in. He -looked slightly more bloated than before and his eyes were glazed with -liquor. He tossed off his clothes, went to the bathroom and took a hot -shower. Then he lighted a cigar and lay on his bed, in his dressing -gown, waiting-- - -After a while there was a quiet step in the hall and the click of -the door-handle. It was Mary-Myrtle. She was wearing a red flannel -dressing-gown and her hair was done up in a pigtail. She closed the -door behind her and cast an anxious glance over her shoulder in the -direction of the hall. - -Tompkins guffawed. "Who? Jimmie?" he demanded. "Not her! She knows -better than to interfere." - -Myrtle cast strange little embarrassed glances to right and left and -I noted that her hands were trembling as they fumbled at the buttons -of her dressing-gown. I strolled across to her and sniffed the sharp -perfume of desire on her limbs. - -She gave a little squeak. "Oh, Ponto! You gave me such a start." She -turned to Winnie. "Take him away," she said. "It doesn't seem decent -with him watching." - -He gave a loose lipped smile and rolled off the bed. - -"Ponto," he ordered. "You're de trop. Get the hell out of here!" - -He opened the door to the hall and I slunk out into the darkness of -the landing. My toes clicked their way across to the door of my wife's -bedroom. I lay down, on guard, my ear cocked to catch the desperate -stifled sobs of the woman inside. - -It was then that I decided that Tompkins must die. - - - - -CHAPTER 35 - - -My opportunity to settle the account did not present itself for more -than twenty-four hours. Early the following morning, Myrtle was kicked -out and crept upstairs. Winnie slammed the door and snored like a hog -until ten o'clock--at which time he stamped downstairs and roared for -breakfast. - -After he had eaten, he went to his room again, shutting me outside, -and dressed himself carefully in the manly tweeds he had been wearing -on that first day in the Pond Club. He drove to the station--I -assumed--leaving me behind at Pook's Hill with two unhappy women. -He did not return that evening at all and it wasn't until late the -following morning--that would be Saturday I figured, although I was -already losing my human preoccupation with time--that I recognized the -crunch of the Packard's tires on the graveled drive. I was standing -just inside the door as I heard his key fumbling in the lock. - -It was Winnie and he was drunk. - -"Oh, hullo, Ponto," he remarked thickly. "So you're the welcoming -committee. Come on up with me, boy, and hear the dirt." - -I followed his uncertain steps upstairs and into the bedroom. It would -not be long now. - -"Ponto!" he announced. "Good old Ponto, Ponto! I'm going to tell you a -great secret. You won't tell anybody about it, will you? You can't." - -I lay on the rug and panted at him. - -"Yes, Ponto, if you're going to play ball with me you got to be one -tough dog. Took a run into New York today and is that one mad-house? -Saw Virginia. You know, red-head. She knows her stuff. Had me right -back on my five-yard line before I rallied and scored that touchdown. -It was terrific. Called my office. We're rich, boy, rich as hell." - -"Thissa tough game, dog. That Briggs gal says the F.B.I.'s still -worrying about me. Is that a laugh, hey, Ponto? Is that a laugh! She -says they wanna know do I remember the week before Easter. Hell! could -I forget it? Maybe it's lucky for me I drew that blank. Might of had -tough job ducking the G-men. - -"Aw, they're nuts! I agree, Ponto, I must respectfully agree with you. -Didja hear me contradict anybody? It's a lead-pipe cinch, fooling those -babies. Where was I the week before Easter? And sure I was tucked away -in a Catholic Retreat at the Seminary of the Sacred Heart, doing the -Stations of the Cross in St. Michael's Church. Great institution--the -Stations of the Cross. Wonderful institution. You can meet anyone and -no questions asked. I gave the instructions that sent the Alaska to -the bottom of the North Pacific and slipped the black spot to that sap -Jacklin between the Scourging and the Crown of Thorns. Lucky thing I -knew all about him. Helped. It was easy, Ponto, easy. Who's to question -a man doing Stations of the Cross if somebody else does 'em at the same -time?" - -He paused and poured a brandy. - -"Tha' red-head's a wonder, Ponto," he told me. "She deals 'em straight -and plays 'em close to her chest. For three weeks she followed my -lead without a peep. I was out like a light. Can't remember a thing -but she never let on. I always said the way to _act_ innocent was to -_be_ innocent. Not that she knows what it is all about. She thinks -I'm playing the Black Market. She's a racketeer at heart, she is, the -tramp. That North Pacific job was no cinch, Ponto. All I had to do was -to kidnap that guy Chalmis and substitute a ringer. Old Chalmis? We -dropped him in the High Rockies on the flight to Seattle. The Navy was -a bunch of saps, letting my men take that plane. Sure, we dropped the -Navy boys too, along with Chalmis." - -I sat, ears pricked up, watching him. I could see the throb of the -artery in his throat that marked the place for my teeth to meet. - -"Virginia told me the G-men are looking for Von Bieberstein," Tompkins -said. "Hell, Ponto, even she doesn't know what happened back in '35. -Sure I was broke. Sure fifty thousand would bail me out. Sure Hitler -put up the fifty thousand. He saved my hide. I made a killing all -right. So I'm Von Bieberstein? So what, Ponto, so what! Want to make -anything of it? Sure I lived up to my end of the bargain. Roosevelt -had ruined me. What did I owe Roosevelt? Sure I took the job. And was -_that_ a laugh! The F.B.I. chasing all over the place for Kurt Von -Bieberstein, and all the time it's little old Winnie Tompkins, Harvard -1920 and good old one thousand per cent American stock. The poor boobs -think they've licked Hitler, Ponto, but he's really licked them. You -wait'n see. I'll still be Gauleiter of Westchester County, so help me!" - -The moment had come. He was lolling back on his bed, his arms behind -his head, his neck exposed. I gathered my muscles and leaped for his -throat. - - -THE END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rat Race, by Jay Franklin - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAT RACE *** - -***** This file should be named 51854-8.txt or 51854-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/8/5/51854/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Rat Race - -Author: Jay Franklin - -Release Date: April 24, 2016 [EBook #51854] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAT RACE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="372" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>THE RAT RACE</h1> - -<p>by JAY FRANKLIN</p> - -<p>The Astonishing Narrative of a Man Who Was Somebody<br /> -Else ... Mixed Up With Politics and Three Luscious Women!</p> - -<p><i>A COMPLETE NOVEL</i></p> - -<p>GALAXY PUBLISHING CORP.<br /> -421 HUDSON STREET<br /> -NEW YORK 14, N. Y.</p> - - -<p>GALAXY <i>Science Fiction</i> Novels, selected by the editors of -GALAXY <i>Science Fiction</i> Magazine, are the choice of science -fiction novels both published and original. This novel -has been slightly abridged for the sake of better pacing.</p> - -<p>GALAXY <i>Science Fiction</i> Novel No. 10</p> - -<p><i>Copyright 1947 by Crowell-Collier Publishing Company</i></p> - -<p><i>Copyright 1950 by John Franklin Carter</i></p> - -<p><i>Reprinted by arrangement with the publishers</i></p> - -<p>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /> -<i>by</i><br /> -THE GUINN COMPANY, INC.<br /> -NEW YORK 14, N. Y.</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any -evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h1>"THE RAT RACE"</h1> - -<p class="ph3">By Jay Franklin</p> - - -<p>When an atomic explosion destroys the battleship Alaska, Lt. Commander -Frank Jacklin returns to consciousness in New York and is shocked to -find himself in the body of Winnie Tompkins, a dissolute stock-broker. -Unable to explain his real identity, Jacklin attempts to fit into -Tompkins' way of life. Complications develop when Jacklin gets -involved with Tompkins' wife, his red-haired mistress and his luscious -secretary. Three too many women for Jacklin to handle.</p> - -<p>His foreknowledge of the Alaska sinking and other top secret -matters plunges him into a mad world of intrigue and excitement in -Washington—that place where anything can happen and does! Where is the -real Tompkins is a mystery explained in the smashing climax.</p> - -<p>Completely delightful, wholly provocative, the Rat Race is a striking -novel of the American Scene.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CONTENTS</p> - - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_1">CHAPTER 1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_2">CHAPTER 2</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_3">CHAPTER 3</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_4">CHAPTER 4</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_5">CHAPTER 5</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_6">CHAPTER 6</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_7">CHAPTER 7</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_8">CHAPTER 8</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_9">CHAPTER 9</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_10">CHAPTER 10</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_11">CHAPTER 11</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_12">CHAPTER 12</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_13">CHAPTER 13</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_14">CHAPTER 14</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_15">CHAPTER 15</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_16">CHAPTER 16</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_17">CHAPTER 17</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_18">CHAPTER 18</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_19">CHAPTER 19</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_20">CHAPTER 20</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_21">CHAPTER 21</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_22">CHAPTER 22</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_23">CHAPTER 23</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_24">CHAPTER 24</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_25">CHAPTER 25</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_26">CHAPTER 26</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_27">CHAPTER 27</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_28">CHAPTER 28</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_29">CHAPTER 29</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_30">CHAPTER 30</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_31">CHAPTER 31</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_32">CHAPTER 32</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_33">CHAPTER 33</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_34">CHAPTER 34</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_35">CHAPTER 35</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_1" id="CHAPTER_1">CHAPTER 1</a></h2> - - -<p>When the bomb exploded, U.S.S. Alaska, was steaming westward, under -complete radio silence, somewhere near the international date-line on -the Great Circle course south of the Aleutian Islands.</p> - -<p>It was either the second or the third of April, 1945, depending on -whether the Alaska, the latest light carrier to be added to American -naval forces in the Pacific, had passed the 180th meridian.</p> - -<p>I was in the carrier, in fact in the magazine, when the blast -occurred and I am the only person who can tell how and why the Alaska -disappeared without a trace in the Arctic waters west of Adak. I -had been assigned by Navy Public Relations to observe and report -on Operation Octopus—the plan to blow up the Jap naval base at -Paramushiro in Kuriles with the Navy's recently developed thorium bomb.</p> - -<p>My name, by the way, is Frank Jacklin, Lieutenant-Commander, U.S.N.R. -I had been commissioned shortly after Pearl Harbor, as a result of -my vigorous editorial crusade on the Hartford (Conn.) Courant to -Aid America by Defending the Allies. I was a life-long Republican -and a personal friend of Frank Knox, so I had no trouble with Navy -Intelligence in getting a reserve commission in the summer of 1940. -(I never told them that I had voted for Roosevelt twice, so I was -never subjected to the usual double-check by which the Navy kept its -officer-corps purged of subversive taints and doubtful loyalties.) So -I had a first-rate assignment, by the usual combination of boot-licking -and "yessing" which marks a good P.R.O.</p> - -<p>It was on the first night in Jap waters, after we had cleared the -radius of the Naval Air Station at Adak, that Professor Chalmis asked -me to accompany him to the magazine. He said that his orders were to -make effective disclosure of the mechanics of the thorium bomb as soon -as we were clear of the Aleutians. Incidentally, he, I and Alaska's -commander, Captain Horatio McAllister, U.S.N., were the only people -aboard who knew the real nature of Operation Octopus. The others had -been alerted, via latrine rumor, that we were engaged in a sneak-raid -on Hokkaido.</p> - -<p>The thorium bomb, Chalmis told me, had been developed by the Navy, -parallel to other hitherto unsuccessful experiments conducted by the -Army with uranium. The thorium bomb utilized atomic energy, on a -rather low and inefficient basis by scientific standards, but was yet -sufficiently explosive to destroy a whole city. He proposed to show me -the bomb itself, so that I could describe its physical appearance, and -to brief me on the mechanics of its detonation, leaving to the Navy -scientists at Washington a fuller report on the whole subject of atomic -weapons. He had passes, signed by Captain McAllister, to admit us to -the magazine and proposed, after supper, that we go to examine his -gadget.</p> - -<p>It was cold as professional charity on the flight-deck, with sleet -driving in from the northwest as the icy wind from Siberia hit the -moist air of the Japanese Current. There was a nasty cross-sea and the -Alaska was wallowing and pounding as she drove towards Paramushiro at a -steady 30 knots.</p> - -<p>"You know, Jacklin," said Chalmis, as the Marine sentry took our passes -and admitted us to the magazine, "I don't like this kind of thing."</p> - -<p>"You mean this war?" I asked, noticing irrelevantly the way the -electric light gleamed on his bald head.</p> - -<p>"I mean this thorium bomb," he replied. "I had most to do with -developing it and now in a couple of days one of these nice tanned -naval aviators at the mess will take off with it and drop it on -Paramushiro from an altitude of 30,000 feet. The timer is set to work -at an altitude of 500 feet and then two or three thousand human beings -will cease to exist."</p> - -<p>"The Japs aren't human," I observed, quoting the Navy.</p> - -<p>Chalmis looked at me in a strange, staring way.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Commander," he said. "You have settled my problem. I was -in doubt as to whether to complete this operation in the name of -scientific inquiry, but now I see I have no choice. See this!" he -continued.</p> - -<p>"This" was a spherical, finned object of aluminum about the size of a -watermelon, resting on a gleaming chromium-steel cradle.</p> - -<p>"If I take this ring, Jacklin," Chalmis remarked, "and pull it out, -the bomb will explode within five seconds or at 500 feet altitude -whichever takes longer. The five seconds is to give the pilot a margin -of safety in case of accidental release at low altitude. However, -dropping it from 30,000 feet means that the five seconds elapse before -the bomb reaches the level at which it automatically explodes."</p> - -<p>"You make me nervous, Professor," I objected. "Can't you explain -without touching it?"</p> - -<p>"If it exploded now, approximately twenty-four feet below the -water-line," Chalmis continued, "it would create an earthquake wave -which could cause damage at Honolulu and would register on the -seismograph at Fordham University."</p> - -<p>"I'll take your word for it," I said.</p> - -<p>"So," concluded Chalmis, "if the bomb were to go off now, no one could -know what had happened to the Alaska and the Navy—as I know the -Navy—would decide that thorium bombs were impractical, too dangerous -to use. And so the human race might be spared a few more years of life."</p> - -<p>"Stop it!" I ordered, lunging forward and grabbing for his arm.</p> - -<p>But it was too late. Chalmis gave a strong pull on the ring. It came -free and a slight buzzing sound was heard above the whine of the -turbines and the thud of the seas against Alaska's bow.</p> - -<p>"You—" I began. Then I started counting: "Three—four—fi—"....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There was a hand on my shoulder and a voice that kept saying, "Snap -out of it!" I opened bleary eyes to see a familiar figure in uniform -bending over me. My head ached, my mouth tasted dry and metallic, and I -felt strangely heavy around the middle.</p> - -<p>"Hully, Ranty," I said. "Haven't seen you since Kwajalein. What's the -word? What happened to the Alaska?"</p> - -<p>Commander Tolan, U.S.N.R., who had been in my group in Quonset, -straightened up with a laugh. "When were you ever at Kwajalein, -Winnie?" he asked. "And what's the drip about the Alaska?"</p> - -<p>"You remember," I said. "That time we went into the Marshalls with the -Sara in forty-three. But what happened to my ship? There was a bomb.... -Say, where am I and what day is it anyway?"</p> - -<p>There was a burst of laughter from across the room and I turned my -head. I seemed to be sitting in a deep, leather arm-chair in a small, -nicely furnished bar, with sporting-prints on the wall and a group of -three clean-shaven, only slightly paunchy middle-aged men, who looked -like brokers, standing by the rail staring at me. Tolan was the only -man in uniform. These couldn't be doctors and what were civilians doing -in mess....</p> - -<p>"We blew up!" I insisted. "Chalmis said...."</p> - -<p>"You've been dreaming, Winnie," drawled one of the brokerish trio. "You -were making horrible noises in your sleep so Ranty went over and woke -you up."</p> - -<p>"If you want to know where you are," remarked another, "you're in the -bar of the Pond Club on West 54th Street, as sure as your name is -Winfred S. Tompkins and this is April 2nd, 1945."</p> - -<p>"Winnie Tompkins!" I exclaimed. "Why I once knew him quite well. He and -I were at St. Mark's together, then he went to Harvard and Wall Street -while I went to Yale and broke, so we didn't see much of each other -after the depression."</p> - -<p>"It's a good gag, Winnie," Tolan laughed, "but now you've had your fun, -how about another drink?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "Listen, Ranty," I begged. "Tell me what happened. -I can take it. Are you dead? Are we all dead? Is this supposed to be -heaven? What's the word?"</p> - -<p>"That joke's played out," said Tolan. "Here, Tammy, another Scotch and -soda for Mr. Tompkins. A double one."</p> - -<p>Tompkins! My head ached. I stood up and walked across the room to study -my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Instead of my painfully -familiar freckled face and skinny frame, I saw a red, full jowled face -with bags beneath the watery blue eyes, set on a distinctly portly body -which was cleverly camouflaged as burliness by impeccable tweeds of the -kind specially made up in London for the American broker's trade.</p> - -<p>"I look like hell!" I muttered. "Well, tell me this, Ranty. What -happened to Frank Jacklin? Or is that part of the gag?"</p> - -<p>Tolan turned and stared at me with an official glitter in his Navy -(Reserve) eye. "Jacklin? He <i>was</i> at Kwajalein with me, now that I -think of it. A skinny sort of s.o.b., wasn't he?"</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't say that," I hotly rejoined. "I thought he was a pretty -decent sort of guy. Where is he?"</p> - -<p>"Jacklin? Oh, he got another half-stripe last January and was given -some screw-ball assignment which took him out of touch. He'll turn up -sooner or later, without a scratch; those New Dealers always do."</p> - -<p>"Say," Tolan added. "You always did have a Jacklin fixation but you -never had a good word to say for the louse. What did he ever do to you, -anyhow? Ever since I've known you, you've always been griping about -him, specially since he got into uniform. Lay off, will you, and give -us honest hard-drinking guys a chance to get a breath. Period."</p> - -<p>I took my drink and sipped it attentively. Whatever had happened to me -since the thorium bomb burst off Adak, this was Scotch and it was cold, -so I doubted that this place was Hell. Probably it was all a dream in -the last split-second of disintegration.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, Ranty, that feels better. Now I've got to be going."</p> - -<p>"Winnie," drawled one of the brokers, "tell us who she is this time. -You ought to stop chasing at your age and blood-pressure or let your -friends in on the secret."</p> - -<p>"This time," I said, "I'm going home."</p> - -<p>The steward came around from the bar and helped me into a fine -fur-lined overcoat which I assumed was the lawful property of Winnie -Tompkins.</p> - -<p>"There were two telephone messages for you, sir, while you were -dozing," he said.</p> - -<p>"Who were they from, Tammy?"</p> - -<p>"The first one, sir, was from the vet's to say that Ponto—that would -be your dog, sir—would recover after all. He was the one that had -distemper so bad, wasn't it, sir? I remember you told me that he was -expected to die any minute. Well, now, the vet says he will recover. -The second call, sir, was from Mrs. Tompkins. She asked if you had left -for your home."</p> - -<p>"What did you tell her, Tammy?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Why, what you told me, sir, of course, when you came in, sir. I said -that you hadn't been in all day, but that I would deliver any messages."</p> - -<p>Wait a minute, Jacklin, I said to myself. Let's figure this one out. We -were blown up on the Alaska, off the westernmost Aleutians, and now we -find ourselves at the Pond Club, in New York City, masquerading in the -flabby body of Winnie Tompkins. This must be Purgatory, since nobody -who has ever been there would call the Pond—or, as the initiates -prefer, the Puddle—either Heaven or Hell. This is one of those damned -puzzles designed to test our intelligence. My cue is to turn in the -best and most convincing performance as Winnie Tompkins, who has -undoubtedly been sent to Hell. If we pass, we'll be like the rats the -scientists send racing through mazes: we'll get the cheese and move -on up. If we flunk, we'll be sent down, as the English say. Ingenious -deity, the Manager!</p> - -<p>"Tammy," I said, "will you get me the latest Social Register?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly, sir."</p> - -<p>I sat down by the door and thumbed through the testament of social -acceptability as measured in Manhattan. There I was: Winfred S. -(Sturgis) Tompkins. Born, New York City, April 27, 1898. St. Mark's -School, Southboro, Mass., 1916. Harvard, A. B. 1920. Married: Miss -Germaine Lewis Schuyler, of New York City, 1936. Clubs: Porcellian, -Pond, Racquet, Harvard, Westchester Country. Residence: "Pook's Hill," -Bedford Hills, N.Y. Office: No. 1 Wall Street, N.Y.C.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, Tammy," I said and returned the register to him.</p> - -<p>Then I reached inside my coat and pulled out the well-stuffed -pocket-book I found inside the suave tweeds. It was of ostrich-hide -with W.S.T. in gold letters on it, and contained—in addition to some -junk which I didn't bother to examine—sixty-one dollars in small bills -and a new commutation-ticket between New York City and Bedford Hills, -N.Y.</p> - -<p>So far, so good. My sense of identity was building up rapidly. I felt -in my trousers' pocket and found a bunch of keys and about a dollar -and a half in silver. I peeled a five-dollar bill from the roll in the -pocket-book and handed it to the club steward.</p> - -<p>"This is for you, Tammy, and a happy Easter Monday to you. If anyone -calls, you haven't seen me all day."</p> - -<p>"Thank you very much, sir, I'm sure," he said, pocketing the five spot -with the effortless ease of a prestidigitator or head-waiter.</p> - -<p>I strolled out to the street—dusk was beginning to darken the city -and already there were lights burning in the office windows—and -walked across to the corner of Park Avenue. To my surprise, remembering -New York, there were few taxis and those were already occupied. After -about five minutes of vain waiting, I remembered reading somewhere -of the cab shortage in the United States, and walked south to Grand -Central. As I turned down Vanderbilt Avenue, I noticed something -fairly bulky in the pocket of my overcoat. I stopped and dragged out -two expensively tidy packages, with the Tiffany label on them. One was -inscribed "For Jimmie" and the other "For Virginia."</p> - -<p>This represented a new puzzle—perhaps a trap—so I paid a dime for -the use of one of the pay-toilets in the Terminal and unwrapped my -find. The one marked for "Jimmie"—who might be, I guessed, my wife -Germaine—was a neat little solid gold bracelet, the sort of thing you -give your eldest niece on graduation day. The one marked "Virginia" -contained a diamond-brooch of the kind all too rarely given to a girl -for any good reason.</p> - -<p>"Uh-uh!" I shook my head. Whoever "Virginia" might be, she was -obviously not my wife and the Social Register had not mentioned any -children, ex-wives or such appertaining to Winnie Tompkins. And you -don't give diamonds to your aged aunt or your mother-in-law. We can't -have Winnie start off his new life by palming off mere gold on his -wedded wife and diamonds on the Other Woman, I decided. So I switched -the labels on the packages and returned to circulation in time to -catch the 4:45 Westchester Express.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Here, I resorted to a low subterfuge. Instead of the broker's bible, -"The New York Sun," with its dim view of all that had happened to the -commuting public since 1932, I was coward enough to disguise myself by -buying a copy of "P.M." in order to lessen the risk of being recognized -by fellow-passengers whom I certainly would not know by sight. I buried -my face in that spirited journal, with its dim view of all that had -ever happened outside the Soviet Union, as I slunk past the Club Car, -and did not fully emerge from its gallant defense of the Negro and the -Jew until I was in the smoker, directly behind the baggage compartment. -The train was fairly crowded but I was able to find a seat far forward -where few passengers could see my face. I decided that my strategy had -been sound when the conductor, on punching my ticket, remarked: "See -you're not using the Club Car today, Mr. Tompkins. Shall I tell Mr. -Snyder not to wait for you for gin rummy?"</p> - -<p>"Don't tell him a thing, please," I begged. "I'm feeling done in—a -friend of mine was just killed in the Pacific—and I don't want to be -bothered."</p> - -<p>He clucked consolingly and passed on. I was lucky enough to reach -Bedford Hills without other encounters and walked along the darkened -platform until I spied a taxicab.</p> - -<p>"Can you drive me out to my place?" I asked the driver.</p> - -<p>"Sure, Mr. Tompkins. Glad to," he replied. "Goin' to leave your coop -down here?"</p> - -<p>I nodded. "Yep. I'm too damned tired to drive home. Got any other -passengers?"</p> - -<p>"Only a couple of maids from the Milgrim place," he said, "but we can -drop you first and let them off afterwards if you're feelin' low."</p> - -<p>"Hell, no!" I insisted. "This is a free country—first come first -served. You can drive me on to Pook's Hill after you've left them at -the Milgrim's. Perhaps they'd get in trouble if they were delayed."</p> - -<p>The driver looked surprised and rather relieved.</p> - -<p>"Haven't heard of any employers firin' maids in these parts since -Wilkie was a candidate," he said.</p> - -<p>I climbed into the cab, across the rather shapely legs and domestic -laps of two attractive-looking girls who murmured vaguely at me and -then resumed a discussion of the awful cost of hair-do's. I felt -rather pleased with myself. I seemed to have won at least one man's -approval in the opening stages of my celestial rat-race. Now for my -first meeting with the woman whom I had married nearly ten years ago, -according to the Social Register. Surely she would recognize that there -was something radically wrong with her husband before I had been five -minutes at Pook's Hill. Why! I wouldn't know where the lavatory was, -let alone her bedroom, and what should I call the maid who answered the -door, assuming we had a maid?</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_2" id="CHAPTER_2">CHAPTER 2</a></h2> - - -<p>A pretty, dark-haired maid opened the door of "Pook's Hill" with a -twitch of the hip that was wasted on Bedford Hills.</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's you!" She remarked conversationally. "Shall I tell Mrs. -Tompkins you are here?"</p> - -<p>"And why not?" I asked.</p> - -<p>She looked at me slant-eyed. "Why not, sir? She must have forgotten to -eat an apple this morning. That's why."</p> - -<p>"Where shall I dump my hat and coat, Mary?" I asked guessing wildly at -her name. Suburban maids were named Mary as often as not.</p> - -<p>"The name is Myrtle, Mr. Tompkins," she replied, and did not bother to -add the "as well you know" she implied.</p> - -<p>"From now on, Myrtle, you shall be Mary so far as I am concerned. And -where, Mary, shall I leave my hat and coat?"</p> - -<p>"In the den, sir, of course. Come, I'll lend a hand. You've been -drinking again."</p> - -<p>The girl moved quite close to me, in helping me off with my things and -it was only by a distinct effort of will that I refrained from giving -that provocative hip the tweak it so openly invited.</p> - -<p>"This way, Mr. Tompkins," she said sarcastically, so I rewarded her -with a half-hearted smack which brought the requisite "Oh!"—you never -can tell when you will need a friend below stairs and it was obvious -that Winnie, the dog! had been trifling with her young buttocks if not -her affections. That sort of thing must stop, if I was going to get -anywhere in my run through the maze. Too abrupt a change in the manners -and morals of Winfred Tompkins, however, might arouse suspicion.</p> - -<p>"Any news today, Mary?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Nothing, sir. The kennels telephoned to say that Ponto had made a -miraculous recovery and could come home tomorrow. I had them send word -to the Club to tell you. And Mrs. Tompkins, as I said, forgot to eat -her apple."</p> - -<p>I looked at her. This was a cue. I mustn't miss it.</p> - -<p>"And the doctor didn't keep away?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Him? I should say not! Mrs. Tompkins felt quite unsettled right after -lunch and phoned Dr. Rutherford to come over. He's with her now, -upstairs, giving her an examination." She rolled her eyes significantly -in the direction of the second story.</p> - -<p>"Wait a few minutes till I catch my breath and get my bearings, Mary," -I said, "and then tell Mrs. Tompkins most discreetly, if you know what -I mean, that I have returned and am waiting in my—" I waved vaguely at -the room.</p> - -<p>"In your den, sir," she agreed. "The name is Myrtle."</p> - -<p>The den was one of those things I have never attained, perhaps because -I never wanted to. There was a field-stone fireplace, over which the -antlered head of a small stag presided with four upturned feet—like a -calf in a butcher shop—that held two well dusted shotguns. The walls -were lined with books up to a dado—books in sets, with red morocco and -gilt bindings: Dickens, Thackeray, Surtees, Robert Louis Stevenson, -Dumas, Balzac and similar standard authors—all highly respectable and -mostly unread. On the table, beside a humidor and cigarette cases, was -a formidable array of unused pipes. Above the shelves, the walls were -adorned with etchings of ducks: ducks sitting, ducks swimming, ducks -nesting, ducks flying and ducks hanging dead. It was as though Winnie's -conscience or attorney had advised him: "You can't go wrong on ducks, -old boy!" Instead, he had gone wild.</p> - -<p>In one corner of the den my unregenerate Navy eye discerned a -small portable bar, with gleaming glasses, decanters and syphons. -Further investigation was rewarded by the makings of a very fair -Scotch-and-soda. To my annoyance, the cigarette box contained only de -luxe Benson & Hedges—it would!—while I am a sucker for Tareytons. -Still, any cigarette is better than no cigarette. A little mooching -around the fireplace revealed the switch which turned on an electric -fire, ingeniously contrived to represent an expensive Manhattan -architect's idea of smouldering peat. The whole effect was very cosy in -the "Town and Country" sense—a gentleman's gun-room—and I had settled -down most comfortably on the broad leather divan in front of this -synthetic blaze when I was interrupted by an angry, tenor voice.</p> - -<p>"I say, Tompkins," soared the voice. "I thought we had agreed to be -civilized about this thing."</p> - -<p>I raised my head to see a lean, dark-haired, dapper little man, with -a dinky little British Raj mustache and a faint odor of antiseptics, -glaring at me from the doorway.</p> - -<p>"Dr. Rutherford, I presume!" I remarked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Winnie," came a pleasant but irritated womanly voice from -somewhere behind the doctor, "and I too would like to know what this -means."</p> - -<p>"Is that you, Jimmie?" I guessed.</p> - -<p>"Of course it's me! Who else did you expect? One of those flashy -blondes from your office?"</p> - -<p>"Sh!" shushed the doctor reprovingly. "What about Virginia? What have -you done with her?"</p> - -<p>This required serious thought. The glass of Scotch was a good alibi for -amnesia. "To whom do you refer?" I asked, putting a slight thickness -into my voice.</p> - -<p>"To Virginia, my wife!" he snapped. "We agreed—it was understood -between the four of us—"</p> - -<p>I shook my head virtuously. "I haven't set eyes on her all day," I -said. "I don't know where she is and I refuse to be held responsible -for her in any particular. She's your look-out, not mine."</p> - -<p>"Why, you!—" The doctor started forward, menacing me with his surgical -little fists.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute, Jerry," the contralto voice ordered. "Let me handle -this!"</p> - -<p>Germaine Tompkins stepped forward into the room and stood in the -flickering light of the electric peat. "Tell me, Winnie," she asked, -"has anything gone wrong?"</p> - -<p>My wife was a tall, slim girl, with dark eyes, dark hair parted sleekly -in the 1860 style, and a cool, slender neck. She was wearing something -low-cut in black velvet, with a white cameo brooch at the "V" of a -bodice which suggested a potentially undemure Quakeress. I noticed that -she had angry eyes, a sulky mouth and a puzzled expression.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, Jimmie," I replied, after a good look at her, "but I have -decided that I simply couldn't go through with it."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to say—" Dr. Rutherford began, only to be hushed by -Germaine. "Let me handle him, Jerry," she whispered. "You'd better go. -He's tight. I'll phone you in the morning."</p> - -<p>"All right, if you say so, dear," the doctor obeyed.</p> - -<p>"And be sure to send me a bill for this call," I added. "Professional -services and what-not. And don't come back to my house without my -personal invitation."</p> - -<p>Dr. Rutherford emitted a muttered comment and disappeared into the -gloom of the hall. My wife followed him and I could hear a series of -confused and comforting whispers sending him on his way. I had finished -my Scotch and poured myself another before my wife rejoined me.</p> - -<p>"Have a drink?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"No thank you!" she snapped.</p> - -<p>"Mad at me?"</p> - -<p>"What do you think?" Her tone was cool enough to freeze lava.</p> - -<p>"You have every right to be!" That answer, I had found by experience, -was unanswerable.</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" she asked in some bewilderment. "Yes, thanks, I -will have a drink after all. You see, Winnie, after we had talked it -all over the other night after the Bond Rally Dance and realized how we -felt about it all, the four of us decided to be—well—civilized about -things. And now—"</p> - -<p>"I don't feel civilized about my wife," I said, pouring her a stiff one.</p> - -<p>Her eyes glittered and her cheek was tinged with color. In spite of -her anger, she responded to the idea of male brutes contesting for her -favor.</p> - -<p>"I didn't think you cared a damn," she said at last, "and it's pretty -late in the day to make a change now. After all, there is Virginia."</p> - -<p>That was the cue to clinch the situation. "To hell with Virginia!" I -announced. "I'd rather live with you as your friend than sleep with la -Rutherford in ten thousand beds. I can't help it," I added boyishly.</p> - -<p>She leaned forward and sniffed. "You <i>have</i> been drinking, haven't -you?" she remarked.</p> - -<p>"Of course I have! Today, in town, I suddenly realized what a damn -fool I'd been to throw away something really fine for something very -second-rate. So I drank. Too much. And the more I drank the more I knew -that I was right and that it was here where I belong, with you. If you -don't want me to stay, I'll go over to the Country Club for the night. -I'll even phone Jerry Rutherford for you—him and his moustache—but -I'm damned if I'll go running back to Virginia. She's not pukka!" -("How'm I doing?" I added silently for the benefit of the Master of -Ceremonies.)</p> - -<p>"Well—" she said, after a long pause. "Perhaps—It's so mixed -up—Perhaps you'd better go to bed here and we can talk it over in the -morning. All of us."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "I don't want to hold any more mass-meetings on the -state of our mutual affections. If you want that tenor tonsil-snatcher, -you're welcome to him but I'm damned if I'll be a good sport about -it. If you insist, I'll buy you a divorce, but I won't marry -Virginia—that's final!"</p> - -<p>Germaine's face relaxed. She smiled. "We'll see how things look to you -in the morning," she said.</p> - -<p>Now was the time to play the trump card.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes," I said. "I brought home a present for you."</p> - -<p>I walked over to the hanger in the corner and pulled the Tiffany -packages from my overcoat pocket.</p> - -<p>"Here you are, Jimmie Tompkins," I said, "with all my alleged love."</p> - -<p>"Alleged is right!" But she picked eagerly at the wrappings and swiftly -ferreted out the diamond brooch. "Why, Winnie, it's lovely—" she -began, then whirled on me, her eyes blazing. "Is this a joke?" she -demanded.</p> - -<p>"Of course not! What's the matter?"</p> - -<p>Her laugh was wild. "Oh, nothing, Winnie. Nothing at all. It's just -that you should have decided to give <i>me</i>—on <i>her</i> birthday—a brooch -with her initials in diamonds. See them! V.M.R."</p> - -<p>So that's the catch, I thought. I should have guessed there would be -something wrong with the set-up and I kicked myself for not having -bothered to trace out the monogram.</p> - -<p>"Don't you see what I mean," I grated, "or must I spell it out for you? -Some time back, when we were considering all this civilized swapping -of husbands and wives, I put in the order at Tiffany's for Virginia's -birthday present. Today, when I picked it up, the clerk smirked at -me—he knows your initials don't begin with V—and I suddenly knew I -couldn't go ahead with the whole business. So I brought the brooch back -to you as a trophy, if you want it. You can do what you like about it. -It's yours. You see, Jimmie," I added, "that's the way things are. I'm -burning all my bridges."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she said. Then after a long pause, she added, "Ah!"</p> - -<p>"I don't think," she remarked, after another pause, "that I'll want to -keep this and I'm far too fond of Virginia Rutherford to humiliate her. -I think I'll just take this back to Tiffany's and get something else."</p> - -<p>So I had led trumps.</p> - -<p>"Here's something else to be going on with," I told her. "I got this -for you, anyhow, win, lose or draw"—and I produced the gold bracelet. -"I thought it would go with that dress and your cameo and—if you still -want to wear it—your wedding ring."</p> - -<p>She cast quick glances from side to side, like a bird that suspects a -snare.</p> - -<p>"It's good," she sighed. "Winnie, it's so good. I guess...."</p> - -<p>There was a knock at the door. It was Myrtle-Mary.</p> - -<p>"Will the master be staying for dinner, Mrs. Tompkins?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Of course I will, Mary," I said. "Is there enough to eat?"</p> - -<p>"I'll see, sir," she replied in a manner which was practically an -insult to us both.</p> - -<p>"And keep a civil tongue in your head," I added.</p> - -<p>She handed it back to me. "And keep your hands to yourself, sir," she -said as she closed the door.</p> - -<p>"Winnie." It was Jimmie's hand restraining me, as I started up.</p> - -<p>"Let her go!" I said at last. "It's my fault, I guess. I haven't been -happy and I did make a few passes. From now on, I'll try to be a bit -more decent and livable. God knows I have plenty to be ashamed of, but -nothing disgraceful ... I hope."</p> - -<p>"So do I," my wife began. "If you...."</p> - -<p>The telephone rang.</p> - -<p>She picked up the receiver and listened for a moment, frowning.</p> - -<p>"Yes, he's here," she said, passing me the instrument.</p> - -<p>"It's for you," she observed. "It's Virginia calling from New York and -she sounds <i>most</i> annoyed."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_3" id="CHAPTER_3">CHAPTER 3</a></h2> - - -<p>"Winnie!" The voice that crackled at me over the wire had all the -implacable tenderness of a woman who has you in the wrong.</p> - -<p>"Yes, dear!" I answered automatically, with a passing thought for my -own lost Dorothy, marooned in Washington with a job in the O.S.S.</p> - -<p>"What <i>is</i> the matter?" the voice continued, in its litany of angry -possessiveness. "What on <i>earth</i> happened to you? I've been waiting for -you since three o'clock."</p> - -<p>"Where have you been waiting?"</p> - -<p>"<i>Here</i>—of course. In our place. In New York. <i>Winnie, what's wrong?</i>"</p> - -<p>Not a pleasant spot to be in, even if it was only part of a trial-run -in purgatory.</p> - -<p>"It's a bit too hard to explain, Virginia," I said, "but something came -up and I don't think I can go through with it. In fact, I know I can't -go through with it."</p> - -<p>There was one of those pauses which make a whole life-time seem like a -split-second.</p> - -<p>"Something came up!" The voice, now a pantherish contralto, purred -dangerously. "Something went down, you mean. You see, Winnie, I've been -talking to your friends. Johnny Walker, Black Label, that's what went -down. At the Pond Club. Tommy Morgan told me all about it. You went to -the Pond, had too much to drink, woke up about four o'clock—one whole -hour after you had promised to meet me—and woke up talking wildly -and then staggered out. Now I find you're back in Bedford Hills, and -it—it's my birthday—" The voice ended in a choke which might have been -a sob or a paroxysm of feminine fury.</p> - -<p>I summoned the old voice of authority, as inculcated at Quonset, -into the well-tanned vocal chords of Winfred Tompkins. "Virginia," I -commanded, "just stop making a fool of yourself. I'm sorry I stood you -up but things have been happening. I just can't go through with it. -I'll explain when I see you."</p> - -<p>"You'd better!" And the slam of the receiver left my ears ringing.</p> - -<p>When I turned around, my wife was smiling, with a glint in her eye -which was far from sympathetic.</p> - -<p>"Poor Winnie!" she observed. "You'd better stick to your office -stenographers and not go picking up red-headed married women in -Westchester. You haven't got a chance."</p> - -<p>I refilled my glass and hers, in that order—a husbandly gesture which -put me, I felt, on a solid married basis for the moment.</p> - -<p>"Jimmie," I announced. "I don't need to tell you that I'm an awful -heel. Now that we've got the wraps off I wish you'd tell me what you -really think of me and Virginia."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Tompkins' nostrils flickered slightly. "I never cared for bulging -red-heads myself," she said. "When she was at Miss Spence's we called -her Virgin for short, but not for long. There never was a thing in -pants, up to and including scarecrows, that she wouldn't carry the -torch for. When she married Jerry Rutherford it was a great relief to -her relatives. She had no friends."</p> - -<p>"A very succinct summary, for all that it should be written in letters -of fire," I remarked. "And now what do you think of me?"</p> - -<p>She took a long sip of her drink and leaned forward. "You're fat, soft -and spoiled, Winnie, physically, mentally and morally," she began, "and -you know it. If you weren't so stinking rich you'd—well, I don't know. -There's something about you that's—Well, after you bought me from my -parents, I wanted to kill myself and then I sized you up. There's no -real harm in you, Winnie, it's not hard to like you, but you never were -love's young dream."</p> - -<p>"What you say is absolutely on the beam," I admitted. "But while -we're on the subject I wouldn't call Jerry Rutherford the answer to a -maiden's prayer. That Hollywood doctor type with the swank suburban -practice and the soft bedroom manner gets me down. He has only three -ideas in the world and all of them begin with 'I'. After the first -antiseptic raptures you'd have nothing in common but your appendix and -he'd want to get away with that—for a consideration."</p> - -<p>Jimmie giggled. "You forget that he already has it," she said. "That's -how I was first attracted to him, under the ether cone. I was sick as a -dog and he held my hand and told me I was being very brave."</p> - -<p>"And sent the hell of a bill to me," I added.</p> - -<p>"Well," she asked, after a pause. "What do you really think of me?"</p> - -<p>"I think, Jimmie, that you're lonely, bored and unhappy. All three are -my fault but they are driving you to make a fool of yourself. Nobody -has tried to understand you"—which is catnip for any person of either -sex, once you get them talking about themselves—"least of all your -husband. You need what other women need—children, a home...."</p> - -<p>"If this is a build-up for obstetrics, the answer is 'No!'" she snapped -angrily.</p> - -<p>"Skip it!" I urged. "I'm telling you the truth, not making a pass at -you. We can talk some more about you in the morning. In the meantime, I -think I'll turn in. I'm very tired, a little tight and I've had a lousy -day."</p> - -<p>She flashed me a curious look. "Go on up, Winnie," she said. "I'll put -these things away. You'll need your strength for the morning, if I know -Virginia Rutherford."</p> - -<p>Guided by luck and the smell of pipe tobacco, I found what was -obviously the Master's Room—with a weird amalgam of etchings of ducks -and nude girls, including one Zorn, and all the gadgets for making -sleep as complicated as driving an automobile.</p> - -<p>I was awakened in the morning by a hand on my shoulder. It was -Mary-Myrtle.</p> - -<p>"You'd better get up and put on your pyjamas and dressing gown," she -remarked conversationally. "Dr. Rutherford is downstairs and Mrs. -Rutherford is talking with Mrs. Tompkins in her bedroom."</p> - -<p>"Stormy weather?"</p> - -<p>"I'll say so—and see here—" she began.</p> - -<p>"Sit down, Mary!" I ordered.</p> - -<p>She subsided on the edge of the bed and looked at me rebelliously.</p> - -<p>"From now on, Mary," I announced, "things are going to be different -around here. I won't refer to what is past, because you're old enough -to know what you're doing and so am I. If you want to stay on and -really help me through a hard time, I'll double your wages. If you'd -rather go—and I wouldn't blame you—I'll pay you six months wages in -advance and you can clear out. But I can't be worried about you and -your feelings when I have a big problem to clean up here. Will you go -or stay?"</p> - -<p>The girl thought for a moment, then rose, straightened her apron and -gave me the first friendly smile I had received, since my arrival from -the Aleutians.</p> - -<p>"I'll stay, Mr. Tompkins," she said. "And here's a pick-me-up I mixed -for you. Better drink it before you see the Rutherfords."</p> - -<p>"Okay!" And I drank it and it worked its beneficent will upon me. "Now -I'll go and kill Dr. Rutherford, if you'll toss me my flit-gun and, -thanks!"</p> - -<p>Dr. Rutherford was pacing, with surgical precision, up and down my den. -He looked slightly more self-possessed than the day before and seemed -to be in excellent physical condition. I guessed at the contour beneath -my wadded black silk dressing gown and re-considered my original -plan to throw him bodily out of the house for having come without my -invitation.</p> - -<p>"See here, Tompkins," he said briskly. "We're both men of the world, I -hope. Things can't go on like this. I was up all night with Virginia. -You're not behaving at all well, you know, old man."</p> - -<p>I sat down in the corner of the leather lounge and looked up at him—a -move which gave me a slight advantage of position in dealing with the -higher emotions.</p> - -<p>"Let's not mince words, Jerry," I said. "Suppose you just state frankly -what you think we should do."</p> - -<p>"Germaine loves me and does not love you," Rutherford stated crisply. -"You love Virginia and she loves you. None of us wish a divorce. Hang -it all, Winnie, we're civilized. These things happen, you know, and we -might just as well face them. We agreed that the four of us should do -as we liked, and no hard feelings."</p> - -<p>I sighed. "Jerry," I said. "What you say was true as of yesterday noon -but if these things can happen, they can also un-happen. Whatever you -and my wife decide to do is your own affair but I'm damned if I intend -to allow her to use my home as a place of assignation and I'm damned -if I'll let her become the subject of gossip. So far as Virginia is -concerned, whether or not she is in love with me, I'm no longer in love -with her and I'm damned if I'll play gigolo to spare the feelings of a -bulging red-head who carries the torch for anything in trousers, up to -and including scarecrows—myself included."</p> - -<p>"I can't allow you to talk that way about my wife, Tompkins. It's -rotten bad form and anyhow we both know that people are the way their -glands make them and nothing can be done about it."</p> - -<p>"Here, have a drink!" I suggested. "This is all under the seal of a -confessional. I'm not quarreling with you. I'm consulting you. I don't -love Virginia and I don't believe I ever did. If you wish to wriggle -out of your marriage, that's your affair."</p> - -<p>"And it's yours, too, ever since that night at the War Bond Ball," he -said. "Don't forget that I caught you—"</p> - -<p>"Rutherford," I replied. "As a medical man you have surely seen far -worse than that. You can't sue me for alienation of affections, because -all Bedford Hills is aware of Virginia's glands and because it wouldn't -help your practice. For the rest, I'm willing to listen to anything as -a way out of this mess."</p> - -<p>He paused in his precise pacing. "The four of us will have to talk it -over," he said, "as soon as I have that drink you offered me."</p> - -<p>"Okay," I agreed. "The girls are in Jimmie's bedroom. Perhaps you know -the way better than I do. I'll follow your lead."</p> - -<p>Germaine was propped up in a frilly four-poster bed amid a wallow of -small satin cushions. I barely had time to notice that she was wearing -a rather filmy night gown, when I turned to reap the whirl-wind in the -form of five foot six of red-haired determination and curves.</p> - -<p>"Now, Winnie," she commanded. "What's all this <i>nonsense</i>?"</p> - -<p>I caught a tell-tale glimpse of uncharitable diamonds at my wife's -breast and hastily averted my eyes from the monogram.</p> - -<p>"Virginia," I replied, "There's nothing wrong. Nothing at all. It was -just that yesterday I realized that I couldn't go through with it. I -don't pretend to be moral but I won't go in for mixed-doubles at my -age. It's undignified."</p> - -<p>"What!" Mrs. Rutherford's mouth hung open in amazement.</p> - -<p>"Only this, Virginia. Whatever I have been in the past, I'm going to -try to be different in the future. I know it's hard on you but—"</p> - -<p>The red-head laughed like tumbrils rolling to the guillotine. "Nothing -to what a breach of promise suit would be to you, Winnie dear. Don't -forget I have your letters."</p> - -<p>"Now we're getting somewhere," I remarked. "How much?"</p> - -<p>"Winnie!" my wife gasped. "It's blackmail!"</p> - -<p>"Of course it's blackmail," I agreed, "and there are times when it's -wiser to pay than to fight. This is not one of them. Virginia, I'm not -interested in buying back those letters. Save them for a rainy day. I'm -going to settle with your husband. How about it, Jerry?"</p> - -<p>"You swine!" Mrs. Rutherford was going definitely Grade-B in the -pinches. "Do you think that you can drive a wedge between me and my -husband?"</p> - -<p>"No, my wife has already done that for me. He loves her and he tells me -that she loves him. I've told him that they're welcome to a divorce but -I won't have my house used for any hanky-panky and won't have people -gossip about Germaine. They can make up their minds what they want to -do about it."</p> - -<p>"You were saying downstairs, Tompkins," the doctor hastily -interrupted, "that you would listen to any reasonable offer."</p> - -<p>"Check! What's your price?"</p> - -<p>"I want out," said Dr. Rutherford. "Lend me the value of a year's -practice—fifteen thousand would cover it—and I'll get in a substitute -and take a crack at the Army Medical Corps. They've been after me for a -couple of years."</p> - -<p>"Done!" I said, "and if you like I'll have the bank dole it out to -Virginia while you're gone, so she won't use it up too fast."</p> - -<p>"What about me?" asked my wife. "I thought Jerry said he loved me."</p> - -<p>"What's <i>your</i> price?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Germaine yawned and the shoulder strap of her gown slipped -indiscreetly. "Since nobody seems to want me," she declared, "I'm going -to stick around and see the fun. I wouldn't miss the sight of Winnie -Tompkins trying to lead a changed life for all the doctors in the -Medical Corps."</p> - -<p>"Me too!" spat out Mrs. Rutherford. "There's something pretty -mysterious going on here and I'm going to stay until I learn all the -answers."</p> - -<p>There was a tap at the bedroom door and Myrtle appeared, pulling two -neatly set breakfast trays on a rubber-tired mahogany tea-wagon.</p> - -<p>"I thought you would rather have your breakfast upstairs with the -Master, mam," she remarked primly, in a far too English country-house -manner. "Breakfast is waiting for Dr. and Mrs. Rutherford in the -dining-room," she added.</p> - -<p>And as she bent over the table and began to straighten out the -breakfast things, the girl had the impudence to slip me a wink.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_4" id="CHAPTER_4">CHAPTER 4</a></h2> - - -<p>After a pleasant breakfast, in the course of which my wife read the -social news in the New York Herald-Tribune and I the business news -in the New York Times, I excused myself and returned to my bedroom. -Winnie's bathroom was fitted with all the gadgets, too, and there was -an abundant choice of razors, from the old-fashioned straight-edge -suicide's favorite to the 1941 stream-lined electric Yankee clipper. -I tried out the scales and found that my involuntary host weighed -over 195 pounds—a good deal of it around the middle. Oh, well, a few -weeks of setting up exercises would take care of that. A cold shower -and a brisk rub made me feel a little more presentable and I climbed -shamelessly into Winnie's most manly tweeds.</p> - -<p>"Are you catching the ten o'clock, dear?" Germaine called from her -bedroom.</p> - -<p>"No such luck!" I warned her. "Phone the office, will you, and tell -them I'm feeling under the weather and won't be in till sometime -tomorrow."</p> - -<p>This seemed like a good chance to do some exploring—since the -Rutherfords had temporarily abandoned the field—though I needn't have -bothered since I had seen photographs of suburban houses like Pook's -Hill in a score of different slick-paper pre-war magazines. There was -the inevitable colonial-type dining-room, with dark wainscoting below -smooth oyster-white plaster, electric candle-sconces, and the necessary -array of family silver on the antiqued mahogany sideboard. The windows -gave a vista of brown lawn, with the grass still blasted by winter. -There was the inevitable chintzy living-room, with a permanently -unemployed grand-piano, two or three safely second-rate paintings by -safely first-rate defunct foreigners. There was the usual array of -sofas, easy chairs, small, middle-sized and biggish tables, with lots -of china ash-trays, and a sizable wood-burning fireplace. Of course, -you entered the living-room by two steps down from the front hall and -there was a separate up-two-steps-entrance to my den. And sure as death -and taxes, there was a veritable downstairs lavatory.</p> - -<p>I slipped on my coat and hat and stepped out through a French window -which led from the living-room to the inevitable paved stone terrace. -There were galvanized iron fittings for a summer awning and in the -center was a cute little bronze sun-dial. This had an exclamation point -and the inscription, "Over the Yard-Arm" at the place where noon should -be, and a bronze cocktail glass instead of the sign for four p.m. All -the way around the rest of the circle was written in heavy embossed -capitals, "The Hell With It!"</p> - -<p>My meditations on this facet of the Tompkins character—and I wondered -whether I oughtn't to spell 'facet' with a u'—were interrupted by -Myrtle.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr. Tompkins," she called from the kitchen window, in complete -repudiation of her earlier appearance as Watson, third lady's maid at -Barony Castle, "the man from the kennels is here with Ponto. Where -shall I tell him to take the dog?"</p> - -<p>I hurried back indoors—there was still a chill in the air and I really -prefer my trees with their clothes on—and found a gnarled little man -who reeked of saddle-soap and servility.</p> - -<p>"Well, sir, Mr. Tompkins," he beamed the Old Retainer at me. "That -dog of yours had a close call, a mighty close call. Thought he was a -sure-enough goner. Tried everything: injections, oxygen, iron lung, -enema. No dice. Then yesterday afternoon he just lay down and went to -sleep and I thought, 'My! Won't Mr. Tompkins feel bad!' But he woke -up, large as life and twice as natural, and began carrying on so that -I guess he wanted to come home to his folks. He's a mite weak, Mr. -Tompkins, very weak I might say, but he'll get well quicker here than -at my place and I'll pop in every other day to keep track of him. Never -did see anything like the recovery that dog made in all my born days. -Now about his bowels—"</p> - -<p>I waited until he had to draw a breath and made swift to congratulate -him on his professional skill. "I wouldn't have lost Ponto for a -thousand dollars," I said. "Let's get him out of your car and up in my -bedroom," I added. "He's been like a member of the family and—"</p> - -<p>A series of deep bass backs interrupted me, followed by ominous -sounds of a heavy body hurling itself recklessly around inside a small -enclosed space.