The Blind Barber (16 page)

“Woman?” said Warren uncontrollably. “
Woman?
There’s no woman! Why, my un—”

“Steady,” interrupted Morgan, his face stolid. “Mr. Woodcock’s doing the talking.”

Woodcock did not even smile or contradict. He probably expected this. He was still helpful, concerned; but there were tighter wrinkles round his jaw and his eyes were expressionless. “So maybe I’m thinking to myself,” he pursued, jerking his wrist and shoulder with a curiously Hebraic gesture while the sharp eyes fixed Warren, “about a very funny cablegram I overhear in the wireless-room. And maybe I don’t make much sense out of it, see? because I don’t hear much of it; except that it’s about a movie film and also about somebody being
bare
. Now, now, old man, you needn’t look so funny at me—I understand how these things are. But I think, ‘Charley, maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it was just an ordinary stick-up job. And if it was, then of course there’ll be a noise about it this evening, and Mr. Warren’ll report he’s been robbed.’ All right! Only,” concluded Mr. Woodcock, leaning over and tapping Warren on the knee, “there wasn’t, and he didn’t.”

During the silence they could hear some children crying out and pelting past the door of the writing-room. The engines throbbed faintly. Slowly Warren passed his hand over his forehead.

“There’ve been some funny interpretations put on all this,” he said in a strained voice, “but this is
the limit
. A woman! … All right to you, old horse,” he added, with sudden crispness. “You’re wrong, of course; but this isn’t the time to discuss that,
WHO WAS THAT MAN WHO STOLE THE FILM
? That’s what we want to know. What is it you want? Money?”

Clearly this had never occurred to the other. He jumped on the seat of the window. “I may not be as big as you,” he said quietly, “but you try offering me money again, and, by God! you’ll regret it. What do you think I am, a blackmailer? Come on, old man”—his voice changed and his eyes had a hopeful and propitiatory gleam—“come on now. I’m a business man and this is the biggest chance of my life. I’m only trying to do my job, after all. If I can put this across, I’ll be in line for an assistant-vice-presidency. I’m giving it to you straight: if I’d thought that anything really important’d been stolen, or anything like that, I wouldn’t hold out on you for a second. But I figure it this way. What’s happened? An old guy, who ought to know better, has played sugar-daddy and got himself into a jam with a woman, and there’s a picture of it. All right! I don’t wish him any bad luck—I sympathise, and
I offer to help
. I offer to tell you who’s got it, so’s you can get it back … well, whatever way you like. But I figure
I
rate a favour in return. And if that’s not fair, I don’t know what is.”

The man was desperately serious. Morgan studied him, trying to understand both the man’s ethics and the man’s nature. He was a problem aside from both the grim and the comic. That a governmental stuffed-shirt had been caught in a compromising position with a woman before somebody’s moving-picture camera he thought of as neither serious nor ridiculous; in all probability he simply supposed that, if a government official got into difficulties they would
be
difficulties of that nature, to be judged solely from how he could use the fact in a legitimate business fashion. Morgan looked at Warren, and he could see that the latter considered it all fair enough.

“Good enough,” said Warren, nodding grimly. “You’ve got a right to proposition me. Fire away. But what the devil can
I
do for you?”

Woodcock drew a deep breath.

“I want a signed testimonial, with a picture,” he said, “for the newspapers and magazines.”

“Testimonial? Hell, yes, I’ll give you a testimonial for anything,” Warren returned, staring. “But what good can I do you? What—Wait a minute. Holy smoke! You don’t mean a
bug-powder
testimonial, do you?”

“I mean,” said Woodcock, “I want a recommendation for a certain article which my firm is about to place on the market and which I invented. Mind, old man, if I didn’t know this thing was a world-beater I wouldn’t try to sell you the idea. I’m not going to ask you to accept anything sight unseen. I’m going to
show
you,” said Mr. Woodcock, suddenly taking out a long package from under his coat like an anarchist who gets his victim in a corner with a bomb. “I’m going to show you that this little gadget will really do everything we claim for it in the advertising campaign. Yes, I want a testimonial, old man … But not from you.”

