‘By the way,’ asked Roy, ‘where’s Helena.’
‘Dont interrupt Roy,’ said Alice. ‘This is good… and besides you should never ask a man where his wife is.’
‘Then there was a lot of flashing of signal lights and stuff and a motorboat loaded down with Mumm’s extra dry champagne for Park Avenue Christmases came in and the hijackers arrived on a speedboat… It probably was a hydroplane it came so fast…’
‘My this is exciting,’ cooed Alice. ‘…Roy why dont you take up bootlegging?’
‘Worst fight I ever saw outside of the movies, six or seven on a side all slugging each other on a little narrow landing the size of this room, people crowning each other with oars and joints of lead pipe.’
‘Was anybody hurt?’
‘Everybody was… I think two of the hijackers were drowned. At any rate they beat a retreat leaving us lapping up the spilled champagne.’
‘But it must have been terrible,’ cried the Hildebrands. ‘What did you do Jimmy?’ asked Alice breathless.
‘Oh I hopped around keeping out of harm’s way. I didnt know who was on which side and it was dark and wet and confusing everywhere… I finally did drag my bootlegger friend out of the fray when he got his leg broken… his wooden leg.’
Everybody let out a shout. Roy filled Jimmy’s glass up with gin again.
‘Oh Jimmy,’ cooed Alice, ‘you lead the most thrilling life.’
James Merivale was going over a freshly decoded cable, tapping the words with a pencil as he read them. Tasmanian Manganese Products instructs us to open credit… The phone on his desk began to buzz.
‘James this is your mother. Come right up; something terrible has happened.’
‘But I dont know if I can get away…’
She had already cut off. Merivale felt himself turning pale. ‘Let me speak to Mr Aspinwall please… Mr Aspinwall this is Merivale… My mother’s been taken suddenly ill. I’m afraid it may be a stroke. I’d like to run up there for an hour. I’ll be back in time to get a cable off on that Tasmanian matter.’
‘All right… I’m very sorry Merivale.’
He grabbed his hat and coat, forgetting his muffler, and streaked out of the bank and along the street to the subway.
He burst into the apartment breathless, snapping his fingers from nervousness. Mrs Merivale grayfaced met him in the hall.
‘My dear I thought you’d been taken ill.’
‘It’s not that… it’s about Maisie.’
‘She hasnt met with an accid…?’
‘Come in here,’ interrupted Mrs Merivale. In the parlor sat a little roundfaced woman in a round mink hat and a long mink coat. ‘My dear this girl says she’s Mrs Jack Cunningham and she’s got a marriage certificate to prove it.’
‘Good Heavens, is that true?’
The girl nodded in a melancholy way.
‘And the invitations are out. Since his last wire Maisie’s been ordering her trousseau.’
The girl unfolded a large certificate ornamented with pansies and cupids and handed it to James.
‘It might be forged.’
‘It’s not forged,’ said the girl sweetly.
‘John C. Cunningham, 21… Jessie Lincoln, 18,’ he read aloud… ‘I’ll smash his face for that, the blackguard. That’s certainly his signature, I’ve seen it at the bank… The blackguard.’
‘Now James, don’t be hasty.’
‘I thought it would be better this way than after the ceremony,’ put in the girl in her little sugar voice. ‘I wouldnt have Jack commit bigamy for anything in the world.’
‘Where’s Maisie?’
‘The poor darling is prostrated in her room.’
Merivale’s face was crimson. The sweat itched under his collar. ‘Now dearest’ Mrs Merivale kept saying, ‘you must promise me not to do anything rash.’
‘Yes Maisie’s reputation must be protected at all costs.’
‘My dear I think the best thing to do is to get him up here and confront him with this… with this… lady… Would you agree to that Mrs Cunningham?’
‘Oh dear… Yes I suppose so.’
‘Wait a minute.’ shouted Merivale and strode down the hall to the telephone. ‘Rector 12305… Hello. I want to speak to Mr Jack Cunningham please… Hello. Is this Mr Cunningham’s office? Mr James Merivale speaking… Out of town… And when will he be back?… Hum.’ He strode back along the hall. ‘The damn scoundrel’s out of town.’
‘All the years I’ve known him,’ said the little lady in the round hat, ‘that has always been where he was.’
Outside the broad office windows the night is gray and foggy. Here and there a few lights make up dim horizontals and perpendiculars of asterisks. Phineas Blackhead sits at his desk tipping far back in the small leather armchair. In his hand protecting his fingers by a large silk handkerchief, he holds a glass of hot water and bicarbonate of soda. Densch bald and round as a billiardball sits in the deep armchair playing with his tortoiseshell spectacles. Everything is quiet except for an occasional rattling and snapping of the steampipes.
‘Densch you must forgive me… You know I rarely permit myself an observation concerning other people’s business,’ Blackhead is saying slowly between sips; then suddenly he sits up in his chair. ‘It’s a damn fool proposition, Densch, by God it is… by the Living Jingo it’s ridiculous.’
‘I dont like dirtying my hands any more than you do… Baldwin’s a good fellow. I think we’re safe in backing him a little.’
‘What the hell’s an import and export firm got to do in politics? If any of those guys wants a handout let him come up here and get it. Our business is the price of beans… and its goddam low. If any of you puling lawyers could restore the balance of the exchanges I’d be willing to do anything in the world… They’re crooks every last goddam one of em… by the Living Jingo they’re crooks.’ His face flushes purple, he sits upright in his chair banging with his fist on the corner of the desk. ‘Now you’re getting me all excited… Bad for my stomach, bad for my heart.’ Phineas Blackhead belches portentously and takes a great pulp out of the glass of bicarbonate of soda. Then he leans back in his chair again letting his heavy lids half cover his eyes.
‘Well old man,’ says Mr Densch in a tired voice, ‘it may have been a bad thing to do, but I’ve promised to support the reform candidate. That’s a purely private matter in no way involving the firm.’
‘Like hell it dont… How about McNiel and his gang?… They’ve always treated us all right and all we’ve ever done for em’s a couple of cases of Scotch and a few cigars now and then… Now we have these reformers throw the whole city government into a turmoil… By the Living Jingo…’
Densch gets to his feet. ‘My dear Blackhead I consider it my duty as a citizen to help in cleaning up the filthy conditions of bribery, corruption and intrigue that exist in the city government… I consider it my duty as a citizen…’ He starts walking to the door, his round belly stuck proudly out in front of him.
‘Well allow me to say Densch that I think its a damn fool proposition,’ Blackhead shouts after him. When his partner has gone he lies back a second with his eyes closed. His face takes on the mottled color of ashes, his big fleshy frame is shrinking like a deflating balloon. At length he gets to his feet with a groan. Then he takes his hat and coat and walks out of the office with a slow heavy step. The hall is empty and dimly lit. He has to wait a long while for the elevator. The thought of holdup men sneaking through the empty building suddenly makes him catch his breath. He is afraid to look behind him, like a child in the dark. At last the elevator shoots up.
‘Wilmer,’ he says to the night watchman who runs it, ‘there ought to be more light in these halls at night… During this crime wave I should think you ought to keep the building brightly lit.’