</p> - -<p>"There!" said the vet. "He recognized your voice. Come on, Ponto. I'll -fetch you. He's pretty weak, Mr. Tompkins, but he'll get strong fast if -you feed him right."</p> - -<p>The vet twinkled out the front door and returned shortly, leading a -perfectly enormous coal-black Great Dane on a plaited leather leash. -Ponto did not look very weak to me, but I've always been fond of dogs -and I figured that kindness to animals might count in my favor. "Good -dog," I condescended. "Poor old fellow!"</p> - -<p>The poor old fellow gave a low but hungry growl and lunged for me with -bared teeth, dragging the vet behind him like a dory behind a fishing -schooner. I jumped into the den and slammed the door, while Ponto -sniffed, snapped and grumbled on the far side of my defenses.</p> - -<p>"Tell you what, doctor," I called through the panels. "Take him -upstairs and put him in my room. It's the one to the right at the head -of the stairs. He's just excited. Shut him in and as soon as he's -calmed down I'll make him comfortable."</p> - -<p>While this rather cowardly solution was being put into effect, I sat -down and thought it over. Apparently Winnie had been the kind of man -whose pet dog tried to rip his throat out. That was puzzling, since -from what I remembered of him at school, he had if anything been -only too amiable. I waited out the vet's last-minute report and -instructions, and then rang the bell for the maid.</p> - -<p>"Mary," I said, "will you help the doctor with his hat and coat and -then take Ponto a bowl of water. The poor old fellow's had a rough -time."</p> - -<p>The vet departed and I listened while the maid went upstairs. Then -there was a scream, the crash of breaking china and the sound of a door -being slammed. I bounded up the steps to find Mary, white-faced and -trembling, looking stupidly at the broken remains of a white china bowl -and a sizeable puddle of water on the hardwood floor outside my bedroom.</p> - -<p>The door of my wife's room burst open and Jimmie appeared with a wild -"What on earth!"</p> - -<p>"It's that dog, sir," gasped Myrtle. "When I come—came—in with the -bowl of water like you said, there he was lying on—on—your bed, like -a Human, and—and—"</p> - -<p>"And what?" I demanded.</p> - -<p>"And he was wearing your pyjamas, sir," she sobbed. "It's—it's—"</p> - -<p>"Uncanny," Germaine supplied the word.</p> - -<p>I gave a hollow laugh. "He probably remembers that he isn't allowed to -lie on the beds, Mary, and may have dragged my pyjamas up there to lie -on. Whenever I let him up on the furniture I always make him lie on -some of my clothes."</p> - -<p>"Oh," Myrtle said, suddenly calm. "Is that it? It was just that it -looked sort of queer to see his legs in the pyjama trousers."</p> - -<p>"Well, don't worry about it now, Myrtle," my wife remarked firmly. -"I'm not surprised it gave you a shock. He's such a big dog. I'll go in -and see that he's comfortable. Come on, Winnie! Let's take a look at -him. What's the matter?" she added, noticing a certain reluctance in my -attitude.</p> - -<p>"Nothing much," I martyrized. "It's only that he flew for my throat -when he got inside the door."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense!" she replied in the firm tone of a woman who knows better -and who, in any case, expects her husband not to be afraid of a mere -infuriated Great Dane. "You know Ponto always puts his paws on your -shoulders and licks your face every morning, as you taught him."</p> - -<p>My rollicking laughter was a work of art. "Of course, that was it," I -agreed, "and he'd been away from us so long that he was over-eager. -Come on, let's see if we can't make the poor beast comfortable."</p> - -<p>But I let her lead the way.</p> - -<p>The poor beast was lying panting on my still unmade bed. The flowered -Chinese silk pyjamas which I had worn at breakfast were indeed -strangely twisted around its gaunt body. The coat was across the -animal's shoulders and both of its hind-legs were sticking through one -of the trouser-legs.</p> - -<p>"There! Ponto! Poor old fellow!" cooed Jimmie in a voice which would -have charmed snails from their shells.</p> - -<p>Ponto gave a self-pitying whine and his tail thumped the pillow like -an overseer's whip across the back of Uncle Tom. My wife patted -the animal's head and Ponto positively drooled at her. She gently -disentangled him from among the pyjamas and hung them up in the closet. -As she turned toward the bed, he jumped to the floor, reared up, put -both paws on her shoulders and licked her face convulsively, giving -little whines and shiverings.</p> - -<p>"Poor old fellow, poor old Ponto!" she crooned. "Was he glad to get -home from the nasty old kennel? There!" And she massaged his ears. -"Come on now, Ponto," she remarked more authoritatively, "say good -morning to your master."</p> - -<p>The answer was a grand diapason of a growl and the baring of a thicket -of gleaming white fangs in my direction.</p> - -<p>"Ponto!" she ordered, as the beast positively cringed. "Say good -morning to the master!"</p> - -<p>He slumped to the floor with the grace of a pole-axed calf and -approached me slowly, ears back, hair bristling and teeth in evidence.</p> - -<p>"Ponto!" Germaine's cry was positively totalitarian but the dog lunged -at me and I barely had time to close the door in its face.</p> - -<p>A few minutes later, Germaine emerged looking bewildered. "I've never -known him to behave like this," she said. "I don't like it. It's always -been you he was so fond of and he barely tolerated me. Now he seems all -mixed-up. After you left, he calmed right down and came back and licked -my face all over again. What do you suppose is wrong with him. Can it -be fits?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "He doesn't act like fits," I said. "He's had a bad -go of distemper and is probably suffering from shock. Dogs do get -shock, you know. I remember in Psychology at Harvard they told us about -a very intelligent St. Bernard dog which was shocked into complete -hysteria by the supernatural. That is, they pulled a lamb chop across -the floor by a thread concealed in a crack between the boards. The dog -nearly had heart failure when he saw a chop moving by itself."</p> - -<p>"But what can we do?" she asked. "Let's send him back to the kennels -until he's cured."</p> - -<p>"Nope! From what Dr. Whatsisname—"</p> - -<p>"Dalrymple."</p> - -<p>"From what Dalrymple said, he'd started acting up at the kennels and -he—the vet, that is—thought Ponto would be better off at home."</p> - -<p>"But we can't have him going for you every time you use your room."</p> - -<p>"Then I won't use it. I'll sleep in the guest-room," I added swiftly, -lest she leap to feminine conclusions. "You might take him another bowl -of water—he's all right with you—and spread the New York Times on -the floor—and a damned good use for it—and bring out my clothes and -things. He seems to have quite a leech for you and we'll just leave him -there to think things over by himself."</p> - -<p>"How about his food?" she asked. "Shouldn't he have a special diet?"</p> - -<p>"No. I'll let him go hungry for a day or so. So long as he has plenty -of water it won't hurt him. Then when he's weak enough so as not to -be dangerous I'll bring him some nice dog-biscuits and warm milk and -he'll learn to love me the best way, by the alimentary canal."</p> - -<p>She looked at me closely, "You <i>do</i> look rocky," she said. "You've had -a shock, too. Hadn't I better call the doctor?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "No more doctors, please. I'm out of condition, I -guess, and all this dodging Great Danes is hard on the nerves. I'll go -down and mix myself a brandy-and-soda. You might join me when you've -moved my things upstairs. We've got to talk over a lot of things."</p> - -<p>When I finally managed to settle down in my den with a stiff drink I -felt besieged, bewildered and backed up against the wall. There could -be no reasonable doubt about it—<i>the dog knew</i>! Ponto knew that I was -an interloper, that the real Winnie Tompkins no longer existed, that a -stranger was masquerading in his body and clothes. The uncanny instinct -of a dog had led him to the truth when even Winnie's wife had been -deceived.</p> - -<p>This was a new twist in the maze. I couldn't imagine the Master of -the Rat-Race watching with scientific detachment to see whether Frank -Jacklin would make it or would be disqualified in the first round. Of -one thing I was certain, unless I could establish some kind of personal -understanding with Ponto, suspicion would gather around me. For the -moment, Germaine did not doubt that I was her husband: my conduct had -puzzled her but she had lived with Winnie so long that it was probable -that she no longer specifically noticed him. Virginia Rutherford would -be more dangerous—she was a woman scorned and she had been tricked -out of an intrigue. She had every motive for digging out or even for -inventing the truth, but I had given myself a good excuse to keep her -at arm's length. She couldn't force her way into my clubs. I would -tell my office staff to keep her away from me, and she couldn't be so -ill-bred as to thrust herself into my home. If I could appease Ponto -and avoid Virginia, I had a fair chance of getting away with it.</p> - -<p>"Beg pardon, sir!" It was Myrtle.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mary?"</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Rutherford is back, sir. She wants to see you."</p> - -<p>"Tell her I am not at home," I replied in a clear carrying tone. "And -that I never will be at home to her."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, you will." It was the red-head. She was wearing a long mink -coat and carrying a short automatic pistol. "Like it or not, Winnie, -<i>we</i> are going to have a talk—now." She turned to the startled maid. -"And don't you try phoning the police, Myrtle," she added, "or the -first thing you will hear is this pistol going pop at Mr. Winfred -Tompkins of New York City and Bedford Hills."</p> - -<p>"That's all right, Mary," I added. "Don't call the police. Tell -Mrs. Tompkins that I'm busy. Mrs. Rutherford and I wish to have a -conversation."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_5" id="CHAPTER_5">CHAPTER 5</a></h2> - - -<p>As the door to the room slammed convulsively behind Myrtle, Mrs. -Rutherford relaxed, laid the automatic on the sofa between us, and -flung back her mink coat. She was an appetizing little number, if you -like 'em red-haired, well-developed and mad through and through.</p> - -<p>Instinctively I started to reach for the gun but was checked by her -laugh.</p> - -<p>"Take it, by all means," she said. "It's not loaded. I only needed it -for the maid. Tell me, Winnie, have you got her on your string, too? -The maid made or undone, as they used to say."</p> - -<p>"Virginia," I said firmly, "I told you earlier this morning that we -were through. There's nothing more to be said about it. It's finished, -done, kaput! All's well that ends."</p> - -<p>She laughed again, and looked at me closely. In spite of myself, I -began pulling nervously at the lobe of my left ear, a habit of mine -when confused which has always irritated my Dorothy.</p> - -<p>"There!" Virginia said finally, "that's it!"</p> - -<p>Her voice had a note of finality with a touch of total triumph that I -found disturbing.</p> - -<p>"Well, have you anything to say?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Have <i>you</i> anything to say?"</p> - -<p>"I've already said it, Virginia. Nice as you are and beautiful as you -are, we're washed up. It won't work and we both know it. So why not -shake hands and quit friends?"</p> - -<p>She took my proffered hand in hers but, instead of shaking it, examined -it carefully.</p> - -<p>"Very clever," she murmured. "You've even got that little mole at the -base of your thumb."</p> - -<p>"Of course I have. It's been there since birth."</p> - -<p>"Very, <i>very</i>, clever, Winnie," she continued, "but it won't do, my -Winnie, because you see you aren't my Winnie at all. You're a total -stranger."</p> - -<p>"I've changed," I admitted. "I'm trying to be half-way decent."</p> - -<p>"Whoever wanted Winnie to be half-way decent?" she mused. "Nobody. -He was much pleasanter as he was—a rich, friendly boob. As for you, -whoever you are, I'm on to your game. You aren't Winfred Tompkins and -you know it."</p> - -<p>I put some heavy sarcasm into my reply. "How did you ever guess, Mrs. -Rutherford?"</p> - -<p>She laughed airily, helped herself to a cigarette and leaned forward -while I lighted it so that I could not help seeing deep into the -straining V of her blouse.</p> - -<p>"Lots of things. In the first place, you call me 'Virginia' when we're -alone instead of 'Bozo' as you always used to do."</p> - -<p>"I stopped calling you 'Bozo' when I made up my mind—" I began.</p> - -<p>"Nuts to you, Buddy," she rejoined. "Then you kept pulling at your ear -as though you were milking a cow, while I was needling you. Winnie -never did that. When he was in a spot, he always reached in his pocket -and jingled his change or, as a desperate measure, twiddled his keys."</p> - -<p>"Don't judge my habits by my hang-overs," I insisted. "I'm not feeling -well and I've had a sort of psychic shock."</p> - -<p>"Winnie never said 'psychic' in his life, poor lamb," she observed. "He -didn't know what it meant. No, I don't know what your game is but I'm -on to you and we're going to be real buddies from now on or—"</p> - -<p>"Or what?"</p> - -<p>"The police," she observed quietly, "take a dim view of murder in this -state. Now I'm willing to be broad-minded. Winnie was a louse who had -it coming to him, I guess. I was playing him for a quick divorce and -marriage. Three million dollars is a lot of money, even in these days, -and it would have been nice to have been married to it. But it's even -nicer this way, I guess."</p> - -<p>The decanter was within reach. I poured myself another drink. "Have -some?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"And why not? What's yours is mine, and we both need it."</p> - -<p>"Why did you say it was nicer this way, Mrs. Rutherford?" I inquired.</p> - -<p>"Virginia to you, Winnie. It's because now I don't have to marry you -and I still have a pipe-line to the Tompkins millions."</p> - -<p>"So you <i>are</i> going in for blackmail," I observed. "Suppose I -threatened to divorce Jimmie and marry you. After all, I still could."</p> - -<p>"A girl has her pride," she murmured. "Not that I'd mind having fun -with you, Winnie—as I think I'd better call you. But a wife can't give -testimony against her husband and I think I'd rather like to be able to -give testimony if needed. Besides, a husband has too many opportunities -to help the undertaker. There are accidents in bath-tubs and garages, -medicines get mixed up in the bathroom cabinet and there is always the -old-fashioned hatchet. No, since you've managed to get rid of the other -Winnie, somehow, I think I'll keep a safe distance and my silence, as -long as you make it worth my while."</p> - -<p>"Suppose I won't play?" I suggested.</p> - -<p>"Then I'll go to the police or the F.B.I.—they're supposed to catch -kidnappers, aren't they?—and tell them what I know."</p> - -<p>I stood up. This would be easier than I had expected.</p> - -<p>"Okay, Virginia," I said, "go right ahead. There's the telephone. You -can use it to call the Secret Service for all I care. See what luck you -have with your story, when my wife is here to testify that I'm Winnie -Tompkins."</p> - -<p>Her face paled and her eyes narrowed angrily. "Jimmie too?" she asked. -"Then you're both in it!"</p> - -<p>"We're both in what?"</p> - -<p>The door opened and Germaine Tompkins stood in the entrance.</p> - -<p>Virginia Rutherford looked trapped and she instinctively pulled her -mink back over her shoulders.</p> - -<p>"Nothing, Jimmie," she said at last. "I was foolish enough to hope that -if I came back and had a talk alone with Winnie, we could pick up -where we left off. He's been acting so strangely that he doesn't seem -like himself at all. And so are you. That's what I meant by saying that -you were both in it."</p> - -<p>"Virginia," my wife said firmly, "my husband told you to stay out of -this house—and it's my home, too—and now I find you here. Please go -or I'll call the police."</p> - -<p>The two women exchanged appraising glances which suggested that they -were both thoroughly enjoying the touch of melodrama that had come into -their well-fed lives.</p> - -<p>"No, it's my fault for letting her in," I said. "She sent in word by -Mary—"</p> - -<p>"You mean Myrtle."</p> - -<p>"—that she would like to see me. I agreed to do so, so you can't blame -her. We talked things over and decided that it's all off—a few moments -of madness, but that's all, and not worth wrecking two marriages for. -Isn't that so, Mrs. Rutherford?"</p> - -<p>Virginia shook her head. "No, Winnie, it is not so. Jimmie, I came here -with that gun. It wasn't loaded but the next time it will be. I made -Myrtle or whatever her name is show me in and I told her I would shoot -Winnie if she gave the alarm. Then I told him what I know about him."</p> - -<p>"And what is that?" my wife asked.</p> - -<p>"That he is not Winnie at all," Virginia declared. "That he is an -imposter, that he and perhaps you had done away with poor old Winnie. I -told him that I wouldn't tell his secret if he paid me to keep silent. -And he told me to call the police."</p> - -<p>My wife went over to her and took her hand. "Poor, darling Virginia," -she murmured, "why don't you go away and have a good rest? You've got -yourself all worked up for a nervous breakdown. Of course it's Winnie. -I'm married to him and I ought to know my own husband, shouldn't I? -You've simply got run down and all, with rationing and war-work. Why -don't you let Jerry send you for a few weeks to the Hartford Sanctuary -for psychoanalysis and a good rest?"</p> - -<p>Virginia dashed my wife's hand away. "In other words, you think I'm -crazy!" she snapped.</p> - -<p>"No, but I do think you're hysterical. This is Winnie, I'm Jimmie -and you're Virginia Rutherford. We've all been letting ourselves get -over-emotional and this war is a strain on everybody. Don't worry. -Jerry can fix it for you quite easily and I—we both will be glad -to help pay for it, if you're worried about the money. After all," -Germaine added wryly, "the whole thing is pretty much of a family -affair, isn't it? Let's keep it that way."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rutherford reached over and grabbed the gun from the sofa.</p> - -<p>"All right, Germaine Tompkins, murderess," she grated. "If that's the -way you're going to play it, I'll play too. Don't worry about my mind. -Start thinking about the electric chair. Remember, in this state they -execute women who kill their husbands."</p> - -<p>Jimmie waited until the door closed behind the doctor's wife. Then she -turned to me with a curious expression of weariness.</p> - -<p>"Poor man!" she remarked. "You have got yourself into a bad mess, -haven't you?"</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>"It didn't seem like one while I was getting into it," I said. "It's -only now when I'm trying to get things straightened out that it seems -so awful."</p> - -<p>"Let's see," she continued. "How many women is it you've been trying to -keep away from each other? There's myself, of course, but wives don't -count any more, do they? And there's Virginia Rutherford and Myrtle, -and there was that blonde actress we met at Martha's Vineyard last -summer, and is it one or two girls at the office?"</p> - -<p>Here was where I could object with complete sincerity. "I swear that -I've not been fooling with any of the office girls," I said.</p> - -<p>"I know," Jimmie agreed wisely. "You always used to tell me that it was -considered bad for business to play with the help but after I saw the -way you went for Myrtle I decided that there were exceptions to every -rule."</p> - -<p>"Nobody in the office," I repeated. "I swear it."</p> - -<p>"Then perhaps it was the office next door. Maybe you brokers have -an exchange system for taking on each other's stenographers—charge -it to business expenses for getting information about each other's -dealings—but I know I've heard the name Briggs mentioned somehow in -your connection."</p> - -<p>"The name means absolutely nothing to me," I insisted. "If it will make -you any happier I'll admit to a hundred women but I'm through with all -that sex-stuff. From now on, I'm going to be a one-woman man."</p> - -<p>Germaine faced me with an air of resolution. "Would you mind giving me -a drink of brandy?" she asked. "I've something to say to you and I'm -afraid you won't like it."</p> - -<p>I went to the portable bar and poured her a pony of Courvoisier.</p> - -<p>"Here you are. Down the hatch! And now what is it you want to tell me."</p> - -<p>"Believe me, Winnie," she said, "it's not easy for me. But I'd better -say it anyhow. I can't keep on suppressing it. Who <i>are</i> you?"</p> - -<p>"What's that?"</p> - -<p>"Who <i>are</i> you?" she repeated. "You look like my husband but you don't -talk like him. His clothes fit you but Virginia Rutherford is <i>quite</i> -right—you aren't Winnie Tompkins."</p> - -<p>"How did you guess?"</p> - -<p>"Don't think I'll give you away," she continued. "I won't because -you must have had a terribly important reason for doing whatever you -have done. You seem to be in deep trouble of some kind. I—I'd like -to help you, if I can. Don't think I'm hard on my husband. It's been -years since we—oh, you know. I married him for his money and I still -don't know why he married me. Yes, I do, but I've never liked to admit -it. He'd made a lot of money in the market and had built this house. -He needed a wife the way he needed an automobile, a portable bar, a -Capehart, a thoroughbred Great Dane and a membership in the Pond Club. -I was available, at a price, which he met—but that's all there is to -our story."</p> - -<p>"Poor Jimmie!" I sympathized. "We're both lost, I guess. No, I'm not -Winnie but I don't know who else I could possibly be. You see, less -than twenty-four hours ago I was a lieutenant-commander on a light -carrier in the North Pacific and—"</p> - -<p>Germaine slowly withdrew her hand from mine.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she exclaimed softly. "Oh Winnie! Poor old idiot! I'll take care -of you and see that you get over this. Wait, I'll call the doctor right -away. The Hartford Sanctuary's a very nice place, and I can come over -every week to—"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "You'll do nothing of the kind, my dear," I ordered. -"No doctor can help me on this one. Besides," I added, "how do you know -that I wasn't batty before and have just come to my senses."</p> - -<p>Her eyes were frightened. "All right, dear," she agreed. "I like you -better this way, anyhow."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_6" id="CHAPTER_6">CHAPTER 6</a></h2> - - -<p>"Thanks, Jimmie," I replied. "I'm going to try to stay this way."</p> - -<p>My wife sat down beside me and studied me closely. "You <i>look</i> -different," she remarked. "To me, at any rate. You're sort of coming to -a focus. If only—. You're so different and—strange."</p> - -<p>Here was my chance to recover lost ground.</p> - -<p>"As near as I can make out," I said, "I've had a kind of amnesia. I -know you, of course, and my name, and that this is my house and that -Ponto is my dog, even though he tried to bite me. I know the Pond Club -and the Harvard Club, but that's about all I seem able to remember. -I can't recall where I work or where I bank, or who my friends are -or what kind of car I drive or what I was doing before yesterday -afternoon."</p> - -<p>She relaxed at the holy scientific word 'amnesia,' as though to name a -mystery explained it.</p> - -<p>"But you were saying something about being on an aircraft carrier in -the Pacific," she objected.</p> - -<p>I laughed. "That must have been part of a very vivid dream I was having -in a chair in the bar at the Pond, when Ranty Tolan woke me up. It was -one of those dreams which seemed so real that real life seemed like a -dream. It still does a bit. That's where my alleged mind got stalled -and I'm still floundering around. Help me, won't you?"</p> - -<p>"You didn't seem to need much help remembering Virginia Rutherford," -she remarked, "but I'll try to fill in some of the gaps for you. You -have your own firm—Tompkins, Wasson and Cone—at No. 1 Wall Street. -It's sort of combination brokerage office and investment counsel. You -once told me that your specialty was finding nice rich old ladies -and helping them re-invest their unearned millions. You bank at the -National City Farmers and your car is a black '41 Packard coupe."</p> - -<p>"That helps a lot," I thanked her. "Now how about my friends? If I go -to town tomorrow, I ought to be on the look-out for them. Business -isn't so good right now that I can afford to let myself be run in as an -amnesiac while my partners look after the loot."</p> - -<p>She frowned. "I don't know much about your friends in town, since so -many of them are in the war," she admitted. "There's Merry Vail, of -course, who roomed with you at Harvard, but he hasn't come out here -much since Adela divorced him after that business in Bermuda. Sometimes -you talk about the men you see at the Club but I've never been able -to keep track of the Phils and Bills and Neds and Joes and Dicks and -Harrys. You'll have to find your own way there. At the office, of -course, there's Graham Wasson and Phil Cone, your partners, but you -won't have much trouble once you're at your desk. Wasson is dark and -plump and Cone is fair and plump and they're both about five years -younger than you are."</p> - -<p>"The office doesn't worry me," I agreed. "I can handle anything that -develops there."</p> - -<p>"You know, Winnie," Jimmie remarked, "if I were you I wouldn't try to -go to town for a few days. The office will run itself and you need a -rest. I don't know much about amnesia but I've always heard that rest -and kind treatment—"</p> - -<p>"Uh-uh!" I dissented emphatically. "Worst thing in the world for it. -I've always heard that the thing to do is to go back over the ground -until you come to the thing that gave you the original shock and then -it all comes back to you. If I stick around Bedford Hills I'll just get -panicky over not being sure whether I remember things or not. I'll go -to town in the morning and see if I can't find myself."</p> - -<p>She laughed, as wives laugh. "You may be a changed man," she announced, -"but you're still stubborn as a mule. Tell me, to change the subject, -you say that you remember me. Tell me what I seem like to you, now -that you've changed, as you say, aside from age, sex, scars and -distinguishing marks, if any, and marital status."</p> - -<p>I closed my eyes and thought of Dorothy as she had been that last night -in Hartford before she walked out and I decided to join the Navy as a -Reserve Officer.</p> - -<p>"You are piano music on a summer night—something Scarlatti or -Mozart—thin, cool, precise, gay. You are apple blossoms against a -Berkshire hillside. You are the smoke of fallen leaves climbing into -the cool October sky. You are surf on a sandy beach, with the gulls -wheeling and the white-caps racing past the lighthouse on the point. -You are bobsleds and hot coffee and dough-nuts by a roaring wood fire. -And you're a lost child, with two pennies in your fist, looking in the -window of a five-cent candy-shop."</p> - -<p>Germaine relaxed. "Except for that last bit, Winnie, you made me sound -like a year-round vacation resort or an ad for a new automobile. You've -mentioned almost everything about me except the one thing I obviously -am."</p> - -<p>"Which is?"</p> - -<p>"A simple, rather stupid woman, I guess," Germaine sighed, "who's had -everything in life except what she wants."</p> - -<p>"All women are simple," I pontificated, "since what they want is -simple."</p> - -<p>"You moron!" she blazed. "Don't you see that no woman knows what she -wants until she is made to want it. You ... you never made me want -anything simple, except to crack you over the head with something."</p> - -<p>After she had left, I sat for a long time. There seemed to be nothing -to do or say. Winnie's domestic life was still in too much of a snarl -for me to do the obvious thing and follow Germaine upstairs, and into -her bedroom, lock the door, and kiss her tear-stained face and tell her -that I was sorry I had hurt her.... Before it would be safe to accept -her gambits I must first explore my business connections. Hadn't my -wife said something about girls in the office?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>My first stop in the morning, after I had been careful to take a late -commuting train in to the city in order to avoid business men who were -sure to know and greet Winnie Tompkins, was the Pond Club.</p> - -<p>Tammy was behind the bar and as soon as I entered he turned and mixed -me a powerful pick-me-up. I drained it with the usual convulsive effort -and then pretended to relax.</p> - -<p>"Thanks, Tammy," I said. "That's what I needed." "Good morning, Mr. -Tompkins," he remarked. "I'm glad to see you back. You were looking a -trifle seedy—if you don't mind my saying so, sir—when you were in -here Monday afternoon."</p> - -<p>"I took a day off in the country and got rested up," I told him. "I -feel fine now. Anybody in the Club?"</p> - -<p>"Not just now, sir. A couple of gentlemen were asking for you yesterday -afternoon—that would be Tuesday. That was Commander Tolan, sir, and -a friend of his, a Mr. Harcourt his name was, who hasn't been here -before. They asked me if you were at your home but I just laughed. -'Him gone home?' I said. 'Not while he has a girl and a flat on Park -Avenue.' Begging your pardon, Mr. Tompkins, I knew you didn't want to -be bothered wherever you were and so I said the first thing that came -to my head."</p> - -<p>"You're doing fine, Tammy," I assured him. "I don't want to see anybody -for a couple of days. Now then, I'd like you to tell me what happened -here Monday afternoon. It's the first time in my life I've ever drawn a -complete blank."</p> - -<p>"Well, sir," the Club steward recited. "You came in about two o'clock -and sat down in your usual chair—that one in the corner. You said -something about having had lunch at the Harvard Club, sir, and had a -couple of Scotch and sodas here."</p> - -<p>"Was I tight, Tammy?"</p> - -<p>"Not to call tight. You didn't show it, and after a time you went to -sleep, like you was tired out. You was still sleeping when Mr. Morgan, -Mr. Davis and Commander Tolan came in. That would be a little after -three o'clock, sir. They made some talk about how you were sleeping -through the noise they made, that it would take a bomb to wake you. -Then, sir, I guess you had some kind of a dream. You began talking like -and thrashing with your arms and making noises. So Commander Tolan he -said, 'Jesus we can't drink with that going on' and went and shook you -by the shoulder until you woke up. You'd been dreaming all right, Mr. -Tompkins, because you talked wild when you woke up, about Alaska and -where were you. The others joked a bit about it after you left but I'd -take my oath, sir, that you weren't really what might be called tight, -Mr. Tompkins."</p> - -<p>"Thanks a million, Tammy," I said. "That's a load off my mind. I drew -a blank and didn't know where I'd been or what I'd been doing. Can you -let me have some money? I'm a bit short of cash."</p> - -<p>"Of course, sir. How much will you need?"</p> - -<p>"A couple of hundred will do," I told him, "if you have that much."</p> - -<p>"That will be easy, sir. If you'll just sign a check, like the house -rules says, I'll get it from the safe."</p> - -<p>He nearly caught me. Signing checks was something I simply could not do -until I had learned to imitate Winnie Tompkins' signature. I had tried -in the guest-room at Bedford Hills, the previous evening, and found -that my original signature as Frank E. Jacklin was completely unchanged -by my transmigration, and that my own copy-desk scrawl was the only -handwriting I could commit. I had burned the note-paper on which I had -made the crucial experiments and flushed the ashes down the toilet. One -of my objects in coming to the Pond had been to see if I couldn't get -money by simply initialing a chit.</p> - -<p>I hastily looked in my bill-fold. There was still a fair amount of -money left. It would last me until I found a way to draw on Winnie's -bank-account.</p> - -<p>"Never mind, after all," I told Tammy. "I guess I have enough to last -me until I get down to the office. If anybody asks for me, you haven't -seen me since Monday and don't know where I am."</p> - -<p>"Very good, sir," he agreed. "I'll take any messages that come for you, -sir, and not let on I've set eyes on you."</p> - -<p>My next stop was at an old hang-out of mine and Dorothy's from my -early newspaper days: a place on East 53rd Street, where you can get -a good meal if you have the money to pay for it and the time to wait -for it—and I had both. I knew that none of Winnie's friends would be -seen dead in the place and I didn't want to try lunch at the Harvard -Club, where I'd have to sign the dining-room order or the bar-check. -The place was reasonably uncrowded—it was not quite noon—and I had a -pleasant lunch.</p> - -<p>It was a little after one o'clock when I reached the Harvard Club. The -door-man glanced at my face and automatically stuck a little ivory -peg in the hole opposite the name of Tompkins on the list of members. -I checked my hat and coat and strolled through the sitting-rooms into -the large lounge-library beside the dining-room. A couple of men -nodded and smiled as I passed them, so I nodded back and said, "Hi!" -in a conversational tone. In the lounge I found a chair and a copy -of the World-Telegram, so I decided to catch up with the war-news. -The German Armies were beginning to crumble but there was still talk -of a stand along the Elbe and Hitler was reported fortifying the -mountain-districts of Southern Germany into a redoubt for a last -Valhalla Battle. The Pacific news was good. The fighting on Okinawa was -going our way and the clean-up in the Philippines was well in hand. The -Navy Department discounted enemy reports of heavy damage to American -warships by Jap suicide-pilots but, as an old Navy P.R.O., I could tell -that it had been plenty. I'd heard about the Kamikazes from some of our -pilots who had seen them off Leyte and I had no doubt that they were -doing a job on the 7th Fleet. Roosevelt had gone South for a couple of -weeks rest at Warm Springs, Georgia, and Ed Stettinius was in the final -throes of organizing the United Nations Conference at San Francisco—</p> - -<p>"Hi, Winnie? Don't you speak to your old friends any more?"</p> - -<p>I looked up to see a lean, wolfish-looking man, with a gray moustache, -a slightly bald head and definitely Bond Street clothes.</p> - -<p>"Oh, hullo!" I said and returned to reading the paper.</p> - -<p>The newspaper was firmly taken out of my hands and the man sat down -beside me.</p> - -<p>"We've got to have a talk," he said.</p> - -<p>"Why? What's happened?"</p> - -<p>"There's been a lot of talk about you running around town in the last -twenty-four hours, Winnie. None of the other alleged friends we know -had the guts to tell you. But I thought your room-mate—"</p> - -<p>"So you're Merry Vail," I said stupidly.</p> - -<p>"You're in worse shape than I thought you were, Winnie," he replied. -"Yes, I'm Merriwether Vail who started his life-long career of rescuing -Winfred Tompkins from blondes and booze at Harvard in 1916. Now, if -you'll just crawl out of your alcoholic coma and listen to me for five -minutes before you take off for your next skirt, you'll learn something -to your advantage."</p> - -<p>"How about a drink, Merry?" I asked, to keep in character.</p> - -<p>"Not before five, so help me, and you'd better lay off liquor till you -hear this. Here it is. There's a story going the rounds that the F.B.I. -is after you. At any rate, at least one obvious G-man has been reported -in full cry on your foot-prints."</p> - -<p>I sat up, startled. This was too much, even for purgatory. What <i>had</i> -Winnie been up to?</p> - -<p>"What am I supposed to have done, Merry?" I asked. "Trifled with the -Mann Act? Told fibs on my income tax return? Failed to notify the local -draft board that I was taking the train to New York? Bought black -market nylons for my mistress? or what?"</p> - -<p>Vail looked mysterious. "For all I know I may be letting myself in -for Alcatraz, old man, but the dope is that you've been violating the -Espionage Act, communicating with the enemy, or stealing official -secrets."</p> - -<p>I leaned back in my chair and shook with laughter. "Of all the pure, -unadulterated b.s. I've ever heard! I give you my word of honor as a -Porcellian that there's not a syllable of truth in it."</p> - -<p>Vail looked increasingly distressed. "If you're really innocent, you'd -better be careful. Ten-to-one you haven't an alibi, and you'll need -a lawyer. Slip me a bill now and retain me as your counsel. No, this -isn't a gag. Something's cooking, even if it's only mistaken identity, -and I've seen enough of the law in war-time to know that you'll be -better off with the old cry, 'I demand to see my attorney,' when they -march you down to the F.B.I. headquarters to answer a few questions."</p> - -<p>"Thanks, Merry," I said, "and here's twenty bucks to go on with. If -the police are looking for me, I'd better go down to my office and see -that things are apple-pie before they lock up the brains of our outfit.</p> - -<p>"Besides," I added, "you've just given me an idea of how I can make a -hell of a lot of money."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_7" id="CHAPTER_7">CHAPTER 7</a></h2> - - -<p>Tompkins, Wasson & Cone maintained sincere-looking offices on one -of the upper floors of No. 1 Wall Street. The rooms were carefully -furnished in dark wood and turkey-red upholstery, in a style calculated -to reassure elderly ladies of great wealth that the firm was careful -and conservative.</p> - -<p>The girl at the reception desk looked as though she had graduated with -honor from Wellesley in the class of 1920 and still had it—pince-nez -and condescension—but she was thoroughly up-to-date in her -office-technique.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr. Tompkins," she murmured in a clear, low voice, "there's a -gentleman waiting to see you in the customer's room, a Mr. Harcourt. -He's been here since ten o'clock this morning."</p> - -<p>"He's had no lunch?" I inquired.</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>I clucked my tongue. "We can't have our customers starve to death, can -we? Send out for a club sandwich and some hot coffee. Give me five -minutes to take a look at my mail and then send him in. When the food -arrives, send that in, too."</p> - -<p>She blinked her hazel eyes behind her pince-nez to show that she -understood, and I walked confidently down to the end of the corridor to -where a "Mr. Tompkins" stared at me conservatively from a glazed door.</p> - -<p>My office lived up to my fondest dream of Winnie. It was an ingenious -blend of the 1870's and functional furniture—like a cocktail of port -wine and vodka. There were electric clocks, a silenced stock-ticker -in a glass-covered mahogany coffin, an elaborate Sheraton radio -with short-wave reception, tuned in on WQXR, and desks and chairs -and divans and a really good steel engraving showing General Grant -receiving Lee's surrender at Appomattox Court House, with a chart -underneath to explain who was who in the picture.</p> - -<p>The desk I was glad to note, was bare except for an electric -clock-calendar which told me that it was 3:12 p.m. of April 4, 1945, -and a handsome combination humidor, cigarette case and automatic -lighter in aluminum and synthetic tortoise-shell. A glance out the -window gave me a reassuring glimpse of the spire of Trinity Church. -There was a single typed memo on the glass top of the desk, which read: -"Mr. Harcourt, 10:13 a.m. Would not state business. Will wait."</p> - -<p>I pushed one of the array of buttons concealed underneath the edge of -the desk and a door opened to admit a largish blonde in a tight-fitting -sweater.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Tompkins?"</p> - -<p>"Please have Mr. Harcourt sent in," I said, "And when he comes, bring -your notebook and take a stenographic record of our conversation -and—er—what's your name?"</p> - -<p>She raised her well-plucked eyebrows. "I'm Eleanor Roosevelt, my -parents named me Arthurjean—after both of them—Arthurjean—Miss -Briggs to you!"</p> - -<p>"Very well, Miss Briggs, tell Mr. Harcourt I'll see him now."</p> - -<p>A moment later, she reappeared holding a card in her fingers as though -it was a live cockroach. "Sure you want to see this?" she asked.</p> - -<p>The card read: "Mr. A. J. Harcourt, Special Agent. Federal Bureau of -Investigation, U. S. Department of Justice, U. S. Court House, Foley -Square, New York 23, N. Y."</p> - -<p>"Of course," I replied, "I've been expecting him for some time."</p> - -<p>A. J. Harcourt was neat but not gaudy: a clean-cut, Hart, Shaffner and -Marx tailored man of about thirty-five, with that indefinable family -resemblance to J. Edgar Hoover which always worries me about the F.B.I.</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon, Mr. Harcourt," I said pleasantly, "and what can I do -for the F.B.I.?"</p> - -<p>Harcourt shook my hand, took a seat, refused a cigarette and cast a -doubtful glance over his shoulder at Arthurjean Briggs, who was working -semi-silently away at a stenotype machine.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's my secretary," I explained. "I always have her take a -record of important conversations in this office. I hope the machine -doesn't disturb you, Mr. Harcourt."</p> - -<p>"If it's all right with you it's all right with me," he said -grudgingly. "I thought perhaps you'd rather have this private."</p> - -<p>"Not in the least," I replied. "Miss Briggs is the soul of discretion -and I can imagine nothing we could talk about that I wouldn't want her -to hear."</p> - -<p>The G-Man looked as though he was worrying over whether he ought to -call Washington for permission. They hadn't taught him this one in -the F.B.I. academy of finger-printing, marksmanship, shadowing and -wire-tapping.</p> - -<p>"By the way, Mr. Harcourt," I added, "I just learned as I came in that -you've been waiting for me since ten this morning. It's after three now -so I took the liberty of sending out for a sandwich and some coffee for -you. I thought you might like a bite of lunch while you are talking -with me."</p> - -<p>The Special Agent looked as surprised as though he had found Hoover's -fingerprints on the murder-gun, but he nodded gamely.</p> - -<p>"Here it is now," I remarked, as there was a knock on the door and -a knowing-looking boy placed an appealing tray-load of sandwiches, -pickles and coffee in front of Mr. Harcourt.</p> - -<p>"Now you go right ahead and eat your lunch," I urged. "Ask me for any -information in my possession and you shall have it. And of course -I'll have Miss Briggs send a complete transcript of our talk to you -at F.B.I. headquarters by registered mail. First of all, if you don't -mind, would you show me your official identification and let Miss -Briggs take down the number and so on. It's always best to put these -things in the record, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>The G-Man gulped and produced a battered identity card, complete with -fingerprints, number, Hoover's signature and a photograph which would -have justified his immediate arrest on suspicion of bank-robbery.</p> - -<p>"I imagine, Mr. Harcourt," I remarked, "that you've had plenty of time -in the last five hours to question members of my staff about whatever -it is you think they might know about my business."</p> - -<p>He looked up, almost pathetically. "I asked a few questions," he -admitted. "This is just an informal inquiry. Nothing for Grand Jury -action—yet."</p> - -<p>I didn't like that last word.</p> - -<p>"Do you think I ought to call my lawyer in before I proceed with our -talk?" I asked. "I resent your reference to Grand Jury action. So far, -I don't even know what you wish to see me about and you have just made -a libelous statement in front of a reliable witness. Is that the way J. -Edgar Hoover trains his Gestapo?"</p> - -<p>"I—well—"</p> - -<p>"Come on, Harcourt, let's get on with it!" I interrupted. "I'm a busy -man and you've wasted five hours of the time my taxes help to pay for, -just waiting to take more of my time."</p> - -<p>He pulled a black leather notebook out of his pocket and consulted it.</p> - -<p>"The Bureau was asked to interrogate you, Mr. Tompkins, on behalf of -another government agency."</p> - -<p>"Which? Internal Revenue? W.P.B.? The S.E.C?"</p> - -<p>"No sir, it was none of those. I'm not at liberty to tell you which -one. I am simply instructed to ask you what you know about U.S.S. -Alaska and naval dispositions in the North Pacific."</p> - -<p>I leaned back and laughed. "Now I get it," I said. "That's O.N.I, and -that triple-plated ass, Ranty Tolan, trying to win the war in the -barrooms of New York. It all goes back to a dream I had while I was -dozing at the Pond Club Monday afternoon. Something about the U.S.S. -Alaska being blown up off the Aleutians. Tolan was there when I woke up -and I passed a few remarks about my dream before I was fully awake, if -you know what I mean. That's all there is to it, Mr. Harcourt."</p> - -<p>The Special Agent made a number of hen-tracks in his notebook.</p> - -<p>"Thank you very much, Mr. Tompkins," he said. "No doubt you'll be able -to explain things if my chief wants to call you in. I don't think my -chief believes in dreams. Not that kind of dream. Not in war-time."</p> - -<p>I laughed again. "I'm afraid I can't help that. So far as I am -concerned, the F.B.I. can believe in my dream or stick it in the files."</p> - -<p>Harcourt coughed. "It's not easy working with O.N.I, or other -intelligence outfits," he said. "They never tell us anything. The -trouble with your dream seems to be that the general public isn't -supposed to know that the U.S.S. Alaska is in commission and that the -Navy department has had no word from her since last Saturday."</p> - -<p>"Don't let that worry you," I said. "If she was anywhere near the -Kuriles, she'd keep radio silence, specially off Paramushiro."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" Harcourt remarked. "O.N.I. didn't say anything about Paramushiro. -Thank you, Mr. Tompkins. We'll be in touch with you, off and on."</p> - -<p>He rose, very politely, shook hands again, thanked me for the food, -nodded to Miss Briggs and made a definitely Grade A exit.</p> - -<p>His steps died away down the corridor. Miss Briggs waited until he -was out of earshot then turned to me. "You God damned fool!" she said -fondly. "You had him bluffed until you talked about Paramushiro. Why -did you admit anything?"</p> - -<p>I looked up at her broad, pleasant face.</p> - -<p>"So you've made a monkey out of me. I alibied you up and down. Listen, -Winnie, the F.B.I. have been all over the joint since early yesterday. -We were warned not to whisper a word to you. There was an agent waiting -to grill me when I got home last night. I told him you'd been spending -the week-end with me."</p> - -<p>"You told him—" I was startled.</p> - -<p>"Sure! Why not? He wasn't interested in my morals. I told him about our -place up in the fifties and gave you a complete alibi from Friday close -of business until Monday noon. And now you have to make like a Nazi -with the ships in the Pacific. Say, what is it you've supposed to have -done—kissed MacArthur?"</p> - -<p>"Damned if I know, Miss Briggs. That's part of the trouble."</p> - -<p>"Lay off that 'Miss Briggs' stuff. That was to punish you for giving -me the fish-eye when you came in. I'm your Arthurjean and the market's -closed so you'd better catch the subway uptown with me and I'll cook -you a steak dinner at our place."</p> - -<p>This was too deep water for hesitation, so I took the plunge. Taking -my hat and coat I told the genteel receptionist that I'd be back in -the morning. I waited for Arthurjean at the foot of the elevators and -followed her lead, into the East Side subway and up to the 51st Street -station, on to "our place."</p> - -<p>It was very discreet—an old brown-stone front converted into small -apartments. There was no door-man and an automatic elevator prevented -any intrusive check on the comings and goings of the tenants. The -third-floor front had been made into a pleasant little two-room -suite—a "master's bedroom" (Why not 'mistress's?' I thought) with a -double-bed, dresser and chairs, and an array of ducks which revealed -the true Tompkins touch. There was a small sitting-dining room as -well, and a kitchenette with a satisfactory array of bottles in the -Frigidaire and a reasonable amount of groceries.</p> - -<p>Arthurjean took off her hat and coat, fixed me a good stiff drink and -then disappeared into the bathroom. After a good deal of splashing and -gurgling, she reappeared clad in maroon satin pyjamas.</p> - -<p>"There," she said, "now I feel better."</p> - -<p>I smiled at her. "Here's to Arthurjean!" I said.</p> - -<p>"Nuts to Arthurjean," she replied. "How about Winnie? You've always -been swell to me, and you know it. I don't care if you're a louse or -a souse. You can always come to me any time you're in trouble and -I'll fix you up. Now you're in trouble with the cops, so how about me -helping you? Huh?"</p> - -<p>"You're a good kid," I said truthfully, for Arthurjean was indeed one -of God's own sweet tarts. "The truth is I'm in all kinds of a jam. You -see, I can't seem to remember what I've been doing before last Monday. -It's sort of like loss of memory, only worse. This F.B.I. thing is only -one of my headaches."</p> - -<p>She looked at me questioningly. "So you don't remember where you were -before Monday?" she asked. She slouched across the room, leaned down -and gave me a hearty kiss. "Will that help you remember? It was like -I told that detective. You and me were right here in this place over -Easter and don't forget it."</p> - -<p>I sighed. I liked Arthurjean, though she was as corned-beef and cabbage -to Germaine's caviar and champagne. "Okay," I said. "I won't forget it."</p> - -<p>"Attaboy!" she agreed. "Now that we've got that settled, suppose you -tell me where the hell you really were over the week-end. You stood me -up Friday night and today's the first time I've set eyes on you since -you left the office Friday morning. Boy, you may have some explaining -to do to the F.B.I., but it's nothing to what you got to explain to -momma."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_8" id="CHAPTER_8">CHAPTER 8</a></h2> - - -<p>"And so, Arthurjean," I concluded, "my guess is that for some crazy -reason it's up to me to take up where Winnie left off and try to do a -good job with the hand he's dealt himself."</p> - -<p>She remained silent, hunched on the floor beside me, with her maroon -pyjamas straining visibly and a pile of cigarette butts in the -ash-tray at her side.</p> - -<p>"Give me a break," I pleaded. "When I tried to tell my wife—Winnie's -wife—Mrs. Tompkins, that is—all she could think of was to send me off -to a plush-lined booby-hatch until I was sane again. The others—at -least Virginia Rutherford—are beginning to suspect that something is -wrong and that damned dog knows it. So be original and pretend that I -might be telling the truth."</p> - -<p>She didn't answer. Instead, she stood up, stretched, strolled over to -the kitchenette and mixed us both two good stiff drinks.</p> - -<p>"Mud in your eye!" she said.</p> - -<p>"Glad to see you on board!"</p> - -<p>"I don't see why not," she observed conversationally. "I don't pretend -to be smart and I know that the other girls in the office think I'm -nothing but a tramp because I don't pretend I don't like men, but I'm -damned if I think that Winnie, who is one of God's sweetest dumb-bells, -could have dreamed up anything as screwy as this."</p> - -<p>"As I remember him, he wasn't any too bright," I said.</p> - -<p>"Skip it! He wasn't dumb in business. He picked up a couple of million -bucks and gave them a good home in his safe-deposit box. He wasn't so -hot on music and books and art—except for his damned ducks—but he was -a lot of fun. He liked a good time and he liked a girl to have a good -time. He should have been born in one of those Latin countries where -the women do all the work and the men play guitars, drink and make -love."</p> - -<p>I drew a deep breath. I had won my first convert. I knew what Paul -of Tarsus felt when he met up with Timothy. I thought of Mahomet and -Fatima, Karl Marx and Bakunin, Hitler and Hess. Crazy though the whole -world would consider me, here was one human being who could listen to -my story without phoning for an ambulance.</p> - -<p>"Tell me about this Frank Jacklin," Arthurjean remarked. "I don't get -all the angles about him and this Dorothy. Seems to me you—Winnie, -that is—told me he was the guy she'd had a sort of crush on at school. -Winnie was still sort of sore about it twenty years later."</p> - -<p>"It's hard for me to be fair," I admitted. "Jacklin was a big shot at -school and may have had a swelled head. Winnie wasn't so hot then—nice -but with too much money. Jacklin's people were poor, by comparison that -is. He got through Yale, slid out into the newspaper game, held his -job, married a girl, had a bust-up with his wife and joined the Navy as -a reserve officer after she walked out on him. The Navy assigned him to -P.R.O. work and sent him to the Pacific."</p> - -<p>"He sounds like a heel," she observed, "leaving his wife like that. -Tell me more about her. Is she pretty?"</p> - -<p>I thought a long time. "I don't quite know," I said finally. "I never -knew. She was necessary to me, long after I was necessary to her. She -had a mole on her left hip and a gruff way of talking when she was -really fond of me. I guess she got tired of living in Hartford and took -it out on me."</p> - -<p>"Any kids?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head vigorously. "Cost too much on a newspaper salary. She -said she didn't want any until we could afford them. I was fool enough -to believe her. Then when we could afford them she didn't want them. -Can't say I blame her."</p> - -<p>"Did she make you happy?"</p> - -<p>"Of course not! Who wants to be happy? She made me miserable, but -it was exciting to be around her. I never knew what I'd find when -I got home—a knockdown drag-out fight over nothing at all or -hearts-and-flowers equally over nothing."</p> - -<p>Arthurjean yawned. "That part's convincing," she agreed. "I'll play -this one straight. You're Frank Jacklin <i>and</i> Winnie Tompkins rolled -into one. The point is, where do we go from here? Let's see you sign -Jacklin's name."</p> - -<p>I pulled out Winnie's gold, life-time fountain pen and wrote "Frank E. -Jacklin" over and over again on the back of an envelope. She studied it -carefully.</p> - -<p>"That's no phony," she agreed, "and it's nothing like Winnie's -handwriting. Think I could get a check cashed on it?"</p> - -<p>"Let's try," I suggested. "Tomorrow when I get to the office I'll -pre-date a check on the Riggs Bank at Washington. You mail it in for -collection and we'll see if it clears."</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "No dice! If I tried that, first thing we know we'd -have the A.B.A. dicks after you for forgery. Can you think of anything -else?"</p> - -<p>"Not unless you go to Washington and see Dorothy in O.S.S. and ask her -to verify my handwriting. Or, wait. You can go and talk to her and -notice whether she wriggles her nose to keep her spectacles up. You -can find out whether she's still nuts about Prokofiev. You can ask if -she still thinks that Ernest Hemingway is a worse writer than Charles -Dickens, and whether she still uses Chanel's Gardenia perfume."</p> - -<p>"That's enough," she interrupted. "But how'm I going to get to -Washington and do all these things?"</p> - -<p>"Next week," I said, "you and I can fly down on a business -trip—war-contracts, cut-backs, something official—and while I'm being -whip-sawed by the desk-heroes you can check on Dorothy. See if I'm not -right."</p> - -<p>She nodded. "That's one way. What can we cook up? The office is tied up -in estate work and that leaves no chance for Uncle Sam. You get what he -leaves the heirs and they tell me that the inheritance tax is here to -stay."</p> - -<p>I considered the problem. "Tell you what, Arthurjean," I replied. "I've -been thinking this over. The war's going to end this summer. What I saw -on the Alaska means that nobody can hold out against us. The Germans -are on their last legs, but most of the wise guys are saying that -it will take from eighteen months to two years to clean up Japan—a -million casualties, billions of dollars. This thorium bomb will do -the trick and the war will be over by Labor Day. There's a chance for -Winnie Tompkins to make another two or three millions."</p> - -<p>She laughed sardonically. "How?"</p> - -<p>"There's uranium stocks," I suggested.</p> - -<p>"All sewed up by the insiders. Last year you—or Winnie—got a query on -uranium and found that there wasn't any to be had."</p> - -<p>"There's wheat and sugar," I argued. "The world's going to be hungry. -There's a famine coming sure as hell. Buy futures and we'll be set."</p> - -<p>"Sure," she agreed, "if you want to buy Black and can get funds into -Cuba or the Argentine. But there are inter-allied pools operating in -sugar and wheat and you can't break into the game without connections -at Washington."</p> - -<p>"How about peace-babies?" I demanded. "We can sell our war bonds and -invest in something solid for post-war reconstruction. Say General -Motors or U.S. Steel."</p> - -<p>Arthurjean crossed the room and rumpled my head affectionately. "Baby," -she observed, "it's damn lucky for you and Winnie's dough I know my way -around the Street. Lay off heavy industrials until the labor business -gets straightened out. It's all set for a big strike-wave when the -shooting stops and a lot of investors are going to be burned. You can -sell short of course but you'll have to wait for that. If you must go -in for gambling, try the race-track or the slot-machines. Uncle Sam has -it fixed so that the only way you can make money out of the peace is -to be a Swiss or a Swede."</p> - -<p>"But that doesn't make sense," I objected. "In any place and at any -time, advance knowledge on what is going to happen is worth a fortune. -How about selling some of the war industries short?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "You wait till you've been to Washington. Some of -the smart guys down there may know the answers. Perhaps it will be -real-estate, if they can only get rid of rent-control. Probably it will -be surplus war-stocks but that's going to be a political racket. Anyhow -the tax-collector will be waiting for you, so why worry?"</p> - -<p>"Speaking of cashing checks," I reminded her, "how in hell am I going -to get some dough? How does Winnie sign himself at the City Farmers -anyhow?"</p> - -<p>She laughed. "He has three or four separate accounts. The one he uses -for purely personal hell-raising is just signed 'W. S. Tompkins.' Let's -see you try to write that. Remember he loops all his letters and draws -a little circle instead of a dot over the 'i'."</p> - -<p>I tried that a few times until she shook her head.</p> - -<p>"There isn't a bank-clerk in New York who wouldn't stop a check with -that on it. Let's see, he signed his name to something around here. See -if you can't copy it."