“He means, Curt,” said Peggy, regarding Mr. Woodcock with a fascinated horror—“he means, you see—”

Woodcock nodded. “You get it lady. I want a testimonial of endorsement from the Hon. Thaddeus G. Warpus for the Mermaid Electrically-fitted Mosquito Gun, fitted with Swat No. 2 Liquid Insect Exterminator; saying that he personally uses it at his country home in New Jersey, and warmly recommends it. This is my chance, and I’m not going to miss it. For years we’ve been trying to get testimonials for our stuff from the big shots or the society women. And we can’t. Because why? Because they say it isn’t dignified. But what’s the difference? Cigarettes, toothpaste, face cream, shaving soap—you’ll get
them
recommended all right, and what’s the difference? I’m not asking you to recommend a bug-powder, but a neat, svelte-looking, silver-plate and enamel job. Let me show it to you, let me explain how it works—it combines all the advantages of a double-sized electric torch with—”

Eagerly, as though to press an advantage, he began to take off the wrappings of the parcel. Morgan, as he looked at Curtis Warren, was more and more startled. This business, which had the elements of howling farce, was not farce at all. Warren was as serious as the Bug-powder Boy.

“But, man, have some sense!” he protested, waving his arms. “If it had been anything else, toothpaste, cigarettes … It can’t be done. It’d make him out to look foolish … ”

“Yeah?” said Woodcock coolly. “Well, answer me this. Which is going to make him look more foolish, which is going to show he’s more of a mug, this neat little apparatus or that film? Sorry, old man, but there you are. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

“And otherwise you won’t tell who stole that film?”

“That’s what I said,” agreed the other, almost cordially. “I’ll tell you what, old man. You get the cablegrams working; you tell him his bare skin’ll be saved if he plays ball with Charley Woodcock … ”

“But he’d never do it!”

“Then it’ll be just too bad for him, won’t it?” asked the other candidly. He folded his arms. “Now you’re a nice fellow and I like you. There’s nothing personal in it. But I’ve got to look out for myself … Oh, and don’t try to start anything either,” he suggested, as Warren suddenly got to his feet. “You start any funny business, and I may not get my testimonial, but the story of T. G. Warpus’s brief movie stardom is going to be all over the world as fast as I can broadcast it. Get me? In fact, old man,” said Mr. Woodcock, trying to keep his confidential suavity, but breathing a little hard now, “if I don’t get some assurance before we leave this boat that T. G. Warpus is a right guy who can take his medicine,
I
might get indiscreet when I’d had a drink too many in the bar.”

“You wouldn’t do that!” said Peggy.

There was a long silence. Woodcock had turned away to stare past the curtain at the sea, his hand fluttering at his bony chin. The hand dropped and he turned round.

“All right, lady,” he said in a rather different voice. “I suppose you win there. No, I guess I wouldn’t.” He addressed Warren fiercely. “I’m not a crook. I just got mad for a minute, that was all. At least you don’t have to worry about that part of it. I may try to pull some fast ones, but I’m not a lousy blackmailer. I’ve made you a straight proposition, and it stands. Come on, now; I apologise. What about it?”

Warren, slowly hammering his fist on one knee, said nothing. He looked at Peggy. He looked round at Henry Morgan. Morgan said:

“I’m glad you said that, Mr. Woodcock.”

“Said what? Oh, about not being a crook? Thanks,” the other answered bitterly, “for nothing. I’m not one of those smooth boys who can scare you into doing anything, only they call it successful salesmanship … Why?”

“For instance,” said Morgan, trying to keep his voice steady. He had an idea, and he only prayed that he would not bungle it. “For instance, would you like to be tried as accessory after the fact in a murder?”

“Oh, cut it,” said Woodcock. “I’ve been wondering when the bluff would start.”

All the same, his pale blue eyes briefly flashed sideways. He had got out a handkerchief and begun to mop his forehead as though he were tired of the whole business; but his bony hand stopped. The word “murder” comes rather startingly in a business discussion. As the idea grew on Morgan—he thought that in a few minutes, if he kept his jugglery going with a steady hand, they might hear the Blind Barber’s name—he had still more difficulty to keep from showing his nervous excitement.
Easy, now.
Easy does it …

“Let’s see. You know the name of the man who stole a piece of film from Curt Warren’s cabin?”

“I could point him out to you. There’s not much chance of his leaving the boat.”

“He committed a murder last night. He cut a woman’s throat in the cabin next to Curt’s. I thought you’d better be warned, that’s all. Do you want me to show you the razor he did it with?”

“For God’s sake,” said Woodcock, jerking round, “be yourself!”