</p> - -<p>She fumbled under a pile of magazines and finally came up with a copy -of "The Story of Philosophy" by Will Durant.</p> - -<p>"Winnie thought this would be good for me," she explained. "Here -it is: 'For Miss Arthurjean Briggs, with the compliments of W. S. -Tompkins.' He was like that—sort of formal—it gave him a kick. He -bought that for me second-hand after we'd been drinking Atlantic City -dry at an investment bankers convention. Try it."</p> - -<p>I tried the signature again but the effort was even worse than my -free-hand efforts. This time it looked like what it was—a clumsy -forgery.</p> - -<p>"Hell," I exclaimed, "I've simply got to do better than that. How about -my tracing it?"</p> - -<p>"You'd be surprised," she told me, "how easy it is to spot a signature -that's been traced. It's something about the flow of the ink and the -angle of the pen. No two signatures are exactly alike and that's why a -tracing gives itself away. They got machines which spot it."</p> - -<p>"Well, how'm I going to get some dough?" I demanded. "I can't draw on -Jacklin's Washington account—and the chances are there isn't much -there anyhow. And if I try to draw on Tompkins' account I'll find -myself in the hoosegow."</p> - -<p>She got up and mixed us another pair of drinks. "I got it," she -announced. "It won't be too nice for you but it's better than starving."</p> - -<p>"You mean you'll lend me some?"</p> - -<p>"Hell, baby, I got no money—twenty-five or thirty in the account and a -few hundreds in war-bonds. No, this is better. Just hold out your hand -and shut your eyes."</p> - -<p>It sounded like jewels. I leaned back in the chair, closed my eyes and -extended my right hand in front of me, palm upward. I heard her pad -into the bathroom. When she came back, her voice sounded strained as -she whispered: "This is it, baby. Keep those eyes shut!"</p> - -<p>There was a smooth, tingling sensation across the tips of my fingers, -then my right hand was suddenly warm and wet. I opened my eyes to see -Arthurjean holding a stained safety-razor blade in her hand and staring -at me, white-faced, as the blood trickled from my finger-tips.</p> - -<p>"Winnie—" she faltered, and slumped down in the divan.</p> - -<p>I hastily grabbed the handkerchief from my breast-pocket and wrapped it -around my throbbing fingers.</p> - -<p>"Ouch! Damn you!" I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered. "I didn't want to hurt you. It seemed -the only way—"</p> - -<p>"You damned fool," I almost shouted at her. "Do you realize you flopped -with that blade in your hand and might have cut an artery?"</p> - -<p>"No, did I?" She scrambled up hastily and looked around. "Gee, I feel -lousy. Does it hurt much?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet. What's the big idea?"</p> - -<p>"Now you sound like Winnie," she replied. "He never got ideas easy. -Listen, you big slob, if you've cut your fingers you got to have a -bandage and if you got a bandage on your right hand, your signature's -going to be screwy. All you need do is fumble it and I or one of the -girls will witness it and the bank will clear it and you'll get the -dough."</p> - -<p>I thought that one over. "You've got something in your head besides -those big blue eyes," I admitted. "Now if you only have some iodine and -bandages we'll see if I can stave off lock-jaw."</p> - -<p>She giggled. "Lock-jaw's the last thing <i>you'll</i> get," she said. "There -ought to be something in the medicine cabinet. Gee," she added. "I -suppose I'll have to get you undressed and dress you in the morning -just like a baby. Ain't that something?"</p> - -<p>"How about some food?" I demanded. "You said something about a steak -back at the office and all you've given me is Scotch and razor-blades. -You get on with your cooking and let me try to fix my hand."</p> - -<p>I went into the bathroom, located some mercurochrome and a box of band -aids. Once the flow of blood had slacked, I managed to incapacitate -myself sufficiently for the purpose of forging Winnie Tompkins' -signature.</p> - -<p>"Say, Winnie!" Arthurjean suddenly appeared at the bathroom door, with -an aroma of steak behind her. "I've just figured out something. If you -aren't Winnie but a ringer from the Aleutians, it's not decent for you -to see me in my pyjamas. We're strangers!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, keep 'em on till after dinner," I said. "I won't stand on -ceremony. I'm hungry."</p> - -<p>She laughed. "You sure can make like Winnie," she admired. "Jesus, the -steak's burning!"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_9" id="CHAPTER_9">CHAPTER 9</a></h2> - - -<p>"Say, old man, what happened to your hand?" Graham Wasson, plump, dark -and fortyish, but very clean-cut and with a Dewey dab on his upper -lip, was my questioner. He sat across the glass-topped desk in my Wall -Street Office, while Arthurjean Briggs typed demurely in the adjoining -office.</p> - -<p>"Changing razor-blades," I confessed. "The damn thing slipped and -before I knew it I made a grab for it. Lucky it didn't go deep. Hence -the surgical gauze and the lousy signature. Do you think you can get my -check cleared through the bank or should I write Winnie 'X' Tompkins, -his mark?"</p> - -<p>Wasson chuckled like a well-fed broker. "We'll get enough witnesses to -your John Hancock to make it legal," he promised. "Now what you've got -to do is to ease old lady Fynch into the trustee's delight and take a -gander at her former investments. I've brought the list with me. As you -know, she insisted that you okay the deal."</p> - -<p>I glanced at the typed list. "This stuff looks pretty good to me, -Graham," I said. "Detroit Edison's safe as the Washington Monument, -A.T.&T. is solid, and G.E. ought to do all right with this new -electronic stuff."</p> - -<p>"And how!" My partner agreed. "Boy! what a windfall! Stuff like that is -scarcer than hen's teeth on the open market. With close to a million -bucks to turn over, we ought to do pretty well on this. Here's what -we're buying for her."</p> - -<p>Wasson passed me a slip of paper. "The trustee's delight," he said. -"G-Bonds. You buy 'em, we should worry. No money back for ten years. -Morgenthau's dream-child."</p> - -<p>The slip was attached to a printed Treasury form. "See here," I -pointed out. "These damn bonds depreciate 2.2% a year for the first -five years and then start climbing up the ladder again, and they're -non-transferable."</p> - -<p>"That's it, Winnie. The trustee's delight," Wasson agreed. "They pay -2-1/2% a year if you hold them but if you try to sell them within -five years the discount means you only get about .03% on your money. -Once a trustee has put you aboard this roller-coaster, he can't -conscientiously advise you to get out."</p> - -<p>"Who dreamed up that swindle?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, a couple of dollar-a-year bankers we sent down to help the -Treasury win the war. It's a natural. It's patriotic to invest in -war-bonds. The yield's conservative as hell and you get it all back if -you wait long enough."</p> - -<p>"But what if the old girl dies within the next five years? Won't the -estate be liquidated? How will the heirs feel when they have to take a -loss of $60,000?"</p> - -<p>"That's their worry, Winnie," Wasson pointed out. "All we have to do is -sign the papers and la Fynch gets about $25,000 a year for the rest of -her life."</p> - -<p>"Instead of the $40,000 a year she's getting out of her present -investments now."</p> - -<p>"Sure, Winnie. We're not in business for our health. Industrials are -risky and Miss Fynch is awful set on beating Hitler. We take over her -present portfolio and take our chances on the market. If values shift -we're in a position to unload—but fast. She isn't. She only gets to -town twice a year, once between Bar Harbor and Long Island, and then -next time from Palm Beach to Long Island. Come on, Winnie, stick your -fist on these papers and I'll handle the transfers."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "I'd like to think this over," I said. "If I was an -old woman and expected only five or ten more years of life, I'd be -hanged if I'd tie myself down to these financial mustard-plasters. It -sounds okay to be patriotic, but I think I'd stick to the greater risks -and higher yields and get a run for my money. Tell you what, Graham, -you phone and tell her I'd like to have a talk with her before she -makes up her mind."</p> - -<p>Wasson shoved back his chair and faced me, bristling. "I'll be damned -if I will. This is a natural and, handled right, is worth $100,000 to -the firm. You talked her into it and now if you're getting cold feet -you can talk her out of it. All I know is that you've gone nuts."</p> - -<p>"We aren't so hard up that we have to swindle old ladies."</p> - -<p>"Swindle my eye! What's wrong about $25,000 a year guaranteed by your -Uncle Sam?"</p> - -<p>"Less income tax," I reminded him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, sure—that—"</p> - -<p>"Well, it's about $15,000 a year less than she's getting now. If she -sold out and invested in an annuity she could get about $70,000 a year, -tax-free. No, I don't want to rush her into this."</p> - -<p>"Then you've forgotten how we made our pile in the first place," my -partner growled. "Phil Cone and I will have to talk this over. This is -a fine time to go soft on us."</p> - -<p>I grinned at him. "Go on, talk it over. If you want out, you're -welcome. I'd rather like you to stick around, as I'm on to something -really big and I don't want the Street to say we fleeced our clients."</p> - -<p>"I resent that, Winnie," Wasson snapped.</p> - -<p>"What else would you call it? Reinvesting?"</p> - -<p>"Listen," he exploded. "You built up this business. You invented the -methods. I'm damned if I let you call me a swindler for following your -lead!" And he stormed out, slamming the door. A moment later, he stuck -his head in again. "Forget it, Winnie. If you're working on a big -operation, count me in!"</p> - -<p>I studied the list of the Fynch investments again and the more I saw -it the more I wondered how anybody but a fool would fall for the -proposition of putting money in the government bonds for ten years, -when you could clean up outside government.</p> - -<p>There was a tap on the edge of my desk. I looked up to see Arthurjean. -"Mr. Harcourt is back to see you," she said. "I'll get set with the -stenotype. And don't worry about that Fynch dame. I'll give you a -fill-in later. She knows what she's doing."</p> - -<p>"Fine!" I told her. "Now you show Mr. Harcourt in and make with the -stenotype. Did you finish copying what we said yesterday?"</p> - -<p>Her mouth dropped open and her sweater quivered eloquently. "Omigawd! -baby! I clean forgot."</p> - -<p>Mr. Harcourt seemed much more vital and self-possessed than on the -previous afternoon—perhaps because he had obviously had a sleep, a -shower and a hearty breakfast, presumably prefaced by ten minutes of -vigorous push-ups and toe-touching in bathroom calisthenics. At any -rate he looked fit.</p> - -<p>"Morning, Harcourt," I said casually. "Sorry to tell you that Miss -Briggs was home with a bad headache last night and wasn't able to make -that copy of our talk yesterday."</p> - -<p>G-Men on duty are not supposed to smile without written permission from -their immediate superior but Harcourt must have had an extra helping of -Wheaties for breakfast. "Call yourself a headache, Mr. Tompkins?" he -asked. "That's who our man reported Miss Briggs had last night at 157 -East 51st Street, third floor front. Can I get her some aspirin?"</p> - -<p>"There are no secrets from the Gestapo," I observed, "and I have no -comment to offer except to say next time come on up and have a drink -with us instead of doing the G-Man in a cold and drafty doorway across -the street."</p> - -<p>The Special Agent gave an entirely unofficial wink at Arthurjean. -"Oh, hell," he remarked. "What's the use of all this coy stuff? The -Bureau isn't interested in your private life. What I wanted to say, Mr. -Tompkins, is that I reported our talk to my chief and he teletyped my -report down to Washington. We're not going to fool around with Church -Street on this one. The Director's going to take it up direct with -Admiral Ballister at the Navy Department. For my part, I told him I -thought it was all a pipe-dream but like I said the F.B.I. doesn't -believe in dreams that come true."</p> - -<p>Arthurjean crossed the room and stood behind him, pressing a little -unregenerately against the back of his chair, until Harcourt remarked -conversationally to U. S. Grant in the engraving, "I'm a married man, -baby, with a wife and kids in Brooklyn."</p> - -<p>My secretary smiled and gave him a smart tap on the top of his head. -"You're a good boy, junior," she told him, "and I'm all for you. But -don't you go making trouble for this dumb boss of mine or I'll call on -your wife, personal, and Tell All."</p> - -<p>Harcourt murmured to the engraving that unconditional surrender was -<i>his</i> name, too, but that Tompkins was making so much trouble for -himself that he was damned if he could see how the F.B.I. could make it -any worse. In any case, he added more directly, he would keep in touch -with me and let me know whether I was wanted up at the Federal Court -House.</p> - -<p>"See here, Harcourt," I replied. "One good turn doesn't make a spring. -This is the screwiest case you've ever been on. If you can drop in and -visit Miss Briggs and myself on Saturday after lunch at our place, I'll -give you a fill-in that will rock the F.B.I. from its gats to its -toupees."</p> - -<p>"That's mighty white of you—and Miss Briggs," the Special Agent -allowed. "If the chief lets me, I'll meet you up there, say about 2:30."</p> - -<p>"Swell!" I said. "And which do you prefer—Scotch or rye?"</p> - -<p>"I don't drink on duty," he told me, "but I find Bourbon helps fight -off colds this early spring weather."</p> - -<p>After his departure, I locked myself in the office and with -Arthurjean's help, brought myself up to date on Winnie's business -operations. Tompkins, Wasson & Cone were not, as I had believed, a -high-toned bucket-shop. The proposed Fynch swindle was only the result -of a dopey old maid who practically insisted on helping beat the Axis -by turning her money into Government bonds. There was plenty of honest -graft and many a solid perquisite in straight commission work and -supervision of estates. The firm was not, of course, very scrupulous -but it always gave value for its transactions. It was, in fact, a -pretty slick set-up.</p> - -<p>There was a buzz on my inter-office telephone and the receptionist -announced: "Mr. Axel Roscommon to see you, Mr. Tompkins."</p> - -<p>"Oh, ask him to see one of the other partners, will you?"</p> - -<p>"I told him that you were too busy, but he said he must see you and -would wait."</p> - -<p>"He too?" I asked. "Okay. Send him in. Do you know an Axel Roscommon, -Arthurjean?"</p> - -<p>"Uh-uh!" She shook her head. "The name's sorta familiar. Something in -oil before Pearl Harbor. I can find out if you'll wait a bit."</p> - -<p>"Never mind," I told her. "I'll see him. You stay in the next room and -keep the door ajar so you can take a record."</p> - -<p>She laughed. "I can do better than that, boss. I'll switch down the -inter-office phones and keep the door shut. That way. I'll hear every -word you say. It's like a dictaphone."</p> - -<p>Mr. Roscommon was an extremely well set up man in the middle fifties, -about six-feet two, lean, with iron grey hair, a grey moustache, -steel-blue eyes and a bear-trap grip. He looked prosperous but not -worried by it. He spoke with a faint Irish lilt in his voice but his -manner was most direct and unHibernian.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," he remarked. "You must excuse the lack of formality -but you will understand when I tell you that I am chief of the German -intelligence organization in the United States. Now don't think I'm -crazy or indiscreet. The only reason I have come to you is because my -agents in the F.B.I. tell me that you are involved in the sinking of -U.S.S. Alaska off the Aleutians. Thorium bombs, wasn't it? Chalmis was -a pretty smart chap and I warned our people that he was getting hot. -Now I don't ask you why in Wotan's name the Fuehrer thinks it makes -sense to have two intelligence services in this country. Probably -Berlin didn't like my last reports. No, don't get excited. I've engaged -in no subversive activities, I'm an Irish Free State citizen and if you -go to Washington you'll find that they know all about me. Hitler may -want the old Goetterdaemmerung spirit in our outfit but I can't see the -point of too much zeal."</p> - -<p>I offered him a cigarette. "What do you want to see me about, Mr. -Roscommon?" I asked. "For all you know there may be dictaphones planted -all over the place. My last visitor today was actually a special agent -of the F.B.I."</p> - -<p>Roscommon lighted his cigarette with a flick of a gold Dunhill lighter. -"That would be Harcourt—A. J. Harcourt—wouldn't it? A fine chap and -a conscientious agent. I'd heard he'd been assigned to your case. -You'll find him completely reliable. As you know, in time of war there -has to be <i>some</i> practical way of maintaining direct confidential -communication between the enemies. Switzerland? Bah! All milk -chocolate, profiteering and eyewash. I wouldn't trust a Swiss as far as -I could throw the Sub-Treasury Building. I'm acting here for Berlin and -you have at least three men in Berlin to keep in touch with the German -Government over there. That's the only practical way modern wars can be -fought, eh? As Edith Cavell said last time, 'Patriotism is not enough.' -The fact is that even in war, two great countries like Germany and -America must and do maintain direct contact."</p> - -<p>I pushed the button for Arthurjean. "Miss Briggs," I asked, "have we -any brandy in the office?"</p> - -<p>Dead-pan and nonchalant, she crossed the room to a small safe, -disguised as a Victorian low-boy, twiddled the dials and revealed a -neat little Frigidaire. She prepared two brandies and soda, handed -them to us and returned to her office.</p> - -<p>"Prosit!" said I.</p> - -<p>"Heil Roosevelt!" Roscommon answered.</p> - -<p>"But what did you want to see me about?" I inquired. "<i>You</i> may be all -right but <i>I'm</i> already under investigation by the F.B.I."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense, old boy, nonsense," he reassured me. "If they, get -troublesome, let me know—I'm in the phone book and my girl will always -know where to reach me, day or night—and I'll tell Washington to stop -proceedings. No, Tompkins, what I wanted to tell you was that—when -you report back to your superior and I'll lay ten-to-one he's that -ass Ribbentrop—just tell him that the war's lost. Our game now is -to salvage resources for the next war, which will be against Russia, -unless I miss my guess. We've got to use these last few weeks and -days to rush funds, patents, papers, brains and organization out of -the Reich. Send them to Sweden, to Switzerland, to Italy. Fly them to -Spain, slip them in U-boats to Buenos Aires or Dublin. Tell Ribbentrop -that New York understands our problem and will play the game right -across the board, but there must be no shilly-shallying, no nonsense -about 'last stands.' If Hitler wants a Siegfried finish, let him have -it, but from now on our job is to save Germany as an asset for her -Western Allies and as a people whom the world will need to fight the -Soviets. Tell him that, will you, old man? Thanks most awfully."</p> - -<p>Roscommon finished his drink with an expert swirl of the glass, smiled, -shook hands and left the room as abruptly as he had arrived in it. I -picked up the outside phone.</p> - -<p>"Get me F.B.I. Headquarters," I said. "I wish to speak to Mr. A. J. -Harcourt. Thanks, I'll wait."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_10" id="CHAPTER_10">CHAPTER 10</a></h2> - - -<p>"Well, there it is, Harcourt," I ended my recitation. "Miss Briggs -believes me, my wife doesn't, and I don't expect you to. But if you're -interested, I can prove I'm Frank Jacklin any number of ways."</p> - -<p>The G-Man finished his drink and stared absent-mindedly at the ceiling, -while Arthurjean poured him a new shot of Bourbon and water—his fifth.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," he said at last. "I'm drinking your liquor in your -house—or Miss Briggs' apartment, whichever it is—and it's not for me -to call you a liar."</p> - -<p>"Don't you dare!" Arthurjean warned him. "Not while I'm around, G-Man -or no G-Man. Say, what do the initials A. J. stand for in your name? -Abba Jabba?"</p> - -<p>"What do you think? Andrew Jackson, of course. No, Mr. Tompkins, I -won't call you a liar because, to tell the truth, I'm not sure that you -are. Lots of funny things have happened in this war. This might have -happened. But I can't do anything about it."</p> - -<p>"Can't you at least check on the Jacklin angle?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Harcourt shook his head. "Before I could do any checking, I'd have to -report my reasons to the chief. If I was asked for a reason, I'd have -to explain that I had grounds for thinking that Commander Jacklin's -soul—and the F.B.I. has never established a policy on souls—had been -blown from the Aleutians clear into Westchester County and is now -running round in the body of Winfred S. Tompkins, stock broker. That -report from me would go from my chief right up to J. Edgar Hoover, the -Attorney-General, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Cabinet and President -Roosevelt. Now, wouldn't that look nice on my record? Wouldn't that -just put me right in line for promotion? Be reasonable, you two. I'm -not saying I don't believe this yarn, but it would be worth my job to -act like I believed it—and I got a wife and three kids in Brooklyn, no -fooling."</p> - -<p>Arthurjean remained silent for a few minutes, "Andrew Jackson -Harcourt—" she began.</p> - -<p>"You haven't said anything about this sinister guy Roscommon," I -interrupted. "You could do something about him without worrying about -me and my story."</p> - -<p>"Roscommon?" Harcourt shrugged his shoulders. "Going after him would -remind me of the time we hit the Governor of North Carolina with a -Great Smoky barbecued bear. Roscommon is all he says he is and orders -are out not to touch him. How do you think we ought to fight this war, -anyhow? Blind-fold?"</p> - -<p>"What about that Great Smoky bear?" Arthurjean demanded irrelevantly. -"You-all from the South, honey-chile?"</p> - -<p>"The Old North State, sugar! And you?"</p> - -<p>"Tennessee, thank God! And the name's Arthurjean, Andy, and for the -millionth time I'll explain that my dad's name was Arthur and my -mother's name was Jean, so they ran 'em together, like Johns-Manville -or Pierce-Arrow, but it's all one word. No hyphen. So, there!"</p> - -<p>I urged them to get over their rebel yell and come back to the subject -of the bear.</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr. Tompkins," Harcourt explained. "It's this way. Up in the -Smokies we have a special way of cooking bear. All you need is a bear, -a bee-tree, a two-handed saw and a stick of dynamite. First, you kill -your bear. That's mighty important. You skin him and you gut him and -truss him up like a chicken. Then you ram him up as far as you can deep -inside a bee-tree, just below the honey, and wedge him in so he won't -slip. Then you start a slow fire underneath him inside the tree. The -fire sort of slow-cooks the bear, like a Dutch oven, drives off the -bees and melts the honey-comb. The honey just naturally drips down on -the bear meat while she's cooking. Just about the time the tree's ready -to fall—course, I should have explained you saw off the trunk just -above the honey so the bees can get away from the smoke and the old -tree will draw like a chimney—you set a fuse to a stick of dynamite, -toss it in the fire and run like hell. Well, sir, the dynamite goes -off and just naturally shoots the old roast bear out the tree like a -projectile. Then you pick it up, lug it back to the picnic grounds, -and I tell you, Mr. Tompkins, it's mighty sweet eating. Now this time -we nigh hit the Governor of North Carolina, he was making a political -speech over at the old fair grounds, and—"</p> - -<p>"I think I get the picture, Harcourt," I said, cutting in on him -rapidly. "We did pretty much the same thing with baby seals and popcorn -in the Aleutians. When we were after Jap subs, the depth-charges killed -no end of baby seals—concussion, I guess. So we'd pick 'em up in a -life-boat, clean them, stuff them with unpopped popcorn, and stick -them in the fourteen-inch guns. Then we'd touch off a reduced charge -behind 'em. Seals are naturally oily so they went out the muzzle like -a regular shell. The intense heat of the explosion not only cooked the -seal but popped the popcorn. That puffed out, set up air resistance and -reduced trajectory. Then we'd send a helicopter out to pick 'em up and -have 'em in mess. Cold with chili sauce, they were delicious. One time -when we were bombarding Attu, the crew of No. 3 turret forgot we had a -seal in the center gun and fired it at a Jap redoubt. It hit—"</p> - -<p>"I can see," Arthurjean remarked, "that I've been missing a lot of fun -here in New York, though I'll never forget the time we pretended we -found a dead mouse in a mince pie at the Waldorf—Now, who in hell can -<i>that</i> be?"</p> - -<p>The door-bell rang insistently.</p> - -<p>Harcourt looked a little uneasy. "I thought it might save a lot of time -and trouble," he said, "if I asked Mrs. Tompkins to meet us here. I -told her that Miss Briggs was a friend of mine—sugar, you'd better -go in the other room and put on red night-things—so you don't need -something more <i>de trop</i> than those to worry, Mr. Tompkins."</p> - -<p>"That's just dandy, Harcourt," I agreed. "Did you ever see a wife who -couldn't spot a sex-situation at a hundred yards up-wind on a dark and -rainy night?"</p> - -<p>"Can't say I did," the Special Agent admitted, "but I've never had but -one wife and she's busy with the kids."</p> - -<p>There was a knock on the door and Harcourt opened it with a courtly -manner.</p> - -<p>"Come right in, Mrs. Tompkins," he said. "My friend, Miss Briggs, is in -the other room and will be out in a moment. Mr. Tompkins and I—"</p> - -<p>"This," said Germaine, "is Mrs. Rutherford. After Winnie didn't turn -up for a couple of nights, we put our heads together and decided that -two could worry as cheaply as one. So when I got your message, I just -phoned Virginia and here we are. Hullo, Winnie, is this another of your -homes away from home?"</p> - -<p>Virginia Rutherford looked pretty much the way a roasting bear in a -bee-tree might be expected to feel while waiting for the dynamite to -explode: very sweet, red-hot and not giving a damn whether she hit the -Governor of the Old North State.</p> - -<p>"Hullo, Winnie," she remarked dangerously. "This another of your -tousled blondes?"</p> - -<p>"I resent that," Arthurjean said from the doorway. "This is <i>my</i> -flat and I didn't invite you and I'll have you know that I'm a very -respectable—well, rather respectable—working girl."</p> - -<p>The effect of virtue was only slightly marred by the fact that, as she -spoke, a pair of silk panties slowly but inexorably slid below the hem -of her skirt and settled in a shimmer at her feet. Arthurjean looked -down.</p> - -<p>"Oh, hell, girls," she said, "What's the use? Have a drink!"</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Miss Briggs," Germaine replied. "I will. Make mine straight -Scotch and the same for Mrs. Rutherford. Are you, by any chance, -employed in my husband's office?"</p> - -<p>"I'm his secretary," Arthurjean admitted.</p> - -<p>"Winnie," Jimmie turned on me with a snap like those doors in Penn -Station which open by an electric eye, "and you swore that you had -nothing to do with the office-girls. I was fool enough to believe you."</p> - -<p>"At the time, dear," I explained guiltily, "I didn't know it myself."</p> - -<p>Harcourt came lumbering to my rescue. "Before you leap to any -conclusions, Mrs. Tompkins," he urged, "I think I ought to explain that -I represent the F.B.I. and that Mr. Tompkins came here today at my -request. Your husband happens to be in very serious trouble under the -Espionage Act. I personally am convinced that there's been a mistake -and that he's innocent, but my opinion is of no value unless I can -find evidence to support it."</p> - -<p>"What's he done?" Virginia Rutherford asked eagerly. "Will he go to -jail?"</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately, Mrs. Rutherford," Harcourt replied, "I'm not allowed -to discuss the nature of the charges against him. No formal indictment -has been lodged and if you can help me, none will be made. The -important thing is to know where he was and what he was doing from the -twenty-fifth of March until the second of April."</p> - -<p>"Why the twenty-fifth of March?" my wife demanded. "He was with me at -Bedford Hills most of that time. I, and the maid at the house, Myrtle, -can testify to that. I don't think he went to the office much that -week. It was Holy Week. He and I went to church."</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Tompkins," he said, "you are a true and noble lady. It's just too -bad that one of our agents has already interviewed the Hubble girl, who -testified that Mr. Tompkins didn't come home once all that week."</p> - -<p>Germaine sank back in her chair and looked at me with an air of -misplaced consecration. "Winnie," she urged, "go ahead and tell him -where you were. I'm your wife and I don't care what silliness you were -up to or what woman you were with, just so they don't send you to -prison."</p> - -<p>I smiled at her. "Jimmie," I replied, "I give you my word, I simply -don't remember. I don't know where I was. As I told you the other day, -I've drawn a blank as to what happened before last Monday afternoon."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rutherford took advantage of the moment of incredulous silence -which followed this announcement.</p> - -<p>"Don't try to be chivalrous, Winnie," she urged me. "We hadn't planned -to advertise it, Jimmie, but Winnie spent that week with me. He rented -a flat for me uptown, Mr. Harcourt, about six weeks ago, and we put in -a whole week together. I daresay you think I'm a loose woman but—"</p> - -<p>Harcourt looked quite painfully embarrassed. "I surely do not want to -contradict a lady," he told her, "but the Bureau checked up on that -apartment yesterday. The janitor and the cleaning woman both stated -that, except for last Monday afternoon and evening when you were there -by yourself, neither you nor Mr. Tompkins had been near the place for -at least two weeks. The bed linen and the bath towels hadn't been used -and the food in the ice-box was stale. There had been no garbage."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" flared Virginia, "of all the low-down snoopers!"</p> - -<p>"The country's at war, Mrs. Rutherford," the Special Agent replied. -"And while I'm at it I might as well save Miss Briggs the trouble of -telling me that Mr. Tompkins spent that week here with her. He did not. -We've checked this apartment house most thoroughly, as well as Mr. -Tompkins' office."</p> - -<p>"Why that particular week?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Harcourt turned to me apologetically. "In view of your earlier -statements to me," he declared, "I'm sure you will understand this -explanation. A certain ship did not sail from a certain port until the -26th of March. A certain article was not delivered on board that ship -until after she had sailed. Before then, the individual who brought -the article to the ship had no knowledge which ship had been selected. -Before then, nobody on that ship had any knowledge that any article -would be brought on board and had no knowledge of the nature of its -voyage. Whatever arrangements were made must have been made during the -following few days. That, at any rate, is the working theory the Bureau -has adopted. Have you no idea of where you might have been in that -period, Mr. Tompkins?"</p> - -<p>I placed my head in my hands and thought back to that misty morning -ten days before, when the Alaska pulled out of Bremerton Navy Yard and -headed north through Puget Sound for Victoria and the Strait of Juan -de Fuca. I remembered how, as we returned recognition signals to the -Canadian base at Esquimault, a destroyer had put out, come alongside -and put a civilian passenger aboard us. I remembered the fuss he raised -on the bridge while we made a lee for the destroyer and hoisted a large -packing-case on board, and how it was hurried below decks with a Marine -guard. Then I thought of the run out west, past Dutch Harbor and Adak, -our light carrier slipping through the drifting fogs of the Aleutians, -while the slow Pacific swell pounded against our port beam and the -turbines whined and ship shook and the icy wind whipped across the -flight-deck. And I remembered that last night in the mess when Windy -Smith—of Texas, naturally—boasted that he—</p> - -<p>"No, Mr. Harcourt," I told him, "I'm afraid that the things I remember -wouldn't help either of us. You go ahead and see what you can find out -about me, and so will I."</p> - -<p>"Winnie," Germaine said reproachfully. "Tell him where you were, dear. -It's no use pretending that you don't remember. I know that you can -explain. I know there's nothing <i>really</i> wrong."</p> - -<p>Arthurjean walked across and put her hand on Jimmie's arm. "You'd -better have another drink, Mrs. Tompkins," she remarked, "and so had I. -This sort of thing is tough to take."</p> - -<p>Virginia looked up brightly at Harcourt. "If Winnie won't help himself, -I will," she said. "I'll find out what the big dope was doing and when -I do—look out!"</p> - -<p>"Come on, Jimmie," I told my wife. "Let's go home. I've had about as -much of this as I can stand. Harcourt, you know where you can reach me, -if you get the word from Washington. In the meantime, why don't you -follow up that Roscommon angle? That's the best lead I've struck."</p> - -<p>Harcourt finished his Bourbon. "Mr. Tompkins," he observed, "you're -quite right but there isn't a single thing I can do about it. We've had -top-level orders to lay off that guy and with the Bureau, orders is -orders."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_11" id="CHAPTER_11">CHAPTER 11</a></h2> - - -<p>When I entered my office on Monday morning, the genteel receptionist -informed me with some austerity that Mr. Roscommon was waiting for me.</p> - -<p>"Okay, send him in," I directed, bracing myself for what would probably -be a stormy interview. If Roscommon was as well-informed as he claimed -to be, he must know that I had already reported him to the F.B.I.</p> - -<p>"Smart work, Tompkins!" he beamed, giving my hand a vise-like squeeze. -"Working as I do with the highest echelons, I'm afraid I sometimes -forget the value of naiveté. You couldn't have invented anything better -calculated to slow down the Bureau than to report me as a Nazi agent. -Even the Director was impressed, though he'll see through your ruse -after a couple of days."</p> - -<p>"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" I inquired, "because your visit -will certainly arouse new suspicions. I assume I'm still under F.B.I. -observation."</p> - -<p>Axel Roscommon smiled. "Nothing to worry about, old boy, I assure -you. Naturally you'll have to go to Washington sooner or later and -explain things there. I suggest that you go next week, when the whole -Administration will be in a state of maximum confusion."</p> - -<p>I asked him whether that would be any change.</p> - -<p>"Absolutely, old boy. The war's been managed quite impressively well up -to now. After this week, with Roosevelt out of the way, things will -begin to fall apart and there will be plenty of pickings but the war is -already won, so that won't hurt."</p> - -<p>Roosevelt, I observed, was down in Georgia, according to the papers, -but that didn't mean he couldn't keep in touch with things in -Washington.</p> - -<p>Roscommon stood close against my desk and leaned forward on his hands, -facing me. "Listen carefully, old boy," he said, "and keep this to -yourself. Roosevelt will be dead before the week's out—on Friday the -thirteenth if there's any symmetry to be expected in this crazy world. -It's the same stuff they gave Woodrow Wilson over at Paris in the -spring of 1919. You may remember that chap Yardley wrote a book, 'The -American Black Chamber,' and told how the American Intelligence got -word of a plot to poison Wilson by one of America's allies. Not long -after, Wilson had a slight illness and a few months later had a stroke, -as they called it. You see your American Constitution—marvelous -document, that!—makes absolutely no bloody provision for the illness -of a President, and Wilson's paralysis paralyzed your government -for nearly two years, while America's allies cleaned up on the -peace-arrangements.</p> - -<p>"Roosevelt is tougher than Wilson was. They slipped him the first dose -at Teheran early last year. When he came back that spring he had a -slight illness—they called it influenza—and he was never quite the -same. Except for a few trusted social associates, close friends and -members of the family, he was kept in strict seclusion. Then, with -his amazing vitality, he began to throw off the stuff and staged a -magnificent political campaign last fall. So they had to try again at -Yalta early this year. The second time they gave him too much. He had -one bad attack on the cruiser coming back from the Mediterranean. When -he addressed Congress, he had the same gaunt look and thick speech -that Wilson had towards the end. The final stroke is due this week and -has been held off only because he's taking things easy. No, old chap, -Roosevelt's doomed and all I can tell you is that the Germans had no -part in it. Only five men in America know about this, and F.D.R. is one -of them."</p> - -<p>"You're talking utter piffle," I replied. "I can see how Hitler or Tojo -might want to get rid of Roosevelt but who else? Why don't you warn the -authorities. Or I could."</p> - -<p>Roscommon smiled rather sadly. "What good would it do? There's no -antidote after the first twenty-four hours. If Roosevelt hasn't warned -them, why should you? All that would happen would be to put yourself -under the blackest kind of suspicion. Just fancy the reaction of the -American Intelligence. You march in and say, 'See here, the President's -been poisoned and will die before the end of the week.' They promptly -call for an ambulance and an alienist and send you to St. Elizabeth's -for observation. Then the President does die. 'By the Lord Harry!' they -think, 'this chap we locked up said Roosevelt would die and now he has -died. He probably had a hand in it himself. Let's fix him just to be -safe!'"</p> - -<p>I nodded. "Yes, I can see that," I agreed. "Look at what happened when -Lincoln was assassinated. But if I'm not to pass word on to anybody, -what's the point of telling me about it—assuming it to be true, which -I doubt?"</p> - -<p>"Naturally you doubt me, my boy, naturally. All you need do is to wait -until Friday the thirteenth and if I'm right you'll know it and if I'm -wrong you'll know it. But I assure you that I am not wrong. The war is -over and Roosevelt is the only obstacle to certain long-range practical -arrangements for organizing the peace. The Old World, mind you, doesn't -like outsiders like Wilson and Roosevelt telling them what to do with -victory. From now on, America is going to be immobilized. It's all -rather simple, really, but I haven't time to explain how simple it is -because the explanation is bloody complicated."</p> - -<p>"You still haven't told me why you have passed on this fantastic story -to me," I pointed out.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that? It's just this, my boy. Sell the war short! Sell it -short! You must use all the funds that Ribbentrop gave you to get -a real nest-egg. With Germany defeated, our intelligence will need -funds—decentralized funds—and this is your chance to do an important -job. I don't care what the Foreign Minister told you to do with the -money. Forget him—he's a dead duck, anyway. Just take the cash and -sell the war short. Make a killing and then we'll be able to finance -future operations."</p> - -<p>After Roscommon had made another of his abrupt departures, I buzzed for -Arthurjean and told her to ask my partners to come in.</p> - -<p>Wasson was the same as he had been before—plump, dark-haired and -energetic. Philip Cone was taller, fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a quiet -manner and a sleepy expression.</p> - -<p>"Morning, Graham. Morning, Phil," I greeted them. "The other day, -Graham, you got peeved because I wanted to go slow on the Fynch -portfolio. I only had a hunch then but I knew we'd better not rush into -one of our regular reinvestment run-arounds. Now I've made a check and -I see the new line. Boys, from now on, we've got to sell the war short."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean 'sell the war short?'" Wasson demanded. "The Japs are -good for another year and those Nazis are fighting pretty damn well, -too. You don't mean to go America First, separate peace or any of that -rot, do you?"</p> - -<p>"You know me better than that," I reproved him. "No. My tip is that the -Germans will surrender within a month and the Japs before Labor Day. -What do we do to clean up?"</p> - -<p>"Je-sus!" Cone drawled appreciatively. "The bottom will drop out of the -market!"</p> - -<p>"No, Phil it won't," Wasson objected. "They won't let it. That would be -an admission that Wall Street is cashing in on the war."</p> - -<p>"Well, aren't we cashing in?" asked Cone, "I haven't heard a single -broker or banker committing suicide since Pearl Harbor."</p> - -<p>"Nuts to that talk!" Wasson replied. "No, Winnie, my point is that Wall -Street can't afford a peace-scare selling wave, and if stocks start to -drop the big boys will move in and support the market."</p> - -<p>"How about commodities, Graham?" I asked. "You know that end of the -business. The whole world will be hungry and naked. Can't we move in -there without risk?"</p> - -<p>Wesson laughed bitterly. "There will be only about eighteen governments -and government boards riding herd on you every time you move in with -real money in that racket. Anyhow, they tell me that this guy Roosevelt -has ordered the F.B.I. to move in on the Black Market."</p> - -<p>"Well, boys," I observed, "the way you put it we can't do a damn thing -to make money out of the same kind of tip-off that set the House of -Rothschild up for a hundred years after the Battle of Waterloo. That -doesn't make sense."</p> - -<p>Phil Cone smiled sheepishly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that, Winnie. We can -cash in but we'll have to step out of our field. We could shift a -million dollars to Canada. You can get a Canadian dollar for ninety -cents American. A year from now it will be back to par. That's better -than ten percent on your money in less than a year."</p> - -<p>"What about South America?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Lay off the Latins, Winnie," Wasson advised me. "Brazil's the only -country in South America that's good for the long pull and just now is -no time to monkey with Brazil. They've got some politics just now."</p> - -<p>I considered things a bit. "Let's see if we can figure out a way to -make a quick killing," I said. "Suppose, for example, something drastic -happened—like Roosevelt dying on one of his plane-trips—to mark the -end of some of these controls. What would happen to the market?"</p> - -<p>Wasson chuckled. "If that guy popped off, there'd be dancing in Wall -Street and you'd have to shut down the Exchange because the ticker -couldn't keep up with the buying orders. Prices would go higher than -the Empire State Building. Hell! They'd hit the stratosphere."</p> - -<p>"Is that your opinion, Phil?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Cone shook his head. "Only a few suckers would feel like that, Winnie," -he told me. "The big-time operators would be shivering in their boots. -As long as F.D.R. is in the White House there's no limit to what they -can make out of the war. If Roosevelt died now, you'd see the bottom -drop out of the market and the damndest wave of labor strikes we've had -since 1890."</p> - -<p>"Damn it, Phil," I objected. "I wish you and Graham would get together -on this one. I can't quite follow all your ideas. Business conditions -and war-orders would continue, wouldn't they?"</p> - -<p>Cone shook his head again. "No," he insisted. "The business community's -got confidence in Roosevelt. Sure he's a tough baby, sure he's got a -lot of dumb Harvard men sore at him, sure he's got the labor leaders -<i>and</i> the G.I.'s rooting for him. But he's done a good job with the -war, he's let people make money and some of his best friends are -multi-millionaires, like Astor and Harriman. If he was to die, we'd -have this Missouri guy—whatsisname? Truman?—and what can he offer?"</p> - -<p>"Got any comment on that, Graham?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"The way Phil puts it, it sounds reasonable," Wasson admitted, "but -I still say that the first reaction to anything like that would be a -buying wave which would send the market way up."</p> - -<p>I considered for a couple of minutes. "I can't say I agree with you," -I said at last. "The big boys wouldn't let that happen any more than -they'd let a peace-scare knock the bottom out of the market. What would -labor and the G. I.'s think and do if they read that the Stock Market -quotations went over the top at a thing like that."</p> - -<p>"Well, Winnie," Cone observed. "It isn't likely to happen."</p> - -<p>"That's so," I agreed. "However, I think it would be a good idea to -work out a representative list of industrials and go short on the -market generally for the next thirty days. We can unload the Fynch -portfolio as a starter. We ought to be able to pick up two or three -hundred thousand if we work it right."</p> - -<p>Cone nodded. "Graham and I will go to work on it now, and we'll have -the list ready before start of business tomorrow morning. That will be -the tenth, won't it?"</p> - -<p>Wasson looked uneasy. "I don't like it so much, Winnie," he said, "but -I've never seen you lose money on a hunch yet so I'll string along. -Come on, Phil, this is a hell of a big war we're trying to sell short. -Let's hope we don't fall flat on our face."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_12" id="CHAPTER_12">CHAPTER 12</a></h2> - - -<p>The phone rang. "Mr. Tompkins?" A girl's voice inquired. "Just a -moment, Mr. Willamer of the Securities and Exchange Commission will -speak to you."</p> - -<p>I didn't like that "will." "And who the hell, Arthurjean, is Mr. -Willamer of the S.E.C.?" I asked in an aside.</p> - -<p>"The woiks," she said.</p> - -<p>"Hullo, Tompkins," a clear phonogenic baritone inquired. "This is Harry -Willamer. I saw your list of selling-orders this morning and wondered -if you would drop in and see me."</p> - -<p>"Certainly," I said. "Shall I bring my books?"</p> - -<p>"Not necessary. This is entirely informal. As a matter of fact, I have -some gentlemen from Washington whom I think you will be interested in -meeting. This is entirely unofficial, of course."</p> - -<p>"How about meeting me at the Pond Club at one o'clock?"</p> - -<p>"That will be grand," Mr. Willamer answered heartily. "The Pond Club at -one o'clock it is."</p> - -<p>I turned to Arthurjean. "What kind of go-round is this? I start selling -and inside an hour the S.E.C. is on my tail. Isn't speculation legal -any more?"</p> - -<p>"Baby," she remarked, "anything's legal as long as you're in with the -right guys. All I can tell you is that Willamer is hot stuff. His aunt -is a cousin of Jesse Jones or maybe it's Henry Morgenthau. So you watch -yourself and don't do any talking out of turn."</p> - -<p>It was Tuesday, the 10th, and I had launched my plan of selling the war -short in a determined campaign to unload G.M. and U.S. Steel. I was -well covered in case of a rise, but there was already a million dollars -of the firm's money in the operation, behind the Fynch million which I -had used to break the ice.</p> - -<p>The Pond Club was the same as ever. Tammy was polishing the glasses in -his little bar and there were no fellow-members in evidence. After all, -I decided, they weren't likely to show up much before three o'clock. -However, I decided that privacy was called for, especially if Commander -Tolan put in an appearance.</p> - -<p>"Tammy," I explained, as he produced his usual pick-me-up and waited -for me to down it. "I'm expecting some gentlemen to join me in a few -minutes. Is there a room where we could have a private conversation and -still get something to drink?"</p> - -<p>"Well, sir, Mr. Tompkins," the steward said, "I think I could let you -use the Minnow Room. That's private and there's a dumbwaiter to the -bar. Just push the buzzer and say what you want in the phone and I'll -send it right up to you."</p> - -<p>"It sounds like perfection," I told him. "I'll go on up to the Minnow -Room. The gentleman I'm expecting is named Willamer and he'll have -some friends with him. Just send them up when they arrive. How do you -get there?"</p> - -<p>Tammy looked a trifle startled. "That's where you had your bachelor -dinner, sir," he reproved me. "Up the stairs and first door to your -left, sir. You'll remember it when you see it, I'm quite sure."</p> - -<p>Tammy was right. No one who had ever seen the Pond Club's Minnow Room -was likely to forget it. The wall on one side was lined solid with -illuminated tanks containing gold-fish making fishy little zeros with -their stupid mouths. The other walls were enlivened by frescoes of -drunken fish in various hilarious attitudes. Indirect lighting gave a -sort of Black Mass or Diabolical Fish-Fry effect to the whole. It was -definitely not a room to stay sober in.</p> - -<p>"Tompkins?" The door opened and an egg-smooth young man with a baldish -head and pale eyebrows stood in the entrance. "I'm Harry Willamer. Meet -the rest of the gang. Here's Winston Sales of the War Production Board, -Lieutenant-Colonel George Finogan of the Army Quartermaster Corps and -Commander Raymond Coonley of the Navy Bureau of Supplies."</p> - -<p>Except for the uniforms, they might have been cousins—they were all -fattish, baldish and blondish. They were all egg-like men, middle-aged, -all hearty in manner and all seemed to have no particular reason for -existing.</p> - -<p>"Well, gentlemen," I asked, "what will you have to drink?"</p> - -<p>"Scotch-and-soda," said Willamer. "Hell, let's make it Scotch for -everyone and save trouble."</p> - -<p>"I'd like a whiskey sour," objected Commander Coonley. "I've got -butterflies in my stomach after working with those hot-shots from -Detroit last night."</p> - -<p>"Okay," Willamer accepted the amendment. "One whiskey sour. Any other -changes?"</p> - -<p>There were none, so I signaled to Tammy and our order was filled.</p> - -<p>"Tompkins," Willamer remarked. "You'll excuse this short notice but -when I spotted your selling-orders in the market this morning I knew we -had to move fast. First of all, I'd like to know why you are selling, -when everybody else is buying."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Willamer," I explained, "it's none of the S.E.C.'s goddamned -business what or why I sell so long as I follow the regulations."</p> - -<p>Willamer laughed. "Who said anything about the S.E.C.?" he demanded. -"Oh, I get it. You thought this was an informal investigation by the -Commission. Right? My fault. Should have told you that this has nothing -to do with your firm's market-position or the S.E.C."</p> - -<p>I took a reflective swallow of Scotch. "Then what the hell <i>is</i> this?" -I asked.</p> - -<p>Harry Willamer drew himself up, "We," he explained, "are the Inter-Alia -Trading Corporation. Your selling orders suggest that you don't expect -the war to last much longer."</p> - -<p>"I don't," I told him.</p> - -<p>"Neither do we," Willamer continued. "That's why we've been busy -organizing Inter-Alia. It's a neat set-up. Sales here, on the War -Production Board, is in a position to advise us of all cut-backs in -war-contracts and keep in touch with the whole contract-termination -program. Colonel Finogan is in the Quartermaster Corps and is the only -man in the Army—"</p> - -<p>"In the world, Harry," Finogan corrected him.</p> - -<p>"Right you are, George, in the world—who knows where all the surplus -war-stocks are located. His office routes them to the depots. That -in itself is worth a million dollars to the company. Anything from -jeeps to nylons, Colonel Finogan knows where they are and what price -will buy them. Commander Coonley is in the same position on Navy -Supplies. Between him and Finogan there isn't an ounce of anything from -parachute-silk to bull-dozers which we can't locate. As for me, I watch -the way money and markets move here in Wall Street."</p> - -<p>I finished my drink. "That sounds wonderful, Mr. Willamer, but what -has it got to do with me? You have the makings of a ten million dollar -corporation between the four of you."</p> - -<p>Willamer raised a soft, white, well-manicured hand in a -traffic-stopping gesture. "All but one thing, Tompkins," he said. -"We haven't got working capital to exploit this set-up. That's where -you come in. Tompkins, Wasson & Cone controls between three and -five million dollars and are smart operators. So long as you stuck -to conservative methods, no dice for Inter-Alia, but when I saw you -gambling on the early end of the war, I said to myself, this is where -we can do business with Tompkins."</p> - -<p>"How much do you need?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Three hundred thousand would be enough to start with," Willamer -reckoned.</p> - -<p>"Half a million," Finogan amended.</p> - -<p>"Say you need half a million to start with and I put it up, what do I -get out of it?" I demanded.</p> - -<p>Willamer looked a little secretive. "Well, Tompkins," he admitted. -"You'll get good security for your money, of course, and a share in -what we make. Say a fifth, since there are four of us in it already."</p> - -<p>"That sounds reasonable," I agreed, "assuming you have a sure thing. -What's your first operation, once you get the money in Inter-Alia to -finance it?"</p> - -<p>Willamer looked still more secretive. "That is a firm secret, -Tompkins," he told me. "If you decide to come in with us, I'll let you -in on our plans, but this thing is too big to talk about until we see -the color of your money."</p> - -<p>I stood up. "Well, then, gentlemen," I announced, "will you have one -more round of drinks and then kindly get the hell out of here? I'm -delighted to have met you personally but I don't see the point of -wasting our time unless I know what I am putting my money into."</p> - -<p>"Tell him, Harry," Sales urged. "We can trust Tompkins not to take -advantage of our plans. The way we're set up we could block him easy -if he tried to double-cross us."</p> - -<p>"That's right," I said. "It's your plan and you have the inside track."</p> - -<p>"Well, then," Willamer explained, "here's our first operation. The -Army and Navy have huge stocks of atabrine and quinine—left over from -Africa and the South-west Pacific. As soon as the fighting stops, -Colonel Finogan and Commander Coonley will declare these stocks surplus -to be sold at spot-sales where they are. We will be the only bidders -and we get a world-corner on malaria. The whole world needs that stuff -and if we move fast, during the confusion after victory, we can sew it -up and make the world pay our price. We ought to double our money in -three months."</p> - -<p>"Double!" snorted Sales. "We ought to quintuple it like Papa Dionne. -South America is just lousy with dollars and here's a way to get 'em -back home. Malaria's a big item down there. No quinine, no oil."</p> - -<p>"Well, gentlemen," I told the Inter-Alia boys, "I'll have to think -it over. As Mr. Willamer knows, I'm pretty heavily committed in the -present market. Get in touch with me about the end of the month and -I might be able to put—say, twenty thousand dollars—into your -proposition."</p> - -<p>Willamer smiled unpleasantly. "Come, Tompkins," he said, "you can do -much better than that. Perhaps you don't realize that the S.E.C. might -just decide to investigate your firm's market-position. You can afford -to put in at least $100,000 now and, when you get out of your present -operation, make up the balance of that half million."</p> - -<p>I went to the dumbwaiter and pushed the buzzer. "Tammy," I spoke into -the phone, "will you come up here and show these gentlemen out of the -club. We've finished our talk."</p> - -<p>"Nothing doing," I said to the others. "I don't shake down well."</p> - -<p>Willamer blinked his watery blue eyes at me. "That's libelous," he -stated. "I'm a lawyer and I ought to know. You can't accuse me of -blackmail in the presence of witnesses. By God, Tompkins, I'll have the -examiners in your office at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. And I'll sue -you for damages."</p> - -<p>"Oh no, you won't," I informed him. "I didn't call you a blackmailer -and I doubt that your friends will care to testify. You didn't -know—perhaps I forgot to mention it—but this room is wired for -dictaphones and a complete phonographic record of this conversation is -already on wire. I'll send it over to the F.B.I. in the morning, unless -you—"</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, Harry," said Commander Coonley with an air of decision. "I -didn't hear any reference to blackmail by Mr. Tompkins. I'd better be -getting back to my office."</p> - -<p>"Me, too," chimed Lt. Col. George Finogan.</p> - -<p>"Nice to have met you, Tompkins," Winston Sales observed as he strode -briskly for the exit.</p> - -<p>Harry Willamer turned to me, not without dignity. "You son of a bitch!" -he remarked feelingly, and followed the others.</p> - -<p>I waited until it was reasonably sure that the Inter-Alia group had -left the building. Then I went downstairs to the bar and found Tammy -alone.</p> - -<p>"Tammy," I said. "You overheard our conversation down the dummy, didn't -you?"</p> - -<p>"Oh no, sir. Not at all, Mr. Tompkins. I—"</p> - -<p>"Of course you did, Tammy. You heard these gentlemen try to blackmail -me and you heard me tell them to go to hell, didn't you?"</p> - -<p>I languidly waved a twenty-dollar bill under his snubby nose.</p> - -<p>"Now that you put it that way, sir," the little bar-steward admitted, -"I do remember hearing that Mr. Willamer say that unless you gave him -$100,000 he'd start investigating your books."</p> - -<p>"Splendid!" I congratulated him. "Just remember that, when the time -comes. Now see if you can get me Mr. Merriwether Vail on the phone. -He's in the Manhattan Directory—a lawyer."</p> - -<p>"Merry?" I asked, after we had been connected. "I have a feeling I'm -going to need your legal services.... No, it's not that one ... it's -another kind of jam ... I'm being blackmailed.... No, you dope, it's -not a woman, it's an official.... Yes, I'll stick here until you can -get over.... What shall I order for you, a double Scotch?... Right! At -the Pond Club."</p> - -<p>There was one more move to make. I called Bedford Hills, -person-to-person call, and asked for my wife. After the usual duel -between local and suburban operators, Jimmie's voice answered. -"Winnie," she said. "Thank goodness you telephoned me. You'd better -come out at once. The most dreadful things have been happening."</p> - -<p>"It's not so wonderful here either," I told her. "Listen, Jimmie, you -come on in—"</p> - -<p>"It's Ponto," she said, paying absolutely no attention to what I was -saying. "He's drunk—yes, drunk! He managed to upset that decanter of -old brandy you keep on your night table and lapped it up. Now he's -howling and hiccoughing like mad and I'm afraid to go near him."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Jimmie, to hell with Ponto. Let him sleep it off. You come on -in to town. We've got to do some fast thinking. I'll meet you in the -Little Bar at the Ritz at five o'clock. Bring your night things, and -mine, too. We may have to leave town in a hurry. I'll explain when I -see you."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_13" id="CHAPTER_13">CHAPTER 13</a></h2> - - -<p>Merry Vail listened to my account of the encounter with the Inter-Alia -gang and then rolled his eyes toward heaven.</p> - -<p>"Poor old Winnie!" he expostulated. "Why didn't you try something -comparatively safe, like robbing a she bear of her whelps or yelling -'Hurray for Hitler' in Union Square? Harry Willamer is a vindictive guy -and his aunt or his mother-in-law is related to Jesse Jones. At least -that's what the Street believes."</p> - -<p>"What can he do to me?" I asked. "I have him cold on a charge of -blackmail."</p> - -<p>"Like hell you do!" said Merry. "First thing he'll check with the -F.B.I. to find out if there is a recording of your talk. And there -isn't. So it's your word and Tammy's against that of four high-ranking -government officials. You ask what they can do to you? You just call -Phil Cone at your office and see if they haven't started doing it -already."</p> - -<p>The steward made the phone connection and in a few minutes Cone's -languid voice was complaining over the wire.</p> - -<p>"Say, Winnie, what the hell have you been up to?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, Phil. Why?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"It's just that the word's been passed to lay off Tompkins, Wasson -& Cone. The brokers don't want to handle our orders. You know Manny -Oppenheimer of Auchincloss, Morton, Caton, Beauregard & Oppenheimer? -You know how he used to lick your boots if you stood still long enough -for him to kneel down and stick his tongue out? Well, Manny cut me. -Yeah, that's right. Cut me! What's cooking? Even my best friends won't -tell me whether it's B.O. or dishpan hands."</p> - -<p>"Just keep on plugging, Phil," I urged. "They can't refuse to handle -our orders if we insist. I'll put in some calls on this.... Yeah, I'm -up at the Pond Club with my attorney ... I'll try to call you back. -That guy Willamer is back of this because I wouldn't go along with his -proposition."</p> - -<p>"Oh-oh!" Phil observed dismally. "That's enough for me. Think I'd -better join the Marines?"</p> - -<p>"You keep away from the recruiting-sergeant until we finish this -operation," I told him.</p> - -<p>I turned to Vail. "Merry," I said, "this is one for you to handle. -Brokers are trying to get out of handling our orders and tenth-raters -like Manny Oppenheimer are high-hatting Phil Cone. You put in a call -and find out what it's all about."</p> - -<p>Vail meditated. "Okay," he said at last. "You understand I'm acting as -your attorney now?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," I agreed.</p> - -<p>He dialed a number. "I'd like to speak to the U.S. Attorney's office," -he told the switch-board operator. "Yes, I'll wait.... Yes.... Oh, -Ned?... This is Merry Vail. I've been retained by Winfred Tompkins. -What I want to know is whether there are any charges against him.... -Yeah, he's with me now.... No, he won't try to leave town. Suspicion of -kidnapping?... No fooling?... That's cockeyed.... Listen, counselor, my -client is innocent and stands ready to answer all charges—"</p> - -<p>He turned to me. "Hell, he hung up!"</p> - -<p>"What was that about kidnapping?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, something completely screw-ball," my attorney said. "It's only -that his office has received an anonymous charge accusing you of having -kidnapped Winnie Tompkins and masquerading in his place. Ned also told -me you were in trouble with other governmental agencies and said he'd -see me in court."</p> - -<p>"Damn!" I objected. "That sounds like Virginia Rutherford's idea of -a snappy way to find out where I was before Easter. It doesn't make -sense. If I kidnapped Tompkins, who am I supposed to be? I'm ready to -take a finger-print test any time, even with these bandages on my right -hand."</p> - -<p>Vail clucked his tongue. "That attitude won't help," he said. "If you -don't look out they'll say your prints prove that you're the man who -kidnapped Charley Ross. No, Ned is full of prunes and he doesn't put -much stock in this kidnapping angle, but the wolves are after you all -right. Now I've passed the word, you can't leave the State, of course."</p> - -<p>"Damn you, Merry," I objected. "I never told you—"</p> - -<p>"You retained me, Winnie. That's enough. You'd be a damn fool to pull -out now. Every G-man in America would be after you. My advice is -to stick around. Today's the eleventh, Wednesday. Well, you have a -week-end coming up, so you might just as well go on commuting between -your office and Bedford Hills as be pulled off the fast freight at -Oneonta."</p> - -<p>"Damn that Rutherford woman!" I remarked. "She is the one who turned -me in to the District Attorney. Up to now I've just had a few friendly -passes from a nice guy from the F.B.I."</p> - -<p>"I can't advise you on the subject of your sex life," Vail said. "But -you have nothing to fear if you remember to cultivate a clean-cut manly -expression and an air of amazed innocence as you tell the Judge, 'Not -guilty, your Honor, and I reserve my defense.'"</p> - -<p>"What shall I tell Phil Cone, though?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute and I'll put in another call," Vail said. He dialed -another number. "I want to speak to Joe," he said. "Yes. Joe. Tell him -it's Merry Vail.... Joe, this is Merry.... Same to you. Say, what's all -this b.s. about Winnie Tompkins.... Oh ... the hell you say!... I don't -believe.... No, that's definitely not true.... If it was anybody but -you, Joe, I'd advise him to sue for libel.... Yeah, he's my client.... -Of course he's innocent.... Lay you five-to-one in thousands he is.... -Done!"</p> - -<p>Vail turned back to me. "That was the chief fixer in New York," he -told me. "His word is good. This kidnapping charge is a phony. Just -a move to tie you up. What they think they have on you is a charge -under the Espionage Act, communicating with the enemy. Joe was vague -but it sounded plenty tough. The S.E.C.'s passed out word to be cagey -in trading with you. They can't black-list you or freeze your funds -without a hearing, but they sure can put on the heat. How much did -Willamer want you to put into his racket?"</p> - -<p>"Half a million," I told him. "One hundred thousand now and the rest in -thirty days."</p> - -<p>Merry Vail drew a wry face, sucked in his lips and signaled to Tammy -for another drink. "As a member of the Bar and an officer of the -court," he remarked, "I can't advise you to pay blackmail. On the other -hand, if you could see your way to making a substantial investment in -the Inter-Alia Corporation, it might make things much pleasanter all -around."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "No, Merry," I told him, "and you are through as my -attorney. I'll take my chances without a lawyer from now on, if that's -the sort of advice I pay you for. I don't mind a gamble but these boys -figure to use malaria to put a financial squeeze on the whole world. -Ever see a man die of malignant malaria, Merry? It's not nice and it's -not necessary, if you have atabrine or quinine. No, damn it, you go -peddle your papers and I'll fight this out alone. Tammy," I added. "Get -me the office, please. I want to talk to Mr. Cone again."</p> - -<p>Vail grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. "Like hell you'll do -without an attorney, you damn fool!" he said. "I'm sticking with you, -with or without a fee. Say," he added, "what's come into you to make -you act this way? You used to get the heebie-jeebies at the mere -thought of legal complications."</p> - -<p>"Phil," I said into the phone. "This is Winnie. Things are plenty bad -for me personally. You and Graham can pull right out now if you wish. -That louse Harry Willamer or somebody has put me on the spot and I'm -trying to prove I'm not a Nazi agent.... No, neither are you, but you -might have a hell of a time proving it. That's swell of you, Phil, but -I don't want to get you or Graham in trouble. Now's the time to pull -out of the firm if you like. Naturally I'm innocent but just now it's -tough. Okay, you take it up with Graham, will you? I don't want to have -to worry about either of you.... Sure I'm in a jam but it's not your -fault and has nothing to do with the firm...."</p> - -<p>When I put the telephone back in its cradle I looked up to see Merry -Vail staring at me.</p> - -<p>"Winnie," he said, "you're innocent for my money. Fun's fun but this -thing is dangerous. Now I'm your attorney and you'll sure as hell need -one so it's no use firing me. I don't know what sort of a frame they've -figured for you or why the F.B.I.—"</p> - -<p>I laughed. "Okay, Merry," I told him, "you're still my attorney. The -F.B.I.'s been swell. The Special Agent assigned to check up on me, A. -J. Harcourt, couldn't be nicer. I'd trust him not to pull a fast one."</p> - -<p>Vail frowned. "The F.B.I. may be swell," he answered, "but their hand -can be forced. They have to act on information received and superior -orders. Your man Harcourt may be the nicest guy in the world but if -he's told to bring you in he'll bring you in."</p> - -<p>"Then what's your advice, counselor?"</p> - -<p>"My advice to you, Winnie," he said, "is to try to forget about it. -Just go right ahead with your plans, whatever they are, just so you -don't try to leave this jurisdiction or go into hiding. The best thing -you could do is to go back to Bedford Hills and mind your own business -and don't let these government so-and-so's push you around. Hell, this -is a free country!"</p> - -<p>"But I phoned Jimmie to meet me at the Ritz at five o'clock," I -objected, "with our traveling things."</p> - -<p>Vail glanced at his wrist-watch. "It's not three yet. If you phone her -now the chances are she hasn't left. Tell her to stay put. Remember, -the less you act guilty or scared the safer you are. The dog doesn't -start to chase the rabbit until the rabbit starts to run."</p> - -<p>I phoned back to Pook's Hill and was rewarded by catching Jimmie five -minutes before the taxi was due to pick her up.</p> - -<p>"Hold everything, dear," I told her. "Plans have changed. I'm coming -out on the first train I can catch. How's Ponto?"</p> - -<p>"Thank Heaven you called," Winnie's wife replied. "I couldn't find your -dressing gown and your traveling case is in the room with Ponto and I -didn't want to disturb him.... Oh he's snoring like mad. Passed out -cold, I guess. He shakes the house. I never knew dogs got drunk, did -you?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When I first arrived at Pook's Hill I had a definite program in mind. -First, I went to the kitchen, broke a raw egg into a tumbler and soused -it in Worchester sauce. Then I added a good slug of brandy from the -portable bar in my den. Armed with this Prairie Oyster, I went boldly -to the second floor, opened the door to my bedroom and contemplated the -debauched Great Dane.</p> - -<p>Really, I could never have believed that a dog could look so completely -blotto. Ponto was a bum in every sense of the word. He lay drooling and -snoring on the bed, dead to the world.</p> - -<p>"Ponto!" I ordered.</p> - -<p>An ear pricked up, then dropped languidly back again. Then a blood-shot -eye opened and shut. There was a half-whine, half snarl, interrupted by -a violent hiccough.</p> - -<p>"Here you are, Ponto!" I stated firmly, advancing on the bed, glass in -hand.</p> - -<p>The blood-shot eye opened again and the beast began to shake and -shiver. I walked up, lifted his jowl in one hand, made a little funnel -of his lip and poured in the Prairie Oyster. Then I clamped a firm -control on the jaws, held Ponto's head back and let it slide gulping -down his gullet.</p> - -<p>Ponto heaved. He shuddered. He shook himself free, leaped from the -bed and ran around the room, lurching, whining and shaking his head -violently. He stopped and sideswiped his muzzle with a clumsy paw. He -lay down on his back and rolled.</p> - -<p>Then the dose took hold. A noble expression seemed to pour over his -brow. His eyes opened wide and remained open, with a clear and friendly -gleam. He stood up, shook himself, ran into the bathroom, gulped some -water from his bowl very noisily, and then came bounding back.</p> - -<p>"Wuff!" He said to me.</p> - -<p>Then Ponto reared on his hind legs, placed two large paws on my -shoulders and proceeded to lick my face thoroughly with a rough, wet -tongue. I had made a friend, I decided. As Androcles had won the -lion by removing the thorn from its paw, so had I tamed Ponto by -administering first-aid.</p> - -<p>There was a tap at the door. It was Jimmie. "Are you all right, -Winnie?" she asked. "Is he still asleep?"</p> - -<p>"Asleep!" I was contemptuous. "No, he's awake. Ponto and I are pals. -We understand each other. He had a hang-over and I fixed him. We're -buddies now, aren't we, old fellow?"</p> - -<p>The answer was a low savage growl and I leaped through the door barely -in time to escape his earnest but rather shaky attempt to remove a -couple of pounds of meat from my exterior.</p> - -<p>"Hell!" I explained, "that beast's not human. Let's send him back to -the vet's and get something easier to live with—a Yorkshire or a -poodle."</p> - -<p>"I'd like a Chihuahua," said Germaine, "or one of those little Belgian -Schipperke gadgets."</p> - -<p>"How about a collie?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Germaine raised piteous eyes to me. "Do you want to make me ill, with -your talk of collies?" she asked. "Now come on down to the den and tell -me what's been going on in town."</p> - -<p>"Well, Jimmie," I began, "it's a long, long story—"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_14" id="CHAPTER_14">CHAPTER 14</a></h2> - - -<p>"If it's going to be long," she said, "we'd both better have a drink. -You always think better if you have a glass in your hand."</p> - -<p>"Now, what is it you want to know?" I answered, after we were -comfortably settled in front of the electric fire.</p> - -<p>"It's—it's just that everything is so queer," Germaine began. "You've -changed so that you almost seem like a different person. You even look -better, not so flabby, as though you took regular exercise. At least -I see a change, and then suddenly I find that you've been carrying on -with that Briggs girl and I can't tell whether you've really changed or -are just trying to fool me. She's a nice person, of course, and if you -<i>must</i> have another girl, I'd rather have you pick someone—oh—safe -and comfortable like her. But you said you hadn't been playing with -the office girls. And then there's Ponto. He used to adore you and you -swore by him. Now he tries to bite you and you want to get rid of him. -And then there's all this talk about where you were during Holy Week -and that F.B.I. man and Myrtle tells me they've been asking a lot of -questions about you and Virginia. What <i>have</i> you been doing, dear, -that you can't remember when our whole life may depend on it?"</p> - -<p>"Jimmie," I told her. "I wish to God I knew. You must believe me when -I tell you I can't remember things before Easter Monday. That was the -second and today is the eleventh and I can remember everything that's -happened since then. Before that it is all blank and all mixed-up in -that dream I had."</p> - -<p>She moved away from me, slightly. "You can't tell me that the F.B.I. -would be interested in your dreams," she said sharply. "Not in time of -war."</p> - -<p>"They are in this dream," I told her. "You see I dreamed—if you want -to call it that—that a certain American ship blew up in the North -Pacific. The trouble is that the public hasn't been told that there is -such a ship, like that 'Old Nameless' in the Solomons, and that the -Navy Department doesn't know what happened to it. <i>I</i> believe that -it did blow up. Harcourt believes my story, in the main, but from -the F.B.I. angle they have to check up on whether I'm not part of an -Axis spy-ring which could have caused the explosion. If I could only -remember where I was and what I was doing the week before I could clear -myself."</p> - -<p>Her face lighted and she relaxed. "Oh, is <i>that</i> all?" she exclaimed. -"I <i>know</i> you couldn't have done anything like that. All you've -probably been doing is to go off with one of those silly girls of yours -to some out-of-the-way place. That ought to be easy to check, even if -you registered under a false name. For the first time, you know," she -added, "I'm almost <i>glad</i> you've been chasing all those stupid blondes -of yours. It will make it easy to establish your alias."</p> - -<p>"Alibi," I corrected her. "Let me fix you another drink. From now on," -I added, "there are going to be no more blondes or red-heads. I like -Arthurjean Briggs—she's named Arthurjean for her father and mother. -It's one word like Marylou or Honeychile—but she's more like a friend -than a—oh—you know. You saw her. But I guess you're right. I must -have been chasing around so much my mind got tangled up in itself and -sort of blew a fuse. If I can't get my memory straightened out soon -I'll look up a psychiatrist and see if he can't fix me."</p> - -<p>"You know, Winnie—" Germaine began and then fell silent.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Jimmie?"</p> - -<p>She turned towards me and smiled rather wistfully. "You know, I was -going to say that you and I—perhaps—Well, it's so long since we've -been really—oh—<i>close</i> to each other. I wondered—"</p> - -<p>"You mean that perhaps we ought to patch things up between us?"</p> - -<p>"Isn't that what a wife's for?" she asked. "I mean—I mean when things -get difficult it ought—there ought to be <i>one</i> person to whom you -could turn."</p> - -<p>I slipped my arm around her and drew her close to me on the lounge. She -lowered her face against my coat and I could feel her shaking.</p> - -<p>"You're crying!" I said. "You mustn't cry."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Winnie, I've been so alone—so—"</p> - -<p>I raised her face to mine and kissed her, tasting the wet, salt tears. -Her lips were warm and soft against mine. Suddenly she pressed herself -against me and responded to my kiss so fiercely that we were both -startled. We sprang apart, almost guiltily.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh—you haven't kissed me like that—"</p> - -<p>She raised her lips again and this time we held it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>What with one thing and another, I didn't get back to the office until -the Market closed on Thursday afternoon. I found my two partners in -pretty good control of our operations but frankly mystified as to the -cause of the official mugging of Tompkins, Wasson & Cone. We had laid -out two and a half millions in all, despite the attempt to scare us -off. The market had continued steady.</p> - -<p>Neither Graham nor Phil asked me any direct questions about the events -on Wednesday. They talked straight business and kept their curiosity -in check. It was close to half-past four when we finished our general -discussion of the operation, so I decided that they were entitled to -some kind of explanation in return for their loyalty.</p> - -<p>"See here, boys," I told them. "You've both been perfectly swell about -this rat-race the S.E.C. started. Harry Willamer tried to put the -squeeze on me for half a million dollars to finance him and a bunch of -official bastards in a shady deal. When I turned him down he threatened -to tie us up with a Commission investigation. I bluffed him out of it -at the time by pretending there was an F.B.I. dictaphone record of -our talk, so he laid off the heavy heat and just started needling us -a little. Any time now he'll make the check at the F.B.I. and when -he finds there isn't any record he'll try to tie us up tighter than -a drum. All we can do is wait it out. The market's going to start -dropping any day now and we'll clean up."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" Wasson said. "Was that it? Willamer's a bad actor. Thanks for -telling us, Winnie. Phil and I knew that there must be something screwy -when—"</p> - -<p>The door flew open and Arthurjean appeared, her face white.</p> - -<p>"God!" she said at last. "He was such a swell guy. He—"</p> - -<p>"Who? What's the mat—"</p> - -<p>"It's Roosevelt!" she choked. "He's dead. It just came in on the -ticker."</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>"He died at Warm Springs." And she hid her face in her hands and left -the room, sobbing.</p> - -<p>Phil Cone stood up, paper-white, crossed over and turned up the radio.</p> - -<p>"Flash!" the announcer was saying. "Warm Springs, Georgia. President -Roosevelt died this afternoon following his collapse from a severe -cerebral hemorrhage. More in a moment. Keep tuned to this station."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll be eternally damned!" I said. "So he was right—"</p> - -<p>Cone whirled on me. "You knew about this," he stated flatly "When we -were talking yesterday morning. You had more than a hunch. You knew he -was going to die."</p> - -<p>"Be your age, Phil," I told him. "How in hell <i>could</i> I know?"</p> - -<p>"Je-sus Ke-rist!" Wasson growled. "This will knock holy hell out of the -Market. Lucky trading's closed for the day. They can't open tomorrow. -They'll have to shut down all the exchanges. They'll have to close the -banks. God! What a mess!"</p> - -<p>Cone still looked dazed. "No dancing in the streets?" he asked -bitterly. "I thought this was going to send values sky-rocketing."</p> - -<p>Wasson swung on him. "The hell with that talk, Phil," he snapped. "I -was just shooting the bull. Roosevelt dead! Jesus H. Christ! You know, -he wasn't a bad old buzzard after he got rid of all that New Deal -nonsense and set to work winning this war."</p> - -<p>Cone had recovered his poise. "Sure he did a swell job winning the war, -but now we're going to lose the peace, sure as shooting!"</p> - -<p>"Hell!" Graham's choice of expletives was strictly rationed. "This -means that Truman will take over. What sort of a guy is he? You got any -idea, Winnie? He's not up to Roosevelt, that's sure."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "I don't know from nothing," I began. "Sh!"</p> - -<p>The radio announcer resumed his broadcast. "Warm Springs, Georgia. -President Franklin Delano Roosevelt passed away at four thirty-five -this afternoon, Eastern War Time, following a severe cerebral -hemorrhage. The late President had been spending a few days at his -Georgia retreat getting rested after his strenuous trip to the Yalta -Conference. Earlier this afternoon he complained of a severe headache -and almost immediately became unconscious. He died peacefully a little -later. His death came at a moment when American troops in Germany and -on Okinawa were driving ahead toward the victory he—"</p> - -<p>Cone switched it down again. "<i>He</i> had a headache!" he muttered. "What -do you think <i>we're</i> going to have?"</p> - -<p>The telephone rang. I picked up the instrument. It was one of those -automatic phonograph recordings. "The Stock Exchange will not be open -tomorrow by order of the Governors, out of respect for the memory of -the late President Roosevelt. That is all—The Stock Exchange will not -be open—" the metallic feminine voice went on. I hung up.</p> - -<p>"You're right about one thing, Graham," I said. "That was an automatic -message to say the Exchange will be closed tomorrow. It's probably on -the ticker, too."</p> - -<p>It was.</p> - -<p>Cone sat down suddenly, as though his legs had turned to rubber.</p> - -<p>"Now it will all start again," he said. "Sell out and pack up, pack up -and clear out."</p> - -<p>I crossed the office and put my hand on his shoulder. "Cheer up, Phil," -I told him. "It won't be as bad as that. Graham and I will stick with -you and that's true of Americans generally."</p> - -<p>Cone shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. "Thanks, Winnie," he remarked. -"You're a good fellow and a good friend. I've got something to say -to you. You won't like it. I got worried yesterday when you started -talking about Roosevelt maybe dying and I tipped the F.B.I. on what you -said."</p> - -<p>I laughed. "If the F.B.I. arrested every man in Wall Street who had -ever talked about Roosevelt dying the jails wouldn't hold them. Don't -worry, Phil. In your shoes I'd have done the same thing."</p> - -<p>The phone rang again. It was the receptionist. "Mr. Harcourt is here to -see you, Mr. Tompkins," she informed me. "Shall I ask him to wait?"</p> - -<p>"Tell him I'll see him in a couple of minutes," I replied.</p> - -<p>"This is it, boys," I told my partners. "It's the F.B.I. Now, the -Market's going to drop. It will be a bear market in a big way, -dignified as hell, and we're in ahead of the others. You two just carry -on. Try to get a line on this guy Truman. Some of our Kansas City -correspondents may have the dope. Phil, no hard feelings about this -F.B.I. angle. They've been riding me for days on some crazy story Ranty -Tolan started about me last week."</p> - -<p>Wasson looked at me coldly. "If I thought that you had anything to do -with this—" he began.</p> - -<p>"Oh skip it!" I begged him. "You know me better."</p> - -<p>I picked up the phone and told the receptionist to send Harcourt in.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," he said. "I've been ordered to ask you to come up to -the Bureau's headquarters right away."</p> - -<p>"Am I under arrest?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Well," Harcourt admitted, "I haven't got a warrant but I think maybe -you better come with me."</p> - -<p>"What's the charge?"</p> - -<p>"My chief will tell you what it's all about," he said. "My orders were -to bring you in for questioning."</p> - -<p>"Okay," I agreed. "I'll come along quietly. Phil, will you tell Miss -Briggs to ring up my wife and say I won't be home tonight and not to -worry. I'll be all right."</p> - -<p>Harcourt came and laid his hand on my arm. "Come along then," he -ordered gruffly.</p> - -<p>"How about my lawyer?" I inquired. "Graham, will you phone Merry Vail -and tell him I've been taken up to the F.B.I. for questioning?"</p> - -<p>Harcourt looked up at me. "Is Merriwether Vail your lawyer?" he asked. -"I wouldn't bother to call him. We've picked him up too. All your -associates, outside of business and—er—pleasure, are being rounded -up. The President's dead, Mr. Tompkins, and you're going to do some -talking to my chief."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_15" id="CHAPTER_15">CHAPTER 15</a></h2> - - -<p>The events which brought me into the office of Edward Lamb, Deputy -Director of the F.B.I., on Friday the thirteenth, had developed so -rapidly that I could scarcely believe that less than twenty-four hours -had passed since Harcourt had taken me into custody.</p> - -<p>We had gone to the Federal Court House in a taxicab (paid for by me) -where I was placed alone in a room for fifteen minutes. At the end of -that period I was informed that Washington had asked that I be sent -down for direct interrogation at the Bureau. I was told that if I -preferred I could demand a formal warrant of arrest but that Mr. Vail, -who had been released with an apology, advised me to go, and that I -could confirm it by telephone—which I did. I was told that there was -still no formal charge against me but they asked if I would let myself -be fingerprinted. To this I agreed and then sat back while arrangements -were completed to fly me down to Washington from the LaGuardia Airport. -Harcourt was to accompany me. That had been all. They allowed me to -phone Germaine and tell her I was going to Washington and invite her to -join me there as soon as I could get hotel accommodations. The F.B.I. -put me up for the night in one of their Manhattan hide-outs—an old -house on East 80th Street—and in the morning Harcourt and I had taken -the plane. The clock had barely touched noon when I was told that Mr. -Lamb was ready to see me.</p> - -<p>Lamb was a pleasant, youngish man—with that inevitable faint Hoover -chubbiness—whose roomy office with its deep leather easy chairs -spelled power in the F.B.I. I was amused to note that he followed Rule -1 of whistle-stop detection, by seating me in a deep chair, facing the -light, while he sat at his desk on a definitely higher level and with -the light behind him.</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr. Tompkins," he began, "we've had disturbing reports about you -from at least three different sources. Frankly, we still don't know -what to make of them and the Director thought it would be better if you -came here and talked to us."</p> - -<p>"Always glad to help," I assured him. "If you'll tell me what the -reports are, I'll try to explain."</p> - -<p>Lamb glanced at a file of papers on his desk. "The first one is an -allegation that you aren't Winfred S. Tompkins, but an imposter who has -kidnapped Tompkins and taken his place. That report was anonymous and -we don't attach any particular importance to it, although if necessary -we could use it to detain you for questioning under the Lindbergh Law."</p> - -<p>I stretched out my hands toward him. "My fingerprints were taken last -night," I said. "They ought to settle that question."</p> - -<p>Lamb laughed. "Unfortunately," he admitted, "it takes a little time to -establish identity by fingerprints. The first tentative identification -suggested by yours was a man named Jonas Lee. He is a Negro currently -employed in the Charleston Navy Yard. However, I think we can assume -that the final identification will bear you out. They're working on it -now."</p> - -<p>There was a buzz and he picked up the desk-telephone. "Oh, they do," he -remarked. "Good!"</p> - -<p>He turned back to me. "That was the Finger-Print Division. They're your -prints, all right, so we'll cancel the kidnapping charge."</p> - -<p>"What's the second strike on me?"</p> - -<p>"That's a report phoned in by one of your partners that you seemed -to expect President Roosevelt's death two or three days before it -happened."</p> - -<p>"I did," I explained. "A man named Axel Roscommon came to my office, -said that he was the chief Nazi agent in the United States, and told -me that Roosevelt had been poisoned at Yalta. I had already reported -Roscommon to the Bureau and was told to let him alone. Roscommon said -that only a few people, including Roosevelt, knew about the poisoning. -I wanted to pass on the warning but was told that it was too late, that -I would simply expose myself to suspicion. So what I did was to make -normal business preparations to take advantage of its effect on the -Stock Market."</p> - -<p>Lamb looked up at the ceiling and remained silent for a few minutes. -"So that's the way it was," he said. "For your personal information, -Mr. Tompkins, Roscommon told the Director the same thing a month ago -but when Mr. Hoover tried to warn the Secret Service he had his ears -slapped back. If I'd known about the Roscommon angle in your case I -would have told the New York office not to worry. I thought perhaps -that this was another angle on the same story."</p> - -<p>"Do you believe that President Roosevelt was assassinated, Mr. Lamb?" I -asked, point-blank.</p> - -<p>He shrugged his shoulders. "No, I do not," he replied. "Not officially, -that is. It is not inconceivable and the Secret Service is so set in -its ideas and methods that—well, frankly I'd rather not believe it. -I have no evidence, aside from a verbal warning which might have been -coincidence. Some of our toxicologists say that it could be done, -others deny that there is a virus which can produce the symptoms of a -paralytic stroke. In any case, it's outside of our jurisdiction."</p> - -<p>I heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank God I'm clear of that one," I said. -"I shouldn't like to be mixed up, even by accident, in anything like -that. I remember what happened to Dr. Mudd."</p> - -<p>Lamb nodded. "The doctor who bandaged Booth's leg after the murder of -Lincoln? Yes, I can see your point."</p> - -<p>"How about the third charge?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Lamb looked serious. "That's not going to be so easy, Mr. Tompkins," he -announced. "Harcourt reports that he doesn't think there's anything to -it, but Naval Intelligence has the jitters about this Alaska business. -It seems to be pretty well established that on the afternoon of April -second you stated that the U.S.S. Alaska had been sunk in an explosion -off the western Aleutians. That was over ten days ago and there is -still no word from the carrier. The last report came from Adak which -had picked the ship up by radar on the first. The report given us was -that you represented that it was all a dream. What worries the Navy -about this explanation is that no public announcement had ever been -made of the Alaska's launching or commission. She's a sneak-carrier -built under stringent security regulations and until you came into the -picture the Navy was pretty sure that there'd been no leak."</p> - -<p>I nodded dismally. "Knowing the Navy," I replied, "I can see how they -feel. All that I can suggest, Mr. Lamb, is that this is a case of -mental telepathy. There have been plenty of other instances of it on -record. Often they call it intuition or second sight. I can only say -that if you investigate and can find any other explanation I'll be -delighted."</p> - -<p>"I don't think that Admiral Ballister—he's the present head of O.N.I., -though they change so fast we almost lose count—will be satisfied -with the theory that it is a case of E.S.P. That's 'extra-sensory -perception' and there have been plenty of scientific experiments in -that field but the Navy doesn't know about them. And then, of course, -there was the bomb—"</p> - -<p>I nodded. "The thorium bomb—" I began, and stopped as I noticed an -official change in Lamb's attitude.</p> - -<p>"Exactly, Mr. Tompkins," he observed. "The thorium bomb. Nobody—at -least outside of the President, the Secretary of the Navy and Professor -Chalmis—was supposed to know that there was such a thing as a thorium -bomb. The security arrangements on the thorium project were so -drastic—"</p> - -<p>"Roscommon knew all about it," I said. "He also mentioned Chalmis to -me."</p> - -<p>The Deputy Director looked slightly ill. "He did, did he?" he growled. -"<i>That</i> will teach the Navy not to let the Bureau handle domestic -security. Hell, this thing gets bigger and bigger every minute. If -Roscommon knew about it, then anybody could have known. Why, it's been -an offense against the Espionage Act, even to print the word 'thorium' -outside of chemical textbooks, and Chalmis is supposed to be in the -T.B. sanitarium at Saranac. Wonder what happened to him?"</p> - -<p>I leaned forward. "He's dead, Mr. Lamb," I assured him. "Everybody on -the Alaska is dead. The bomb went off and there's nobody left to tell -the tale."</p> - -<p>"How do you do it, Tompkins?" Lamb demanded. "If you will give us the -details and the names of your accomplices I think I can promise you a -life sentence instead of the electric chair."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Lamb," I replied, "You can promise till the cows come home. I—W. -S. Tompkins—had no connection with it at all and you can't prove that -I had. I know about it only because of—well, call it mental telepathy. -I could sit down and tell you exactly what happened on the Alaska -before Chalmis deliberately touched off the bomb, but I couldn't prove -it and there isn't a living soul who could support or disprove my -story. And if you place me under arrest I'll be in a position to sue -for heavy damages. False arrest on a charge of treason is no joke and -I'll fight."</p> - -<p>Lamb looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well?" he asked. "What would you -do if you were me? Let you go, with the Navy howling for action?"</p> - -<p>"There are two things I'd do," I told him. "First of all, I'd assign -a flock of agents to see if they can find out where I was and what I -was doing between the 25th of March and the second of April. Harcourt -tells me that was the critical period. I don't remember. It's a case -of amnesia, I guess. At any rate, I've drawn a blank. You have my -fingerprints and photograph. You ought to be able to locate something."</p> - -<p>Lamb shook his head. "That's not necessary now," he replied. "If -Roscommon knew about Chalmis and the bomb, the question of where you -were the week before last isn't important any more. We'd have to check -back for at least two years."</p> - -<p>"The other thing I'd do," I continued, "would be to let me go under -some sort of open arrest. Fix me up so I can see the intelligence -people here and give me a chance to convince them that—" I paused.</p> - -<p>"Convince them of what?" he asked tartly.</p> - -<p>"See here, Mr. Lamb," I said. "I'm in a hell of a personal jam. For -personal reasons I'm trying to clear things up. Believe it or not, this -business about the sinking of the Alaska and the thorium bomb is the -least of my troubles. I've got the damndest case of loss of memory I've -ever heard of. As Winfred S. Tompkins I can only remember as far back -as April second, but I can remember years before that as somebody else. -That's how I happen to know about the loss of the Alaska."</p> - -<p>"How?" he asked. "According to your theory, everybody aboard her is -dead."</p> - -<p>I nodded. "Just the same, I was on the ship when she blew up—in my -dream, I mean. If you give me a chance to talk to the intelligence -heads, I think I can prove to their satisfaction not only that I know -what I'm talking about but that my knowledge is perfectly legitimate."</p> - -<p>Lamb grinned. "The Bureau is in enough fights as it is without being -accused of sending a screw-ball around to bother the heads of G-2 and -O.N.I."</p> - -<p>I leaned forward. "I can see your point," I admitted. "I know that in -the Navy everybody is out to cut everybody else's throat. It must be -worse when two different Government Bureaus are involved."</p> - -<p>The Deputy Director looked at me. "You seem to know a hell of a lot -about the Navy for a stock-broker," he observed. "At any rate, that -idea's out. I won't give you introductions and—"</p> - -<p>"Okay!" I agreed. "Then let me try to do it my own way. I have some -friends in the O.S.S. I'll see if they can't get me in to see General -Donovan. If I have a talk with him, perhaps he'll agree to pass me on -to the others."</p> - -<p>Lamb laughed again. "You don't know Washington, Mr. Tompkins. General -Donovan's blessing won't help you," he declared. "They hate his guts -for trying to make them combine. However, if you think you can get to -see him on your own, go right ahead but for God's sake don't say the -Bureau sent you over."</p> - -<p>"All right," I agreed. "Then I take it I'm under open arrest. I won't -try to leave town without telling you. Any suggestions of where I can -find a hotel room for the next few days?"</p> - -<p>Lamb leaned back in his chair and grinned boyishly. "The Bureau has -a lot of authority," he declared, "but it's not God. There won't be -a hotel room to be had for love or money for the next two weeks. -Roosevelt's death is bringing everybody back to Washington. President -Truman is taking over and most officials are too busy to be bothered. -Usually, it's not hard to get a hotel room over the week-end but not -this time. If you can't get accommodations, phone back here and we'll -fix you up with a cot somewhere in the F.B.I. barracks."</p> - -<p>"Then I'm in the clear, so far as you are concerned," I suggested.</p> - -<p>Lamb smiled cryptically. "I didn't say that," he remarked, "and it -isn't so. We have nothing specific to hold you on, but the Alaska is -missing and, if you insist, the President is dead, and you're caught in -the middle."</p> - -<p>"What will it take to get myself cleared?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Lamb considered. "If you can get O.N.I, off our necks, with a clean -bill of health, we'll relax," he admitted. "But I give you twenty-four -hours to do it. Admiral Ballister's pretty worked up on this Alaska -business, and he wants action."</p> - -<p>I nodded. "Okay, I'll give it to him," I said.</p> - -<p>"Okay, Tompkins," he remarked. "It's your funeral. But remember, if -you're not cleared in twenty-four hours, we'll be calling you in again -and this time we'll give you the works."</p> - -<p>Luck was with me. I left the F.B.I. and walked up Pennsylvania Avenue -to the Willard. As I followed the queue to the registration clerk at -the desk I heard the man just ahead of me start to say: "I want to -cancel—"</p> - -<p>"Just a moment, sir," the clerk said, as he picked up the telephone. -"Yes, madam? No, I'm sorry—"</p> - -<p>I plucked at the man's sleeve.</p> - -<p>"Don't cancel, if it's for tonight," I said, "Here's a hundred," and I -held out two fifty dollar bills.</p> - -<p>The man nodded. "Okay, buddy," he agreed, pocketing the money. "The -name's R. L. Grant of Detroit."</p> - -<p>"Name, please," the clerk asked.</p> - -<p>"R. L. Grant of Detroit," I answered. "I have a reservation."</p> - -<p>"Right," he said. "Lucky for you you wired a week ago. Here you are, -Mr. Grant. Please register."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_16" id="CHAPTER_16">CHAPTER 16</a></h2> - - -<p>After lunch—which was poor, slow and expensive—I screwed up my -courage and telephoned the Office of Strategic Services.</p> - -<p>"May I speak to Mrs. Jacklin?" I asked the switch-board girl. She -promptly referred me to Information, who told me that Mrs. Dorothy -Jacklin was on Extension 3046, shall-I-connect you?</p> - -<p>A moment later a pleasant voice said, "Yes? This is Mrs. Jacklin."</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Jacklin," I told my wife, "my name is Tompkins, W. S. Tompkins. I -have a message for you from Commander Jacklin."</p> - -<p>"Oh," she said. It was not a question. "Are you a friend of Frank's? Is -he all right?"</p> - -<p>"He asked me to see you when I got to Washington and gave me some -special messages for you. I'm staying at the Willard. Are you free for -cocktails or dinner this evening?"</p> - -<p>Something of the urgency in my voice communicated itself to her and I -could feel her reverse her original impulse to refuse the invitation.</p> - -<p>"Why yes, Mr. Tompkins," she agreed. "I'd be glad to join you, for -cocktails, that is. Shall we say about half past five?"</p> - -<p>"Splendid! I'll meet you in the south lobby. I'm sure to recognize -you, Frank gave me such a good description of you. If there's any -slip-up, have one of the bellboys page me."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," she said. "I'll be there."</p> - -<p>As I laid down the telephone, my pulse was racing and my throat was -dry. How in God's name should I act with her?</p> - -<p>Half-past five crawled around. I filled in some of the time by phoning -the F.B.I. and telling Lamb's secretary I was registered at the Willard -under the name of R. L. Grant. I phoned Bedford Hills and told Jimmie -that I was in Washington and wanted her to join me at the Willard. She -was a little slow about getting the R. L. Grant angle but allowed that -she could register as Mrs. Grant or Mrs. John Doe if necessary and when -was all this nonsense going to stop?</p> - -<p>In spite of my assurance, I almost failed to recognize Dorothy. She -looked younger, smarter and infinitely more self-possessed, and the -tanned and muscular young man in uniform who accompanied her was -obviously not animated by brotherly sentiments toward her.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Jacklin?" I asked. "I'm Tompkins. And—" I turned eloquently to -her escort.</p> - -<p>"Oh, this is Major Demarest," she said. "Thanks, Tony, for escorting -me. I'll see you later?"</p> - -<p>"Half-past sixish?" Demarest asked.</p> - -<p>"Say seven," Dorothy told him. "I'll meet you here, by the desk."</p> - -<p>So I was neatly bracketed. While Dorothy and I were talking, her -escort would be waiting—impatiently. There was no chance of a -prolonged operation. I must keep things moving.</p> - -<p>I took her to the rather garish cocktail lounge on the east side of the -hotel and ordered her a Bourbon old-fashioned and a Scotch-and-soda for -myself.</p> - -<p>"Frank told me that's what you like," I remarked, before she could -raise her eyebrows after I told the waiter to bring a sliver of lemon -peel to go with the old-fashioned.</p> - -<p>"Where did you know him?" she asked.</p> - -<p>I leaned confidently across the table. "Mrs. Jacklin," I told her, "I'm -in intelligence. Tompkins is my name but I don't use it much. I've -seen quite a bit of your husband during the past few years—here at -Washington and out in the Pacific. In fact," I added, "I might say that -I'm his closest friend. We were at school together, many years ago. I'm -surprised he never mentioned me."</p> - -<p>"How <i>is</i> he?" she asked. "I know too much to ask <i>where</i> he is."</p> - -<p>I looked gravely at her. "We don't know where he is," I replied. "His -ship hasn't been reported for nearly two weeks. He was on a special -mission. That's why I've looked you up. Frank made me promise that I -would if—I mean—he thought—"</p> - -<p>Dorothy drained her glass and gave me a long, strange look. "Are you -trying to tell me that he's dead?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"It's not official," I said. "It may never be confirmed, but I -personally am sure, as sure as I'm sitting here that you'll never see -him again."</p> - -<p>She looked down at the table and nervously tapped an unlighted -cigarette against her lacquered thumb-nail. "I'll have another drink, -if you don't mind," she said. "It's not that—well, our marriage was -over long ago—but, he—I—"</p> - -<p>I signaled our waitress and duplicated our order.</p> - -<p>"This is one of the times when my father told me to remember the -giants," she said.</p> - -<p>I raised my eyebrows.</p> - -<p>"My father was professor of philosophy at Wesleyan," she explained. -"He always said that it was impossible to imagine anything so big that -there wasn't something else bigger. He said that it stood to reason -that somewhere in the universe there was a race of giants so big that -it took them a million years to draw a breath. He said when things -seemed difficult just to think about that."</p> - -<p>"Sounds like the Navy Department," I observed. "Was he the one who -argued that there might be several sexes? Frank told me something—"</p> - -<p>She smiled. "Yes. That was when I was adolescent and having crushes -about boys. He said that somewhere there must be a place where, Instead -of two, there were six or seven sexes. He suggested that falling in -love under those conditions was really complicated. He was a nice man," -she added. "He's dead."</p> - -<p>"Your father sounds like a right guy," I remarked. "Frank said—"</p> - -<p>"How do I know you're telling the truth?" she suddenly interrupted. -"What proof have you?"</p> - -<p>Here I was on home-ground. "Frank thought of that. He told me to remind -you that you have a mole on your left hip, that you're nuts about -Prokofiev, that you don't think much of Ernest Hemingway as an author -and—"</p> - -<p>"The louse!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I know I oughtn't to talk about him -this way if he's dead but I didn't dream men told each other—"</p> - -<p>I pulled out my fountain pen and wrote my Jacklin signature rapidly -across the back of the drink-card. I pushed it at her across the table.</p> - -<p>"There!" I told her. "Recognize that, Mrs. Jacklin?"</p> - -<p>"Why!" Dorothy exclaimed. "It's his writing! Who <i>are</i> you, Mr. -Tompkins? Only I could say that it's a forgery."</p> - -<p>"Listen, Dorothy," I began conspiratorially. "And if I call you Dorothy -it is only because your husband always spoke of you as Dorothy. I must -see General Donovan. This is much more than a matter of your husband -and yourself. It's a matter of top-echelon intelligence."</p> - -<p>She looked downcast. "The General's out of town," she said. "He's -trying to get back for the Roosevelt funeral but the man who's running -the show in his absence is Colonel McIntosh. Ivor McIntosh."</p> - -<p>There was a curl to her lips as she pronounced the name that told -me all I needed to know about the colonel. Still, beggars can't be -choosers and Colonel McIntosh was ever so much better than nothing at -all.</p> - -<p>"Very well," I told her. "Will you arrange to have me see Colonel -McIntosh tomorrow morning? Tell—" here I took a leap—"Tell him that -I'm from the White House."</p> - -<p>"You aren't, are you?"</p> - -<p>"Of course not, but I gather that's the kind of bait your Colonel -needs."</p> - -<p>"He's a very clever man," Dorothy belatedly defended him. "They say -he did brilliant staff-intelligence work under Stillwell in the first -Burma campaign."</p> - -<p>"That's the one we lost, isn't it?" I asked dryly. "No, Dorothy. Let me -see this Colonel. You know how to fix it—there's always one special -girl in an office that has the ear of a man like that. Frank swore to -me that there was nothing you couldn't do if you decided it was worth -while."</p> - -<p>She looked at me across the little round, black table. "Mr. Tompkins," -she said, "I have no way of telling whether you are telling the truth -or not. Frankly, if General Donovan was in town I wouldn't bother him, -but Colonel McIntosh is—you know—one of <i>the</i> Chicago McIntoshes. -You never heard of him? Nobody else did either but here he is with a -British accent and if you can make the grade with him it won't worry -me."</p> - -<p>I ordered another round of drinks.</p> - -<p>"Tell me, Dorothy," I said, "not that it's any of my business, except -that I was a friend of your husband's, don't you feel any special -regret that he's probably gone west?"</p> - -<p>She took a man-sized swallow of her old-fashioned. "Not particularly," -she admitted. "In a general, normal sort of way, I'm sorry, of course. -He was nice even if we didn't get on very well. But we had almost no -interests in common and when we broke up it was for keeps. He was kind, -and on the whole, decent, but God! so stuffy and boring to live with. -Day after day, Hartford, Connecticut, writing and yessing, living by -minutes and dying by inches. He rather liked it. I couldn't understand -it. So you can see why I can't pretend to be prostrated. And perhaps he -isn't dead at all."</p> - -<p>I nodded. "He's dead if that's the way you feel about him," I said. "He -told me that his wife was a lovely girl with a mole on her hip and the -hell of a temper. He said it was like being married to a circus acrobat -or an opera singer—exciting but not happy. He said you had a habit -of—" I stopped in the nick of time.</p> - -<p>"Oh, he did, did he?" she snapped. "Well, Mr. Tompkins, I don't suppose -he ever told you that he snored or that—"</p> - -<p>"Skip it, please," I calmed her. "It's your marriage, not mine. I told -you these things so you'd know I was really sent to you by Frank. Now -you fix it so I can talk to McIntosh."</p> - -<p>"I will," she replied.</p> - -<p>It was the epitaph on ten years of marriage. I knew when I was -licked. Dorothy was what she had been when I had picked her out of -Middletown—as inaccessible as the root of a Greek aorist or as a -book of curiosa in a Carnegie library. She had not shown a trace of -recognizing Frank Jacklin inside the body of Winnie Tompkins, even -though my morning calisthenics were reducing my circumference. I was -licked. I was no Faustus to woo this Marguerite, especially when she -obviously had someone else on the string. The Master of the Rat Race -obviously meant me to play the hand he had dealt me, and no Joker. By -Godfrey, it would go hard with Dorothy's boss when I came to grips with -him. All the Navy men who had been hitched by Washington would applaud -me—Marty Donnell who had been sent out against the "Nagato" with the -wrong size shells for his guns; Abie Roseman, who had been cashiered -because he had refused to okay a travel order for the Admiral's -sweetie; Julius Winterbottom, who had died on the "Lexington"—and all -the gobs who had died. Well, win or lose, I'd give the F.B.I. a run for -its money and what could they do to me? Damn it! I was a civilian—one -of the guys that paid their salaries!</p> - -<p>Colonel Ivor McIntosh of the Chicago McIntoshes was one of those who -had been born with a platinum spoon and a broad "A" in his mouth. His -face bore the marks of years of application to the more expensive -tables, cellars and bedrooms. His uniform was in the U.S. Army but -definitely not of it—having a Savile Row touch that suggested the -Guards. He was, he told me, in charge of the O.S.S. "until Bill gets -back," and what could he do for me?</p> - -<p>"Colonel," I said. "I came to you in the face of strong opposition from -the F.B.I. I have first-hand information concerning the sinking of the -Alaska."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense!" McIntosh replied cheerily. "It was on the map five minutes -ago. I'm sure it's still there."</p> - -<p>I smiled. "The U.S.S. Alaska, sir," I explained. Colonels love to be -called "Sir," especially by a civilian. "I have the inside story of -the sinking of the carrier. The F.B.I. told me it was useless to try -to see you or Admiral Ballister. In fact, they ordered me under no -circumstances to mention the F.B.I. in connection with my mission."</p> - -<p>McIntosh toyed with a crystal elephant on his desk. "Exactly what <i>is</i> -your mission?" he asked.</p> - -<p>I drew myself up, not without dignity. "I am with Z-2, Colonel," I told -him, "and as you know the Z Bureau reports only to the President." I -had heard of G-2, A-2, even X-2. Why not Z-2—to end all 2's.</p> - -<p>"Of course," he agreed without bending an eyelash. "But why have you -come to see me, Mr. Tompkins?"</p> - -<p>"Call me Grant, Colonel," I replied with a knowing smile. "That's the -name I'm registered under at the Willard. The reason I've come to you, -is that my orders, which were given to me personally last February by -President Roosevelt, were to consult the head of the O.S.S. if anything -went wrong. As you undoubtedly know, Roosevelt had a very warm feeling -for the O.S.S. and my instructions have been to work with your men -whenever possible. F.D.R. told me that, if I needed prompt action -at any time to come to this office and skip the other intelligence -services."</p> - -<p>Colonel McIntosh was only human, if from the Chicago McIntoshes. He -relaxed. He almost smiled.</p> - -<p>"I got back to this country less than two weeks ago, Colonel," I told -him. "I was working on the other end of the Alaska case—and it's a -tough one—when word came of the President's death. My report was due -to him at Warm Springs next Monday. Now I'll have to take it up direct -with Admiral Ballister. The F.B.I.'s trying to block me."</p> - -<p>"Why?" he asked, but he knew why.</p> - -<p>I shrugged my shoulders. "You know Washington, Colonel," I said. -"The F.B.I. tried to get control of Z-2 and was stopped by the other -services. Since then, they've refused all cooperation. And I must get -to see Admiral Ballister before he goes away for the week-end. Since -Roosevelt's death the whole town has changed and Truman is too busy and -bothered to see Z-2 reports."</p> - -<p>Colonel McIntosh put in some earnest home-work on the telephone.</p> - -<p>"Ballister," he said at last. "McIntosh speaking, O.S.S. A Mr. R. L. -Grant—that's not his name, but he's from Z-2—Yes, of course you -do. That's the special—Yes, that's right, Admiral. He has an urgent -report for you. He's been trying to reach you since Thursday but our -good friend J. Edgar has been blocking him—Sure, you remember—That -was a couple of years ago, when Edgar tried to grab Z-2 and we all -helped block it. Grant has some hot stuff for you, on the Alaska -sinking—Fine! Yes, he'll be over as fast as my car can take him. Oh, -not at all. Always glad to help—As you know, orders are to help Z-2 at -all times—no questions asked, nothing on paper—Righto!"</p> - -<p>McIntosh hung up and turned to me with an air of authority. "That was -Admiral Ballister, Mr.—er—Grant," he said. "He'll see you right away. -I'll have my chauffeur drive you over to the Navy Department. You can -talk freely to the Admiral. He's a sound man."</p> - -<p>I smiled wanly. I had won the first round of my match with the F.B.I. -Ballister meant nothing to me but I had to convince him that I was on -the level or Mr. Lamb would close in on me. In any case, I owed it to -my Navy friends to take a fall out of the Department. After all, I -couldn't be worse off than I already was, with the G-Men breathing down -my neck and me out on open arrest, on a charge of treason. The electric -chair doesn't look funny when there's even the faintest chance of your -sitting in it yourself.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_17" id="CHAPTER_17">CHAPTER 17</a></h2> - - -<p>"Name please!" asked the snippy young thing at the Navy Department -Reception Desk.</p> - -<p>"R. L. Grant," I told her. "To see Admiral Ballister. By appointment," -I added.</p> - -<p>"Have you any identification, Mr. Grant?" she inquired.</p> - -<p>"Of course not. Tell the Admiral that Z-2 has no identification. He -will understand."</p> - -<p>She looked at me very dubiously but dialed a telephone and muttered -into it. Suddenly she cackled, "You don't say? Sure! I'll send him -right up."</p> - -<p>She beamed at me. "The Admiral is expecting you, sir," she said. -"Here's your badge. Will you please sign this form?"</p> - -<p>She thrust a blue-and-white celluloid saucer at me, with a number on -it, and passed a mimeographed form, which I duly signed "Robert E. -Lee, C.S.A.," and which she duly accepted and filed. A Marine sergeant -appeared out of the shadows and led me up a flight of stairs and along -several unevenly paved concrete floors to an office where a battery of -Waves and Junior Lieutenants promptly took me in charge.</p> - -<p>Admiral Ballister was a civilian's dream of a Navy Officer—"every -other inch a sailor," as we used to say in the Pacific—with a ruddy -face tanned by ocean winds or rye whisky, grizzled hair, incipient -jowls, a "gruff old sea-dog" manner and a hearty hand-clasp.</p> - -<p>"Glad to see you Grant," he told me. "I've been checking up on Z-2 -since McIntosh called. You boys have been doing one hell of a swell job -on your security. There's not a word about you in our files."</p> - -<p>"Z-2, Admiral," I replied modestly, "is forbidden by the terms of -the Executive Order setting us up to put itself on record. We have -no identification, we get no glory, but a Z-2 agent was in the Jap -squadron that attacked Pearl Harbor and one of our men was military -secretary to Rommel in North Africa. At least two of our agents hold -the rank of General in the Red Army. As you know, sir, we report -directly to the President, and always verbally. Nothing on paper."</p> - -<p>"I know, I know," the Admiral agreed wistfully. "McIntosh is usually -all wet"—he paused for me to register a flash of strictly subordinate -glee at his meteorological witticism—"but he gave me a fill-in on the -fine job you did on the Alaska case."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I worried your O.N.I. group in New York, sir!"—in -addressing an Admiral, the "sir!" should not be slurred but should -come out with a touch of whip-crack, if you wish promotion in the U.S. -Navy—"They almost penetrated my cover as W. S. Tompkins, a Bedford -Hills stock-broker with offices in Wall Street, and reported me to the -F.B.I."