It was dusky and stuffily warm in the white writing-room, with its parade of gold-leafed mirrors and mortuary chairs. The white glass-topped desks, the inkwells and pen-racks rattled slightly with the slight roll of the
Queen Victoria
; and, with the motion, a drowsy curling swish of water would rise in the silence. Morgan reached into the breast pocket of his coat and took out a folded dark-smeared handkerchief. He opened it just beneath a long beam of sunlight that came through the curtains, and a dull glitter shone inside.

Again there was silence …

But Mr. Woodcock was not having any. Morgan saw him sitting there very straight, his hands relaxed, and a very thin smile fluttered across his face. It was a curious psychological fact, but the very production of evidence, the very display of a blood-stained razor with such sudden convenience, was what seemed to convince Woodcock that he was being elaborately bluffed.

He shook his head chidingly.

“Oh, I remember now, Hank, old man. You’re the fellow who writes the stories. Say, I’ve got to hand it to you at that. You had me wondering for a second.” The man looked as though he honestly relished this. “It’s all right. I appreciate a good try. I’ve done the same thing myself. But put it back, old man; put it back and let’s talk turkey.”

“We don’t know who the girl was,” Morgan went on, but with a desperate feeling that he had lost his game; “that is, not yet. We were just going up to the captain to find out. It’ll be very easy to prove … ”

“Now listen,” said Woodcock, with an air of friendly if slightly bored tolerance. “The gag’s all right, unnastand. It’s swell. But why keep on with it? I’ve told you I’m not falling for it; I’m too old a bird. So why not talk business?”

“It’s true, Mr. Woodcock!” Peggy insisted, clenching her hands. “
Won’t
you see it’s true? We admit we don’t know who was killed yet—”

“Well, well!”

“But we will know. Can’t you tell us? Can’t you give us a
hint
?”

“You’d never suspect,” said Woodcock. He smiled dreamily, and looked at the roof with the expression of one who knows the answer in a guessing game that is driving all the players wild. It was having just that effect on these three. To know that the answer was locked up in the bony skull of the man before them, yet to be told coolly they were not to hear it … “I’ll give you the answer,” observed the Bug-powder Boy, “the moment
I
get the right answer back from T. G. Not before.”

“I’ll try,” began Warren, but the other pointed out
that
was no guarantee.

“You don’t believe,” Morgan went on grimly, “that there’s been a murder by the man who stole that film. Well, suppose you were convinced of it. Wait a bit now! You had your hypothesis, so at least pass an opinion on mine. Suppose there had been a murder and we could prove it, so that you’d be withholding evidence if you kept quiet. Would you tell us then?”

Woodcock lifted his shoulder, still with the pale, tolerant smile on his face. “We-el, old man! No reason why I shouldn’t concede that point—in theory. Yes, indeed. If there’d been a murder done, if somebody’s been killed, that would be a different thing. I sure would tell you.”

“You promise that?”

“Word of honour. Now, if we can just get back to business—”

“All right,” said Warren, coming to an abrupt decision. He got up. “We’re going to see the captain now. And I’ll make a little deal with you. If we can convince you by today that a murder’s been committed, then you tell what you know. If we can’t, then somehow or other, I give you my solemn word I’ll get that testimonial from Uncle Warpus.”

For the first time Woodcock seemed a little shaken. “I don’t know what the gag is,” he remarked critically, “and I’m damn sure there’s a gag somewhere; but my answer is, You’re on … Put’er there, old man; shake on it. All right! In the meantime, just as a favour to me, you take the little Mermaid along and test it, will you? There are full directions for use inside, but maybe I’d better explain some of the salient points; some features, I’m telling you, that will make the Mermaid Automatic Electric Mosquito Gun the most talked-about item in the advertising world. For example, gentlemen! The old-fashioned, out-moded type of squirt-gun for insects you had to work by hand—working a plunger in and out by hand—didn’t you? Exactly. Now, the Mermaid here is automatic. Simply twist this small enamelled button, and electricity does the rest. From the nozzle issues a fine stream of liquid insect exterminator, which can be regulated to greater or less power and range; also to spray in fan-like fashion over a wide area, all by means of buttons. Then again, gentlemen, there is our own unique feature of the electric light. How will you find those troublesome mosquitoes that, under cover of darkness, are making you lose sleep and undermining your health? I’ll show you. Simply press this button … ”