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" Ballister seemed relieved. "So <i>you</i> are Tompkins. No wonder -Church Street was worried. Of course, they didn't know you were Z-2."</p> - -<p>"Naturally I couldn't tell them, sir!" I confided. "I was due to -report to President Roosevelt at Warm Springs next Monday but since -his death, I have to report to you, according to previous White House -instructions. The new President hasn't had time to get orientated on -Z-2 operations and this Alaska business can't wait, sir!"</p> - -<p>Ballister did some dialing, asked a few terse questions—gruff old -sea-dog style—over the telephone and then turned to me.</p> - -<p>"It's lucky for you, Grant, you didn't try to report to the White -House. The Secret Service might have nabbed you," he said. "The -Naval Aide tells me that all Roosevelt's papers and records have been -impounded for the Roosevelt Estate under the law and that it may be -weeks before they are untangled. Now, tell me about the Alaska. We've -had no report on her since early on the second, when she cleared Adak."</p> - -<p>"Before I report to you, sir!" I replied, "I'd rather you ask me a -few questions about Alaska and Operation Octopus. In that way you can -satisfy yourself that I know what I'm talking about."</p> - -<p>"Good!" the Admiral grunted. "Wish O.N.I. had as much sense as Z-2. -Save a lot of time. When was Alaska commissioned?"</p> - -<p>"Late in February, sir! At Bremerton. Trial run in March to Pearl -Harbor, back to San Diego for fueling and up the coast to Bremerton -again. Latest U.S. light carrier in the Pacific. A sneak-job. 38 knots -at full speed, 8,000 mile cruising radius. Twenty-four planes—eight -light bombers, sixteen fighters. Anti-aircraft and radar out of this -world."</p> - -<p>Ballister studied the map of the Pacific across the room from his desk. -"Who is her commander and what's his nickname?"</p> - -<p>"Captain Horatio McAllister, U.S.N., sir! Commonly known as Stinky -McAllister. No reason assigned for 'Stinky,' at least so far as reserve -officers knew."</p> - -<p>"Stinky? That's because he once used perfumed soap before going to the -Midshipmen's Ball in Washington," the Director of Naval Intelligence -informed me. "It was his second year at Annapolis. Who was Stinky's -exec?"</p> - -<p>"Commander B. S. Moody, sir!" I answered. "His nickname is suggested by -his initials—a roly-poly sort of guy and hipped on boat-drills and all -that."</p> - -<p>Ballister glanced at a list on his desk. "Her chaplain?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Father Eamon Devalera O'Flaherty, begob and begorra, savin' your -riverence," was my reply. "A grand man and a good priest. God rest his -soul."</p> - -<p>Ballister wriggled in his chair with some discomfort, as though he felt -he ought to stand at attention or order a volley fired over the ship's -side.</p> - -<p>"What about Commander Chalmis?" he inquired, with an air of baiting an -elephant-trap for me. "What job did he do?"</p> - -<p>"Chalmis was not a commander, sir!" I told him. "He was a civilian. He -had some kind of a thorium bomb and the chief job he did was to use it -to blow up the ship. The mission was to drop it on Paramushiro before -the Army could get going with its uranium bomb. Chalmis got cold feet, -sir! when he thought of the carrier instead. He argued that the Navy -Department would conclude that thorium was unreliable and drop the -atomic project until the end of the war."</p> - -<p>Ballister leaned back in his chair and gave careful consideration to -the design of his Annapolis Class pin. After a long pause, he swung -around in his swivel-chair and faced me squarely.</p> - -<p>"Grant," he barked, "I'm going to ask you an unofficial question. You -don't have to answer it. I have no authority over Z-2 anyway, but this -is mighty important to the Navy."</p> - -<p>"Go ahead, sir!" I told the Admiral, "if I can't answer it I'll tell -you why."</p> - -<p>"Do you believe," the Chief of O.N.I. asked slowly, "that Chalmis could -have been inspired by Another Government Agency to make a failure of—" -he paused.</p> - -<p>"Operation Octopus, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Right! Could Chalmis have deliberately destroyed Alaska and sacrificed -his life in the interest of General Groves and the Army's bomb?"</p> - -<p>Groves was a new name to me but I took it in my stride. I looked the -Admiral full in the eye—a thing which Admirals rate along with a -snappy "Sir!" as proof of initiative, intelligence and subordination on -the part of their inferiors.</p> - -<p>"I am not at liberty to answer that question, Admiral," I replied. "My -orders forbid me to discredit any of the armed forces of the United -States. After all, sir!" I added, "we must not forget that Professor -Chalmis paid for his loyalty with his life."</p> - -<p>Ballister's face lighted up with nautical glee. "I knew it! I knew it!" -he roared. "By God! I knew there was something wrong the last time I -consulted G-2, they were so smug and polite. I might have known that -they were cooking up something to get even with the Navy for winning -this war in the Pacific. My God! Grant, you have to respect the Army -for their fanaticism, if for nothing else. Here is a civilian like -Chalmis, a great scientist, proved 100% reliable by all of our tests. -We checked him for twelve months before we even approached him on the -thorium research. Yet the Army, the damned, stinking, two-timing, -gold-bricking, double-crossing, medal-splashing, glory-grabbing, -credit-claiming Army, gets next to him on the sly and persuades him -to blow himself up rather than let the Navy get ahead with its atomic -bomb."</p> - -<p>I nodded admiringly at his flow of language. "Admiral," I told him, -"when I came into this office I had a notion you were just another -Washington desk-hero. No man who can express himself with such -eloquence can have shirked his sea-duty. Mind you, sir!" I continued, -"I do <i>not</i> state that the Army had a hand in this outrage. All I ask -is that you give me clearance to the head of Army Intelligence, whoever -he is now. They keep shipping them into quote war-zones unquote, so -they can qualify for active service pay and allowances, campaign -ribbons and citations, to back up a special act of congress for their -permanent promotion to the rank of Major-General."</p> - -<p>"West Point—" Ballister began and emerged panting five minutes later -after a personally conducted tour of the United States Military Academy.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Grant—" Ballister was all but chanting as he -concluded—"I'll send you over to see that prince of double-crossers, -Major-General Ray L. Wakely, director of Army Counter-Intelligence, -so-called. Mind you, he probably won't admit you to the Pentagon, -coming from me, or if he does he'll try to frame you—"</p> - -<p>"Z-2, Admiral," I answered him, "is entirely familiar with General -Wakely's methods and reputation. I can take care of myself, if you can -get me into the Pentagon. I have some reports, entirely apart from the -Alaska business, which belong to the Army and I should deliver them -to Wakely in person. As you know, Z-2 is not allowed to take part in -interdepartmental feuds."</p> - -<p>"That's all very well," Ballister barked at me, "but right is right and -wrong is wrong. You're not supposed to be blind to that, are you?"</p> - -<p>"You ought to know where our sympathies lie, sir!" I snapped back. "But -my orders are to see Wakely, if he's in charge of counter-intelligence."</p> - -<p>This was sheer bravado. As a matter of fact, I knew I ought to call it -a day now that Ballister was in my camp but the best way to keep him on -my side was to move against his Army opponents. I felt rather like a -slug in a slot-machine as it starts to hit the jack-pot. I would teach -the F.B.I. not to monkey with Winnie Tompkins. Z-2 had been a happy -thought. So far nobody had gagged on it and with Roosevelt's papers -tied up, the war would be over before any of the topside officials -guessed I had invented it.</p> - -<p>Ballister calmed down enough to buzz his secretary and tell her to get -General Wakely on the line, but fast. A moment later the gruff old -sea-dog was talking to the double-crossing Army Counter-Intelligence -Director.</p> - -<p>"Hullo, Ray? This is Ballister. How's your golf? Too bad! Neither can -I.... Well, there's a civilian here you ought to see ... Grant, R. L. -Not his real name, of course ... from Z-2.... Yes, Z as in zebra, two -as in two.... He's just cleaned up one of our worst headaches and says -he has some special reports for you.... No idea, Ray, he didn't tell me -and I didn't ask him.... Z-2 doesn't talk. No, not in the least like -our Edgar or Wild Bill. Can you see him today?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "Sorry sir!" I interrupted the Admiral. "I can't see -him until tomorrow morning at seven-thirty."</p> - -<p>The Admiral winced as though a cobra had suddenly appeared on his -blotter. Then he grinned maliciously. "Hold on a minute, Ray," he -said. "You can have your golf this afternoon, after all. Grant says he -can't see you until tomorrow at seven-thirty.... Yes, seven-thirty.... -No, ten o'clock will be too late, he says.... At your office at -seven-thirty, then."</p> - -<p>He hung up and turned back to me. "You know, Grant," he remarked, "I -wouldn't mind belonging to Z-2 for a few days myself if I could make -that scoundrel Wakely rise at an ungodly hour on Sunday morning."</p> - -<p>"His little Wac won't like it?" I insinuated.</p> - -<p>"Little Wac!" Ballister exploded. "She weighs a good hundred and sixty -pounds and stands five feet eight in her bedroom slippers. Naturally -she's working for the Navy. We have to establish <i>some</i> liaison with -G-2. Poor old Wakely will catch holy hell from her for this. Have you -any other appointments I could help you with, Grant?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir! I did this to General Wakely because the last time one of our -Z-2 agents had to report to G-2, General Strong—you remember that old -hellion—kept our man waiting for two hours. That's as bad as though -you kept the President of the United States waiting."</p> - -<p>Ballister appeared slightly worried. "You know, Grant," he told -me, "I see your point. I sympathize with your attitude, but these -inter-service feuds can lead to trouble. The thing to do is to be -pleasant and friendly as hell and not get him sore over trifles, but -wait for a chance to stab him in the back. I think you would have -been wiser not to annoy General Wakely. When G-2 is annoyed, there is -absolutely nothing of which they are not capable. They are the most -unconscionable, unscrupulous, prevaricating, meretricious double-dyed -sons of bachelors on the face of the globe. Hitler," the Admiral -continued, "fights a clean war compared to G-2. You may be in Z-2 and -you may represent the Commander-in-Chief, Grant, but Roosevelt is dead. -Roosevelt is dead, sir. This guy Truman was in the Army—in the last -war and the Army is going to take him right over and run him and the -White House inside of six weeks. Hell, I wouldn't put it past them to -try to have the Army swallow up the Navy. So don't annoy Wakely if you -can help it, Grant."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "If it's the last thing Z-2 ever does, Admiral," I -told him, "I still want to make a Major-General get up early in the -morning in order to see me."</p> - -<p>Ballister grinned. "Grant," he said. "How come you never thought of -joining the Navy. We could use men like you. Get in touch with me if -anything happens to Z-2. This here war may be just about won but then -there's no armistice in the battle of Washington."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_18" id="CHAPTER_18">CHAPTER 18</a></h2> - - -<p>There is no point in describing the various problems of logistics -involved in my reaching General Wakely's office in the Pentagon early -on Sunday morning. All the Pentagon stories have been invented and -told, including my favorite yarn of the German spy who was told to bomb -the building but decided to disobey his orders because there was no -point in robbing the Third Reich of its greatest asset.</p> - -<p>Wakely was a bluff, hearty type of soldier, with more bluff than heart, -who greeted me without emotion, waved me to a chair and proceeded to -get down to cases.</p> - -<p>"I've decided, Grant, and the Chief of Staff agrees," he informed -me, "that the time has come to liquidate Z-2. All of these irregular -agencies have been nothing but a nuisance since before Pearl Harbor. -Z-2 has been in the Army's hair for years. We've heard nothing good of -your outfit."</p> - -<p>"You are fully entitled to your point of view, General,"—I -have observed that Generals do not go for "Sir!" as eagerly as -Admirals—"but the decision rests with the White House. All I do is to -follow my orders."</p> - -<p>General Wakely exhumed a ghastly smile. "The White House ain't what -it used to be, Grant," he continued. "While Roosevelt was President -we couldn't do much about it, but now, by gad! the time has come to -coordinate the White House. This Z-2 business is played out anyhow."</p> - -<p>I started to say something soothing but the Chief of Military -Intelligence refused to yield the floor.</p> - -<p>"I've been checking on you, Grant," he told me, "since Ballister -phoned me yesterday. We have a pretty good counter-intelligence corps -in this country and I'm told that your name isn't Grant at all, but -Tompkins—W. S. Tompkins. You're linked to a fellow in the Navy named -Jacklin. No use pretending, Grant. Z-2 may be smart but our information -is that Jacklin is probably a double-spy for the Nazis. In fact, we -believe that Jacklin is really the notorious Von Bieberstein. We were -on his trail long before Pearl Harbor. He's a slick article, Von -Bieberstein is. We think that when things began to get hot he joined -the Navy, knowing that the Army couldn't touch him there. Then he seems -to have planted his common-law wife or mistress—an American born girl, -mind you,—in O.S.S. to keep him informed of Army operations. No, -Tompkins, we have him now. We have rounded up all his contacts and -accomplices."</p> - -<p>"General," I assured him, "somebody's eaten a bad clam. I can vouch for -Jacklin's loyalty as I would my own. Why, he was editor of a Republican -newspaper and went to Yale. He was at school with me. I've known him -for over thirty years. He's as patriotic as I am."</p> - -<p>This was not going as well as I had hoped. If it hadn't been for the -F.B.I. waiting to snap me up, I would have backed out of Wakely's -office on some excuse, however lame.</p> - -<p>Wakely snorted. "It just shows how far-sighted the Germans are. They -plant their agents here twenty—thirty—fifty years—yes, generations -before they are needed. Gad! this country's been asleep. Here M.I.D.'s -been hunting Von Bieberstein for the last ten years and what do we -find? We find that he's lived in this country all his life and holds a -reserve commission in the United States Navy! No wonder we had Pearl -Harbor! This time, Grant, we're sure of our facts and we're going to -take them to the White House."</p> - -<p>"You may be sure of your facts, General," I agreed, "but do you happen -to know a man named Axel Roscommon?"</p> - -<p>Wakely nodded. "Of course, a thorough gentleman. See him every week or -so at the Army-Navy Club. Well-informed, too."</p> - -<p>"Did he ever tell you that he's head of Nazi intelligence in this -country?"</p> - -<p>"Rubbish!" The head of G-2 detonated impressively. "He's nothing of -the kind. That's nothing but a smear put out against him by the F.B.I."</p> - -<p>"Well, General," I admitted, "I'm wasting your time. I have some -reports—"</p> - -<p>"Just a minute, Grant. I'm not done with you. We're going to finish -this Z-2 business right now." He pushed a button and uttered into his -desk-phone: "Sergeant! Bring those women in here."</p> - -<p>A moment later the door opened and Dorothy, Germaine and Virginia -appeared, each looking as bedraggled as any woman who has been awakened -too early.</p> - -<p>"Winnie!" Germaine's face lighted up like a traffic go-sign. She -crossed the room and kissed me. "I thought—"</p> - -<p>General Wakely coughed, severely.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Tompkins," he announced, "I'm Major-General Wakely. This is G-2. -The C.I.C. has rounded up your husband's chief associates for this -interview. We're about to close in on the most dangerous Nazi spy-ring -in existence. You know Mrs. Rutherford, of course, and this other woman -goes under the name of Mrs. Jacklin."</p> - -<p>"My name <i>is</i> Mrs. Jacklin," Dorothy replied with feeling, "and the -O.S.S. will want to know by what authority—"</p> - -<p>Wakely waved her and the O.S.S. aside. "Very clever, Mrs. Jacklin, -or should I say Mrs. Von Bieberstein?" He turned back to Germaine. -"Thanks in part to your husband, Mrs. Tompkins," he continued, "we -have at last got on the track of Hitler's ace operative in the Western -Hemisphere, Kurt Von Bieberstein, or should I say Frank Jacklin? We -almost had him cornered five years ago but he took advantage of the -confusion after Pearl—after the Navy let us—after the declaration of -war, and went into hiding as a naval officer. It was only by accident, -when Mr. Tompkins accidentally supplied the missing link, that we found -the trail again."</p> - -<p>"That's handsome of you, General," I said, "but I think that -Counter-Intelligence deserves full credit."</p> - -<p>He beamed at me.</p> - -<p>"And what am I doing here, General Wakely?" Virginia cooed at the -specimen of military manhood.</p> - -<p>Wakely smiled before he remembered that he was a pattern of military -efficiency. "You are known to Counter-Intelligence, Mrs. Rutherford, as -one of the best agents in Z-2."</p> - -<p>"But what is Z-2?" Virginia was frankly bemused. "Of course, I've heard -of Intelligence. Isn't that something that belongs to the Army?"</p> - -<p>The General oozed approval. "Gad! Tompkins, you train your agents -well. She'd never admit a syllable without your permission. No, Mrs. -Rutherford, Z-2 is to be liquidated and we're here to find this fellow -Von Bieberstein."</p> - -<p>Dorothy stood up. "I've heard all the drivel I propose to stand for," -she announced. "Frank is a decent, loyal American and it's not his -fault that we couldn't get along together. I've never heard of Von -Bieberstein in my life. Mr. Tompkins," she added, turning to me, "if -you had anything to do with this high-handed foolishness—you say you -knew Frank—"</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Jacklin," I told her. "I don't think that your husband, and I -knew him well, was disloyal for one moment of his life. In any case, -military intelligence can't lay a finger on your husband."</p> - -<p>"And why not?" Wakely demanded.</p> - -<p>"Because he's dead, General," I said.</p> - -<p>"Suicide, eh?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir. He went down with—"</p> - -<p>"Winnie!" Jimmie interrupted me as though descending from a fiery -cloud. "<i>Now</i> I see why you've been acting so strangely. You're in -<i>intelligence</i>. Of course you couldn't tell <i>anybody</i>. Darling!"</p> - -<p>Even the General looked embarrassed.</p> - -<p>Dorothy did not relax. "I am going to leave this room and this -building," she announced. "And if anybody interferes with me, you are -all witnesses that I am being detained illegally. Just call the O.S.S. -and tell them that Army agents under General Wakely's orders broke into -my bedroom at six this morning and kidnapped me."</p> - -<p>She turned and left the room. Nobody stopped her. Wakely pressed the -buzzer again. "Sergeant!" he commanded, "see that Mrs. Jacklin is -escorted out of the building and that our people keep an eye on her."</p> - -<p>"Now, Tompkins," the General resumed, "what's this word about Von -Bieberstein being dead?"</p> - -<p>"If you'll have the ladies leave the room, General," I told him, "I'll -give you my report."</p> - -<p>Jimmie and Virginia withdrew, with visible reluctance.</p> - -<p>"Jacklin is dead," I told him. "I think that your agents are mistaken -in linking him to Von Bieberstein. In fact, I know it, because I think -I know who Von Bieberstein really is. But I can't tell you without -direct verbal authority from the President. I can tell you how Jacklin -died."</p> - -<p>Major-General Wakely became once more the man of action. "Good, let's -have it!"</p> - -<p>"The Navy Department," I began, "has been trying to beat the Army with -the development of an atomic bomb—"</p> - -<p>"The dastards!" Wakely all but screamed. "The dirty, treacherous, -sneaking dastards! You can't trust the Navy as far as you could throw -a battleship. By Gad! Tompkins, <i>this</i> is going straight to the White -House."</p> - -<p>"They had a man named Chalmis who did something with thorium, General," -I continued. "I'm not a scientist so I can't tell you about the -process. It was simpler and less expensive than what General Groves is -trying to do with uranium."</p> - -<p>"Groves!" Wakely spoke with soldierly pride. "Now there's a West -Pointer for you! Four years and two billion dollars and he hasn't got -it yet, but by Gad! the old West Point spirit never accepts defeat. -He'll get a bomb if it takes fifty years and a hundred billion dollars. -The Navy can't match that kind of guts, Tompkins. They're all yellow, -the Annapolis crowd!"</p> - -<p>"Of course this thing wasn't anything like so good as the Army's bomb, -General," I assured him. "It was something whipped up in eighteen -months and cost less than fifty millions."</p> - -<p>"Pikers!"</p> - -<p>"Well, the Navy rushed through this sneak-bomb of theirs and sent -Chalmis with it on a surprise raid against the Kuriles, on the latest -light carrier, the Alaska."</p> - -<p>Wakely took a few portentous notes on a memo pad.</p> - -<p>"Jacklin was assigned to the Alaska and our information is -that he was with Chalmis in the ship's magazine when the -bomb—er—accidentally—er—went off. The ship was a total loss and -everyone aboard died in the explosion."</p> - -<p>Wakely got to his feet and stood rigid for a moment.</p> - -<p>"He was a brave man, Tompkins," he observed with soldierly emotion, "a -damned brave man. By Gad, I'm almost sorry we're going to liquidate -Z-2. We'd like to take you all over into M.I.D. but red tape won't let -us, eh? Have to be in uniform, under West Pointers or it isn't regular. -So Jacklin was one of your men and he died for the Army. He sank the -Alaska and killed himself and the inventor of the thorium bomb, rather -than let the Navy get away with this outrage. By Gad, Tompkins, General -Groves will have a laugh over that one. I'll go and apologize to Mrs. -Jacklin in person for our mistake. Von Bieberstein would never have -done that job. As you know, it's the Nazis who are backing the Navy -against the Army. If it wasn't for the Japs backing us against the Navy -we'd have a rough time of it in this man's war. Now Tompkins, this -thing is too big for us to handle. It's got to go up to the highest -echelons."</p> - -<p>I raised my eyebrows.</p> - -<p>He nodded. "Yes, this has got to be laid before President Truman -himself. By Gad, Tompkins, I'll see that you get to report to the -President tomorrow morning if I have to take you there myself."</p> - -<p>"As to Von Bieberstein, General," I said, "he can wait until tomorrow. -When you know who he is and where he is placed—with the President's -permission—you will probably decide to go away. After all, even you -would hesitate to arrest on a treason charge the—" I stopped.</p> - -<p>Wakely leaned across his desk. "Tompkins," he assured me, "I'll get Von -Bieberstein if it's the last thing I ever do. By Gad! If you help me, -I'll see that you get the Order of Merit, a Presidential citation and -the Orange Heart."</p> - -<p>"Don't you mean the Purple Heart?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Wakely snorted. "That's merely for combat duty. The Orange Heart is a -confidential decoration given to those who serve intelligence well on -the home front, even including civilians. It's like the Army E-Award -but is personal and worn on the <i>inside</i> of the coat-lapel. It is -conferred on the recommendation of the Deputy Chief of Staff, G-2."</p> - -<p>He buzzed again. "Sergeant!" he barked. "Get me the office of the -Military Aide, the White House, and if they don't answer, wake up Harry -Vaughan at Blair House, even if he's still in bed, which he probably -is—the lucky stiff! Tell him this is top-priority."</p> - -<p>I sighed. The water was already far over my head, but it was too late -to draw back. I had to swim for the farther shore.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_19" id="CHAPTER_19">CHAPTER 19</a></h2> - - -<p>"The President will see you now, Mr. Tompkins," said the White House -usher, as he beckoned me to follow him.</p> - -<p>A pleasant, rangy, mild-mannered man rose from behind the great desk -and shook my hand.</p> - -<p>"Glad to see you, Mr. Tompkins," he said. "General Vaughan has been -telling me great things about your work. What can I do for you?"</p> - -<p>As I looked at the guileless, friendly face, my heart sank. Here was -one man who should not be deceived. It would be as easy as stuffing a -ballot box.</p> - -<p>"Mr. President," I told him, "when I left the Pentagon Building -yesterday, I had an elaborate report to submit to you. But I decided -that the President of the United States was entitled to the simple -truth."</p> - -<p>"That's right!" snapped the Chief Executive.</p> - -<p>"So if you'll listen to me for five minutes," I continued, "I'll tell -you the strangest story you ever heard."</p> - -<p>President Truman coughed. "General Vaughan has told me of the fine -work you've been doing for Z-2," he observed. "As you can imagine, I'm -terribly busy taking on this job."</p> - -<p>"Mr. President," I began, "to begin with, there's no such organization -as Z-2. If you'll listen for a few minutes I'll tell you the whole -story."</p> - -<p>I did.</p> - -<p>At the end of it, he smiled at me.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," he said, "you're a married man, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. President."</p> - -<p>"Then you tell Mrs. Tompkins for me that I want her to take you home -and take good care of you for the next few weeks. You've been overdoing -it. This Z-2 work has taken it out of you. You need a rest. Now don't -you worry about Z-2," he continued. "What you need to do is to take -things easy. The work will go right ahead. I'm putting Z-2 under -General Wakely. This country needs better intelligence services and -they ought to be concentrated under one responsible head, if you ask -me."</p> - -<p>"But I tell you, Mr. President," I insisted, "there never was such an -organization as Z-2. I invented it in order to clear myself with the -F.B.I."</p> - -<p>He flashed a boyish grin at me. "But there's no doubt that the Alaska -went down like a stone?"</p> - -<p>"She went up like a sky-rocket, sir."</p> - -<p>"Then this thorium bomb doesn't sound as though it was practical, -sinking one of our ships like that."</p> - -<p>"Mr. President," I argued, "any bomb will explode if it is -deliberately detonated. This bomb was deliberately touched off by -Professor Chalmis. He wanted to prevent its use in warfare."</p> - -<p>The President nodded. "Yes, yes, Mr. Tompkins. You explained that to -me before. Now you be sure to tell your wife to take good care of you. -When you're rested up, you come on down and see me again and we'll talk -some more about this Z-2 work of yours. We can use men like you in the -State Department. I'm sorry I don't know more about it, but all of -President Roosevelt's papers have been removed from the White House and -I don't even know what he told Stalin at Yalta. Perhaps you'd better -talk to the State Department before you take that rest. That's what -they're for. Thank you for seeing me."</p> - -<p>Two beefy Secret Service men appeared in the doorway.</p> - -<p>"Is there any particular man I should see at the Department, sir?" I -asked. "I want to get this whole business cleared up."</p> - -<p>The President stood up and shook my hand in dismissal. "Just go across -the street and tell them I sent you," he said. "Good day to you, sir."</p> - -<p>The two body-guards closed in on me, so I bowed slightly and withdrew -from the President's office.</p> - -<p>In the anteroom, I found General Wakely pacing up and down like the -father of triplets.</p> - -<p>"How did it go, Tompkins?" he asked. "You had five extra minutes. -Did you get a chance to give him a fill-in about the Navy and -you-know-what?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "My orders are not to discuss that matter any further, -General," I told him.</p> - -<p>"But what about Von Bieberstein?" the chief of M.I.D. demanded. "Can -you give me a lead?"</p> - -<p>"My instructions, General," I said, "are to discuss matters with the -State Department."</p> - -<p>"The State Department!" Wakely was outraged. "Why, they're nothing but -a bunch of Reds! They tell me there are men over there who have spent -<i>years</i> in Russia."</p> - -<p>"If I am ever allowed to tell you who Von Bieberstein really is," I -told the General, "you will understand why I am not allowed to discuss -it with you now. This is a matter for the Big Three. It is out of my -hands entirely."</p> - -<p>At the gate of the White House drive I was suddenly halted by a -piercing "Hi!" It was Virginia Rutherford. She dodged her way between -two stalwart sentries and took my arm.</p> - -<p>"Winnie!" she cooed, as soon as we were across Pennsylvania Avenue, -"you utter devil!"</p> - -<p>It seemed safest to say nothing.</p> - -<p>"Winnie," she continued. "Do you realize that the Army of the United -States dragged me out of bed yesterday morning and flew me down here -just to discover that you are a bigger liar than I thought you were?"</p> - -<p>"Please don't blame me for General Wakely," I told her. "He's an Eagle -Scout in high places. I was getting on fine until you showed up, and -please don't raise your voice at me. If I know the Army, you and I are -being tailed right now by the counter-intelligence."</p> - -<p>Virginia snuggled closer to me, as we dodged through the crowd in -LaFayette Park watching the White House.</p> - -<p>"To think," she said dreamily, "that all this time you have been an -American secret service agent. Ain't that something?"</p> - -<p>Again it seemed safest to say nothing.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Winnie Tompkins, super-sleuth!" she continued with an edge on -her voice you could have shaved with. "All last winter, when I was -under the impression that we were canoodling from bar to bar, you were -working for Uncle Sam! It's one of the best stories of the war, Winnie. -Sleep with Tompkins and lick the Axis!"</p> - -<p>This was getting under my hide. "Virginia," I told her, "I have just -spent the last twenty minutes trying to convince President Truman that -I'm not a secret agent. He will have none of it. He says I've been -working too hard and need a rest."</p> - -<p>"You devil!" Virginia chuckled dangerously. "You absolute, utter -demon! Here is civilization at the crossroads and what does Winfred -S. Tompkins do to amuse himself. He strolls down to Washington and -persuades the Generals and the Admirals and the President that he has -been winning the war for them instead of winning the wife of his family -physician. That's what I call funny."</p> - -<p>"Have it your own way," I agreed. "If you can persuade General Wakely -that I'm a fake, more power to you. He believes that you are one of my -best operatives and nothing can shake him."</p> - -<p>"So that's what you call them? Your operatives? That's wonderful. If -I'm ever asked, 'Grandma, what did <i>you</i> do in the second Great War?' -I'll say, Johnnie I was an operative under W. S. Tompkins, the ace -American Agent."</p> - -<p>"Would you mind not talking quite so loud," I again begged her. "Those -two men following us might misunderstand."</p> - -<p>She glanced over her shoulder. "You mean those five men following us, -don't you, Winnie?"</p> - -<p>I looked behind us. She was right. A group of five, if not six, people -were trailing along behind us. Lamb and the F.B.I., Ballister and the -Navy, as well as the Army's counter-intelligence and the O.S.S., were -probably represented.</p> - -<p>"Five is right," I agreed. "You see, Virginia, I'm a pretty important -person. You noticed, I hope, that President Truman took time out to -chat with me."</p> - -<p>"What's he like?" she asked irrelevantly. "Of course, Roosevelt was -all wrong but he had something on the ball. Who's this little guy from -Montana, anyhow?"</p> - -<p>"Missouri," I corrected her. "He's from Missouri and don't you ever -forget it. That's what he is, Virginia, a little guy from Missouri."</p> - -<p>We were at the Willard.</p> - -<p>"Here, Virginia, I must leave you," I told her. "You can't follow me -up to my bedroom and anyhow I have a message for Jimmie from the -President of the United States."</p> - -<p>"Nuts!" she answered brightly. "You're not fooling me for one little -minute. You've just lied yourself into a bigger jam than you've lied -yourself out of. Well, I'm on to your game."</p> - -<p>When I reached the room, there was no sign of Jimmie. This statement -should be qualified. She herself was not to be seen but various -articles of clothing were scattered around the room and there was a -rush and gurgle of water from the bathroom which suggested that my wife -was taking a bath. She was.</p> - -<p>"Winnie?" she called through the half-open door.</p> - -<p>"Theesa tha floor-waiter," I grunted. "You wanta me? I busy."</p> - -<p>"Waiter," she commanded, "please leave the room at once."</p> - -<p>"What'sa alla so secret, hey?" I asked, still speaking in subject-race -style. "Letta me see!"</p> - -<p>I took the handle of the door, wrenched it open and pushed. There was -an angry screech from inside, followed by an indignant, "Winnie, you -beast! Get out of here!"</p> - -<p>I didn't, so Jimmie dropped the bath towel she had draped defensively -across her shoulders and subsided laughing into a warm, soapy bath.</p> - -<p>"You are the absolute limit!" she declared. "I'll never forgive you for -this. Tell me, what the President was like?"</p> - -<p>"Very nice," I said. "He reminds me of one time I saw a little -fresh-water college football team play Notre Dame. You sort of wanted -the little guys to make at least one first down, but you knew that -if they did, it would just be an accident. No, Truman's one hell of -a nice guy but that doesn't mean he could lick Joe Louis. Anyhow, he -was complimentary about my work and he sent a message to you. Pity he -couldn't deliver it in person, like the floor-waiter."</p> - -<p>"For me?"</p> - -<p>I nodded. "He said that I needed a good long rest and that you must -take very good care of me."</p> - -<p>She looked up at me, large-eyed, through a haze of steam.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Winnie," she declared. "I <i>am</i> so proud of you. To think that all -the time you've been doing secret intelligence! And I believed you were -just chasing around after those silly girls. Don't you think you could -have trusted your wife?" she asked.</p> - -<p>I shook my head emphatically. "That was part of my cover," I replied. -"If you hadn't been worried about me it wouldn't have looked natural. -If I'd told you, you wouldn't have worried and the Axis agents—" I -left the thought trailing.</p> - -<p>Germaine sucked reflectively on the corner of her wash-cloth. "Yes," -she agreed at last, "I can see that, but I don't see how I can ever -trust you again."</p> - -<p>I laughed. "Then don't trust me," I told her. "We'll still have a good -time. Suppose you get dressed now and come downstairs and we'll have -champagne cocktails to celebrate."</p> - -<p>"Celebrate what?" she asked, loosing the stopper with her toes.</p> - -<p>"Celebrate the liquidation of Z-2," I said. "It's being taken over by -the Army. My work is done anyhow. And tomorrow I have to see the State -Department. Mr. Truman tells me they need men like me—God help them!"</p> - -<p>"The State Department!" She jumped out of the tub, scattering water -lavishly on the floor and on me. "Are they going to make you an -Ambassador or something?"</p> - -<p>"Come down to earth, Jimmie," I urged her. "I'm a Republican from New -York; not a Democrat. I may have done an even better job than they -think I've done, but I know one thing I didn't do to qualify for a -diplomatic job."</p> - -<p>"What's that?" she asked, towelling herself vigorously.</p> - -<p>"I never contributed a dime to the Democratic National Committee," I -confessed.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_20" id="CHAPTER_20">CHAPTER 20</a></h2> - - -<p>There was a brisk knock on the bedroom door. I walked over and -opened it, to see F.B.I. Special Agent A. J. Harcourt. He gave me a -reproachful glance and pushed his way into the room.</p> - -<p>"I can only stop a minute, Mr. Tompkins," he said, "but I have orders -from the Director to call on you in person and present the apologies of -the Bureau for having inconvenienced you. If you had only told us you -were connected with Z-2 there would have been no trouble."</p> - -<p>"Sit down, Harcourt," I urged him. Then I crossed to the bathroom door. -"Don't come out until you're decent, dear," I called to Germaine. "The -F.B.I. is here."</p> - -<p>Some muffled instructions answered, so I went around the room and -picked up the various scattered wisps of silk and rayon, and thrust -them through to my wife.</p> - -<p>"That's all I was to say, Mr. Tompkins," Harcourt repeated, still -standing, "that the Bureau is mighty sorry about the whole business."</p> - -<p>"Sit down!" I told him again. "Now get this Z-2 thing straight. -There isn't any Z-2. I just invented it, trying to get myself out of -this jam. I never was a Z-2 agent. What I told these people was all -moonshine."</p> - -<p>Harcourt nodded. "We know, of course, that you're not allowed to admit -you're in Z-2 to anybody but the top guys, but we know that Z-2 does -exist. If it didn't how could the President abolish it?"</p> - -<p>"How's that again?" I asked, sinking into the one easy chair.</p> - -<p>"Yeah, special confidential Executive Order No. 1734, signed today, -abolishing Z-2 and transferring its duties to the War Department. -There was something else, too, about giving you the Order of Merit for -<i>quote</i> special services which contributed usefully to the conduct of -the war. <i>Unquote.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Listen here, Harcourt," I insisted. "I can't help it if the President -pulled a boner. I <i>told</i> him there wasn't any such thing as Z-2 and -all he said was that I ought to take a good long rest. I simply got -so damned tired of trying to prove that I couldn't remember what -Winnie Tompkins had been doing before April 2, that I invented my own -alibi—Z-2."</p> - -<p>Harcourt scratched his head.</p> - -<p>"Cross my heart and hope to die," I assured him.</p> - -<p>For the first time since he had delivered his wooden official apology, -the Special Agent relaxed. "That's one for the book," he said with -deep feeling. "Mrs. Harcourt's little boy isn't going to let it go any -farther. So far, only the President of the United States, the Army, the -Navy, O.S.S. and the F.B.I. believe you were in Z-2. I'm not sticking -my neck out to tell them it's all a lot of malarkey. That leaves only -the State Department and the Secret Service. How come you've skipped -them? You must be slipping, Mr. Tompkins."</p> - -<p>"I'm seeing the State Department tomorrow morning," I explained. "I -think I'll let the Secret Service alone. Incidentally, Mrs. Tompkins -also believes all this Z-2 business. It will do as a stall until I -learn what I was really doing before I drew a blank."</p> - -<p>"Not for me!"</p> - -<p>We both looked up. In the doorway—which I must have forgotten to -latch—stood Virginia Rutherford.</p> - -<p>"No Winnie"—she began. "Oh, hullo, Mr. Harcourt—You haven't fooled -me. I know there's something behind all this business. Imagine the -nerve of that silly General, practically jerking me out of bed to come -down and listen to him babble about Von Bieberstein to that pretty Mrs. -Jacklin. Who is this Von Bieberstein anyhow? He sounds like a brewer."</p> - -<p>"Kurt Von Bieberstein," explained A. J. Harcourt, "is supposed to be -the ace Nazi Operative in the U.S.A. The Bureau has been trying to -locate him for the last ten years. We don't know what he looks like, -nothing about him, except his name. All we ever got on him was one -fragment of a short-wave message in 1935 and a letter in a code we -couldn't break, just before Pearl Harbor."</p> - -<p>The bathroom door opened and Germaine entered the room. "Well, -Virginia," she observed, "you seem to be making yourself at home. Mr. -Harcourt, have I no legal right to privacy in my hotel room?"</p> - -<p>Harcourt rose and bowed. "Certainly, ma'am," he told her. "If you -object to her presence you are entitled to order her out. If she -refuses to go, you can throw her out or call the house detective."</p> - -<p>Jimmie laughed. "Good! Virginia Rutherford, you get out of my bedroom -or I'll throw you out."</p> - -<p>Virginia relaxed back against the pillow. "Act your age, dearest," she -said. "You don't want any public scandal about your husband, do you?"</p> - -<p>"Oh!" Germaine paused. "Of course not!"</p> - -<p>There was another knock on the door.</p> - -<p>"Come in!" we chorused.</p> - -<p>This time it was Dorothy Jacklin.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she exclaimed, none too brightly. "So we're all here."</p> - -<p>"This is Mr. Harcourt of the F.B.I., Mrs. Jacklin," I said. "He's an -old friend of mine."</p> - -<p>Dorothy turned to me. "There's one thing I'd like cleared up, Mr. -Tompkins," she said.</p> - -<p>"Yes?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I certified to O.S.S. that you were with Z-2. I've checked over our -confidential files and I can't find any record of Z-2. Things like that -go on my efficiency rating and I might get into trouble. After all, -you were admitted to the Administration Building without the usual -references and identification. General Donovan is very strict about -such things."</p> - -<p>"There is no such thing as Z-2, Mrs. Jacklin," I assured her.</p> - -<p>"Aha!" Virginia chortled, "here it comes."</p> - -<p>"Winnie!" Germaine was hurt.</p> - -<p>"President Truman just today signed a special order abolishing Z-2 -and transferring its duties to the War Department. If you need the -references for the O.S.S. record that dear little colonel of yours can -get it from General Wakely at G-2. That's right, isn't it, Harcourt?"</p> - -<p>"That's right, Mr. Tompkins. All government intelligence agencies have -been notified. When you get back to your office, Mrs. Jacklin, you'll -find that O.S.S. has a copy of the order."</p> - -<p>Dorothy turned to me. "Isn't that lousy!" she exclaimed. "After all -the splendid work Z-2 did, to have the Army take it over and grab the -credit!"</p> - -<p>I shrugged my shoulders. "It's what we expect in this government -game," I said. "A passion for anonymity is not only expected of us, -it's rammed down our throats. Only Admirals and Generals are good -at intelligence. Period. However, I'm just as glad it's over. The -President told me to take a rest and I think it's a good idea."</p> - -<p>"Well!" said Germaine. "Of all ingratitude!"</p> - -<p>"I think the best idea is for us all to go downstairs and have some -champagne cocktails," I suggested. "Things often seem better that way."</p> - -<p>Harcourt looked grave. "I'm not allowed to drink on duty, Mr. -Tompkins," he observed, "but I'm not on duty now. Come on, Mrs. -Jacklin," he continued, "let's go on and show them."</p> - -<p>Dorothy looked startled. "Show them what," she asked.</p> - -<p>"Show them that we intelligence services can take it ma'am," the -Special Agent observed. "You're O.S.S. and I'm F.B.I. and these others -have just been consolidated out of the game."</p> - -<p>Dorothy flashed him a smile. "Well—" she began doubtfully.</p> - -<p>"Go ahead, Harcourt," I urged with malice aforethought. "Show her a -photo of your wife and three children in Brooklyn."</p> - -<p>He grinned. "That gag was strictly for Miss Briggs," he said, "but down -here I'm an unmarried man."</p> - -<p>"Pooh!" said Dorothy. "I never saw an administrator down here yet who -let himself worry about a wife and family somewhere else. The F.B.I. -must be weakening."</p> - -<p>Harcourt smiled. "Well, anyhow, Mrs. Jacklin, ma'm, the first round of -drinks is on me—just to celebrate Mr. Tompkins' happy release."</p> - -<p>I didn't care so much for that one. "Expense account, you spy-catcher?" -I asked.</p> - -<p>The Special Agent nodded. "Yep," he agreed. "My own expense. I was -ordered to apologize handsome to you, sir, for the Bureau, and by gum -we Harcourts do it right. What'll it be? Root beer or Moxie?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The next morning, early if not bright, found me fumbling my way around -the corridors of the State-War-Navy building in search of the proper -official to handle secret intelligence reports. I finally unearthed him -in the form of six-feet of languid Bond Street tailored perfection—a -red-headed diplomat lily by the name of Dennis Tyler, Chief of the -Liaison Section. To him I addressed myself.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, so you're Tompkins—of Z-2," he observed. "Yes, yes. Quite -too tragic for you."</p> - -<p>"Tell me, Mr. Tyler," I inquired, "did you ever hear of Axel Roscommon?"</p> - -<p>Tyler leaned back in his chair and contemplated me soulfully. "Now -don't tell me that poor old Axel is a Nazi agent, Mr. Timkins—"</p> - -<p>"Tompkins, Mr. Wiley."</p> - -<p>"The name is Tyler, Mr. Tompkins," he grinned. "No, dear old boy—to -quote Axel—we do not <i>think</i> that Mr. Roscommon is a Nazi Agent. We -know it. I had the devil of a time fixing it up with the F.B.I. so -they wouldn't arrest him. We can't let the Swiss—God bless their -cuckoo-clocks—represent Hitler over here. We need a man of the world -who realizes that milk chocolate has no place in diplomacy, to maintain -contact with the Third Reich. No, Axel's a fine fellow. He's on a -strict allowance. One military secret a month—usually a little one -and every now and then a phoney—so as to keep his job. He sees that -our people in Berlin get the same allowance. All very cozy and no harm -done."</p> - -<p>I nodded agreement. "Yes, Mr. Tyler," I told him, "I know the -picture. It's just that I have a hunch that Roscommon may be Kurt Von -Bieberstein."</p> - -<p>Tyler exploded. "Absolute, obscene rot, Tompkins! Not a word of -truth in it. Roscommon is foxy, if you like, but he hasn't got Von -Bieberstein's ruthlessness. No, we made a thorough check on our Axel, -before we let the Gestapo accredit him to this government. He's just a -good contact-man and a first-rate field operative—plays a dashing game -of backgammon and a sound hand of poker, holds his liquor well, and, -with an unlimited expense account, stands unlimited rounds of drinks. -No, we can't get on without Axel Roscommon. He's taken half the sting -out of my income-tax, he's so lavish with his friends.</p> - -<p>"What on earth made you confuse him with Von Bieberstein?" he -concluded. "Kurt's a devil. He's slipped through the fingers of every -Allied intelligence service. Even the Gestapo doesn't know much about -him. He's never been photographed or fingerprinted and he reports -directly to Hitler. Even Himmler has no file on him."</p> - -<p>"It was only this, Mr. Tyler," I told him. "It was Roscommon who warned -me two days before Roosevelt's death that the President would die -within the week. That isn't easy to laugh off."</p> - -<p>Tyler became deadly calm. "Don't ever repeat that story outside of this -room," he warned me. "We know who did it and why. We'll settle that -score some day. In the meantime, just forget it, unless you don't mind -diving into the East River in a concrete life-belt."</p> - -<p>"Then Roscommon wasn't guessing," I observed.</p> - -<p>"Of course he wasn't guessing. As a matter of fact, it was I who told -him. Just as it was I who told F.D.R. God! He was a good sport. He -listened to what I had to say and then do you know what he did? He -laughed. He said that so many Americans had died in this war that one -more made no difference and he ordered me to hold off until after the -peace treaty before getting the group responsible."</p> - -<p>This was getting too deep for me, but I owed it to Germaine to make a -grab for the brass ring.</p> - -<p>"President Truman was very complimentary about my work for Z-2," I -told him. "He wants me to take a rest now that the War Department has -taken over our work. After that, I wondered whether there mightn't be -something in the diplomatic service. The President thought I would be -useful here. I've plenty of money and—"</p> - -<p>Dennis Tyler groaned convulsively, hunched forward over his desk and -clutched his flaming red head in his hands.</p> - -<p>"—and you have a beautiful wife who would make a charming American -Ambassadress, no doubt: Yes, Mr. Tompkins, I see it all. You went to -a good school, no doubt you even attended Harvard. You just missed -combat service in the last war and were unfortunately too old for -this one. You know how to make money in Wall Street, if it wasn't for -those damned Roosevelt taxes. You do not speak French—except for the -purpose of 'La Vie Parisienne'—nor German nor Italian nor Spanish -nor Russian, not to mention Arabic and Chinese. You know nothing of -economics, sociology, natural science or political geography. You have -been to Canada, the West Indies and no doubt to 'Gay Paree,' and to cap -the list of your qualifications, you are a Republican and this is a -Democratic Administration."</p> - -<p>"Then there isn't a chance," I mumbled, my cheeks flaming with -embarrassment.</p> - -<p>"Did <i>I</i> say that you had no chance?" demanded Dennis Tyler. "On the -contrary, you seem to be fully qualified for any diplomatic post -within the gift of this Administration, at least as much as any of a -dozen of our well-named envoys extraordinary. But, Tompkins, you're a -decent sort of chap. Don't do it! For your wife's sake, if not mine, -let the poor old State Department go to hell in its own quiet way -without speeding the process—Oh, well, I suppose I shall never learn. -Doubtless you will be our next Ambassador to Portugal and I shall have -one more black mark against me."</p> - -<p>I held out my hand. "If the popular demand becomes too great for me -to resist, Mr. Tyler," I assured him, "I may be forced to accept a -diplomatic appointment, but even then you would be safe from me. I -don't like double-talk."</p> - -<p>Dennis Tyler looked up, shook my hand and winked broadly at me. "Just -between us, Tompkins," he whispered, "who put you up to that Z-2 line -of yours? You have the whole town fooled. No, don't look virtuous, dear -old boy—again to quote the immortal Axel—I happen to know that you -can't possibly be connected with Z-2, because until yesterday, when the -Army grabbed it, I was head of Z-2 myself!"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_21" id="CHAPTER_21">CHAPTER 21</a></h2> - - -<p>"You were what?" I demanded.</p> - -<p>"I am—or was—the head of Z-2," Tyler replied. "You know, Mr. -Tompkins," he continued, "I find it most intensely interesting that -you should have picked on that particular combination—Z-2—for your -higher echelonics. In fact, I should like to have you psycho-analyzed, -in order to learn why you, of all people, should have selected the -super-secret insignia of the super-secret Roosevelt intelligence -outfit. Not that it matters now, of course," he added. "With this new -growth across the street I'd be lucky if the White House knew the -difference between Z-2 and B-29."</p> - -<p>I studied Tyler's face. Who he was, I had only a remote idea, so many -had been the different offices that had shunted me around. But in spite -of his airy-fairy persiflage and la-di-da manner, I felt that he was -straight.</p> - -<p>"Okay, chief," I said. "I confess. I robbed the bank but I didn't shoot -the cashier. That was Muggsy. You see, chief, it was this way—"</p> - -<p>Tyler sat back and heard me out from A to Z-2, in the history of my -last two weeks.</p> - -<p>"I can't expect you to believe me, Mr. Tyler," I concluded, "but I'd -like to have it on record somewhere in this town that I had told the -truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and all I get for it -is an Order of Merit citation."</p> - -<p>"Few escape it!" he cried. "My poor old bewildered Tompkins. Of course -I believe you. Stranger tales than yours have passed across my desk. I -have served under one President who <i>thought</i> he was Jesus Christ, one -who <i>knew</i> he was Jesus Christ and two who were afraid the voters would -realize that they were <i>not</i> Jesus Christ. I have seen five successive -Secretaries of State who had no doubt that they were God's Vice-Regent -on earth. As for drawing a blank, Mr. Tompkins, that is no news to this -Department. What we diplomatic underlings fear is when our superiors -fail to draw blanks. Why I remember—but no matter."</p> - -<p>"Then what would you do if you were me, Mr. Tyler?" I asked him. "I'm -the innocent victim of the damndest set of circumstances ever dreamed -up."</p> - -<p>The red-headed young diplomat looked at me warily. "The -Department, sir," he said, "does not answer hypodermic—I mean -hypothetical—questions. What is good enough for the Department is good -enough for me."</p> - -<p>"But here I find myself," I reminded him, "in high favor with the -intelligence forces and with the reputation of a Don Juan in the bosoms -of my family, and no idea how I got there."</p> - -<p>Tyler chuckled. "I always knew they were plural," he said. "Think -nothing of it. Stupider men than you have stood in far higher repute in -this town and the reputation of Don Juan is easily acquired. For all -you know, you may be a perfectly sterling family man and quite devoid -of political intelligence."</p> - -<p>"How's that again?"</p> - -<p>"Just a figure of speech," Tyler answered airily. "Just the same, Mr. -Tompkins, it would be interesting to know why you picked on Z-2 and -where you got your undoubted talent for brass-knuckled duplicity. So -far as I can see, you've sold yourself as Z-2 to all the brass hats, -including the Kansas City lad who woke up to find himself President."</p> - -<p>"Again in my own defense," I said, "I did it only because the F.B.I. -had a gun at my back and were going to give me the works if I didn't -clear myself inside of twenty-four hours. I always thought," I added, -"that in this country you were assumed innocent until proved guilty."</p> - -<p>Tyler winked wickedly. "There's a war on," he announced, "and doesn't -the F.B.I. know it!"</p> - -<p>I bade the diplomat good-bye and left the State Department with a -sense of personal uneasiness. Who would have dreamed that there was a -Z-2 organization before I imagined it! If this kind of thing kept on -happening it mightn't be a bad idea to take a fling at the Hartford -Sanctuary and have myself psyched by experts.</p> - -<p>"Beg pardon, sir, but are you Mr. Tompkins?"</p> - -<p>The Hart, Shaffner & Marxed youngster who accosted me on the State -Department steps had a definite bulge under his left shoulder that -warned me he was armed.</p> - -<p>"Yes, and who are you, sir?" I inquired.</p> - -<p>"I'm Monaghan from the Secret Service," he told me. "The Chief wants to -see you."</p> - -<p>"And who is the Chief?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Chief Flynn, of course," he said. "It's only a few steps over at the -the Treasury Building."</p> - -<p>"All right, Mr. Monaghan," I agreed. "I'll come along quietly. Am I -under arrest? Should I send for my lawyer?"</p> - -<p>"The Service don't go much for lawyers," he said. "This way, sir."</p> - -<p>With Monaghan at my elbow, I turned right on Pennsylvania Avenue and -walked in front of the White House and turned down East Executive -Avenue to the side-entrance of the Treasury. A few baffling twists and -turns in the corridors of Morgenthau, and I found myself in a large, -sparsely furnished room, facing a white haired Irishman.</p> - -<p>"This is Tompkins, Chief," Monaghan reported and left me with the -gimlet-eyed Secret Service executive.</p> - -<p>"You W. S. Tompkins?" he asked me.</p> - -<p>"Yes. And who are you?"</p> - -<p>"My name's Flynn."</p> - -<p>Neither of us said anything for a couple of minutes. He was obviously -waiting for me to ask him why I had been brought to him—so I -deliberately kept silent, pulled out a cigarette and lighted it. Seeing -no ash-tray, I flicked the burnt match on the official green carpet and -waited for him to open the conversation.</p> - -<p>"So you don't need to be told why you're here, Tompkins," he purred.</p> - -<p>"I came here, Mr. Flynn," I told him, "because one of your men -practically put a gun at my ribs in front of the State Department. What -do you want? A ticket to a prize fight? A good write-up in the papers? -Tell me what it will cost me and I'll pay within reason. I didn't know -that the Irish had got control of the Secret Service or I would have -mailed the money ahead—in cash, of course, no checks, all small bills -not consecutively numbered."</p> - -<p>Flynn scowled out the window in the general direction of the White -House. I dropped some more cigarette ash on the carpet.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he whirled to me. "We're here to protect the President," he -snapped, "and we don't propose to take any lip from you."</p> - -<p>I said nothing. Then I noticed the flag over the White House at -half-mast.</p> - -<p>"Why's that flag at half-mast, Mr. Flynn," I asked.</p> - -<p>"Because the President's dead."</p> - -<p>"Was he murdered?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"He was not! He died of natural causes, but we don't go for people -plotting to kill any President, even if he's dead. Our job depends on -it."</p> - -<p>I rubbed out the stub of my cigarette on the corner of his mahogany -desk and lighted another one.</p> - -<p>"Since Roosevelt wasn't murdered, what am I here for?" I asked. "I'm -a perfectly respectable New York business man. I'm registered at the -Willard and my wife can identify me. I have plenty of other references, -if you need them. The F.B.I., say, or General Wakely in Counter -Intelligence. If you have anything to ask me, I'll be glad to try to -answer questions, but I'm damned if I propose to sit here and let -myself be accused of something I never dreamed of doing."</p> - -<p>"And what are you going to do about it?" he asked. "Sue?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I have no doubt that you can beat me up and send me to the -hospital, but as soon as I'm out I'll tell my story and then I guess a -man named Flynn will be looking for another job."</p> - -<p>Flynn smiled. "And why do you think the hospital will be letting you -go, Mr. Tompkins? Of course, if it was only for a broken leg or a -fractured skull, it would be easy, but what about St. Elizabeth's?"</p> - -<p>I raised my eyebrows.</p> - -<p>"Never heard of it," I said.</p> - -<p>"St. Elizabeth's," he explained, "is where we send people in Washington -who aren't right in the head. We have a lot of alienists and -psychiatrists there who can look you over, keep you under observation. -They can hold you there as long as they like, because if there's any -question about a man's sanity, they would be failing in their duty if -they let him go."</p> - -<p>"In other words, Mr. Flynn," I interrupted, "you threaten to send me to -the local lunatic asylum if I raise any objection to your methods. Is -that the game?"</p> - -<p>Flynn was on familiar ground here. "Mr. Tompkins," he asked me. "How's -your health? You don't look any too good to me. Don't you think you'd -be better for a little special care?"</p> - -<p>I laughed admiringly. "So that's how it's done, is it? Well, I never -thought the Secret Service was reduced to blackmail. Okay, I'll pay."</p> - -<p>"Who ever mentioned pay?" Flynn was indignant.</p> - -<p>"Nuts!" I replied. "Cops are all the same. They jail Capone for income -tax because they can't convict him of being a racketeer. You think -you're being cute by sending people to the booby-hatch if you have no -proof that they're dangerous. So, go ahead, send me to St. Elizabeth's -but don't think for one minute that I'm not on to the Irish."</p> - -<p>Flynn's face grew slowly and magnificently purple. "By God!" he -shouted. "What's the matter with Ireland, anyhow?"</p> - -<p>"Ireland?" Now he was on my ground. "Too proud to fight the war for -freedom. Ireland? To hell with Ireland! This is the United States of -America. What has Ireland to do with your duty to the United States?"</p> - -<p>Flynn slumped back in his chair, muttering.</p> - -<p>"Go!" he said hoarsely. "Get out of here, get out of this building, get -out of this town. By God Almighty, if I catch you here within the next -twenty-four hours, I—I—"</p> - -<p>"Scratch a cop and find a four-flusher," I observed incautiously. -"You're still looking for Booth in Ford's theatre and are figuring ways -to guard Garfield in the Union Station. For all you know, Roosevelt may -have been killed, but if he was, you know I had nothing to do with it. -The record shows I'm one of the few people who tried to do anything -about it. And you don't dare touch the man who told me."</p> - -<p>"Who was that?" Flynn demanded sullenly.</p> - -<p>"Axel Roscommon," I said, "another Irishman, so you don't dare lay a -finger on him."</p> - -<p>"Roscommon!" Flynn snorted. "A black Protestant from Ulster. He's no -Irishman, but I can't touch him, as well you know. The bloody British -in the State Department are protecting him."</p> - -<p>"So you take it out on me, eh?" I suggested.</p> - -<p>Flynn drew himself up. "See here, Mr. Tompkins," he said, "I've told -you to get out of Washington and stay out of Washington. In a job like -mine I have to follow my hunches and my hunch is that if you aren't out -of here by noon tomorrow we'll send you over to St. Elizabeth's for -observation. After all, we can't have people threatening the President."</p> - -<p>"When did I ever threaten the President?"</p> - -<p>"Sure and you did it just now," declared the Chief. "You used -threatening and abusive language about the President of the United -States, within the meaning of the Act, and the Secret Service is not -going to stand for it."</p> - -<p>"In other words, Mr. Flynn," I observed, "You can't win against the -Cops. Anything to keep their job. Okay, I know when I'm licked. I'll -leave town and I'll even beat you to the booby-hatch. If this is -sanity, I <i>want</i> to be locked up."</p> - -<p>Chief Flynn hunched his shoulders and scowled at me.</p> - -<p>"Yes," I told him, "I'll check myself with the psychiatrists."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," Flynn remarked quietly, "the more I see of you the more -I feel that you ought to have immediate medical attention."</p> - -<p>He lifted his telephone and began dialing a number.</p> - -<p>"And won't that look swell on your record," I said, "when President -Truman gives me a citation for the Order of Merit the same day that -Chief Flynn locks me up as a threat to the President."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" Flynn laid down the receiver and looked at me with dawning -respect.</p> - -<p>"Oh! is right," I replied, and left the room.</p> - -<p>Nobody tried to stop me as I walked out of the Treasury but I knew -that I must take no more chances. From now on it was a race to the -alienists, and the best hope for continued liberty lay with my getting -there first.</p> - -<p>I hailed a taxicab. "Drive me to the Phipps Clinic, Johns Hopkins -Hospital," I told the driver.</p> - -<p>"Jeeze, Chief! That's in Baltimore."</p> - -<p>"You are absolutely right," I told him, "and it's fifty bucks for you -if you get me there inside the hour."</p> - -<p>I sank back on the cushions of the rear seat. I had come out of the -Washington rat-race worse off than when I had entered it. Then it was -merely a question of my liberty. After three days it had become a -matter of my sanity.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_22" id="CHAPTER_22">CHAPTER 22</a></h2> - - -<p>The white-coated medical man—he said that he was associate -psychiatrist at the Phipps Clinic—beckoned me to follow him into a -side-room. He waved me to be seated and closed the door.</p> - -<p>"You see, Mr. Tompkins," he told me, "everybody's crazy."</p> - -<p>There is no point in recounting the stages which had converted my panic -flight from the wrath of the Secret Service into this interview with -one of Johns Hopkins psychiatric staff, except that I had been amazed -by the ease with which he had drawn me aside shortly after I had sat -down in the waiting-room.</p> - -<p>"Of course I realize, doctor," I replied, "that everyone must be -abnormal since that is how you establish an average normality. My case -is so peculiar, though, that I'd like to have you check on me."</p> - -<p>"Here we can take you only on the recommendation of a registered -physician or psychiatrist," he told me. "We're understaffed and -over-crowded as it is. My advice to you would be to return to your -home—you live near New York, you say—and put yourself in the hands -of your regular family physician. There are plenty of institutions -in your part of the country which are fully qualified to give the -necessary treatment. Even if you were recommended to us now we could -only put you on the waiting list."</p> - -<p>I murmured something vague about war-conditions and neurotics, but he -raised his hand like a traffic-cop and interrupted me.</p> - -<p>"The war, at least so far as active service is concerned, has taken a -load off us, Mr. Tompkins," he informed me. "You see, in normal times -people live under any number of pressures which force them to restrain -their natural impulses. War gives them outlets—including sex, a sense -of gang solidarity, and permission to commit acts of violence and -homicide—which would result in jail-sentences for them at other times. -Of course, there are a good many psychos coming out of actual combat -but the government takes care of them. No, the bulk of our current -cases are essential civilians: generals, administrators, politicians, -business executives—who find that the war simply redoubles the -pressures on them. Some of them are really insane in the medical sense -but their positions are so high that we dare not insist on their -hospitalization. Instead, we have a simple prescription which most of -them find no difficulty in taking. Perhaps it would help in your case."</p> - -<p>"What's that?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, just go out and get drunk now and then, and find yourself a -girl-friend. Blow off steam, in other words. Find an outlet for your -natural impulses. If the White House had consulted me, Roosevelt might -still—Oh, well, no use crying over spilt milk. Half the mental trouble -in this country is due to people trying to be something they are not, -and the other half is due to people trying not to be something that -they naturally are. Primitive people are rarely troubled with neuroses."</p> - -<p>"But you said that everybody's crazy, doctor," I objected. "How does -that fit into the picture?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," the psychiatrist remarked, "you must have noticed that -the only sane people today are the alleged lunatics, who do what makes -them happy. Take the man who thinks he is Napoleon. He <i>is</i> Napoleon -and is much happier than those who try to tell him that he isn't. The -real maniacs are now in control of the asylum. There's a theory among -the psychiatrists that certain forms of paranoia are contagious. Every -now and then a doctor or a nurse here and at other mental clinics goes -what they call crazy and has to join the patients. My theory is that it -is sanity which is contagious and that the only sane people are those -who have sense enough to be crazy. They are locked up at once for fear -that others will go sane, too. Now, take me, I'm—"</p> - -<p>At that moment two husky young men came in and led him away. After a -short interval one of them returned.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry this happened, sir," he apologized. "Dr. Murdoch is a -tragic case. He was formerly employed here and every now and then he -still manages to escape to one of our consultation rooms. He's quite -harmless. What was he telling you?"</p> - -<p>"That the only sane people in the world were the lunatics," I said.</p> - -<p>The young man nodded. "Yes, that's his usual line. That's what got him -committed in the first place. For my money, he's right but he oughtn't -to go around saying it. And what can we do for you?"</p> - -<p>I told him that the "associate psychiatrist" had advised me to put -myself in the hands of my family doctor and had prescribed a dose of -wine, women and song as a method of restoring my mental balance. I was -troubled by serious loss of memory, I said, and needed treatment.</p> - -<p>He nodded again. "Boy, when I finish my internship and start private -practice, am I going to clean up in the upper brackets with that one! -Murdoch's crazy to waste that on these people in Phipps. They can't -follow his advice. This one is strictly for Park Avenue."</p> - -<p>I left the clinic, phoned the hotel in Washington from a pay-booth in a -corner drug-store, and told Germaine to join me at Pook's Hill. I said -that I had had to leave Washington in a hurry and would explain when I -saw her. I added that I'd just had a consultation at Johns Hopkins and -had decided to take medical treatment.</p> - -<p>"I know one thing you don't need treatment for—your nerve!" she -replied and hung up on me.</p> - -<p>When I reached the house in Bedford Hills, I was welcomed by -Mary-Myrtle at the front door and by the loud barking of Ponto from my -bedroom. Germaine had not yet returned.</p> - -<p>"How's Ponto?" I asked the maid.</p> - -<p>"Oh, he's fine," she told me, "just fine. He eats his food and sleeps -regular and is just like he was."</p> - -<p>"Good, I'll take a look at him."</p> - -<p>I went upstairs and held my bedroom door ajar.</p> - -<p>"Hullo, Ponto old boy," I said in the curious tone one uses towards -dogs, children and public men. "Here I am back from Washington."</p> - -<p>He lay on my bed, with ears pricked up, gazing at me intently.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Ponto," I continued. "I got the Order of Merit from President -Truman himself and met all the big shots, so if you take a bite at me -now it will be sabotage."</p> - -<p>Ponto put his ears back and let his tongue dangle from the side of his -mouth, while his tail made a haze as it thumped delightedly on the -pillow. If he hadn't been an animal, I would have said he was laughing.</p> - -<p>"There, old fellow," I soothed him.</p> - -<p>He wuffed affectionately, jumped to the floor, and stood beside me, -panting and drooling.</p> - -<p>"Thank God, you're well again, Ponto," I told him. "We can't have two -loony people in this house. Now it's my turn to go to the vet's and be -treated."</p> - -<p>Ponto's answer was to lick my hand convulsively and wag his tail and -otherwise give a splendid impersonation of an affectionate "Friend of -Man" whose beloved master has returned. So I took him downstairs with -me and turned him out for a run on the lawn while I sat in my den and -tried to get my thoughts in order.</p> - -<p>What worried me most was Virginia Rutherford's sudden change in -manner. From having been definitely the woman scorned—angry, hurt and -hell-bent for revenge—she had adopted an air of friendly complicity -the moment I had left the White House. This made no sense to me. -Germaine was unchanged but that was because she was a simple woman who -was in the obvious process of falling in love with her own husband. -Whatever I did would be all right with her, which was a great comfort -but not much help. Then, too, I was beginning to get uneasy at the -increasing glibness and complexity of the lies I was telling. It was -almost as though I were playing a part for which at some time I had -once rehearsed. As Tyler had told me in the State Department, it -<i>would</i> be interesting to know how I happened to invent the legendary -"Z-2."</p> - -<p>There was the crunch of gravel as an automobile slowed to a stop -outside, the click of a key in the lock and then Germaine was in the -den and in my arms, with all the etchings of ducks staring at her.</p> - -<p>"Winnie," she exclaimed. "You <i>are</i> the most unexpected person. I had -the most awful time at the Willard after you phoned me. When I tried to -pay the bill they wouldn't take my check because my name wasn't Grant. -In fact, I had to telephone that nice Mrs. Jacklin before I could find -a bank that would give me the money. Then that Mr. Harcourt from the -F.B.I. came in and talked to me for the longest time. He seemed quite -surprised when I told him you had gone to Johns Hopkins. Don't you feel -well, dear?"</p> - -<p>"I never felt better," I assured her. "No, Jimmy, that was because -somebody in the Secret Service got the idea that I ought to be put in -an asylum. It's a nasty little trick of theirs, I gather, to send a man -to the booby-bin for life if they don't like him but have no evidence -against him. So I thought I'd play it smart and beat them to the punch. -That's why I went to Baltimore, to get a mental check-up at the Phipps -Clinic."</p> - -<p>"Did they—Are you—Are you all right?" she faltered. "I couldn't bear -it if—"</p> - -<p>I laughed and gave her a good hug. "I'm all right," I told her. "They -didn't have time to examine me but gave me two bits of advice. First, -I was to get Jerry Rutherford to handle my case. I guess you need -political influence now to get yourself locked up. And then, I was told -that I ought to have more licker and wimmin in my life. It seems I'm -getting in a rut."</p> - -<p>"Winnie!"</p> - -<p>"Uh-huh! They recommended it for curing highly inhibited cases like -mine. I'm repressed or something."</p> - -<p>"It must be something," Germaine observed fifteen minutes later. "Oh, -dear, I didn't even think whether the door was locked. I'm a sight. You -don't act repressed to me."</p> - -<p>She turned her face towards me, her eyes laughing.</p> - -<p>"In any case, I'll have to see a doctor," I said, "and it might as -well be Rutherford. He knows so much about me that I won't have to do a -lot of explaining."</p> - -<p>"Winnie!"</p> - -<p>Germaine swung her feet to the floor and straightened her clothes. -"Winnie," she repeated, "<i>must</i> you go to a doctor? Can't we try the -<i>other</i> prescription—I mean, give it a <i>good</i> try?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head.</p> - -<p>"No can do. I've got to get my memory straightened out. You and -I—well, <i>we're</i> all right now. But there's my business and then -there's the Secret Service. I <i>can't</i> seem to remember a thing before -the second of April and I did so much lying in Washington, trying to -cover up, that I may get into real trouble. That's what Virginia said, -that I'd lied myself into a worse mess than I'd lied myself out of."</p> - -<p>My wife pouted. "Don't these treatments take a long time?" she asked. -"I remember when they sent Cousin Frederick to the asylum after -that time when he put tear-gas in the air-conditioners in the Stock -Exchange, it was three years before they let him out. Of course he -<i>was</i> crazy, though we pretended it was only drink. That time he tried -to tattoo the little Masters girl—But won't they keep you locked up -and do things to you?"</p> - -<p>"Hanged if I know," I said, "but they can't keep me there a day longer -than you or I want. It isn't as though I was being committed to an -asylum. It's just that there's a bad crack in my memory. They'll try to -find out what's wrong and patch it up. Perhaps I won't have to stay -after all."</p> - -<p>"Do they let wives come and visit their husbands?" she asked dreamily. -"I mean—"</p> - -<p>"I've never heard that the medical profession encouraged that kind of -therapy," I told her.</p> - -<p>"Speaking of insanity," I continued, "Ponto, you will be glad to know, -is back to normal."</p> - -<p>She got up and made a face at me. "Of course," she remarked with -deliberate provocation, "If you think more of Ponto than you do of me. -I'm so glad, Winnie, to know that Ponto is better. He's your dog, isn't -he? What was wrong with him? What medicine did you give him? What did -the vet say—"</p> - -<p>She ended in a startled squeak and ran for the door.</p> - -<p>"You beast!" she exclaimed, turning on me, "it <i>was</i> locked, all the -time. Oh, Winnie—"</p> - -<p>A thousand years later she said once more, "Oh, Winnie!"</p> - -<p>Then she laughed.</p> - -<p>"Just the same," she said, "I'm glad about Ponto. I still think I don't -like the way he's been acting."</p> - -<p>She yawned.</p> - -<p>"And now, sir," she added, "will you please let me go to my room. I'm -<i>still</i> rather dirty from my trip and I ought to get a few things -unpacked. And besides," she laughed again, "I'm ravenously hungry."</p> - -<p>"So am I," I remarked truthfully, "but—"</p> - -<p>"I <i>know</i> we're both crazy," she told me some time later, "and perhaps -they'd better give us a double-room at the asylum. But I know that -unless I eat something right away I'll be dead in the morning."</p> - -<p>"Let's see if there's anything in the ice-box," I said. "Mary's -probably given up dinner long ago."</p> - -<p>"Her name is Myrtle," Germaine corrected me.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_23" id="CHAPTER_23">CHAPTER 23</a></h2> - - -<p>Dr. Rutherford's office was tastefully furnished, in the suburban -medical manner, to suggest a Tudor tap-room. There was, of course, a -spotless chrome and porcelain laboratory connecting, as well as an -equally sanitary lavatory.</p> - -<p>"Good of you to squeeze me in, Jerry," I remarked to Rutherford. "Fact -is I need your professional opinion."</p> - -<p>Rutherford stroked his little dab of a moustache. "I've sent in my -application to the Army Medical Corps," he told me. "I hoped you'd come -to straighten out the money end."</p> - -<p>"That will be taken care of any time you need it," I assured him. "Miss -Briggs at my office will have full details. I'll phone her and my -lawyer to fix it up as soon as I get back to the house."</p> - -<p>"Well, what seems to be wrong with you, old man?" he inquired. "War -getting too much for you? Got a hang-over? Need vitamins? Bowels -regular? I must say you're got a better color and have lost weight -since the last time I saw you."</p> - -<p>"It's nothing wrong with my body, and I <i>have</i> lost weight," I -explained. "It's my mind. I've had a complete loss of memory as to what -happened before April second. In Washington, I was lucky to avoid the -booby-hatch. They couldn't handle me at Hopkins, so they told me to -consult my family physician. I guess that means that you are elected."</p> - -<p>"Family physician is good," Rutherford remarked with a rather -unprofessional grin. "But hell! I'm no psychiatrist. Of course, in -practice around here I bump into a few psychopathic cases but I must -say you've never struck me as the type."</p> - -<p>I assured him that I was in dead earnest about this matter, that I must -somehow get myself certified as sane or I might be in trouble with the -government.</p> - -<p>"Rot, my dear fellow!" Rutherford assured me. "You've had some kind -of psychic trauma or shock that's resulted in temporary amnesia. That -could happen to anybody. You're as sane as I am."</p> - -<p>I asked him whether he'd be willing to sign a medical certificate to -that effect.</p> - -<p>"Well," he replied slowly, "that's another story. I'm not a specialist -along psychiatric lines. Up here I get mostly baby-cases, indigestion, -some alcoholism and now and then, thank God, a real honest broken leg. -My name on a certificate wouldn't mean much in sanity proceedings. -I'd rather have you run over to Hartford and see Dr. Folsom at the -Sanctuary. He has the stuff and the equipment to put you through the -standard tests."</p> - -<p>"That's okay by me, Jerry," I agreed, "but I'd still like you to put -me through a few paces so that your records will show that this is on -the level. If some bright boy in Washington decides to throw me in the -asylum for making nasty faces at the Big Brass, I want to have a clean -medical record for use in a counter-suit for false arrest."</p> - -<p>Rutherford stood up and looked out the window. "I'm a hell of a poor -choice for a man to look into your private life, after this business -with Germaine and Virginia," he observed.</p> - -<p>"That's why I want to keep it all in the family," I told him. "Listen, -Jerry, until she came out to Pook's Hill the other day I have no -recollection of ever setting eyes on Virginia. Under the circumstances, -she's as superfluous as a bridegroom's pajamas. I faked as well as I -could but the plain fact is that I have no memory of her, of you, of -Jimmie or anybody around here before April 2nd. Now that's not normal, -to put it mildly."</p> - -<p>"You know, Winnie," the doctor remarked professionally, "I think -that your quote loss of memory unquote is nothing but a defense -mechanism. I know a bit about your affairs and they seem to have got so -complicated—with three or four women on a string, business problems, -liquor and so forth—that you simply decided subconsciously not to -remember anything about them. Your mind's a blank as to everything you -want to forget."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "The trouble is, Jerry, that my mind's not blank at -all. I remember a hell of a lot but it's all about another man."</p> - -<p>"How's that again?"</p> - -<p>So I told him the whole story, from beginning to end, skipping only -the bits about the thorium bomb and Z-2 for reasons of security, and -omitting the name of the carrier. He took notes and studied them for a -while. Then he looked up at me and smiled.</p> - -<p>"This beats anything in Freud," he observed. "I still stick to -my off-the-cuff diagnosis that you had something that gave you a -shock—it needn't have been anything big, you know; just a straw -that broke the camel's back—and then developed this loss of memory -as a defense mechanism. And this transfer of personalities with -Jacklin—metempsychosis is the fancy word for it—is not the usual type -of schizophrenia, but it falls into a pattern of wish-fulfillment.</p> - -<p>"You probably don't remember it but ever since I've known you, you've -been grousing about this fellow Jacklin, whom none of us have ever -met. It's been close to an obsession with you. I gather that you had -some kind of a school-boy crush on him, which he ignored, and your -feelings turned to hatred. You seem to have kept close track of him and -his doings all these years. Subconsciously you must have identified -yourself with him. I'm just guessing now—Folsom could make a -scientific check—but I should say that you may have developed a split -personality, based on envy and jealousy for this chap. Jacklin's had -to make his own way, while you've always had plenty of money and good -business connections, especially since you got over the depression. -He was in uniform, serving his country, and you were a civilian, -enriching yourself. He had separated from his wife while you were -tangled up with a lot of women...."</p> - -<p>"But how did I know that Mrs. Jacklin had a mole on her left hip?" I -asked.</p> - -<p>"Nine women out of ten have at least one and often more moles on both -their hips," he said, "as you should know. In any case, I take it that -you didn't verify the statement. No, Winnie, at the Sanctuary they can -deal with this sort of thing scientifically and tell you how to make -the readjustment."</p> - -<p>"My wife doesn't want me to readjust too much," I told him. "She'd -rather have me crazy and stick around with her than sane but off -chasing a bunch of skirts."</p> - -<p>"Can't say that I blame her, old man," he agreed, controlling himself -with a visible effort, "but that's her affair and nothing to do with -your case."</p> - -<p>"Quite!" I told him, "and let me say that you've been a hell of a good -sport about this mess. Believe me, Jerry, I'm not trying to alibi -myself so far as Virginia is involved, but I don't remember anything -about her and me that couldn't be taught in a Methodist Sunday School. -It's—it's almost as though I had been born again, given a last chance -to relive my life. If that's what trauma does for you, we ought to have -more of it."</p> - -<p>"Listen, Winnie," the doctor remarked. "This is between us, of course, -but the sanest thing you ever did was to get shed of Virginia. She's -fun and all that, but after a few weeks it's boring to live with a -one-track mind with red hair. Germaine is worth a dozen of her. Perhaps -when I get back from the Army, Virginia will have settled down enough -to be a doctor's wife. You'll see that she gets the money, won't you?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," I agreed, "and I'll give you a tip I learned at Hopkins. -The short-cut to medical riches. A loony psychiatrist there says he -always advises middle-aged men to do a little heavy drinking and woman -chasing, in order to get rid of their inhibitions. There ought to be a -fortune in that kind of medical treatment, especially in Westchester."</p> - -<p>Jerry Rutherford laughed. "Westchester's discovered the prescription -all by itself," he said, "and they're just beginning to learn that -when a middle-aged American sheds his inhibitions, there's damn little -of him left. Now, you'd better run along and get packed for a stay -in Hartford. I'll phone Folsom and tell him you're driving over this -afternoon. He'll fix you up if anyone can."</p> - -<p>"Swell!" I thanked him.</p> - -<p>When I got back to Pook's Hill, I called the office and told Arthurjean -that I was leaving for a rest-cure at the Hartford Sanctuary and -to tell my partners that I didn't want to be disturbed by business -affairs until further notice. I asked her to get hold of Merriwether -Vail and meet me at the Sanctuary as soon as they could make it. -They were to bring the necessary papers so that I could deed over -$15,000 to Dr. Jeremiah Rutherford of Bedford Hills, to be paid in -monthly installments of $1,000 to his wife. I added that there was -nothing seriously wrong with me but that the best advice I could get -recommended a rest-cure to head off a possible nervous breakdown. Then -I said good-bye to Germaine, gave Ponto a farewell pat on the head and -piled into my Packard for the drive to Hartford.</p> - -<p>The Sanctuary proved to be a large, pleasant brick building—something -about half-way between a country club and a summer hotel—in the better -groomed suburbs of Hartford, with a fine view of the Connecticut River. -The ample grounds were surrounded by a high spiked iron fence and the -gates to the driveway were closed, until I had identified myself to -the guard on duty. In fact, it reminded me of the routine of getting -admitted to the White House grounds, except that this time I was not -accompanied by General Wakely. At the front door, a uniformed attendant -took charge of my bags and gave directions to have my car sent to the -garage. Then I was ushered into one of those hospital waiting-rooms -that defy all interior-decorating efforts to give them a respectable, -homelike touch.</p> - -<p>A few moments later, a pretty nurse in a white starched uniform -directed me to follow her. We went through a door, which she was -careful to lock behind her, along a corridor and up one flight of -stairs to a pleasantly furnished bedroom, where my bags were already -waiting for me. She told me to get undressed and go to bed—which I -did, after she had carefully unpacked my belongings, removing my razor -and my nail-file.</p> - -<p>"Dr. Folsom will be by to see you in a few minutes, Mr. Tompkins," she -informed me. "Just ring if you want anything."</p> - -<p>After she left, I felt good and mad. How in blazes did they expect -to minister to a mind diseased, if they began by the old routine of -getting the patient stripped and bedded? Then I realized that this -was just a simple matter of establishing the institution's moral -superiority, at the very outset, and my anger evaporated. I lay back -and dozed for a few minutes until the door opened and a burly man, with -a glittering eye and strangler's hands, entered my room.</p> - -<p>"I'm Dr. Folsom, Mr. Tompkins," he informed me. "Dr. Rutherford phoned -that you were coming over for a check-up. Before we get down to -business, there are a few routine questions I'd like to ask."</p> - -<p>They were routine: Name, age, address, next of kin, annual income, -banking connections, name of recommending physician, and whether -patient had previously received mental treatment in an accredited -psychiatric institution.</p> - -<p>"Shall we mail the bills to Mrs. Tompkins?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Hell, no! Give them to me. I brought along my check-book."</p> - -<p>Dr. Folsom nodded approval. "Here is the bill for the first week," he -said. "We generally ask our patients to pay in advance."</p> - -<p>He handed me a folded piece of fine bonded paper. On it, tastefully -inscribed, was the information that I owed The Sanctuary, Hartford, -Conn., $250.00 for room, board and attendance for the period of April -20-25, inclusive. There was a space for my signature and the doctor -thrust a fountain-pen into my hand. "Just sign there and we'll send it -to your bank for collection," he said.</p> - -<p>"What's all this fine print?" I suddenly demanded.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's just a matter of form," he explained.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute," I urged. "I was always taught that when in Hartford -you ought always to read the small print at the bottom of the page."</p> - -<p>I studied it out. "The above signature," it read, "constitutes an -agreement not to leave or attempt to leave The Sanctuary without the -prior approval of the Management."</p> - -<p>I looked at Dr. Folsom. "If you don't mind, doctor," I told him, "I'd -prefer to sign one of my own checks and have it cleared in the usual -way. What's the idea of having me sign away my liberty like that?"</p> - -<p>Folsom smiled disarmingly. "That's one of the ways we judge whether a -patient is really sane. Only a crazy man would sign it," he explained. -"More seriously, Mr. Tompkins, you must remember that a private asylum -has quite a problem in controlling its patients. They are not generally -committed to our care by court orders and usually come here only at the -request of their families with their own reluctant consent. Without a -signed agreement of that kind, we might be exposed to legal annoyances, -suit for damages or even a kidnapping charge, if a patient changed his -mind and decided to act nasty."</p> - -<p>"I see your point, doctor," I told him. "I've asked my attorney and my -private secretary to meet me here a little later today. I have some -business I must clean up before I can settle down for treatment. I'll -consult him about the kind of agreement to sign with the Sanctuary. -So far as I'm concerned, I don't see the necessity for any agreement. -I want to get a simple sanity test and see if you can recommend any -course of treatment for dealing with a serious loss of memory."</p> - -<p>"I'm not sure that it is the management's policy to accept a patient -under such unusual conditions," he said. "I'll have to consult my -associates."</p> - -<p>"See here, doctor," I replied. "All I want now is to have one of the -psychiatrists give me the works, tell me whether I'm sane or crazy, and -then I'll pull out. I don't want to stay here under false pretenses and -I don't intend to stay here a minute longer than I want to. I'll pay -any fee you charge, within reason, but I'm damned if I'll sign my own -freedom away, with Wall Street getting set to shoot the works."</p> - -<p>Dr. Folsom laughed. "I can't say that I blame you, Mr. Tompkins. And -you don't sound unbalanced to me."</p> - -<p>"But I want a document signed to that effect," I declared. "You see, -some of my business associates have been trying to have me adjudged -incompetent so as to get control of my money. It's about three million -dollars at present quotations. So I'm out to build up my defenses in -advance of the show-down. <i>Now</i> do you understand?"</p> - -<p>"Oh!" The Director of the Sanctuary was enormously relieved. "That's no -trouble at all. I'll send up our business psychiatrist, Dr. Pendergast -Potter—he studied under Jung in Vienna, you know—and he'll give you -our standard businessman's sanity-test. We have quite a few cases like -yours, you know. It's surprising how many business partners seize on -insanity as a key to robbing their associates. It's done every day. And -our fee for this service will be five thousand dollars."</p> - -<p>"Five thousand dollars it is!" I agreed.</p> - -<p>"Good!" Dr. Folsom beamed. "I'll send Potter over right away."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_24" id="CHAPTER_24">CHAPTER 24</a></h2> - - -<p>When Dr. Pendergast Potter arrived, he proved to be a short, -square-built man, with a red spade beard and soft but shifty brown -eyes—like an Airedale's. He had, he told me almost at once, studied -with Jung in Vienna and I thought of that mischievous parody—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">"Bliss was it in that Freud to be alive,</div> - <div class="verse">But to be Jung was very Heaven!"</div> -</div></div> - -<p>"Dr. Folsom tells me, Mr. Tompkins," Potter continued in a sort of -heel-clicking, stiff-bow-from-the-waist manner which was meant, I -suppose, to reveal his Viennese training, "that you have reason -to believe that your business partners are plotting against you, -conspiring to throw you in the asylum? This sense of special -persecution, sir, have you had it long? Perhaps when you were a child, -you hated your father? It began then, not so? And, later at school, -perhaps—"</p> - -<p>I got out of bed and advanced on the psychiatrist.</p> - -<p>"Dr. Potter," I informed him, "you are here for only one reason, to -certify that I am sane in the legal sense. For this service I am paying -the Sanctuary a fee of five thousand dollars. To which, of course, I -will add a personal fee of one thousand dollars to you, Dr. Potter, -assuming that you can sign a certificate of sanity with a clear -scientific conscience."</p> - -<p>Potter subsided in the arm-chair and cackled gleefully. "Boy, oh boy!" -he exclaimed, "for one thousand smackers I'd certify that Hitler is the -Messiah. Damn Folsom for sending me in blind! He didn't tell me it was -one of those."</p> - -<p>"Besides," I added, "I have a really serious loss of memory, which is -worth your attention, though I haven't time to go into it now. So get -ahead with your tests, please, and let's clean up this one."</p> - -<p>"Cross your knees, either leg!" he ordered and gave me a few brisk -taps just below the knee-cap with the edge of his flattened palm. My -knee-jerks were all that could be desired.</p> - -<p>"Good!" remarked Potter. "That's still the only physical test for -sanity that's worth a damn. Hell! They have all sorts of gadgets but -they all amount to the same thing: Is your nervous system functioning -normally or is it not? What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Tompkins? -Partners closing in on your assets or has your wife made book with -your lawyer?"</p> - -<p>"My only trouble," I informed him, "is that I'm damned if I can -remember anything that happened before April second of this year. -That's been getting me close to trouble and I'd like to clear it up. I -remember all sorts of things before then, but it's about another man."</p> - -<p>"Hm!" Potter suddenly looked formidably medical. "That's what I call -schizophrenia with a pretzel twist. We could keep you here and give you -sedatives and baths and exercises and analysis, but it would be just -the same if we left you alone. You've had some kind of shock causing a -temporary occlusion of personality, and the best thing you can do is -wait. Sooner or later there will be another shock and everything will -come straight again. What do you think you remember from the blank -period?"</p> - -<p>"Damned if I know," I replied. "I think I sank a battleship or killed a -President, or something."</p> - -<p>Potter laughed. "That's just a variation of the good old Napoleon -complex—which is an inferiority complex gone wild. You ought to take -up a hobby, like expert book-binding or watch-repairing. That would -give you a sense of power and you wouldn't feel the need for sinking -ships. Ten to one, you can't even shoot a decent game of golf."</p> - -<p>"I'm pretty good at poker," I defended myself.</p> - -<p>"That's not power, Mr. Tompkins, that's just shrewdness. You have a -profound sense of physical inadequacy. The record says you're married. -Any children?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head.</p> - -<p>"That's it," Potter declared. "We had a case like that in Jung's -clinic—a baker named Hermann Schultz, who insisted that he was the -Emperor Friedrich Barbarossa. We were baffled for a while, since -Schultz was married and had three children. Then we learned that his -wife was the girl-friend of one of the Habsburg Archdukes and that -poor Schultz was not the father of little Franz, Irma and Ernst. We -solved it for him with his wife's help. She agreed to have another -child. Of course, it was the Archduke's but Schultz never guessed. -He ceased to believe that he was the Barbarossa and became a highly -successful baker. What you ought to do, Mr. Tompkins, is to father a -child and then you will forget all this nonsense about battleships and -Presidents. Not so?"</p> - -<p>I grinned at him knowingly. "There's much in what you say, Dr. Potter," -I complimented him, "but what the hell can I do about it bottled up -here in the Sanctuary? Just give me a clean mental bill of health—in -case any of my partners try to pull a fast one—and I'll go home to my -wife and give earnest consideration to your suggestion. After all, if -that fails, I can always take up wood-carving. Or try another girl."</p> - -<p>"There are one or two around here—" he began, then checked himself. -"Well," he continued, "I can't say that I see anything really abnormal -about you. Sitting here, talking with you, I would have noticed any -psychopathic tendencies. We psychiatrists develop a sort of sixth sense -for the abnormal. I couldn't prove it scientifically, but I am sure as -Adam ate little green apples that there's nothing wrong with you that -can't be cured by a drink, a kiss and a baby."</p> - -<p>There was a brisk knock on the door and the nurse appeared.</p> - -<p>"Sorry to disturb you, doctor," she said, "but there's a man named Vail -downstairs with a writ of habeas corpus for Mr. Tompkins."</p> - -<p>Potter looked at me accusingly, as though Jung had never for-seen this -kind of complication.</p> - -<p>"Merry Vail," I agreed. "Yes, he's my lawyer. I told him to come here -but never dreamed—just send him up, nurse. In the meanwhile, doctor, -if you could get that certificate ready—"</p> - -<p>Potter again gave the effect of heel-clicking, and withdrew.</p> - -<p>Three minutes later Merriwether Vail and Arthurjean Briggs came -bursting into my room.</p> - -<p>"Glory be, you're still safe, old man," my lawyer announced. "When Miss -Briggs phoned me your curious message, we put two and two together."</p> - -<p>"And made it twenty-two?" I suggested.</p> - -<p>"No, we made it four. We weren't going to stand for any nonsense from -the F.B.I. and I owe them something for pulling me in for questioning. -And when you spoke of fifteen thousand dollars and a doctor, I had a -brain-storm. So I flew up here and swore out a writ from the Federal -Court. I got a deputy to help me serve it—cost me all of twenty -bucks—and here we are."</p> - -<p>I turned to Arthurjean. "Honeychile," I asked, "did you by any chance, -think to bring me some of the office brandy? I've been moving so fast -for the last three days that I'm out of training."</p> - -<p>My secretary turned her back, gave a sort of dip-dive-and-wiggle and -produced from God knows where a half pint bottle of what proved to be -excellent brandy, well-warmed above room temperature. I heartlessly -refused to notice Vail's pathetic signs of desperate thirst and passed -the flask back to Arthurjean. "Thanks," I told her, "that just about -saved my life."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Vail was all set that the doctors had hijacked you and were -holding you for ransom," she remarked, taking a short but deep drink -herself. "Seems like there's been a mistake."</p> - -<p>"Uh-uh!" I indicated strong disagreement. "I came here under my own -power and am about to leave under the same and in my right mind."</p> - -<p>"Whoever said you weren't?" Vail demanded. "God! we'll sue them for -libel."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "It was the Secret Service and only God can sue them," -I said. "They took a notion to have me thrown in the Washington asylum -because they were sore at me on general principles. So I decided to -beat them to the draw and produce a certificate of sanity."</p> - -<p>Vail looked at me with amusement. "Worst thing you could possibly -do, old man," he informed me. "If you start going around showing -people proof that you're not crazy, first thing you know you'll be in -Matteawan. Now if you want to prove to anybody that you're really in -your right mind, you'll try to do the right thing by this little girl -here."</p> - -<p>In some bewilderment I looked at Arthurjean, whom nobody could -accurately accuse of being little.</p> - -<p>"What are you driving at, Merry?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I refer to my client, Miss Briggs," he replied with dignity. "We have -strong written evidence of breach of promise."</p> - -<p>"Sugar-puss?" I turned to my secretary, "Don't tell me that you've -shown my letters to this legal lout?"</p> - -<p>She nodded. "Sorry, angel, but a girl's got to take care of herself in -this world. You remember where you wrote me, 'Be but mine and I shall -buy you a porterhouse steak with mushrooms'."</p> - -<p>"It was onions, darling," I insisted. "Onions aren't breach of promise. -Damn it! they're cause for divorce."</p> - -<p>"It was mushrooms," she repeated. "That was the same letter in which -you promised me hearts of lettuce, and ice-cream and—" she broke down, -sobbing with laughter.</p> - -<p>I pulled her face down to me and gave her a kiss. "You big slob," I -told her, "all you think about, with democracy at the crossroads, is -food. Take that shyster downstairs and wait for me. I'll be down as -soon as I collect my certificate. Even if I can't wear it on my coat -like a campaign-ribbon it will be nice to hang in my den alongside my -Harvard B.A. diploma and the moose I didn't kill—it was the Indian -guide but they don't count—in New Brunswick."</p> - -<p>Arthurjean laughed. "You sure do make your help sing for their supper, -angel," she told me. "And just because I call you angel don't you start -worrying about that nice wife of yours. From now on, I'll make like a -sister."</p> - -<p>So I smacked her on the porte-cochere and ordered her out of the room -until I got dressed. As the door closed behind her and Vail, I rang for -the nurse and asked to have my bags packed.</p> - -<p>"Goodness, Mr. Tompkins," she exclaimed. "Don't you like it here? We -understood that you wanted a rest-cure."</p> - -<p>She stood just a fraction of an inch too close to me and I was aware of -pretty brown hair under her starched nurse's cap, a whiff of something -that smelled far more expensive than antiseptic, and a pleasingly -rounded effect underneath the prim blouse of her uniform. So I put my -arm around her, gave her a friendly kiss and said, "Name, please, and -when do you get off duty?"</p> - -<p>"Emily Post," she answered, "so help me, but don't let that stop you, -and nine o'clock tonight."</p> - -<p>"Good," I told her. "Will you join us for dinner and a drink at—what's -the best hotel here now we've a war on?"</p> - -<p>"The Governor Baldwin," she replied.</p> - -<p>"Meet us at the Baldwin, then, as soon as you can get away. I'd like -you to meet my friends socially and—"</p> - -<p>She nodded brightly and hurried from the room, with a distinctly -unmedical motion of her hips.</p> - -<p>A moment later Dr. Folsom came lounging in, his strangler's hands -dangling at his side.</p> - -<p>"Sorry you feel you must leave, Mr. Tompkins," he told me. "Here's that -certificate. It will stand up in any court east of the Mississippi if -you have to use it. That will be five thousand, as agreed."</p> - -<p>I sat down at the little writing-desk and laboriously made out three -checks: one for five thousand to the order of the Sanctuary, one for -one thousand to the order of Pendergast Potter, and another for one -thousand to the order of—</p> - -<p>"Any initials, Dr. Folsom?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"A. J.," he replied, "but just make it to the Sanctuary."</p> - -<p>"A. J. Folsom," I wrote on the final check and endorsed it with "W. S. -Tompkins," as well as I could with my still bandaged fingers.</p> - -<p>"What—" Folsom was startled. "Gosh! You're a white man, Mr. Tompkins. -And Potter will be glad to have this, too. He is—"</p> - -<p>"Think nothing of it!" I announced grandly. "The market's been working -for me all week, and this won't even cost you income-tax; I'll put it -down as a gift."</p> - -<p>Folsom's face was positively transfigured with gratitude and a devotion -that would not have been out of place in a stained glass window.</p> - -<p>"By George!" he insisted. "You <i>are</i> a white man. I'd be proud to go -before the Supreme Court of the United States and testify—" He stopped -abruptly. "Are these checks good?" he inquired.</p> - -<p>"Oh, come, doctor, who's loony now?" I demanded. "Why would I expose -myself to a bad check charge just to keep out of a private asylum with -my lawyer fully equipped with a writ?"</p> - -<p>"That's so, that's so!" he beamed reassured. "Well, sir, it's been fine -having you here and any time—day or night—if you want refuge from the -stormy blast, just come out to the Sanctuary. We'll always be honored -to put you up and give you the best we have for as long as you care to -stay. Believe me, Mr. Tompkins, it may seem odd but you'll never find -warmer hospitality or a more sincere welcome than right here in this -little old asylum."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_25" id="CHAPTER_25">CHAPTER 25</a></h2> - - -<p>The grill in the Governor Baldwin was not crowded and we had no trouble -getting a pleasant table in the corner, while four colored men blew -into metal objects, hit things and delivered themselves of various -rhythmic noises. From time to time they paused, in order to allow the -perspiring couples who jiggled and writhed on the dancefloor time to -cool off. While waiting for Emily Post to appear, Arthurjean was very -subordinate, calling me "Mr. Tompkins" and acting, quite as the boss's -secretary should act when out for dinner with the boss. Merry Vail was -in high spirits and insisted on having the deputy who had helped serve -the writ join us for a drink. But the deputy was a pallid young man -with—he told us—a heart-murmur that kept him out of the armed forces -and he never touched anything strong.</p> - -<p>So we shed him ahead of the time when the nurse from "The Sanctuary" -showed up in a slick dancing-dress that seemed painted on her torso -and a make-up that was a tribute to the skill of the advertisers of -cosmetics. Vail took one look at her and his face lit up like Broadway.</p> - -<p>"Spring is in the air," he remarked to the world at large. "Will you -dance, Miss Post?"</p> - -<p>She flashed a smile that promised some and hinted at more, and said, -"You bet!"</p> - -<p>I watched them as they took the dance floor and the music took them. I -turned back to my secretary.</p> - -<p>"What gives, angel?" I asked.</p> - -<p>She beamed at me. "Winnie," she observed, "you're <i>it</i>. Perhaps the -most famous man in Wall Street, in a quiet way. You caught the market -just right. Mr. Wasson and Mr. Cone pulled out just right, before the -big operators decided they must be patriotic and support quotations -before you made too much money. We've cleaned up nearly three million -dollars and Mr. Cone's so happy about it he's got him a brand-new -girl-friend."</p> - -<p>"How about Wasson?" I asked. "Has success gone to his head?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, he's just the same as ever. He didn't bat an eyelash except to -say that you were one wise so-and-so to figure the break."</p> - -<p>"And how about yourself, Arthurjean?"</p> - -<p>She grinned at me. "I guess a girl can tell when she's washed up with -a swell guy. But you're not Winnie—not the Winnie I knew—and there -aren't going to be any fun and games from now on, I guess."</p> - -<p>She took a hearty pull at her highball.</p> - -<p>"So we're friends," she announced. "You've got a swell wife waiting for -you. If you ever need me, I'll be around. If you don't, that's okay -too. But Gawd, honeychile, we did have us some fun—Winnie and I. He -had a theory that monogamy was a kind of hardwood that grows in the -tropics, and that made him kind of nice to play with. What gives with -you?"</p> - -<p>I gave her a fill-in on the Washington trip and the events that had -brought me to The Sanctuary, and she listened with a growing smile.</p> - -<p>"Why—" she began, but the music stopped, and Vail and Miss Post -returned to the table.</p> - -<p>"Winnie," Vail announced, "spring hath come to Hartford, Conn., and -I've decided to take a room at this hotel. This is a mighty fine little -city, isn't it? Clean, vital, New England honesty and all that, not to -mention insurance. And—" His eyes strayed fondly in the direction of -the nurse who sat with eyes demurely downcast.</p> - -<p>"Okay," I told him. "This is the official opening of spring. Just give -me those papers I wanted to sign. The money for Dr. Rutherford, I mean."</p> - -<p>He stared at me.</p> - -<p>"You don't mean to say you were serious about that!" he exclaimed. "I -thought it was a gag to tip me off that you were being railroaded to -the asylum. Hell, I'll have the stuff drawn up and you can sign it on -Monday. There's nothing doing in town over the week-end and Rutherford -can wait. If you like, I'll try to beat him down. For my money, he'll -settle for five thousand and to hell with his family honor."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "No dice, Merry. It's fifteen thousand—a gentleman's -agreement."</p> - -<p>"Hell! no gentleman has any business making agreements. That's what -lawyers are for."</p> - -<p>The music started up with a rather miscegenated attempt to marry -Mendelssohn's Spring Song to "Pistol-Packing Momma." He grabbed Emily -Post by the arm. "Come on," he urged. "Got to dance. I'll show you some -steps that aren't in the book of etiquette."</p> - -<p>"Why, Mr. Vail!" she agreed, and they were off again.</p> - -<p>I resumed my talk with Arthurjean. "You'd better stay here, too," I -told her. "It's getting late and they lock up the trains on the New -Haven road along with the cows."</p> - -<p>She looked the question at me.</p> - -<p>"Nope!" I replied sturdily. "I'm going to drive back and see whether -spring has come to Bedford Hills. Even commuters have children now and -then," I added. "They used to blame it on sunspots or Roosevelt but -now I guess they'll have nobody to blame but themselves."</p> - -<p>In return for a five-spot the hotel door-man told me how to find the -nearest Black Market gas-station, so I tanked up the Packard and worked -myself across country until I hit the Parkway.</p> - -<p>The night was clear and cool but there was a hint of blossoms in the -air.</p> - -<p>Vail was right. Spring had come to the commuters and I thought -sardonically of what could be expected at every country club the next -night—Saturday. I missed the turn-off for Bedford Hills and wasted -a couple of hours wandering amiss through the maze of Westchester -roads, but finally I found myself on a familiar road and soon eased -the Packard to a slow stop on the crackling gravel of the entrance of -Pook's Hill.</p> - -<p>I left my bags in the car and walked quietly along the grass until I -let myself in at front door. A muffled woof from the kitchen showed -that Ponto had drowsily recognized my tread as I tip-toed up the -stairs and into my bedroom. It was three o'clock in the morning and -the frogs were still jingling in the marshy meadows as I stood by the -window and tasted the night air. Then I undressed rapidly and put on a -dressing-gown and slippers. I turned off the lights and tip-toed across -the hall to my wife's bedroom.</p> - -<p>Her door was closed but, when I turned the handle, it proved not to -be locked or bolted. I closed it softly behind me and approached the -edge of the bed. Germaine was sleeping quietly, the faint glow of the -starlight outlining her dark hair against the white pillow.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she started.</p> - -<p>"What? Who's that?" she cried.</p> - -<p>I leaned over and brushed her hair with my lips.</p> - -<p>"It's me," I told her truthfully. "Everything's all right."</p> - -<p>"Hurry!" she murmured. "You'll catch cold."</p> - -<p>A moment later, she remarked conversationally, "Heavens! You <i>are</i> -cold."</p> - -<p>Then she burrowed herself against me and wordlessly raised her lips to -mine.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When I opened my eyes in the morning the bed felt strangely deserted. I -reached over and found that I was alone.</p> - -<p>"Jimmie!" I called. "Jimmie!"</p> - -<p>She appeared at the bathroom door.</p> - -<p>"Hullo," she remarked. "Where did you come from? And what are you doing -there? Don't you know that all respectable married couples sleep in -separate rooms, according to 'House and Garden'?"</p> - -<p>"I'm not respectable," I told her. "Please notify the editor."</p> - -<p>"You certainly are not!" she observed. "You nearly gave me -heart-failure, sneaking into my room like that when you were supposed -to be in Hartford. It would have served you right if I'd called for the -police."</p> - -<p>"I'm just as good as the average policeman," I suggested. "Come over -here and I'll show you how we Tompkinses—"</p> - -<p>But she evaded me.</p> - -<p>"No, sir. We must set a good example to the servants. It's way past -breakfast time and I don't want Myrtle to guess that we're absolutely -shameless."</p> - -<p>Breakfast was waiting for us when we came downstairs and we gave -a reasonably good impersonation of an elderly married couple at -the breakfast table. I read the financial section of the "Times" -and Germaine again busied herself with the social page of the -"Herald-Tribune", now and then reading brief items about marriages, and -divorces, while I grunted noncommitally about the state of the market. -As a matter of fact, we both believed we had succeeded admirably when -our attention was attracted by a meaning kind of cough.</p> - -<p>It was Mary-Myrtle.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Myrtle?" Germaine asked with a radiant smile.</p> - -<p>"It's not my business to say so," the maid stammered, "but I wanted to -know whether you would really keep me on. I—I like it here—and I'm so -glad you're happy, Mrs. Tompkins."</p> - -<p>"Of course, you're going to stay with us, Myrtle, but however did you -guess?"</p> - -<p>"You can see it in your face, Mrs. Tompkins," she said, "and Mr. -Tompkins he was looking at the sporting page and talking about U.S. -Steel and A.T.&T. And—oh, it's nice."</p> - -<p>And she fled from the room.</p> - -<p>Germaine looked at me like the angel at the Gates of Eden. "There!" -she exclaimed. "That's what happens when I trust you. You can't even -find the right page in the paper to fake from. Next time I'm going to -marry a man who doesn't look so damned happy it's a give-away."</p> - -<p>"It's spring," I explained stupidly.</p> - -<p>"You know, Winnie," my wife said suddenly, "speaking of spring, I've -been thinking about Ponto. You've had him for five years now and I -think he's getting a little queer. Don't you think it would be a good -idea to send him to the kennels and have him bred? Perhaps that's all -that's been wrong with him."</p> - -<p>"Spoken like a woman, Jimmie," I said, "but I agree that it wouldn't do -any harm. I'll phone Dalrymple after breakfast and have him send over -for Ponto's Sacre du Printemps. He's got championship blood and, unlike -holy matrimony, there's money in it."</p> - -<p>She shrugged her shoulders unspeakably.</p> - -<p>"Poor Winnie!" she mocked. "You'd be worth millions if you'd been paid, -like Ponto."</p> - -<p>"It mightn't be a bad idea, at that," I remarked. "If you realize the -years of apprenticeship and training, the high degree of professional -skill required—"</p> - -<p>"Come here, then," she ordered, "I'll pay you."</p> - -<p>She did.</p> - -<p>"You won't forget about Ponto," she added breathless after her kiss. -"The poor darling oughtn't to be celibate in this household. I wouldn't -want it to happen to a dog."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_26" id="CHAPTER_26">CHAPTER 26</a></h2> - - -<p>On the morning of Monday, April 23rd (the date seemed unimportant -at the time), I took the early morning train into New York. Spring -had done its fell work and the club car was full of middle-aged -business-men, with dark circles under their eyes, prepared to fight -at the drop of a hat anyone who said they weren't as young as they -felt. With Jimmie's perfume still in my nostrils, I hadn't the heart -to deride them, so I did the next best thing and talked them into a -poker-game.</p> - -<p>By the time we pulled into Grand Central I was eighteen dollars and -seventy cents ahead, thanks to a full-house just before we reached -125th Street.</p> - -<p>Instead of joining my fellow-brokers in their Gadarene rush for the -downtown subway express, I strolled north along Park Avenue to the Pond -Club.</p> - -<p>At the Pond Club I found Tammy engaged, as ever, in polishing the -glasses behind his gleaming little bar.</p> - -<p>"My! Mr. Tompkins," he exclaimed. "You look as though you'd just made a -million dollars," he told me. "The usual, sir?"</p> - -<p>"It was nearly three millions, Tammy, and accept no substitutes. What I -need is concentrated protein. How about a couple of dozen Cotuits and -some black coffee?"</p> - -<p>The steward raised his eyebrows knowingly.</p> - -<p>"I'll mix you one of my Second Day Specials, sir," he said. "Funny -thing about that drink. One night, young Mr. Ferguson—he's a new -member, sir—was feeling merry and felt a sudden sense of compassion -for the statue of Civic Virtue in front of the City Hall. Of course, -I've never seen it but they tell me that it's a very fine work of art, -by a person named Mac Monnies, I believe. He wasn't a member of the -club, of course, but that's what I understand the name to be. So Mr. -Ferguson would have nothing for it but to take one of my Second Day -Specials down to the Civic Virtue and give him a drink. It seemed that -Mr. Ferguson felt quite sorry for the statue down there in front of -LaGuardia without any company. So he took a cab downtown and poured the -drink down the mouth of the statue for a joke, like. But here's the odd -thing, sir. They had to throw a canvas over the statue and send for a -man with a hacksaw before the Mayor decided it was proper to expose it -to the citizens again."</p> - -<p>"Then bring me a double Second Day Special, without cold chisels or -hacksaws, if you please," I ordered.</p> - -<p>He smirked knowingly but had the tact of good club servants to say -nothing. I sipped his concoction, which tasted entirely unlike the -egg-nog it outwardly resembled. A moment later, I tried another sip. It -was not at all unpleasant, so I drained the glass. This, I decided, was -exactly what I needed, so I drank the second one without drawing breath.</p> - -<p>"Ah-h-h!" I beamed. "That is much better. Now if anybody phones me, say -I'm not here, unless it's one of my friends."</p> - -<p>"Would that be true of that Mrs. R., sir?" he inquired. "That lady with -the red hair you told me about, Mr. Tompkins?"</p> - -<p>"If Mrs. Rutherford calls," I said, "let me know."</p> - -<p>He smiled slyly. "Then I was to deliver a message to you from her, sir. -She wants you to call her at the apartment, she said. Circle 8-7326, -the number is. She said it was important."</p> - -<p>I dialed the number. Virginia answered.</p> - -<p>"Winnie?" Her voice was cool and amused. "You'd better come up here in -a hurry. It's urgent."</p> - -<p>"Where is here?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"At our place, the apartment," she said.</p> - -<p>"Better give me the address," I suggested. "I can't seem to remember."</p> - -<p>"Winnie, that particular joke is getting tiresome. You know perfectly -well it's 172 East 72nd Street and the third floor front. The name, -naturally, is Smith."</p> - -<p>"John Smith?" I inquired.</p> - -<p>"Natch! And hurry, unless you want to be in worse trouble than you can -imagine."</p> - -<p>I signaled to Tammy. "One more Second Day Special, please."</p> - -<p>He looked worried. "Are you quite sure, sir," he demurred. "Two is as -much as I've ever seen a man take."</p> - -<p>He returned to his mystery and produced the fatal brew. I drank it -slowly. By Godfrey! this was more like it. I tossed him a five-dollar -bill.</p> - -<p>"Just remember that you haven't seen me," I told him.</p> - -<p>"Quite, Mr. Tompkins."</p> - -<p>I managed to snag an uptown taxi and rolled in comfort to 172 East 72nd -Street.</p> - -<p>I pressed the button marked Smith and was rewarded by a clicking of the -latch. I climbed the stairs and on the third story tapped the little -brass knocker. The door opened and Virginia appeared clad somewhat in a -white silk dressing-gown and with her red hair sizzling out at me.</p> - -<p>"Come in, stranger," she said.</p> - -<p>She closed the door and settled herself comfortably, with a cigarette, -on the suspiciously broad day-bed. I sat down in a very deep easy -chair, facing her, and lighted a cigarette too.</p> - -<p>"Well?" I inquired.</p> - -<p>"Winnie," she began, "you know I never try to interfere with your -private life or try to ask questions, but don't you think this farce -has gone on long enough?"</p> - -<p>I flicked some ash on the carpet and tried to look inscrutable.</p> - -<p>"You know what you are doing, of course," she continued, "and your -performance in Washington was magnificent, but just between ourselves, -can't you relax?"</p> - -<p>Although the windows were open, the room seemed oppressively warm. I -threw back my coat and confronted her without speaking.</p> - -<p>"Of course," Virginia continued, "I know we've got to be discreet. -There can always be dictaphones and detectives and it seems that the -F.B.I. knows all about this place, but can't you just—"</p> - -<p>She jumped up and faced me. With an angry movement, she snatched off -her dressing-gown and flung it on the floor.</p> - -<p>"There!" she said. "Is there anything <i>wrong</i> with me? Am I repulsive? -Or don't you care?"</p> - -<p>It must have been the three specials that lifted me from the easy chair -and whisked me across the room to the embattled red head, but it must -have been my guardian angel that prompted my next move. I pulled out my -fountain pen and wrote rapidly on the back of an envelope: "I suspect -that we are watched."</p> - -<p>Her eyes widened and she quickly grabbed her gown and draped it around -her. I laid my finger to my lips.</p> - -<p>"What I came to see you about, Virginia," I said, "is to tell you, once -and for all, that all is over between us."</p> - -<p>That was a mistake. She gave me a wink, dropped the gown and came and -sat beside me on the arm of the chair.</p> - -<p>"I too, Winfred," she said dramatically, "have become increasingly -distressed by your apparent coldness."</p> - -<p>She cuddled down and planted her lips on my ear while her tongue -flicked like a little snake's.</p> - -<p>"No," she continued, "the time has come, Winfred, when we must face -the facts, unpleasant though they may be. I was never meant to be a -part-time girl for any man."</p> - -<p>Her sharp little teeth nipped my neck savagely.</p> - -<p>"Virginia," I said, "what I had to say—what I mean is—"</p> - -<p>I never said it. Her mouth was suddenly glued to mine and she melted -into my arms.</p> - -<p>"Damn you!" I told her. "There."</p> - -<p>The apartment door-bell was buzzing like an accusation.</p> - -<p>"Tell them to go away," she murmured. "Say we're not at home."</p> - -<p>I disentangled myself, ran to the door and jiggled the button that -released the downstairs catch. "Go and make yourself decent," I told -her. "I'll stall them if you aren't too long."</p> - -<p>I listened as the footsteps slowly mounted the stairs. It was a man's -step. Then came a brisk tap on the brass knocker. I opened up. It was -A. J. Harcourt of the F.B.I. He seemed rather surprised to see me.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Mr. Tompkins," he began. "I thought that—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, come on in," I urged him. "Mrs. Rutherford will be out in a -moment. I—we...."</p> - -<p>He nodded. "You certainly do get around," he admitted. "Last the Bureau -heard you were a patient up in Hartford, and here I find you in—"</p> - -<p>"In a love-nest," I suggested. "A den of perfumed sin. A high-priced -hell-hole. I got here about ten minutes ago. Mrs. Rutherford said that -I might be in trouble but she didn't get around to explaining what -trouble."</p> - -<p>He grinned. "When a girl speaks of trouble, she means herself," he -orated.</p> - -<p>"Oh, is that so?"</p> - -<p>Virginia appeared at the entrance to the bathroom, completely though -revealingly clad, and advanced into the room brandishing her sex like -an invisible shillelagh. "And what has the F.B.I. to do with me, Mr. -Harcourt?" she demanded.</p> - -<p>Poor Harcourt looked abashed but made a speedy recovery, getting out of -the rough in one stroke.</p> - -<p>"Now that Mr. Tompkins is here, Mrs. Rutherford, mam," he said, "I have -nothing to see you about. We heard he had gone to a private asylum in -New England and I was told to see you and ask if you knew any of the -circumstances."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" Virginia sat down on the rumpled day-bed. "That sounds rather -like a lie, you know."</p> - -<p>"That's not my fault, mam," Harcourt replied. "My chief gives me my -orders and I follow them without being asked for my opinion. If the -Bureau wants to check on Mr. Tompkins through his friends—"</p> - -<p>Virginia beamed and dimpled. "You couldn't do better than come to me," -she admitted.</p> - -<p>"Well, here I am," I told him, "and Mrs. Rutherford needn't feel -bothered. What is it now?"</p> - -<p>"We just wanted to get the rights of your run-in with the Secret -Service," he told me. "Our liaison there told the Director that you -stood Chief Flynn on his ear and that Flynn threatened to swear out a -lunacy warrant against you. How come?"</p> - -<p>I gave him a full account of my encounter with the Secret Service and -ended by producing the certificate of sanity signed by Dr. Folsom.</p> - -<p>"There it is," I declaimed.</p> - -<p>The Special Agent smiled. "You're nothing if not thorough, Mr. -Tompkins. Have you had any luck filling in that blank period before -Easter? The Bureau would feel much happier if you could remember. Now -don't get me wrong. The case against you is closed. You're off our -books. We believe that you're telling the truth, but just the same it -seems funny you can't remember."</p> - -<p>Virginia Rutherford turned on him, like a battleship bringing a battery -of 16-inch guns to bear on a freighter. "Perhaps he has a good reason -for not remembering," she remarked. "Perhaps he went somewhere, with -some one—in skirts!"</p> - -<p>"That's just what puzzles us," Harcourt admitted. "We've had fifty -agents from the New York office alone making checks, as far north as -Montreal, in Portland, Boston, Providence, and even Cincinnati and -Richmond. We've checked trains, buses, airlines and the garages, as -well as the hotels, boarding-houses and overnight cabins. There isn't -anybody that can remember seeing Mr. Tompkins, with or without a woman, -during that week."</p> - -<p>"Then you're still investigating me?" I asked, while a chill went down -my spine.</p> - -<p>The Special Agent shook his head. "Not at all, Mr. Tompkins. Like -I told you, the investigation was called off last week, when we -established your Z-2 identity. This is just the result of the inquiries -we started the week before last."</p> - -<p>"And you can't find a trace?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Not a thing," he said.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rutherford turned to me, flung her arms around me and planted a -far from sisterly kiss on my lips. "Winnie, old dear," she observed, -"you are simply incredible."</p> - -<p>And she left the apartment.</p> - -<p>"Wonder what she meant by that?" Harcourt mused.</p> - -<p>"We're probably happier in ignorance," I told him. "Come on, A. J., -I'll buy a taxi down town. I've got to stop in at my office and gather -some of my unearned income. They tell me we've made nearly three -million dollars in the last ten days."</p> - -<p>Harcourt consulted his note book. "The Bureau's figures put it at -two million eight hundred seventy thousand and two hundred forty-six -dollars and seventy-one cents, if you want to know," he said.</p> - -<p>"So you <i>are</i> keeping me watched," I remarked.</p> - -<p>"What do <i>you</i> think?" asked Special Agent Harcourt of the F.B.I.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_27" id="CHAPTER_27">CHAPTER 27</a></h2> - - -<p>"What's the big idea?" I demanded. "I thought I was in the clear."</p> - -<p>Harcourt looked somewhat embarrassed.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I oughtn't to tell you this, Mr. Tompkins," he explained, "but -like you said, you're in the clear with the Bureau. We've checked and -double-checked and any way we slice it, you're still okay. Maybe you're -Tompkins with a lapse of memory, maybe this yarn of yours about Jacklin -is on the level, but we're sure of <i>you</i>."</p> - -<p>"Then why all this interest in me?" I asked. "You've been swell with -me personally, but it's getting on my nerves having you pop up all the -time. Though I must say I was relieved when you showed up today. Mrs. -Rutherford—"</p> - -<p>He grinned. "Red heads spell trouble anywhere, any time," he observed. -"No, it's this Von Bieberstein we're gunning for. Mr. Lamb at the -Bureau has a notion that Von Bieberstein may have some connection -with you that you don't know about. He might be using your office as -a post-box or be somebody that you know as someone else. It sounds -screwy, I know, but this Von Bieberstein is a slick baby. For all I -know, he might even be a woman."</p> - -<p>I glanced inquiringly in the direction of Virginia's apartment.</p> - -<p>"Not for my money," he said. "We've checked her, too. And it isn't that -Tennessee secretary of yours, either. There's a girl for you. We've got -her biog right back to the Knoxville doc that delivered her. But the -Bureau doesn't think it's an accident that you turned up in the middle -of this case, so I've been told off to check on all your contacts. -Seems mighty funny, you a millionaire and me an average guy even if -Arthurjean still thinks I got a wife in Brooklyn, but it's the war, I -guess."</p> - -<p>"'Says every moron, There's a war on!'" I quoted. I scratched my head. -"If only I could remember that blank spot, I might be able to help you."</p> - -<p>Harcourt studied his finger-nails attentively. "We're taking care of -your office contacts, of course, and we have a couple of men working -up in Bedford Hills. But New York's the hell of a big town and almost -anything could happen to you outside of your office and your clubs. Got -any ideas?"</p> - -<p>"What sort?"</p> - -<p>"Well, there's always women but I guess we've carried that line as far -as it will take us. We've checked the doctors and the dentists and the -bars and the nightclubs. How about astrologers, say? Hitler made use of -them in Germany. He might use 'em over here, though we've screened 'em -all since before Pearl Harbor."</p> - -<p>I laughed. "I doubt that a man like Tompkins would use astrology," I -told him.</p> - -<p>Harcourt shook his head. "That's where you'd be wrong. You'd be -surprised how many big Wall Street operators go for that guff."</p> - -<p>"It doesn't register," I replied, "but I'll phone the office and see if -Miss Briggs knows."</p> - -<p>When I made the connection, Arthurjean informed me that the phone had -been ringing all morning and when would I be in. Vail, she reported, -was still in Hartford with a bad case of Emily Post. I asked her about -astrologers and she said she didn't know but would find out. In a -little while she reported that Phil Cone thought I'd once gone to see -that Ernestina Clump that used to advise the Morgan partners.</p> - -<p>"Okay," I told her. "I'll be in about four this afternoon and will -handle any calls or visitors then."</p> - -<p>I turned to Harcourt. "It doesn't sound like much but Phil Cone thinks -I once consulted Ernestina Clump. Want me to make an appointment?"</p> - -<p>He nodded, so I looked up her number and dialed the office in the -Chrysler Building where Miss Clump kept track of the stars in their -courses and the millionaires in their jitters.</p> - -<p>Arranging for an immediate appointment through the very, very -well-bred secretarial voice that stiff-armed me was not easy until -I said that I would pay double-fees. Then she believed it might be -arranged. "That will be two thousand dollars," she imparted, "and you -must be here at one o'clock precisely."</p> - -<p>As we taxied downtown together, Harcourt was uncommunicative, except -for the remark that it was right handy to Grand Central and would be no -trick to stop off before catching trains.</p> - -<p>Miss Clump, as it turned out, was a motherly woman whose wrinkled -cheeks and plump hands suggested greater familiarity with the -cook-stove than with the planets. Her office showed the most refined -kind of charlatanry—everything quite solid and in good taste, with no -taint of the Zodiac. At a guess, about ten thousand dollar's worth of -furnishings was involved and I imagined that the annual rental might -run as high as six thousand.</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr. Tompkins," Miss Clump remarked in a pleasant, homey voice -with a trace of Mid-Western flatness, "I wondered when you would be in -to see me again. The stars being mean to you? Or is it another woman?"</p> - -<p>"Let's see," I stalled, "when was the last time I consulted you?"</p> - -<p>She cackled. "Young man, you've been comin' to see me, off and on, the -last ten years. Last time was in March. That was about the red-head. -Virgo in the House of Scorpio you called it."</p> - -<p>I nodded. "That would be it, I guess. She's more scorpion than virgin."</p> - -<p>She patted my hand comfortingly across the table. "They all are," she -said, "unless they're really in love. Then even the stars can't stop -'em. What's the matter now?"</p> - -<p>"Police," I said. "Loss of memory. Women and money are all right but -I'm being followed and I've drawn sort of blank for the whole month of -March. Can you take a look at my horoscope and tell me what the stars -were doing to me then?"</p> - -<p>She stared at me shrewdly. "Police," she remarked. "Land's sakes, I -don't want trouble with the police. Young man, you—"</p> - -<p>I hastened to interrupt her. "That's only a figure of speech. I'm in -trouble with the government. Just tell me what I was doing in March and -give me a hint of what lies ahead next month."</p> - -<p>She examined the chart carefully and made a few pencilled notes on a -scratch-pad. Then she looked up at me in bewilderment.</p> - -<p>"This doesn't make much sense, Mr. Tompkins," she told me, "but here it -is. So far as I can make out, in March you went on a long trip and had -some kind of bad accident. There's Neptune and Saturn in conjunction -under Aries and Venus in opposition. That could mean more trouble -with that girl, I s'pose. Then early in April you came under a new -sign—money it looks like, lots, of it, and Venus is right for you. It -looks like happiness. Now for the future, there's something I don't -understand. There's a sort of jumble—an accident mebbe—right ahead of -you and then some kind of crisis. You're going to live quite happy with -a woman for a while—and, well, that's all I can see, except—" she -paused.</p> - -<p>I raised my eyebrows. "Except what?" I asked. "I want the truth."</p> - -<p>She lowered her head. "It <i>might</i> be a bad illness," she said, "but -it's the combination I generally call a death—somebody else's death, -that is. You aren't planning to murder anybody, are you?"</p> - -<p>I leaned back in my chair and laughed heartily.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord, no! Miss Clump. And even if I did I have money enough to -hire somebody to do it for me—like the government. Here's a check for -you," I added. "Two thousand, I think you said."</p> - -<p>"Be careful," she told me in a low voice, almost in a whisper. "Be -very, very careful. I don't like to see that combination in the stars. -It might mean bad trouble."</p> - -<p>I rejoined Harcourt in the downstairs bar of the Vanderbilt Hotel and -gave him a quick account of Miss Clump's forecast.</p> - -<p>"That looks pretty hot," he allowed, "except that it sounds like -anybody. The usual line is money coming in, successful trouble, and -just call again sometime. Anyhow, the Bureau doesn't handle murder and -you don't look like a killer to me, even though you've got yourself -back in good shape, physically, I mean."</p> - -<p>"She sounded pretty much in earnest," I told him, "but I'm damned if I -know where I'd begin if I went in for a career of killing."</p> - -<p>"So you think she's on the level?" he asked. "It's all hooey to me."</p> - -<p>I considered carefully before I answered him.</p> - -<p>"The astrologers claim," I told him, "that they practice an exact -science. They have won law-suits based on that claim and have won -exemption from the old statutes against gypsies and fortune tellers. -Miss Clump is a good showwoman. Her fees are high as the Chrysler -Building and her office costs plenty. No stuffed owls or dried bats or -any junk that would make a businessman think he was going slumming. -When she talked to me she seemed honestly surprised at what she claimed -she saw in the stars and she certainly sounded entirely in earnest when -she warned me. My guess is that she's on the level and has nothing to -do with Von Bieberstein, if there is such a person."</p> - -<p>Harcourt sipped his Coca-Cola, being on duty and hence not drinking, in -official silence.</p> - -<p>"Yeah," he agreed at last. "Could be, though we'll have to check her -and her secretary and her clients, right up to but <i>not</i> including -Democratic Senators and Cabinet officers."</p> - -<p>"How about barbershops?" I asked him. "Or drugstores? I've always -thought they'd make the best intelligence centers in America. You can't -keep track of everybody who buys a dime's worth of aspirin or a package -of Kleenex. What's to prevent the cigar counter at any hotel or drug -store being the place where two Nazi agents meet. The clerks wouldn't -know them and in a town like this nobody would even notice them."</p> - -<p>The Special Agent finished his drink and banged the glass down on -the table. "That's just the trouble with this town," he announced. -"There's so many services here that everybody uses you can't possibly -check them. Well, you run on down to your office and see if you can't -find out something else. Thanks for the lift on Miss Clump. Now I've -got to call headquarters and get a special detail to go to work on her."</p> - -<p>"You don't seriously think that she knows anything about Von -Bieberstein, do you?" I asked.</p> - -<p>He smiled ruefully. "No, I don't, but the way you describe her, -she's a sort of nice, old-fashioned woman, and yet she drags down a -thousand bucks for fifteen minutes of astral horse-feathers in this -tough burg. There's something screwy about a set-up like that. Now -I've seen the files on most of the big-time astrologers that operated -here—Evangeline Adams and Myra Kingsley were tops in their time—and -there's not one of them can touch this Clump woman for money. I don't -forget that the first woman I ever arrested—it was before I joined the -Bureau and I was on the homicide detail in Raleigh—was just as sweet -and gentle as your Aunt Minnie. All she'd done was poison her husband -and her two children so's to be free to sleep with her brother-in-law. -So it's going to be plenty work for the Bureau to check this one, -before we're sure she's okay."</p> - -<p>I told him that I didn't enjoy being put in the position of an F.B.I. -Typhoid Mary, who automatically exposed his acquaintances to immediate -visitations of G-men.</p> - -<p>"Shucks! Mr. Tompkins," he assured me, "they'll never know we're -around. We got a pretty smooth outfit now and we have ways of checking -you never dreamed of. When we go to work, we do a neat job and if we -don't learn anything, well, that's that—but we don't bother folks -while were doing it."</p> - -<p>"All right," I agreed. "I'll be down at the office until the morning."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_28" id="CHAPTER_28">CHAPTER 28</a></h2> - - -<p>The highly respectable receptionist at the office of Tompkins, Wasson & -Cone almost smiled at me.</p> - -<p>"There are several gentlemen waiting for you, Mr. Tompkins," she -announced. "Some of them have been here since before lunch. Do you plan -to receive them or shall I ask them to return tomorrow?"</p> - -<p>"No, I'll see them in a few minutes," I replied. "Miss Briggs will let -you know."</p> - -<p>No sooner had I settled down at my desk, however, than Graham Wasson -and Phil Cone came dancing in, wreathed in tickertape.</p> - -<p>"We're rich! We're rich!" they chanted.</p> - -<p>"Where's the Marine Band and 'Hail to the Chief'?" I asked. "How rich -are we, anyway?"</p> - -<p>"We cleaned up," Wasson said. "Just a bit under three million in -one week. It was as you said. We went short of the market and after -Roosevelt's death, boy! did they liquidate! And thanks to Phil here, we -got out before the big boys put the squeeze on the shorts."</p> - -<p>"That reminds me, Winnie," Cone interrupted, "one of the mourners -in the customers room who's waiting to see you is Jim DeForest from -Morgan's. He's been waiting here since two o'clock. You'd better see -him quick, huh? We don't want to keep 23 Wall waiting, do we?"</p> - -<p>"Nuts, Phil," I told him. "I'll see them in the order of their arrival. -That's what they do at Morgan's when you haven't got an appointment."</p> - -<p>I pushed the button for Arthurjean.</p> - -<p>"Who's been waiting the longest, Miss Briggs," I asked.</p> - -<p>She consulted a little pack of memo forms. "There's this Mr. -Sylvester," she said. "He was here when the office opened and has been -waiting here all day. He wouldn't state his business."</p> - -<p>"Okay," I replied. "Send him in or he'll faint from hunger."</p> - -<p>Mr. Sylvester was florid in a quiet Latin way and looked as though -he might be anything from an operatic tenor to the proprietor of a -gambling ship. He waited until my partners had withdrawn.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," he said, speaking quietly, "I represent a syndicate -that's reorganizing the free market in meat. We need a real smart guy, -well-connected, like yourself, to head it up and keep track of the -money. We'll pay a million dollars a year any way you like it—Swiss -banks, Havana, Buenos Aires, Mexico City—and no tax."</p> - -<p>"I'm always interested in a million dollars but I never did like -Atlanta," I told him.</p> - -<p>"Atlanta!" He shrugged his shoulders. "We got lawyers could talk Capone -outa Alcatraz and we got a fix on the Courts, too. What would you be -doin' in Atlanta?"</p> - -<p>"I doubt that they'd make me librarian," I said, "and I don't think I'd -make the ball-team, so I guess I'd have to work in the laundry. What's -the trouble with the black market, anyhow? Seems to me you've got -O.P.A. right in your corner."</p> - -<p>"Too many amateurs and outsiders," he told me, "just like with -Prohibition. Meat's bad and too many cops get a cut. We aim to do like -the beer syndicates—organize it right, keep prices reasonable, have -the pay-off stabilized, make it a good banking proposition. We've -checked on you. You're smart. Would a million and a half do?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "I've got a million and a half," I remarked.</p> - -<p>"Okay," Mr. Sylvester straightened up, shook my hand and gave a little -bow. "Think it over!" he urged. "If you change your mind put an ad in -the Saturday Review personal column. 'Meet me anywhere, Winnie!' That's -cute. 'Meet' and 'Meat,' see? Our representative will call on you."</p> - -<p>I asked Arthurjean to send in the next visitor and to my surprise she -announced DeForest.</p> - -<p>"Hell!" I told her. "There must have been others ahead of him."</p> - -<p>"There was," she said, "but they agreed to let him see you first. They -said they'd be back tomorrow. They were from Goldman Sachs and Lehman -Brothers so they wanted to give Morgan's first crack at you, I guess."</p> - -<p>Jim DeForest proved to be one of the vaguely familiar figures I had -noticed flitting around the Harvard Club.</p> - -<p>"Winnie," he said, "I just dropped in to say that we have been pretty -well impressed by the way your firm handled itself in this recent -market. Mr. Whitney wanted to know whether it would be convenient for -you to drop in and have a talk with him soon."</p> - -<p>"Today?" I asked.</p> - -<p>DeForest glanced at his Rolex. "Today's a little late," he remarked, -"but give him a ring tomorrow. No, damn it! He's leaving for a short -trip to Washington. Make it next week and he'll have plenty of time for -you."</p> - -<p>"What's it about, Jim?" I asked. "Don't tell me that I'm going to be -offered a Morgan partnership?"</p> - -<p>He looked as though I had burped in church.</p> - -<p>"I hardly think so," he replied. "If that were the case, Mr. Lamont -would have seen you somewhere uptown. You know the way they gossip in -the Street. No, I rather fancy that Mr. Whitney wants you to be one of -our brokers for floor operations. Or, he might, since you specialize -in estate work, want you to help with some of the new issues we are -planning to underwrite."</p> - -<p>"Either way would suit me fine, Jim," I told him. "Do you know," I -continued, "this is the second happiest day of my life. The first was -when I got married."</p> - -<p>DeForest seemed a bit relieved and permitted himself a worldly smile.</p> - -<p>"And today," I continued, "I received the greatest honor that can come -to an American in Wall Street. Believe me, Jim, this means more than -having just cleaned up three million dollars in straight trading. After -all, what is money worth if it can't buy what isn't for sale?"</p> - -<p>This idea seemed to be taken under DeForest's advisement for future -consideration but he let it pass. After all, a million dollars is dross -compared to the approval of the employers of men like Jim DeForest, -still limping along on twenty-five thousand a year twenty years after -graduation.</p> - -<p>"Grand to have seen you, Winnie," he said, indicating that the audience -was at an end. "I'll tell Mr. Whitney that you'll see him next week. -And of course, no talk about this. We don't like to encourage gossip -about our operations."</p> - -<p>I promised that I would be silent as the grave, not even telling my -partners or my wife. "After all," I pointed out, "it's not a good idea -to arouse false hopes. Perhaps Mr. Whitney will change his mind."</p> - -<p>"I hope not," DeForest said solemnly, as though I had mentioned the -possibility of the Black Death. "I most certainly hope not. We don't do -business on that basis, you know."</p> - -<p>"Well, Miss Briggs, who's next?" I inquired, after DeForest had -withdrawn with the affable air of royalty inspecting a clean but -second-rate orphan asylum.</p> - -<p>"Since those bankers left, there's only three waiting. One's a general -but he comes after this other man, what's his name, Patrick Michael -Shaughnessy, whoever he is."</p> - -<p>"Send in the Irish," I told her.</p> - -<p>Mr. Shaughnessy was an Irish-American counterpart of the Mr. Sylvester -who wanted to reorganize the free market for meat. He was a natty -dresser and he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," he told me, "I'm from, the Democratic National -Committee. The Chairman—and gee! Bob's a wonder—wanted to ask whether -you'd consider a diplomatic appointment."</p> - -<p>"Of course, I would," I replied, thinking of Germaine's artless desire -to be an Ambassadress, "but that depends on where I'm sent and that -kind of thing. What have you in mind?"</p> - -<p>"There's only one post open right now," he remarked. "That's Bolonia or -Peruna or hell, no, it's Bolivia. That's somewhere in America, ain't -it?"</p> - -<p>I agreed that Bolivia was located in the Western Hemisphere. "That's -where the tin and llamas come from, Mr. Shaughnessy," I educated him. -"The capital city of La Paz is located about twelve thousand feet high -in the Andes and the inhabitants are mainly Indians. I don't think that -Mrs. Tompkins would care for it."</p> - -<p>His face fell. "You'd be an Ambassador, of course," he informed me, -"and that's always worth something. But the Boss said—that's Bob, of -course, we all call Bob the Boss—that if you wouldn't fall for Bolivia -to ask you what about Ottawa. That's the capital of Canada. It's right -next to Montreal and those places and there's good train service to -New York on the Central any time you want to run down for a show or a -hair-cut. Bob said Canada was a real buy."</p> - -<p>"Oh, a buy?" I remarked.</p> - -<p>Shaughnessy looked at me shrewdly. "Uh-huh!" he replied.</p> - -<p>"How much will it cost me to be Ambassador to Canada?"</p> - -<p>Shaughnessy was faintly aggrieved. "The Boss don't like to talk about -money and jobs that way, Mr. Tompkins. He always says think of the -chance to serve the country. Say, you're a good Democrat or if you -aren't a Democrat you're the next thing to it, a Republican that is, -and you want to make a contribution to the Party. We always got a -deficit, see. If there ain't one now there's one coming right up. Say -you lay two or three hundred grand on the line. That goes a hundred -grand to the Committee and another hundred grand divided among the -State Committees. You see, we got to take care of the Senate so they'll -vote to confirm you and there are some operators up there what won't -vote for nothing 'cept they get taken care of first. Then the rest -we put into a dignified publicity campaign, to build you up with the -public and let the Canucks see they're getting something special when -the President nominates you."</p> - -<p>I considered this one carefully. "Do you let me pick the public -relations firm that handles that end of the campaign, Mr. Shaughnessy?"</p> - -<p>He grinned artlessly. "I should say not!" he chuckled. "How do you -think we boys on the Committee make a living? No, we pick the firm -that does the job and that's all you need worry about. We own 'em. So -you see you're protected right across the board. Any time we sell an -Ambassadorship, we deliver."</p> - -<p>"Doesn't the State Department have something to say about it?"</p> - -<p>Shaughnessy told me exactly what the State Department could do about -it, so I told him to let me have a few days to think it over. After -all, three hundred thousand dollars was quite a lot of money to pay -for a diplomatic post. It wasn't as though I could make it pay off in -Scotch whiskey or mining shares as in the past.</p> - -<p>"That's what you think," the agent of the Democratic National Committee -rapped out. "Listen, Mr. Tompkins, if you buy that job take me along as -your private secretary and I'll show you how to make it pay like a bank -and no ifs. What shall I tell the gang?"</p> - -<p>"Tell them I'm definitely interested," I replied truthfully, "but I'd -like a couple of weeks to think it over."</p> - -<p>My next visitor was General Forbes-Dutton of the Army Service Forces.</p> - -<p>"Remember me, Winnie?"</p> - -<p>"Why sure!" I replied with great cordiality. "If it isn't—"</p> - -<p>"That's right," the General interrupted. "Well, boy, after Pearl Harbor -I got me—I was asked to go to Washington to help out, so the bank -said it was my duty, that they'd hold my job for me, and I've been -there ever since. I'm on Westervelt's staff, in charge of financial -procurement policies. Neat, eh?"</p> - -<p>"So you're still working for the bank?"</p> - -<p>"Not <i>for</i> them, Winnie. <i>With</i> them. We're both working for the -government. Financing war-contracts, you know. Now Westervelt's heard -good things about you, Winnie. He was much impressed by the way you -turned down that gang of chiselers who tried to horn in on the quinine -deal. They're all out. He's got a big job in mind for you. How'd you -like to be a Brigadier-General?"</p> - -<p>"It's a little late for that," I told him. "The war's almost over."</p> - -<p>He laughed very heartily. "It's a honey of a job, Winnie. Here's what -gives. This war's almost over, as you say. Then the Army will have -the job of selling off the stuff it doesn't need and boy! it has -everything. We've just about cornered everything there is and the whole -world's going to be crying for the stuff. We want a good trader in -charge, who knows how to play ball with the boys, realistic that is. -No star-gazer, eh? And that's where you come in. There's millions in -it. Hell! there's billions. We got to go slow in selling it or we'd -bust the market, wreck values and stall reconversion, so we had us a -brain-storm when we heard how you cleaned up in the Funeral Market. How -about it? Want to play ball and get next to the biggest break you ever -heard of?"</p> - -<p>I looked Forbes-Dutton squarely in the eye.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it going to be a headache?" I asked. "I mean, won't there be a -stink in Congress about it? I'm no fall-guy."</p> - -<p>The General shook his head. "Congress is in on it, every man jack of -them outside a few screwballs," he assured me. "We got a deal worked -out in every District—all legal and clean, of course—so there isn't -a Senator or Congressman that can't march right up to the trough and -get his. Hell! there's so much of it—food, tractors, jeeps, clothes, -ships, machine-tools, factories even—that we could buy every -Congressman ten times over and still have plenty of glue. With you on -top—"</p> - -<p>"It still sounds as though you were looking for a fall-guy," I told him.</p> - -<p>He again laughed merrily. "Anywhere you fall in this surplus game you'd -still land soft and be in clover. What about it? Shall I phone the -Pentagon?"</p> - -<p>"Sorry to stall you," I said, "but I've got to think it over. I've got -to talk to my lawyer. I'd still like to come down to Washington and -study the angles."</p> - -<p>"Angles? Hell! This hasn't any more angles than a big ripe watermelon. -Brigadier-General's not a bad title for a post-war use. When these -G.I.'s come back they'll want to find soldiers running things. Okay, -Winnie, I see your point. I'll tell the General you'll be coming down -to look the ground over. You'll get the Order of Merit, of course—"</p> - -<p>"I've already got it," I informed him.</p> - -<p>"The hell you say! That's wonderful. Well, then we'll fly you over to -London or Brisbane and give you a couple of theatre citations to dress -you up. After a couple of weeks on Ike's or Mac's staff you'll have a -build-up like nobody's business. Then we make a killing. 'Bye!"</p> - -<p>When the door closed behind General Forbes-Dutton I called for -Arthurjean.</p> - -<p>"Honey," I told her, "get me a snort of brandy and accept my personal -apologies to the entire female sex for any time I have ever made use of -the word 'whore'."</p> - -<p>"What's eating you, Winnie?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"I've just been propositioned by two gentlemen who would be -complimented if you called them prostitutes," I told her. "The only -honest man I've met today was that first little guy. All he wanted me -to do was to help reorganize the Black Market. Who's left now?"</p> - -<p>"There's only this one man who calls himself Charles G. Smith and has -been waiting some time. He looks like a crank. Shall I give him a -hand-out and tell him to go away?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "I can't take much more of the current brand of -patriotism."</p> - -<p>Charles G. Smith was a small, wispy man, with a protruding Adam's -apple, buck teeth and shabby clothes. He ignored my outstretched hand -and advanced on me, with a glittering eye.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," he announced, in a curiously deep, velvety voice, "you -have made millions of dollars that you must soon leave behind you. -You have invested years of your life in collecting and keeping those -dollars—little disks of metal, little slips of paper. What have you -invested in the only thing you will be permitted to take with you when -you leave?"</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I mean your immortal soul, Mr. Tompkins, your immortal soul," said Mr. -Charles G. Smith.</p> - -<p>"Oh Lord! A religious crank!" I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Naturally," he agreed proudly. "I'd rather be crazy about God than -nuts about money. Why not?"</p> - -<p>I looked at him with growing respect. "Why not, indeed?" I thought.</p> - -<p>"My case is out of your line, Mr. Smith," I told him.</p> - -<p>"They all say that," he replied, "but God doesn't think so."</p> - -<p>"My case <i>is</i> different," I repeated. "You see, I have not one but two -immortal souls."</p> - -<p>He nodded benignly. "I know," he said. "God told me that you were in -trouble."</p> - -<p>"That sounds as though you and I were buddies, Mr. Smith," I observed. -"Where can I find Him? It will take God Himself to straighten out my -case."</p> - -<p>Smith shrugged his shoulders. "You can't find Him," he said. "You've -got to wait until He finds you."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_29" id="CHAPTER_29">CHAPTER 29</a></h2> - - -<p>"Nonsense!" Germaine said emphatically. Hers was the authoritative tone -of a mother assuring her child that the lightning cannot possibly hit -the house in a thunderstorm.</p> - -<p>"I don't see how you can call it nonsense," I told her. "There he stood -in my office, a little man with a big Adam's apple, telling me that -God was on my track. I'm used to being followed by the F.B.I., but now -this!"</p> - -<p>She stretched out in her chaise longue before the bedroom fire until I -thought of the Apostle who stated that the Lord delighteth not in any -man's legs. Obviously, he had never seen my wife's gams.</p> - -<p>"He sounds like a religious maniac," she observed.</p> - -<p>"He admitted it, Jimmie. He was even proud of it. When he was standing -there he seemed to make more sense than most things that happen in Wall -Street. He could be right."</p> - -<p>Germaine giggled. "If God finds you, Winnie," she said, "I hope He -doesn't arrive when—I mean, it might be rather embarrassing?"</p> - -<p>"Again the one-track mind," I remarked. "You don't suppose that sex is -any news to the Old Man, do you? He invented it, darling."</p> - -<p>"You know, Winnie," she replied dreamily, "sometimes you are almost a -poet. Just the same, if He came after me I'd like to have Him find me -with a new hairdo."</p> - -<p>"So far as I am concerned," I told her, "it's just as well the Old -Man didn't catch up with me on some recent occasions. He might have -received a false impression of my eligibility for the Club."</p> - -<p>"Pooh!" Germaine remarked with great decision. "He'd better not try any -nonsense with you if I'm around. You're my Winnie and you're going to -Heaven right along with me if I have to cheat the Customs."</p> - -<p>I yawned. "I hope Saint Peter will be suitably impressed and not like -those tough guys at the Port of New York. What I'd really like to get -at is all this business about Von Bieberstein. I'd never heard of him -till last week and now it's got me jittery. Who he is God only knows -and He hasn't tipped off the F.B.I."</p> - -<p>"I'm not very religious, darling," my wife said, "but from what I -remember from Sunday School, God wasn't supposed to be a tattle-tale. -He'll take care of Von Bieberstein, if there is such a person."</p> - -<p>I laughed. "If there isn't, the F.B.I.'s going to look awfully silly -when they come to write the history books. J. Edgar Hoover would turn -over in his job at the very thought."</p> - -<p>"You know," she continued drowsily, "I think that Von Bieberstein is -just a name they've given to all the things they can't solve. Like -luck. You know the way people say, 'Bad Luck!' Well, the F.B.I. says -'Von Bieberstein' every time a ship sinks or a factory makes the wrong -kind of shell. You wait and see, Winnie, and you'll find out I am -right."</p> - -<p>"Speaking of luck," I asked, "What's the news from the kennels? Has -Ponto met his fiancee yet or haven't the banns been published?"</p> - -<p>"Dalrymple seemed to think that it would be very easy to equip him with -a suitable girl friend," she said demurely. "It appears that there's a -war-time shortage of sires or something, so I gather that there's no -particular problem in Ponto's love-life. Dalrymple said we could come -and get him the end of the week—Friday or Saturday. Poor dear. I think -we ought to put orange blossoms in his dog-biscuit when he gets home."</p> - -<p>I laughed. "That's one load off my mind. I hope you're right and that -it will steady him down. They say that the responsibilities of marriage -do wonders for a young dog. It makes him respect property, maintain the -social order, and vote the straight Republican ticket."</p> - -<p>"Idiot!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'm thinking of running Ponto in the next election. He'd make a -mighty fine Governor and he'd be sure to leave his mark in the Senate. -Who knows, we might even elect him President."</p> - -<p>Germaine stretched again, with considerable candor. "Darling," she -announced, "you're dithering. Let's go to bed."</p> - -<p>"Not until we get this religious argument straightened out," I -objected. "I think I owe it to Mr. Smith to make some kind of move. The -politicians and the psychiatrists have failed me. There's only religion -left. And besides, I still have half of my drink to finish."</p> - -<p>I put another birch-log on the fire and watched as the flames -brightened and cast a flickering glow on the canopy of my wife's bed.</p> - -<p>"My idea's this," I told her. "It's very undignified to sit around -waiting for the Old Man to look me up, if He's really trying to find -me, as Smith says. I think I'd better start a search party of my -own. There are no doubt a lot of things He'll want to ask me about, -but there are some points on which, damn it! I'm entitled to an -explanation."</p> - -<p>"You talk such rot, darling," she murmured. "Wise gods never explain -anything. It's take it or leave it. You just wait. You'll see."</p> - -<p>"I'd like to know who Von Bieberstein is, just to get ahead of A. J. -Harcourt. If the Old Man won't tell me that, at least I'm entitled to -know who I am."</p> - -<p>"You're my Winnie," she repeated half-asleep. "I'll see that you get -past the immigration authorities. I'll smuggle you in under my skirts, -like Helen of Troy. St. Peter's far too respectable a man to try to -see what I've got there."</p> - -<p>"Now <i>you're</i> maudlin," I told her. "From what I know of Greek -costumes, Helen of Troy couldn't have smuggled a Chihuahua into Troy -under what <i>she</i> wore. Anyhow, these saints have X-ray eyes that can -spot a sin right through skirt, girdle and brassiere. Besides, I weigh -too much. I'm much more like the unforgivable sin. Suppose I just -pretend I lost my passport."</p> - -<p>"It will be all right, darling," Germaine assured me. "And if they -won't let us into Heaven, God knows they'd be delighted to put us up -in Hell. It would raise the value of real estate overnight. I can just -hear the Devil arguing with prospective tenants. 'We have such nice -people in the next bed of coals. They're from Westchester and the -name's Tompkins'."</p> - -<p>"Any time a real estate agent urges you to take a residence, that's -Heaven," I told her. "You dither delightfully, especially when you're -half asleep. But I don't want to get into Hell on false pretenses. It's -not fair to the management. What I propose to do is to go out, and see -if I can't find the Old Man before He finds me, and see if I can't -fix up my passport right now. As you say, it could be embarrassing -otherwise. Then I'll march straight up to Him, look Him in the eye and -ask Him what the Hell He means—"</p> - -<p>She sat up and held out her glass. "More brandy," she ordered.</p> - -<p>I fixed her drink and my own and looked at the coals of the log-fire.</p> - -<p>"How are you going to set out?" Germaine asked. "No, don't laugh, -darling. It might be quite important. You see, if I—if we—Oh, if we -should have a child, it would be good to know—" she paused, at a loss -for words.</p> - -<p>"It does sound crazy, doesn't it?" I said. "'Middle-aged Stock Broker -Cleans up in Wall Street, Looks for God.' Well, I suppose the best -thing to do is to consult the clergymen."</p> - -<p>"Then you'd better not start in Westchester," she advised. "They're all -bleating celibates like poor old Ponto or broad-clothed men of affairs -who shoot a darn good game of golf and never offend the vestrymen. -I'd try New York City, if I were you, Winnie. They have the best -architects, the best food, the best doctors, the best actors, and the -best red-heads in the world. They might even have the best clergymen."</p> - -<p>"That doesn't follow," I told her, "but I agree the chances are better -there than up here."</p> - -<p>"I'm going to approach this thing scientifically," I continued. "I'm -going to pick a Protestant—probably a Presbyterian—"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she agreed. "<i>Do</i> pick a Presbyterian. They build such lovely -New England churches and they believe in infant damnation, or is that -the Mormons?"</p> - -<p>"Shush!" I rebuked her. "As I was saying when you so rudely interrupted -me, a Presbyterian, and they believe in predestination with only -occasional leanings to infant damnation. And then I'll try a Jewish -Rabbi. I'm told that they are very highly educated men with a grasp -of spiritual fundamentals as well as a remarkable fund of practical -knowledge. And, of course, a Catholic priest."</p> - -<p>"Not Father Aloysius Murphy!" Germaine besought me. "I couldn't bear it -if you consulted him. I don't know why and of course I'm not a Catholic -but every time I hear him on the radio I wish the Pope would send him -as a missionary to Russia. Please don't pick any of these fashionable -priests or rabbis, darling. Try to find simple, poor men who aren't -trying to advertise themselves or raise money."</p> - -<p>I finished my drink and picked her up in my arms. "It's long past -bed-time," I told her. "Here, drink it down and I'll put you to bed. -I didn't know you gave a damn about religion and here you are talking -like a Joan of Arc or—"</p> - -<p>She put her empty glass down on the bed-side table and slipped out of -her dressing-gown.</p> - -<p>"You don't know me very well," she said quietly. "To you, I'm just your -wife, not a separate person at all, and it's rather nice, but—No, I'm -not religious and Heaven knows the saints would have hysterics if they -heard you call me Joan of Arc. It's just that—Well, I was brought up -on church and Sunday School and the Catechism and forgot it all as soon -as I graduated from Miss Spence's and had my coming-out party. But -they are all so proud and grand, these clergymen. They are so sure of -themselves. I once went to an Easter service in Washington, it was at -St. Thomas's, when the sermon was entirely devoted to a passionate plea -for money, money, money. I've never met a clergyman yet who didn't hint -that while the Lord loved my soul, the Church would settle for cash."</p> - -<p>"I suppose the churches need money like everybody else," I suggested. -"At least they don't charge admission like the movies."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I know they need money but they can't need money as much as people -need goodness or God or whatever it is they do need. I'd like to find -a single good simple man who wasn't too sure of himself. Well, I -can't explain. Get undressed and come to bed, darling. The sheets are -bitterly cold."</p> - -<p>I chucked my clothes onto the chair by the fire.</p> - -<p>"Hell!" I exclaimed. "That would be too awful!"</p> - -<p>Germaine made a vague questioning noise.</p> - -<p>"Suppose we are resurrected not as we'd like to be but as we are. You'd -be safe. You have the build of an angel and you'd be a knockout with -wings, but I'd look like a ringer even in the best of haloes and with -this weight I'd need a terrific wing-spread to get off the ground. Even -then, I'd have to have a run-way."</p> - -<p>I fixed the fire so it would keep burning for a couple of hours and -adjusted the fire-screen so that there was no chance of a stray spark -landing on the carpet. Then I crossed to the window overlooking -the lawn and opened it on the cool spring night. The moon, now -suspiciously less virginal in figure but still shamelessly serene -in silver, rode in the western sky and the scents of spring drifted -in on the light breeze. There was no sound save the distant jingling -of the peepers and the near-by rustle of the dry vines outside the -window-frame.</p> - -<p>"I wish to God I knew who I am," I muttered.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_30" id="CHAPTER_30">CHAPTER 30</a></h2> - - -<p>"No doubt you'll be asking me to reconcile predestination and free -will," observed Dr. Angus McGregor, minister of the Tenth Presbyterian -Church of Manhattan.</p> - -<p>"That wasn't quite my question, sir," I replied. "I asked you whether -you could justify the Lord's putting my soul into another man's body. -Am I to be responsible for the sins the other man committed?"</p> - -<p>"Ah!" Dr. McGregor remarked, with relish, "It is the Lord's doing -and it is marvelous in our eyes. No doubt he kens what he's about. -It will all be made known on the great Day of Judgment. Now about -predestination and free will, you'll have marked that many grand -philosophers and divines have debated the point. 'Tis a nice point. -'Tis the theological <i>pons asinorum</i>."</p> - -<p>"Yes," I interrupted, "but do you consider that I am bound by this body -or will I be returned to my own before I come to the Judgment? And is -my soul involved in another man's sins?"</p> - -<p>Dr. McGregor drew a deep puff on his pipe. "Oh aye!" he declared. -"The principle of vicarious sacrifice has been observed ever since -that ne'er-do-weel Cain asked, 'Am I my brother's keeper?' Aye, Mr. -Tompkins, surely you are involved in the sins of others. Take your -own case now. I believe your tale. Fearful and wonderful things have -happened in this weary world, before now, by the will of the Lord. -It is written by the Roman historian Tacitus that the pagan emperor -Vespasian—that grand benefactor to whom the world owes the fine -invention of the public comfort station—performed miracles in Egypt, -making the blind to see, and healing the cripples. These miracles are -as well attested as any in Holy Scripture. If the Lord permitted to a -heathen potentate these gifts of spiritual healing, can I deny that -He might for His own good reasons permit your soul to inhabit another -man's body?"</p> - -<p>"But what is my moral responsibility in this predicament, Dr. McGregor? -Where does my duty lie?"</p> - -<p>"It is all related to yon matter of free will and predestination," he -insisted. "Your duty, man, is to fear the Lord and praise Him. You will -have taken this other man's wife, will you not? You will have taken his -money and his home, his name and his business. Aye, if you take these -likely you will take his sins as well. Dinna believe that the Lord has -no a reason for all this.</p> - -<p>"Now," he continued, "'tis no great difficulty to reconcile free will -and predestination."</p> - -<p>"I'm not a religious man, doctor," I cut him off, "but you have given -me help. Will you accept a check for your church—say a thousand -dollars?"</p> - -<p>"Aye, Mr. Tompkins, I will that! I cannot help you but I can only tell -you to put your trust in the mercy and the justice of the Lord. 'Tis -all a man can do."</p> - -<p>So I wrote out a check for a thousand dollars to the order of the Tenth -Presbyterian Church of Manhattan, and shook his hand.</p> - -<p>He thanked me. "Now," he announced. "I must be on my way to comfort a -poor body that's dying o' the cancer. 'Tis an old lady and she takes -great comfort from her pain in the thought that she has been chosen by -the Lord to suffer for the sins of others. 'Tis no a sound theology, -mind you, but 'tis a mighty solace as her time comes nigh."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>My next stop was at the office of Rabbi Benjamin Da Silva of the Temple -Ben-David. Him I had located by consulting the classified telephone -directory and had made an appointment to meet him in his study in the -Synagogue. He was a slender, quietly dressed young man, with the eager -face of a scholar and the air of repose of a mystic. The walls of his -room were lined with books and as I noted Hebraic, Greek, Latin and -Arabic titles, as well as German, French and English, I realized that I -was dealing with a deeply cultured man. His voice was musical and low, -as he asked me to be seated.</p> - -<p>"Rabbi Da Silva," I began, "before I begin I would like to ask you to -accept on behalf of your congregation a gift of a thousand dollars as -a token of my gratitude for consenting to hear my story. Perhaps you -can help me, perhaps not. As you realize, I am not of your faith but I -need your wisdom. I am trying to find my soul."</p> - -<p>"So are we all, Mr. Tompkins," the Rabbi assured me. "What is your -problem?"</p> - -<p>I recited the events which made it imperative for me to recollect the -events prior to April second; I told him of the reasons that convinced -me that I, Frank Jacklin, was living in Winfred Tompkins' body; I -outlined the moral and personal problems involved in this confusion of -personalities; I indicated the psychiatric and other tests that had -been made. Naturally, I did not mention the Alaska, the thorium bomb, -Z-2 or Von Bieberstein.</p> - -<p>When I had completed my account, Rabbi Da Silva gazed abstractedly at -the small coal fire which smouldered in the grate of his study.</p> - -<p>"Why did you come to me, Mr. Tompkins?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Because I hoped that in your studies of the human soul, you might have -found knowledge that would help me."</p> - -<p>He sat silent for some minutes.</p> - -<p>"For many centuries," he began at last, "there has been a curious -belief among you Christians that the Jewish rabbinate possesses mystic -knowledge of the occult. No doubt that belief derives from the early -Middle Ages when the Jews became in part the means by which the science -and culture of the Saracen East was brought to the ignorant barbarous -West. That service was turned against us by the superstitions and -prejudices of Christendom and we were regarded as akin to sorcerers and -witch-masters. Even today in Germany, we are paying for our crime of -having brought enlightenment to Europe in the Dark Ages."</p> - -<p>"Then you can't help me?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I did not say so, Mr. Tompkins," the Rabbi replied. "Certainly I -cannot help you in any occult manner. I cannot pick a book from the -shelves, mutter a few words in Hebrew and resolve your spiritual -problems with a whiff of brimstone. The casting out of devils is not -included in Judaism. Indeed, it has gone out of fashion in Christendom."</p> - -<p>"What can you suggest?" I inquired. "Many important events, including -the possible capture of a dangerous Nazi spy, depend on my recovering -my memory."</p> - -<p>"Even with that inducement," the Rabbi remarked with an ironic smile, -"I am not in a position to urge any particular course on you. Assume, -for the sake of argument, that you are the victim of what is called -a demoniac possession, Mr. Tompkins. Are you sure that you would be -benefited by casting out the soul of Frank Jacklin and resuming command -of your own personality? Is not Winfred Tompkins a better and happier -man under the influence of Jacklin than he was as himself? In other -words, Mr. Tompkins, you may not be seeking to cast out a devil at all, -but an angel of the Lord. Of course, I am speaking in moral metaphor -and not as a scientist or a theologian. My advice to you would be to -ignore your loss of memory and live out your life as best you can and -be thankful that whatever it is that caused this change has been for -your betterment and has brought happiness to others."</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "I know that I am foolish to insist, Rabbi Da Silva," -I said. "What you say is just about what the psychiatrists advised. Yet -I must open that locked door and see what is hidden in the secret room."</p> - -<p>Da Silva smiled gently. "Yes," he agreed, "I see that you must. -Bluebeard's wife felt much the same and the charm and universal meaning -of that great fable is that humanity must always open the closed doors, -even at the risk of destruction. All wisdom urges us to leave well -enough alone, yet our instinct is wiser than wisdom itself. God bless -you, Mr. Tompkins, and may you come to no harm if you find the key to -this locked room."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, sir," I said. "Now there remain only the Catholics. Perhaps -a parish priest—"</p> - -<p>"I shall be very much surprised if a priest advises you differently, -Mr. Tompkins," the Rabbi observed. "Drop in again some time and tell -me, will you?"</p> - -<p>I gave him his check for the Temple Ben-David and went on to the -rectory of St. Patrick's-by-the-Gashouse, where I asked for the priest.</p> - -<p>"Sure, Father Flanagan's celebrating Mass," the aged housekeeper -rebuked me.</p> - -<p>"I'll wait," I told her. "I have a contribution for the church. I must -give it to him personally."</p> - -<p>"Glory be!" she remarked, and withdrew, muttering.</p> - -<p>Father Flanagan was a burly, well-built young Irish-American with a -friendly smile and a crushing handshake.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Casey tells me you have something for the church, Mr.—"</p> - -<p>"My name's Tompkins, Father. I have a check for a thousand dollars. -I'll give it to you now. There are no strings to it but I'd like to ask -you to help me."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll be—You know, Mr. Tompkins," Father Flanagan told me, "just -this morning at breakfast Mrs. Casey said she was praying that we'd -finish raising the money for the new altar before the Bishop's visit, -and here it is. Isn't that wonderful, now?"</p> - -<p>"There you are, Father," I told him, "and welcome to it."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Mr. Tompkins," the priest said simply. "I shall remember -you in my prayers and so, no doubt, will Mrs. Casey. You're not a -Catholic, of course?"</p> - -<p>"No," I replied. "I don't seem to be anything that makes sense -medically, legally or morally. I need help."</p> - -<p>So I told him the whole story from beginning to end, and added the -advice I had already received from Dr. McGregor and Rabbi Da Silva.</p> - -<p>Father Flanagan heard me out and then considered carefully.</p> - -<p>"I've heard some strange things in Confession," he stated at last, "but -they never taught us at Notre Dame how to deal with a problem like -yours. I'd rather like to consult the Bishop before I undertook to -advise you. Do you mind?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I do," I told the priest. "It's no disrespect for your bishop. -It's just that I feel that this problem must be solved on a low level -rather than by the higher echelons. In the Navy, we soon learned that -the best way to get a problem loused up was to refer it to CINCPAC. -What is your own reaction to my story?"</p> - -<p>Father Flanagan pursed his lips and pondered for a moment. "Speaking -as a man," he said, "and not as a priest, it looks to me as though you -were sitting pretty, Mr. Tompkins. Naturally, I have no explanation for -it and the psychiatrists seem to have given you a clean bill of health, -so maybe you're not crazy. I have a vague idea that there's reference -to something like your experience in the Patristic writings which I -read when I was studying for the priesthood. It's all mixed up with the -Gnostics and necromancy but it's hard to tell how much you can accept -literally in that material. Pagan literature is full of it, such as -Apuleius' 'The Golden Ass', in which a witch turns a man into a donkey, -but that's admittedly fancy. As I say, you seem to be sitting pretty. -By your own account, Commander Jacklin's life was pretty much of a -failure and Tompkins was not exactly what you could call a huge moral -success. Yet you, as Jacklin, seem to be doing a pretty good job with -Tompkins' life. Why don't you let it go at that?"</p> - -<p>"I can't, Father," I told him. "I've got to find out what Tompkins was -doing just before Easter. Even if it's only for that one week, I've got -to know."</p> - -<p>"And you say that so far nobody has been able to help you?"</p> - -<p>"Nobody," I replied. "The doctors call it trauma and say that my memory -may come back to me at any time, but I can't wait."</p> - -<p>He smiled. "'Can't' is a big and human word. Have you tried hypnotism? -Or scopolamine? They aren't exactly liturgical and my Bishop would have -a fit if he heard me mention them—he considers them on a par with -mediums and spiritualism—but they have some value in restoring memory."</p> - -<p>I slapped my knee. "Thanks, Father!" I exclaimed. "You've given me an -idea. I'll try a medium."</p> - -<p>The priest looked grave. "I wouldn't do that, now, if I were you, Mr. -Tompkins," he told me. "That kind of thing is too close to Black Magic -and devil-worship for decent men to play with."</p> - -<p>"I hope I don't shock you, Father Flanagan," I replied, "but if God -can't help me, I'll have to go to the Devil."</p> - -<p>"I shall pray for you, Mr. Tompkins," the priest said.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_31" id="CHAPTER_31">CHAPTER 31</a></h2> - - -<p>After I left St. Patrick's-by-the-Gashouse I went to a corner saloon -and telephoned the F.B.I. I asked for Harcourt but was told that he was -out to lunch, which reminded me that I was hungry. A private treaty -with the bartender brought me a steak sandwich, and no questions -asked. Apple pie and coffee followed, and were not too horrible. I -smoked a cigarette, drank a second cup of coffee, and called the F.B.I. -again.</p> - -<p>This time Harcourt had returned from lunch and he talked as though he -had swallowed the Revised Statutes of the United States but that they -gave him indigestion.</p> - -<p>"See here, Andy," I told him at last. "I'm not looking for legal -advice, I want to consult a medium. Any medium. If I picked one out of -the phone-book you'd have the headache of checking on her, as I suppose -you're checking on the clergymen I saw this morning. So this time just -save yourself the trouble, and tell me who I should see."</p> - -<p>"The Bureau doesn't endorse spiritualists," he informed me, but the old -J. Edgar Hoover spirit was running thin and his heart wasn't in it.</p> - -<p>"I'm not asking the Bureau to endorse anything, not even a candy -laxative," I replied. "Just you tell me the name and address of one -reasonably respectable medium and I'll take care of the rest. And don't -pretend that the Bureau has no record of mediums in New York City."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tompkins," he said—and I could fairly hear the hum of the -recording machine on the telephone—"The Bureau does not endorse any -so-called spiritualist mediums. Naturally, under the leadership of our -present Director, the New York office has made a close check on all -self-styled spiritualistic mediums in this city. One of these who has -established her bona fides for purposes of identification only is Madam -Claire la Lune, 1187 Lenox Avenue."</p> - -<p>"Eleven eighty-seven Lenox," I repeated after him. "That's in Harlem. -Madam Claire la Lune sounds like the dark of the moon to me. Say, Andy, -hasn't she a friend named Pierrot?"</p> - -<p>There was a pause at the other end of the wire. "No, sir, Mr. -Tompkins," came the F.B.I. official voice.</p> - -<p>"Okay," I told him. "I suppose you'll have to check on her as on -everybody else but I wanted you to start calling the shots so as to -save trouble for all of us. I'm going to consult Madam Lune, so you can -tell your agents to rendezvous at 1187 Lenox Avenue. I'll be there in -about twenty minutes."</p> - -<p>Eleven eighty-seven Lenox did not seem prepossessing from the spiritual -angle. Madam la Lune's apartment was on the third floor, walk-up, and -smelled of cabbage, diapers and African sweat. Madam la Lune herself -was a light mulatto with a superb figure and a face so deeply scarred -by smallpox that it looked like a map of Southern lynchings since 1921.</p> - -<p>She seemed reluctant to deal with me on a professional basis, even -after I had offered her a twenty-dollar bill, until I told her that the -F.B.I. had recommended her and that I needed her help.</p> - -<p>"Oh," she said. "Tha's differ'nt. Jest you wait till I turn down my -stove."</p> - -<p>She ushered me into a close and smelly little room, with black velvet -curtains and a couch covered with black sateen. Madam la Lune lay down -on the couch and directed me to turn off the electric light from the -switch by the door. Although it was still early afternoon, the room -was so dark that I could barely make out the form of the medium or find -my way back to my chair.</p> - -<p>For a time there was no sound except for the deep regular breathing of -the medium. Then suddenly came the shrill voice of a pickaninny.</p> - -<p>"I'se here," the voice cried. "It's Silver-Bell, mammy, I'se here."</p> - -<p>I smiled to myself in the Harlem dusk. It was so obviously the usual -racket. There was the medium in her ten cent trance—the voice of her -"control" was coming through. I had only to ask and I would receive a -vague and blotting paper reply to any question.</p> - -<p>"I'se here, mammy," the child's voice repeated. "What you want, mammy? -Silver-Bell's here."</p> - -<p>Madam la Lune snorted and snored on the couch. My eyes had become more -accustomed to the dim light and I noticed how she had loosened her -blouse so that her superb bust rose in twin-peaked Kilimanjaro against -the wall.</p> - -<p>"Silver-Bell's here, mammy," the child's voice said again. "What you -want?"</p> - -<p>"I want," I said, "to speak to Frank Jacklin. He died in the North -Pacific about three weeks ago."</p> - -<p>There was a pause, during which the snorting breaths of the medium were -the only sound in the smelly little room. Then the child's voice rose, -shrill and petulant.</p> - -<p>"You funning, mammy, you funning. They ain't no Jacklin over here. -Jacklin ain' dead. Jacklin sittin' right by yo' side, mammy. He police, -mammy, he police."</p> - -<p>Madam la Lune stirred and I sensed her sightless eyes turning, turning -toward me in the dark.</p> - -<p>"No, I'm not police, Silver-Bell," I said. "If you can't find Jacklin, -I want to speak to Winnie Tompkins."</p> - -<p>For several minutes there was a long silence.</p> - -<p>Then came an impish giggle.</p> - -<p>"Here's Mr. Tompkins, mammy, but my! he do look funny. He don' look -like he used ter look."</p> - -<p>Again silence.</p> - -<p>"Here he is, mammy. Here he is. What do you want to know?"</p> - -<p>"Ask him," I said, "whether he is well and happy."</p> - -<p>The hair rose on the back of my neck and a slow shiver ran down my -spine as the answer came. The answer was the familiar barking of a -dog—deep, strong, savage.</p> - -<p>"Is that you, Ponto?" I asked.</p> - -<p>The answering bark came "Woof! Woof!"</p> - -<p>"Where is Mr. Tompkins?"</p> - -<p>More "woofs."</p> - -<p>"Where is Commander Jacklin?"</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>"Are you alive?"</p> - -<p>"Woof! Woof!"</p> - -<p>"Am I alive?"</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>"Is your name Ponto?" I ventured again.</p> - -<p>"Where is Von Bieberstein?" I demanded but my question was drowned in a -storm of barking.</p> - -<p>"I's tired, mammy," came the child's voice. "Silver-Bell's tired."</p> - -<p>The voice trailed off, leaving me in the stifling little Harlem parlor -with the mulatto woman snoring.</p> - -<p>I sat, bemused, in the straight-back chair across the room from her. -My eyes had now got used to the thin light that filtered around the -heavy black curtain. I noticed a fleck of white about the corners of -her mouth and I made silent note of the way her body heaved with its -tortured breathing. After a while, she stirred.</p> - -<p>"You theah, Mr. Tompkins?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'm here."</p> - -<p>"You fin' out what you wan'?" she inquired.</p> - -<p>"I found out that you're a fraud," I told her. "You're welcome to my -money but I'm damned if I think you've earned it."</p> - -<p>She sat up and adjusted her clothing calmly. "What for you say that, -Mr. Tompkins?" she demanded. "Spirits come, and spirits go. You ask -questions. Maybe they give you the answers. I don't know."</p> - -<p>"Very clever, Madam la Lune," I observed. "Harcourt phones you I'm on -my way and tells you what to do. I'm supposed to come in and swallow it -all. Well, I'm not interested in that game. All I want to know is how -you managed to imitate my dog?"</p> - -<p>Madam la Lune rose and peered at me in the dusk.</p> - -<p>"White man," she said. "What dog you talkin' about? I ain't seen no -dog."</p> - -<p>The words I had planned to fling at her died in my throat. Fraud or -not, she was superb. Her pock-marked face had a haughty dignity and her -bearing was that of a great queen.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry," I apologized, without knowing why. "I'm in trouble. I -hoped you could help me. All I got out of your trance was a child -laughing and a dog barking."</p> - -<p>Her eyes glowed in the twilit room.</p> - -<p>"What this dog?" she demanded. "You know this dog?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," I told her. "It's my dog. His name is Ponto. He's a Great Dane -and he's at the kennels."</p> - -<p>"You go, Mr. Tompkins," she ordered me. "You better go fast. That -dog—wha's his color now?"</p> - -<p>"Black," I said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, black," She rolled her eyes until I saw the whites.</p> - -<p>"That black dog don' mean no good to you or yours. You keep away fum -that dog, Mr. Tompkins. No, suh, I don't want you money. There's no -luck with you, white man, with that black dog. I don' know how Ah -knows, but Ah does know."</p> - -<p>As I walked out into the bright cool air of Lenox Avenue, I felt -relieved. Madame la Lune was an interesting enough type. She obviously -had the primitive sense of second sight, intuition, whatever it is, -that let her penetrate behind human appearances. The medium business -was just a trade trick. In Africa or Haiti she could have been a -witch-doctor with a pet snake. In New Orleans, even, she would be a -voodoo priestess. Here in Harlem, she had become a medium. Of course, -she was a fraud, but how had she imitated the barking of the Great Dane?</p> - -<p>Then I laughed so loudly that a passing colored man sheered violently -away from me. Of course, that was it. I had been right all the time. -This was Harcourt's work. He had recommended Madame la Lune to me and -then told her how to behave. Damn his insolence!</p> - -<p>I stopped dead and only stirred when the violent and prolonged sounding -of an automobile horn reminded me that I was standing in the middle of -a cross-street. How did Harcourt know about Ponto when he had never -seen him? And how could he tell the medium how to imitate Ponto's bark?</p> - -<p>On the next corner was a dive—a saloon that advertised "Attractions" -and from whose doors welled the jungle thumping of Harlem jazz.</p> - -<p>I slipped in and sat down at a corner table. A tall, colored girl, -whose scanty white silk blouse was not designed to conceal anything, -came over and leaned down to take my order.</p> - -<p>"Wha' yo' want, honey-man?" she asked sullenly.</p> - -<p>The band on the platform let loose with a blast of traps and trombone.</p> - -<p>"Let's dance," I said.</p> - -<p>She nodded with a curious dignity and I found myself parading, dipping -and swaying around a tiny dancefloor, while the black girl pressed her -body against me despairingly.</p> - -<p>I pulled off to the side and led her back to my table.</p> - -<p>"Why do you do this?" I asked.</p> - -<p>She said nothing.</p> - -<p>"You need money?" I asked.</p> - -<p>She still said nothing.</p> - -<p>"Here!" I said.</p> - -<p>I pulled out my check-book and wrote out a check for a thousand dollars -payable to cash.</p> - -<p>"This is for you," I told her. "Take it and do whatever you want to do. -The check's good."</p> - -<p>The girl looked at me, took the check, studied it. Then she rose, in -complete silence, looked at me again and left me. She shrugged her -way through the dancers and the waiters to the rear of the room and -disappeared. I did not know her name and I never saw her again.</p> - -<p>A high-ochre girl came over.</p> - -<p>"Change yo' luck?" she asked, bending over so that I could see down the -front of her scant-cut dress.</p> - -<p>"My luck's done changed," I told her. "Give me a drink and here's a -ten-spot for yourself. And I'll be on my way."</p> - -<p>She tucked the bill down the front of her dress. "May you have good -luck, man," she said gravely.</p> - -<p>As she said it, her eyes widened and her mouth hung open. "Gawd!" she -muttered. "The black dog's follering you!" and fled.</p> - -<p>"I know," I said to the room at large, and left without waiting for my -drink.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_32" id="CHAPTER_32">CHAPTER 32</a></h2> - - -<p>I walked down Lenox Avenue to the first cigar-store and telephoned the -office.</p> - -<p>As soon as I was connected with Arthurjean I asked her to meet me at -her apartment as soon as she could make it. Then I hailed a cab and was -driven south through Central Park to the upper east Fifties' and my -secretary's apartment. She was waiting.</p> - -<p>"Gee, honey," she exclaimed. "I just got here. What's cooking?"</p> - -<p>I followed her in and went straight to the kitchenette. I poured myself -a stiff drink and downed it rapidly. I poured myself another and -turned to see her staring at me.</p> - -<p>"You look terrible," she told me. "What's happened to you?"</p> - -<p>"I can't tell you," I replied. "You'd think I'm crazy and you'd turn me -in."</p> - -<p>"I will not!"</p> - -<p>She came up close to me and looked me square in the eye. "I don't care -if you're crazy as a bed-bug," she announced. "Go on and 'pit it out in -momma's hand. I won't squeal."</p> - -<p>"Sit down!" I ordered, "and get yourself a drink first. This is tough."</p> - -<p>She sat and listened quietly as I outlined the latest developments.</p> - -<p>"So you see," I concluded, "I <i>can't</i> tell anyone. They'd have me -locked up for keeps."</p> - -<p>She nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. "I can see that.... Maybe your wife—"</p> - -<p>"I couldn't tell <i>her</i>," I contradicted. "It would be too damn cruel -just now when she's really happy."</p> - -<p>Arthurjean sat and thought for a while. "Yep," she remarked, as though -she had just concluded a long argument. "You're right. You can't tell -nobody <i>that</i>. How about this nosey A. J. Harcourt? Won't he find out? -He's still having you tailed."</p> - -<p>"I don't see how he could," I told her, "unless that Madame la Lune is -a complete phoney—which doesn't make sense. She and I were alone in -the room. If it was a plant, there's nothing to tell. If she's on the -level she won't remember what went on."</p> - -<p>"That's no plant," Arthurjean Briggs announced. "It wouldn't make sense -for the F.B.I. to pull it. Harcourt sent you there in the first place -but he wouldn't put her up to a trick like that."</p> - -<p>"He'll be hot on my trail then," I said. "All those clergymen I saw -will have to be checked—when all the time—"</p> - -<p>"Do you know what I'd do if I was you," she said abruptly. "I'd get rid -of that damn dog—but fast."</p> - -<p>"You mean sell it?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I mean kill it. It isn't natural, acting that way. It's been worrying -you nigh crazy, that's what it's been doing. You just take it to the -vet's and have it chloroformed. They do it all the time on account of -the rabbis—"</p> - -<p>"Rabies," I corrected.</p> - -<p>"That's right, but they do it, don't they? You don't have to get -permission. He's your property. You can tell the vet he bit you—"</p> - -<p>I started up. "Hell!" I exclaimed. "I've got to get him away from the -kennels fast. It's—it's—"</p> - -<p>Arthurjean put her large, strong hand on my shoulder.</p> - -<p>"There, honey," she soothed me. "It's all right. It's going to be all -right."</p> - -<p>I looked at her and realized that she hadn't believed a word of my -story.</p> - -<p>"See here—" I began, when the door-bell rang.</p> - -<p>"Two-to-one it's Harcourt," I remarked.</p> - -<p>"I hope so," said Arthurjean coloring faintly.</p> - -<p>"Well, what's all this about?" I demanded, as a slow blush gathered in -sunset fury upon her pleasant face. "Why, Arthurjean—"</p> - -<p>"Lay off," she begged. "He's a nice guy and he hasn't got that -family in Brooklyn he kept talking about. You and me are washed -up—and—well, he's from the South, too, and he talks my language."</p> - -<p>"Good luck," I told her. "But he's also on the doorstep, so take hold -of yourself."</p> - -<p>He was. She did.</p> - -<p>"'Evening, Miss Briggs," the Special Agent said politely. "Any luck, -Mr. Tompkins?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head.</p> - -<p>He looked reproachful. "Oh, come now," he pleaded. "<i>Something</i> must -have happened. You got out of Harlem like a bat out of hell and almost -shook the agent who was tailing you. You don't look to me like nothing -happened. Have you filled in that gap? Started to remember anything?"</p> - -<p>"On my word of honor, Andy," I swore, "I haven't remembered a thing. -The gap's still there."</p> - -<p>He said nothing for a few minutes and exchanged a glance with -Arthurjean.</p> - -<p>"Something must have happened," he requested. "You've changed. Come -clean, can't you? I'm only trying to help you."</p> - -<p>"I can't tell you much of anything," I told him. "You wouldn't believe -me if I did. There's been a sort of locked door inside my mind for the -last three weeks. Now the door's unlocked and is beginning to swing -open. I haven't looked inside, but I think I know what I'll find. I -can't tell you more than that now."</p> - -<p>"But you're going to look, aren't you?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"I've got to look," I said.</p> - -<p>He sighed. "Well, we'll just have to keep an eye on you so as to be -around when you do. See here, Mr. Tompkins, you know your own business -but this Von Bieberstein guy is nobody to monkey around with. He's -plenty tough and he'd as soon kill as sneeze. Can't you give me a hint? -I'm trained to take those risks and know how to take care of myself, -and anyhow the Bureau is back of me."</p> - -<p>I leaned back in my chair and laughed and laughed and laughed until I -noticed that both Arthurjean and Harcourt were staring at me without -smiling.</p> - -<p>"Sorry," I apologized. "It's just that something struck me as -rather funny. Well, Arthurjean, I'll be catching the train back to -Westchester. You and Andy blow yourself to a dinner at my expense. I'll -go down to the vet's first thing in the morning and follow your advice. -Good night, Andy. I'll be seeing you."</p> - -<p>That night I locked myself in my bedroom and slept alone. Germaine was -worried but I put her aside with the explanation that I had a splitting -headache—too much to drink, probably, was my explanation. The truth -was that I didn't want to see or talk to my wife so that she could not -guess the perfectly appalling knowledge that had come to me.</p> - -<p>This was insane, I repeated to myself. Even Arthurjean Briggs, who -had sworn never to turn me in, had not believed it. Yet no other -explanation was open to me. The dog's whole conduct since that fatal -afternoon of April second was consistent only with the utterly -irrational theory that the body of the Great Dane had been possessed -by the soul of Winnie Tompkins at the very moment when the latter's -body—now mine—had been possessed by the soul of Frank Jacklin.</p> - -<p>Everybody had a fairly nice set of words for the latter -phenomenon—trauma, schizophrenia, neurasthenia, the Will of God—and -the best advice was uniform: forget about it; it will wear off in time; -take things easy, you've been working too hard; everybody's crazy.</p> - -<p>Now just imagine trying to convince the F.B.I. or a psychiatrist that, -in addition to this delusion, you know for a fact that a Great Dane -is now inhabited by the soul that once resided in your own body. I -could hear the clanging of the gong on the private ambulance as it -raced me to the nearest asylum, I could feel my arms already in the -strait-jacket. No one must ever know; Arthurjean must never tell. If -she doubted me, she must never tell.</p> - -<p>The way I figured it was this: Winnie had been asleep at the Pond Club. -He had been worried about Ponto and Ponto was desperately ill—dying -even—from distemper. Both of their—what was the word?—their <i>ids</i> or -<i>psyches</i> were relaxed, weakened, off-guard. Then the atomic explosion -in the Aleutians, by some freak, had hurled my soul half-way around -the world into the sleeping body of Winnie Tompkins. His soul had then -crowded into the body of Ponto. Ponto's soul—if dogs have them, which -I don't doubt—was out of luck. Permanently withdrawn.</p> - -<p>Crazy? I'll say! I was the only person alive who knew that it was true -and nobody would ever believe me, if only for the reason that it would -always be much simpler to lock me up.</p> - -<p>Quite obviously, Ponto knew that he was Winnie and resented my presence -in his home. He had shown the jealousy and ill-temper natural to a man, -instead of the friendliness of a dog. He had been humanly jealous of -Germaine.</p> - -<p>Suddenly I chuckled. By George! this was rich. Winnie in turn -undoubtedly believed that I was Ponto. The Jacklin angle was outside -of his range. No wonder he was furious with me when he saw that his -household pet—a Great Dane—masquerading in his human body, had -usurped his place in the affections of his wife and in authority over -his home. Only hunger, which brings all things to terms, had broken his -rebellion against this monstrous confusion. It must be tough to find -yourself reduced to dog-biscuits and runs on the lawn.</p> - -<p>I knew what I must do. Arthurjean had been right. The only way I could -make myself secure was to have Ponto killed. Would this be murder? I -wondered what Father Flanagan would make of it. Probably he would say, -"Yes, it is murder if you believe that Winfred Tompkins is Ponto." -Yet until Ponto was dead, there could be no security for me. At any -moment, if the psychiatrists were right, the change might come, with a -small shock, and Winnie Tompkins would resume lawful possession of his -body, his home, his wife, his money, while I—Commander Frank Jacklin, -U.S.N.R.—could count myself lucky to be allowed to sleep on a smelly -old blanket on the floor in the corner and eat dog-biscuits and be -offered as a thoroughbred sire.</p> - -<p>There was still time to stop that nonsense. The strictly practical -thing to do was to go to the kennels first thing in the morning. -Then I'd take Ponto away from Dalrymple and drive down to White -Plains and find a vet to give him chloroform. Thus I would be safe -from the possibility of having Winnie reoccupy his body and drive me -into Ponto's or, worse still, into the stratosphere to join the mild -chemical mist that was all that remained of the body of Frank Jacklin.</p> - -<p>All right, it was murder then. I would be murdering Winnie Tompkins, -but I would be the only one who would know it—the Perfect Crime. I -laughed to myself at the thought that now Harcourt would lose his last -chance to learn what Winnie had done in that fatal week before Chalmis' -thorium bomb had blown me and the Alaska into the Aurora Borealis.</p> - -<p>Although it was a cool night, I was perspiring violently. My nerves -were shot to pieces. After this, I would need a rest. Winnie's business -was in good shape. I could afford to keep away from the office for -a time, until I grew a new face, as it were, after this shattering -discovery. Then Jimmie and I—perhaps we would have a child. I'd be -damned if I'd let my son be a stock-broker with a Great Dane—I might -even take the Ambassadorship to Canada. The Forbes-Dutton scheme -sounded too raw even for Washington—it would backfire into another -Teapot Dome.</p> - -<p>I drew a deep breath and relaxed in my bed. My course was plain. First -of all, I'd attend to Ponto—burn my canine bridges behind me. Then -I'd take Dr. Folsom at his word and go to the Sanctuary for a couple -of weeks. My nerves <i>were</i> shot to pieces and if I didn't tell him or -Pendergast Potter about this latest wrinkle in transmigration they -would have no reason for detaining me against my will. Oh, yes, I'd -have to see that Rutherford got his money. Merry Vail was still in -Hartford, damn him and his nurse! Well, the thing to do was to stop off -at Rutherford's office on the way to the kennels and give him a check. -Vail could fix up the papers later. Once Ponto was dead, I could relax.</p> - -<p><i>Was</i> it murder? Well, that depended on how you look at it. Certainly, -I was doing a better job of managing Winnie's life than he had done or -could do. Look how I straightened out his mess with women and had made -Germaine happy for the first time in her life. Look at the killing I -had made in Wall Street, three million smackers just by using my head. -Look at the way I had sold myself to the authorities at Washington, -except for the State Department. The happiness and welfare of too many -people now depended on my staying in charge of operations instead of -Winnie Tompkins. Here, at least, was one case where the end justified -the means, and nobody could call it murder.</p> - -<p>And anyhow, chloroform is an easy death. You choke and gag a bit at -first but then it's all easy, like falling off a log. You just go to -sleep and never wake up. It would be the kindest possible exit for a -man who had done no good in the world. I drifted off to sleep.</p> - -<p>I awakened with a start, as though a voice had summoned me. The -moonlight was streaming through the bedroom window. I knew what I must -do. I got out of bed, crossed the room to the clothes-closet, felt over -in the corner until my fingers found the knot-hole in the smooth pine -lining. I pressed and there was a click. I reached down and lifted the -sloping shelf for shoes. There, underneath it, lay a small, neatly -docketed file.</p> - -<p>There were many papers and the record went back for years. I switched -on the light and examined the contents of the envelope marked -"Thorium." It was all there—the ship—the names—the ports—the -mission. There was documentation on Jacklin. I ran through it. It -was accurate and included a specimen of my signature. There was a -cross-reference to Chalmis and a small file on someone named Kaplansky. -Irrelevantly included was a folder which contained three cards labeled -"Retreat—Holy Week." "St. Michael" and "Stations of X!"</p> - -<p>I crossed to the fireplace and put the papers in the grate. For an hour -I sat there feeding the flames with the record of betrayal and infamy. -Names, places, dates—I glanced at them, forgot them and burned them -with rising exaltation. Thank God! that load was off my conscience. -I might have to answer for Winnie's sins but I was damned if I'd be -responsible for his crimes. And the killing of Ponto was no longer to -be murder, it was an execution. For Ponto was Tompkins and Tompkins was -Von Bieberstein.</p> - -<p>Dawn was beginning to smudge the windows when the last paper had -been burned and the ashes crushed to fragments beyond the power of -reconstruction by forensic science. Without Winnie the organization of -his gulls and dupes would fall apart and the thing that had been Von -Bieberstein would cease to exist.</p> - -<p>Another thing was clearer, too. Winnie Tompkins had had an obsession -about Jacklin. Finally, through some combination of fatigue and mental -shock, a Jacklin personality had taken control. Call it schizophrenia, -Jekyll-and-Hyde, or whatever, there was a fair chance that I was still -Winnie, but his better self. The dog had been another obsession. The -dog was to blame? Well, if I believed it, it might be true, like the -old scape-goat system. I was physically the same man who had been Von -Bieberstein and had blown up the Alaska, planting evidence that would -throw the blame on Jacklin. In my heart and spirit, it was as though I -had been recreated. All the evidence had been destroyed.</p> - -<p>I switched off the light and returned to bed. I fell asleep almost at -once, for now I knew that I would be safe and that Germaine would be -safe. There was no record left and soon Ponto, too, would be gone.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_33" id="CHAPTER_33">CHAPTER 33</a></h2> - - -<p>Wednesday, the twenty-fifth, dawned bright and fair. My mind was fully -made up and I was feeling fine. Germaine was still anxious about me -at breakfast but I soon convinced her that there was nothing serious -involved. I laughed secretly as I said it.</p> - -<p>"You know," I told her, "I think I'll drive over to Hartford and have -those people at the Sanctuary look me over again. I think I need some -kind of rest—the reaction, you know."</p> - -<p>My wife raised no objection. In fact, she seemed rather relieved as -though my aloof conduct of the previous night had been a shock to her -self-confidence.</p> - -<p>"I'll stop off at the kennels on my way over," I added, "just to make -sure that Ponto is all right."</p> - -<p>My plan was to remove the dog and drive to White Plains. Then, if there -was any issue raised as to my need for a rest-cure, it would appear -that I had inexplicably ordered my favorite dog chloroformed. That -would clinch it with Germaine as nothing else could.</p> - -<p>She seemed rather subdued as she went upstairs and helped me pack my -things in a suitcase. She did not offer to kiss me good-bye as I drove -the Packard out of the garage and rolled around the graveled drive -toward my road to freedom.</p> - -<p>First, of course, I stopped at Dr. Rutherford's office. It was early -in the morning and he hadn't finished breakfast. The maid admitted me -to the reception-room and while waiting for him, I made out a check -for fifteen thousand dollars to the order of Jeremiah Rutherford, and -marked across the back, "For Professional Services."</p> - -<p>"Here you are, Jerry," I informed him when he finally appeared. "I -would have got it to you sooner except that my lawyer went off the deep -end with a girl in Hartford. He should have had the papers ready on -Monday and here it is Wednesday."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," he said briefly. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked. "You look -a bit shaky."</p> - -<p>I laughed. "Set it down to my liver," I told him. "I had a wet night -last night and am a little rocky this morning. As a matter of fact, I -think I'll run over the The Sanctuary and ask Folsom to put me up for a -few days. My nerves are shot to hell."</p> - -<p>"Good idea," he murmured absently. "I'll go down to the bank and put -this in for collection. My Army papers came through yesterday and I'm -all set."</p> - -<p>I climbed into my car and tooled along the roads until, after inquiring -at a couple of filling stations, I located Dalrymple's kennels.</p> - -<p>"I've come for Ponto," I told the vet.</p> - -<p>Dalrymple seemed rather embarrassed. "Are you sure you need him?" -he asked. "He's just served Buglebell III—that's the prize-winning -brindle bitch owned by one of the Fortune editors—and I was planning—"</p> - -<p>"You can cancel your plans," I informed him. "And as for Buglebell's -pups, I'll buy the litter. What <i>were</i> your other plans, anyhow?"</p> - -<p>Dalrymple was quite abashed. "Not exactly anything, Mr. Tompkins, -sir," he said. "It was only that—"</p> - -<p>I nodded majestically. "Once is enough," I said, "and you can be -thankful I don't report you to the Kennel Club for bootlegging -thoroughbred puppies. Ponto comes with me—now."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, Mr. Tompkins," the vet agreed humbly.</p> - -<p>Dalrymple was a broken man but Ponto was not a broken dog. However, -marriage coming so soon after distemper had curbed his spirit and he -slouched into the Packard.</p> - -<p>As soon as I was out on the main road again, I stepped on the -accelerator, heading the car southward in the general direction of -White Plains.</p> - -<p>Ponto sat panting on the seat beside me, but in his weary eye I saw -all the Westchester stock-brokers who had ever annoyed me. I also saw -Winnie, and Winnie was to die.</p> - -<p>I admit that I was day-dreaming a bit as I rounded the turn. In any -case, I was driving fast and had not fully accustomed myself to -handling the Packard. The other automobile backed violently out of the -driveway on the right, the dope of a driver not looking to see if there -was any traffic coming. I slapped my foot down on the brake, missed -and hit the accelerator. The Packard gave a wild leap ahead. The other -car—a battered old Chevrolet—completely blocked the road. I jammed on -the hand-brake and twisted the steering gear so that the Packard ran up -the bank of an elderly apple-tree. My head snapped forward, there was a -blinding flash and then complete blackness.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Seconds or centuries later I opened my eyes. The old Chevy seemed to -have pulled away and was now parked ahead of us along the righthand -side of the road. My wind-shield had not shattered and, so far as I -could see, no major damage had been done to my car though I hated to -think of the fenders. I ached in every limb.</p> - -<p>My neck itched intolerably so I scratched it with my left leg. I shook -myself. "Well, I'll be damned!" I exclaimed, only to hear a deep growl -that seemed to originate from within my hairy chest.</p> - -<p>I glanced over my shoulder. There, in the seat beside me, hunched -forward over the steering-wheel, sat a heavy-built man, a thin trickle -of blood sliding down his cheek, his eyes closed and his lips open, -while he snorted with concussion.</p> - -<p>Instinctively, I called for help. My reward was a series of loud, -angry barks. Again my ear itched and I scratched it again with my left -leg. It seemed that I had become a dog. The man beside me stirred and -moaned. Then he opened his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Ponto," he said dreamily. "Good dog!"</p> - -<p>The driver of the other car walked back and was standing by the window.</p> - -<p>"You all right, mister?" he asked. "You was doing fifty easy. Lucky for -you I see you coming."</p> - -<p>The man in the driver's seat gave a feeble smile. "My fault," he -admitted. "I was day-dreaming. Lucky this heap has good brakes. Are you -all right? Any damage, I mean?"</p> - -<p>The other man laughed. "Sure," he said. "I'll go on now, just so -you're all right. Want a doc?"</p> - -<p>"Uh-uh!" the man on the seat beside me shook his head. "My name's -Tompkins and I live in Bedford Hills. If there's any damage, it's my -fault and I'll pay for it. Sure you're okay?"</p> - -<p>"Yep!" agreed the owner of the Chevrolet. "You got a cut or something. -Reckon you'd ought to see a doc."</p> - -<p>"I will," said the man beside me. "Don't worry. I'll be all right. Just -bumped my head a bit."</p> - -<p>We waited until the Chevrolet had rattled itself around the turn of the -road. Then the man cautiously tried the gears and disinfiltrated the -Packard from the apple-tree. He got out and inspected the car carefully -for damage and then climbed back behind the steering-wheel. I started -to ask him a question. It was a whine.</p> - -<p>"Why Ponto!" he exclaimed. "You old black devil. How are you, hound? -Long time no see."</p> - -<p>"Hot damn!" he exclaimed, after a pause. "Have I been on a <i>drunk</i>! You -know, Ponto, I dreamed that I was you and if there's anything in dreams -I bet I'm the only Republican in Westchester County that ever married a -brindle bitch named Buglebell.</p> - -<p>"Let's see," he continued. "Where were we? Earlier today I went to the -Pond Club and had a couple of drinks. How in hell do I find myself -here? I must have drawn one hell of a blank, Ponto, the damndest blank -I've ever drawn in my life."</p> - -<p>His eyes looked down on the seat beside us, where I had left a copy of -the morning New York Times.</p> - -<p>"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "That's funny. Here it is. Good Lord! the -twenty-fifth of April! So I've been out for three weeks. That is a -blank to end all blanks."</p> - -<p>He whistled tunelessly between his teeth. Then he cast a glance toward -the back seat, where my suitcase rested.</p> - -<p>"What gives," he inquired. "I'm not leaving home, for God's sake? -Ponto, old boy, you just stick by me and we'll go back to the house and -see what this is all about."</p> - -<p>"Yes," I barked at him.</p> - -<p>"That's a good dog," he said affably. "That's a good Ponto."</p> - -<p>He backed the Packard into the driveway that had been my nemesis and -turned the car around.</p> - -<p>As we approached the house he slowed the car to a dead stop.</p> - -<p>"Ponto," he told me. "Here's where you and I go into a committee of the -whole. What's been going on around here? There's been one hell of a -mix-up if you ask me. I had a dream—"</p> - -<p>The sooner I got his mind off this subject the safer I would be. I laid -my ears back and woofed.</p> - -<p>"Attaboy!" he agreed. "Now let's take a look at this paper.... What? -Roosevelt's dead? Why doesn't anybody tell me these things? And -Germany's about to flop? Whew! Who would have dreamed it? You know, -hound, I feel like Rip Van Winkle coming back after twenty years sleep."</p> - -<p>I tried to look ingratiating and let my tongue loll fetchingly out of -the side of my mouth.</p> - -<p>"Say!" he exclaimed harshly. "Now it's beginning to come back. You -took my place while I was—God! have <i>you</i> ever been introduced to -a great big dog and told she's your wife? Well, damn it! you and -Jimmie—Oh, hell, this is one godawful mess! What's been happening -around here, anyhow? Am I going nuts?"</p> - -<p>I pricked up my ears and gave a false, loving whine. I licked his -stinking hands.</p> - -<p>"Okay, okay," Winnie agreed. "It's not your fault. But what the hell -happened is beyond me. I hate to think of those prime asses, Phil and -Graham, in this market. And what happened to Virginia? That's one gal -you didn't know about, Ponto. She's for me, and how!"</p> - -<p>He took another look at the paper.</p> - -<p>"Oh, the hell with it!" he growled. "If Jimmie doesn't like it, she -knows what she can do about it. Let's go on home, Ponto, and just tell -her man-to-man where she gets off."</p> - -<p>I barked.</p> - -<p>He put his foot on the accelerator and whirled up the drive to come to -a stop in front of Pook's Hill.</p> - -<p>Before he had switched off the engine, the front door opened and -Germaine appeared.</p> - -<p>"Heavens!" she exclaimed, "you're back early. Have you changed your -mind again?"</p> - -<p>"Yep," Winnie said. "I decided to come back home, after all."</p> - -<p>She smiled. "I'm glad," she told him. "I couldn't make out why you were -so keen to go back to Hartford so soon after you got out. You come on -in, darling, and Myrtle and I will take care of you. Gracious! There's -blood on your cheek. Did you hurt yourself?"</p> - -<p>Her voice was warm and loving and made my hair rise slightly. If he -tried any monkey-business with her, I'd rip his throat out. I growled.</p> - -<p>"Oh, good!" she laughed. "You got Ponto. Did he have a nice honeymoon, -poor darling? Is Dalrymple satisfied? Would you like to put in for one -of the pups?"</p> - -<p>I growled again.</p> - -<p>She laughed. "Oh, Winnie, he looks so shattered. He—what <i>did</i> happen -to your head, darling?"</p> - -<p>He grinned. "We almost had an accident. I was headed towards the -Parkway when a car backed out. We bumped into an apple-tree. No harm -done but I was knocked out for a few minutes and I guess it must have -shaken me up."</p> - -<p>She lifted her face to his and kissed him until I could feel thick, hot -rage mount inside my throat and force itself out in a deep rumbling -growl.</p> - -<p>"Look," she said, "he's jealous. Poor Ponto!"</p> - -<p>And she kneeled beside me, put her arm around my neck and pressed my -head affectionately.</p> - -<p>"There!" she said briskly. "You're a good dog. You're my Ponto and I'll -take care of you."</p> - -<p>Tompkins glowered at me and her.</p> - -<p>"Stop driveling over that damn dog," he said, "and come on into the -house."</p> - -<p>Germaine gave me a farewell pat on the head.</p> - -<p>"He's such a good dog," she announced, "and now that he's been properly -married he'll settle down, I hope. I've been quite worried over the way -he's been acting. But it's all right now, Ponto, isn't it? Was your -girl-friend nice, old boy? Huh? Are you happy?"</p> - -<p>I tried to explain things but all that came to my lips was a series of -whines and growls.</p> - -<p>"Come along, Jimmie," Tompkins insisted. "I'm cold. Damn it all! I've -had a shock and all you can think of doing is to slobber over a dog. -Let him have a run."</p> - -<p>So she got off her knees and followed him obediently into the house.</p> - -<p>I sat for a moment, pondering my predicament.</p> - -<p>This was Fate. Three seconds would have made all the difference but -here I was, a dog. Conditions were reversed and I might as well be -philosophical about it. Winnie never dreamed that conditions were not -as they had been before the second of April, just as though Frank -Jacklin had never existed. The chances were that he would continue to -believe that it was all a dream, an hallucination. As for the F.B.I. -and Von Bieberstein, putting first things first, that was no longer -any of my business. Dogs were not expected to develop patriotism: that -luxury was reserved for human beings. All I could do now was to wait -my chance. Perhaps the time would come when I could repossess Winnie -Tompkins' body. Then, by George! I would not waste one minute but would -have him chloroformed at once. In the meantime, my cue was to be a good -dog.</p> - -<p>There was a shrill whistle from the house.</p> - -<p>"Ponto!" Winnie's voice called. "Come here, Ponto. That's a good dog! -Come on, Ponto! That's a good dog!"</p> - -<p>I ran, wagging my tail, to the open door and on all fours entered the -house I had left only two hours before as its proud master.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_34" id="CHAPTER_34">CHAPTER 34</a></h2> - - -<p>I was lying down in the kitchen, near the stove, on an old rug which -Mary-Myrtle had spread for me. She was really a nice girl. My educated -nose informed me that she was kind, young and affectionate. When -she entered the room I used to rear up and place my forepaws on her -shoulders and lick her ears. She liked me. She used to put her arms -around my neck and press against me and give me a smack on the back and -a "Go on with you, can't you see I'm busy?"</p> - -<p>I was lying by the stove when Winnie Tompkins entered the kitchen. -Mary-Myrtle was bending over the stove, fussing with a saucepan of -vegetables. I was quietly sniffing with interest the combination of -cooking-smells and the scents from the warm spring afternoon. Winnie -strolled across the kitchen, took his thumb and forefinger and gave her -a hard pinch on her buttock.</p> - -<p>"Oh! God!" she shrieked and turned to confront him. "Oh, you!" she -observed. "I thought you'd got over all that!"</p> - -<p>He whistled between his teeth, put one tweed-clad arm around her -shoulders and pressed her to him.</p> - -<p>"Go on!" she said, in a half-whisper. "I'll call Mrs. Tompkins."</p> - -<p>Still whistling, with his free hand he tilted her chin up to his face, -stooped over and kissed her. I could see her hands flutter and press -against his chest for a moment, then relax, then clutch him fiercely, -as her lips thrust against his mouth. I rose and growled.</p> - -<p>"Hello!" Winnie exclaimed. "Why if it isn't Ponto? You jealous again, -old boy? We can't have a moralist around here, can we, Myrtle?"</p> - -<p>He turned and kissed her again.</p> - -<p>I stalked over and stood, rumbling a bit, beside her, ready to attack -if he carried his dalliance beyond decorum.</p> - -<p>"Let me go, sir," Myrtle begged in a hoarse whisper.</p> - -<p>"Tonight?" he asked, holding her close.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she sighed. "I'll come down, sir. Tonight, when the dishes are -done and the house asleep."</p> - -<p>He snapped his fingers at me, with an air of assured authority. "Come -on, Ponto," he commanded.</p> - -<p>I followed him with murder in my heart, my toe-nails clicking on the -parquet floor, my tail wagging with slow servility. He led the way -upstairs to my wife's bedroom. He tapped on the door.</p> - -<p>"Come in," Germaine called. "And here's Ponto!"</p> - -<p>I padded across the room to the chaise longue and lay down beside her. -I gave her silk-clad leg a poke with my nose. She smelled lovely.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Ponto," she said courteously.</p> - -<p>I rested my head on my paws and looked at Winnie. He absent-mindedly -pulled a cigar out of his pocket, bit off the tip and lighted it, -after spitting the shreds of tobacco in the general direction of the -fireplace. I could feel Germaine go tense.</p> - -<p>"I'm so glad you decided not to go to Hartford after all," she remarked -quietly. "It's much nicer for you here. Myrtle and I can take care of -you and see that you have a good rest. Poor darling, you must need one."</p> - -<p>Winnie blew a heavy puff of smoke toward her bed-canopy. I could tell -by the way he answered her that he was feeling his way.</p> - -<p>"Yeah," he agreed. "I might as well get a sample of this far-famed -suburban home-life you read about."</p> - -<p>She jumped up and put her arms around his neck.</p> - -<p>"It's not so bad, is it, Winnie?" she asked gently. "You know—I -suppose it's silly to tell such things—but last night I dreamed we -were going to have a baby."</p> - -<p>"Good Lord, Jimmie!" he drawled. "I hope not. You know as well as I do -that we aren't the kind of people who have kids. If you think there's -any danger of it, there's a doctor I know in New York who'll put a good -stop to it."</p> - -<p>Germaine's hand fluttered helplessly at her breast and her face went -white and peaked. A sharp whiff of the acrid sense of human anger and -fear came from her body. I rose and eyed Winnie steadily. I was careful -not to growl.</p> - -<p>"Why, I thought—" she began. "The other night, I mean, it was all -so—What's the matter? What has changed?"</p> - -<p>He gave a sort of neighing laugh. "Oh nuts, Jimmie! We aren't the -type. Say it's spring or what-have-you? Just for that are you going to -go through hell just to have a little animal that will go 'Aah-Aah-Aah' -at you?"</p> - -<p>Germaine stood up. "Yes," she said. "I am. If that's the way these -things happen, that's what I want. If it doesn't happen I never want -to see you again so long as I live. But if it does, it will be <i>my</i> -business, not yours. I want this baby. You loved me the other night. -You needed me. We needed each other. I can't throw that away, like -a—like a dead cigar butt."</p> - -<p>He thrust his cigar into the corner of his mouth, a la Churchill. "So -that's the way it is, is it?" he demanded. "Okay, but how am I expected -to know that it wasn't Jerry Rutherford—"</p> - -<p>"Oh!" Germaine looked at him in utter, white-lipped silence. "You know -that can't be true."</p> - -<p>After a minute she spoke to him quite gently.</p> - -<p>"Winnie," she told him, "you know, I think you really ought to go to -the Sanctuary, as you planned. You do need a rest, dear, and it would -be better if you took it there where they have trained attendants and -good doctors. I'll be waiting here till you come back. Do go, darling. -It will do you a world of good. Everything will work out for us all -right now."</p> - -<p>"So you want to railroad me to an asylum, eh?" he snarled. "Well, nuts -to that! As far as I'm concerned, we're back on the old basis. You go -your way and I go mine. And no brats, mind you! or I'll call the whole -thing off. Is that clear?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Winnie," Germaine replied, in a small, frightened voice. "You -make yourself perfectly clear."</p> - -<p>"Okay," he told her. "Come on, Ponto!"</p> - -<p>He had the nerve to snap his fingers at me. Not even when I had him -in the Packard, headed for White Plains and chloroform, had he stood -nearer death, but Germaine's hand—cold and little—rested briefly on -my ears and I mastered my rage.</p> - -<p>I followed him into his bedroom and he slammed the door behind me.</p> - -<p>"See here, you black son of a bitch," he truthfully addressed me. "You -seem to have made one hell of a mess of my affairs. Oh, I don't suppose -you can understand me now that you're a dog again, but just the same, -for two cents I'd send you to the boneyard. I've still to find out how -much hell you've been raising with my business, but damn it all!!! -Couldn't you <i>tell</i> that it didn't suit my plans to be clubby with -Jimmie?"</p> - -<p>I padded loyally across the bedroom and laid my head on his lap. He -milked my ears automatically and I rejoiced, because the more he -thought of me as Ponto the less likely he was to discover my human -personality. I had not yet decided when to kill him.</p> - -<p>"Yes, damn it! hound," Winnie continued. "This is one thing the -experts will never know about. It's out of this world. Three weeks as -an involuntary Great Dane, ending up in a shot-gun marriage with a -big brindle bitch named Buglebell III! If you want to know my idea of -shooting ducks in a rain-barrel, that is it. No privacy at all. Just -an old boy writing things down in the stud-book. Jimmie may think I'm -mean but after that experience who wants off-spring, cannon-fodder or -kennel-fodder? I don't. Neither would you, Ponto. I suppose," he added, -"that legally speaking you are the putative father, not me. Gosh! what -an experience!"</p> - -<p>He reached over to the night-table and pulled the brandy-bottle out -from the little cupboard, which was neatly fitted out with glasses, -bottle-openers, a syphon and a decanter. He glared accusingly at the -bottle.</p> - -<p>"Damn you!" he exclaimed, "It's almost gone. My best brandy! Whoever -told you you could touch my liquor? Oh, well, can't say that I blame -you. Here, I'll let you smell the cork."</p> - -<p>He held it out at me and I sniffed it dutifully. I jumped back, -sneezing.</p> - -<p>"Not so keen about it, eh?" he demanded gruffly. "Well, just to even up -the score I'll make you drink some."</p> - -<p>He grabbed my lower jaw with his free hand and forced my tender lips -against my sharp teeth until I opened my mouth. Then he poured some of -it down my throat. I choked, but got it down.</p> - -<p>"Atta dog!" he praised me. "Now you just stick around and you'll see -some fun."</p> - -<p>He went out and closed the door, leaving me alone in the darkened room.</p> - -<p>An hour or so later, the door reopened and Winnie swaggered in. He -looked slightly more bloated than before and his eyes were glazed with -liquor. He tossed off his clothes, went to the bathroom and took a hot -shower. Then he lighted a cigar and lay on his bed, in his dressing -gown, waiting—</p> - -<p>After a while there was a quiet step in the hall and the click of -the door-handle. It was Mary-Myrtle. She was wearing a red flannel -dressing-gown and her hair was done up in a pigtail. She closed the -door behind her and cast an anxious glance over her shoulder in the -direction of the hall.</p> - -<p>Tompkins guffawed. "Who? Jimmie?" he demanded. "Not her! She knows -better than to interfere."</p> - -<p>Myrtle cast strange little embarrassed glances to right and left and -I noted that her hands were trembling as they fumbled at the buttons -of her dressing-gown. I strolled across to her and sniffed the sharp -perfume of desire on her limbs.</p> - -<p>She gave a little squeak. "Oh, Ponto! You gave me such a start." She -turned to Winnie. "Take him away," she said. "It doesn't seem decent -with him watching."</p> - -<p>He gave a loose lipped smile and rolled off the bed.</p> - -<p>"Ponto," he ordered. "You're de trop. Get the hell out of here!"</p> - -<p>He opened the door to the hall and I slunk out into the darkness of -the landing. My toes clicked their way across to the door of my wife's -bedroom. I lay down, on guard, my ear cocked to catch the desperate -stifled sobs of the woman inside.</p> - -<p>It was then that I decided that Tompkins must die.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_35" id="CHAPTER_35">CHAPTER 35</a></h2> - - -<p>My opportunity to settle the account did not present itself for more -than twenty-four hours. Early the following morning, Myrtle was kicked -out and crept upstairs. Winnie slammed the door and snored like a hog -until ten o'clock—at which time he stamped downstairs and roared for -breakfast.</p> - -<p>After he had eaten, he went to his room again, shutting me outside, -and dressed himself carefully in the manly tweeds he had been wearing -on that first day in the Pond Club. He drove to the station—I -assumed—leaving me behind at Pook's Hill with two unhappy women. -He did not return that evening at all and it wasn't until late the -following morning—that would be Saturday I figured, although I was -already losing my human preoccupation with time—that I recognized the -crunch of the Packard's tires on the graveled drive. I was standing -just inside the door as I heard his key fumbling in the lock.</p> - -<p>It was Winnie and he was drunk.</p> - -<p>"Oh, hullo, Ponto," he remarked thickly. "So you're the welcoming -committee. Come on up with me, boy, and hear the dirt."</p> - -<p>I followed his uncertain steps upstairs and into the bedroom. It would -not be long now.</p> - -<p>"Ponto!" he announced. "Good old Ponto, Ponto! I'm going to tell you a -great secret. You won't tell anybody about it, will you? You can't."</p> - -<p>I lay on the rug and panted at him.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Ponto, if you're going to play ball with me you got to be one -tough dog. Took a run into New York today and is that one mad-house? -Saw Virginia. You know, red-head. She knows her stuff. Had me right -back on my five-yard line before I rallied and scored that touchdown. -It was terrific. Called my office. We're rich, boy, rich as hell."</p> - -<p>"Thissa tough game, dog. That Briggs gal says the F.B.I.'s still -worrying about me. Is that a laugh, hey, Ponto? Is that a laugh! She -says they wanna know do I remember the week before Easter. Hell! could -I forget it? Maybe it's lucky for me I drew that blank. Might of had -tough job ducking the G-men.</p> - -<p>"Aw, they're nuts! I agree, Ponto, I must respectfully agree with you. -Didja hear me contradict anybody? It's a lead-pipe cinch, fooling those -babies. Where was I the week before Easter? And sure I was tucked away -in a Catholic Retreat at the Seminary of the Sacred Heart, doing the -Stations of the Cross in St. Michael's Church. Great institution—the -Stations of the Cross. Wonderful institution. You can meet anyone and -no questions asked. I gave the instructions that sent the Alaska to -the bottom of the North Pacific and slipped the black spot to that sap -Jacklin between the Scourging and the Crown of Thorns. Lucky thing I -knew all about him. Helped. It was easy, Ponto, easy. Who's to question -a man doing Stations of the Cross if somebody else does 'em at the same -time?"</p> - -<p>He paused and poured a brandy.</p> - -<p>"Tha' red-head's a wonder, Ponto," he told me. "She deals 'em straight -and plays 'em close to her chest. For three weeks she followed my -lead without a peep. I was out like a light. Can't remember a thing -but she never let on. I always said the way to <i>act</i> innocent was to -<i>be</i> innocent. Not that she knows what it is all about. She thinks -I'm playing the Black Market. She's a racketeer at heart, she is, the -tramp. That North Pacific job was no cinch, Ponto. All I had to do was -to kidnap that guy Chalmis and substitute a ringer. Old Chalmis? We -dropped him in the High Rockies on the flight to Seattle. The Navy was -a bunch of saps, letting my men take that plane. Sure, we dropped the -Navy boys too, along with Chalmis."</p> - -<p>I sat, ears pricked up, watching him. I could see the throb of the -artery in his throat that marked the place for my teeth to meet.</p> - -<p>"Virginia told me the G-men are looking for Von Bieberstein," Tompkins -said. "Hell, Ponto, even she doesn't know what happened back in '35. -Sure I was broke. Sure fifty thousand would bail me out. Sure Hitler -put up the fifty thousand. He saved my hide. I made a killing all -right. So I'm Von Bieberstein? So what, Ponto, so what! Want to make -anything of it? Sure I lived up to my end of the bargain. Roosevelt -had ruined me. What did I owe Roosevelt? Sure I took the job. And was -<i>that</i> a laugh! The F.B.I. chasing all over the place for Kurt Von -Bieberstein, and all the time it's little old Winnie Tompkins, Harvard -1920 and good old one thousand per cent American stock. The poor boobs -think they've licked Hitler, Ponto, but he's really licked them. You -wait'n see. I'll still be Gauleiter of Westchester County, so help me!"</p> - -<p>The moment had come. He was lolling back on his bed, his arms behind -his head, his neck exposed. I gathered my muscles and leaped for his -throat.</p> - - -<p class="ph3">THE END</p> - - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rat Race, by Jay Franklin - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAT RACE *** - -***** This file should be named 51854-h.htm or 51854-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/8/5/51854/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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