Mrs. Reed snapped her fingers at Uncle Harry and Uncle Harry drew an envelope from his jacket pocket.
“Uh, excuse me,” Mrs. Reed said. “That was a one-sided introduction. This is Mr. Chambers, Peter Chambers, and that envelope, Uncle Harry, is for him.”
Uncle Harry came to me, bowed somewhat, and handed it to me.
Mrs. Reed said, “As per agreement. One thousand dollars.”
I took it and I said, “Thank you, ma’am,” and then I said, “For what?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What’s this all about, Mrs. Reed?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Look, lady, after I completed your cockeyed business transaction, somebody took a couple of pot-shots at me. Could be part of your business, or could be some business of my own. Before I go to the cops with it... I’m asking.”
“Cops?” Uncle Harry brought bushy eyebrows down over the hawk-nose.
“No,” Mrs. Reed said. “No.” The nostrils quivered and for the first time the eyes betrayed agitation.
Right then I knew I was in on a deal and some of the flop-sweat shook off me. High society or low-society, thousand-dollar fee or more, mansion on Gramercy Park and a lady reputed to be worth a hundred million bucks... suddenly I shook it all off and I was treading on familiar ground. Because something around here stank. Out loud.
“The bullets,” I said. “Were they part of your business?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Then what’s all the objection to my going to the cops?”
“Well, because...” She turned and looked at her uncle and aunt.
Aunt Ethel continued to smile pleasantly, but Uncle Harry pursed his lips, coughed, grunted, hoisted the eyebrows, then said, “I think you ought to tell him, Florence. Since he was selected for so delicate a mission, he must be a man of character.”
“Tell me what?”
Aunt Ethel said, “Why you shouldn’t, young man, at this particular time, take your troubles to the police.”
“My troubles,” I said, “seem to be your troubles.” I looked at Mrs. Reed. “Then the bullets were your business, weren’t they?”
“No. I’m certain they weren’t. There wouldn’t be any purpose...”
“Look. What the hell is...? Pardon me.”
“Time,” Aunt Ethel said, “for a drink. Brandy for me. What will it be, please? I’m serving.”
Nothing for Florence Fleetwood Reed and nothing for Peter Chambers but Aunt Ethel and Uncle Harry buried their noses unto the bouquet of over-sized snifter-glasses into which Aunt Ethel had poured as though she were a bartender who hated the boss.
Florence Reed said, “Have you any idea, Mr. Chambers, what was in that package?”
“Goulash,” I said. “For ghosts.”
Very funny. Mrs. Reed looked blank, not even contemptuous. Uncle Harry gazed at me sadly over his brandy. But Aunt Ethel winked slyly and smiled. There was plenty of life in that old dame, too much life for Uncle Harry, no question about that.
“Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Mrs. Reed said.
It went by me the first time. Mildly I said, “Pardon?”
“Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“What?”
“Three quarters of a million.” Uncle Harry wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “In thousand dollar bills.”
I came back to Mrs. Reed. I said, “Look. You’ve got a reputation for being, well... two things... stingy and eccentric. Stingy, that’s none of my business. Eccentric, that fits in with this. You’re also supposed to have a lot of good practical horse-sense. So, business transactions in the middle of the night, even in a graveyard, nobody’d put it past you, nobody’d think twice about it, you’re supposed to have pulled a couple of real wing-dings in your time, but—”
“That wasn’t exactly a business transaction, Mr. Chambers?”
“What then—”
“It was a delivery of ransom money.”
“What? What the hell is going on around here? You mean to tell me that I’m involved in some kind of cockeyed kidnapping?”
Aunt Ethel didn’t stop smiling. “That’s what she means to tell you, young man.”
“Not exactly involved,” Mrs. Reed said. “You were an instrument of delivery. An instrument, period.”
“Instrument, huh? The police know about this?”
“No, they don’t.”
“Don’t, huh?” Sarcasm blurred my voice. “Expect to inform them?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
I headed for the brandy bottle. I poured and I drank brandy like it was a chaser for bourbon. Then I smacked down the glass, turned, said, “Look. What happened here? Let’s have it, huh? Let’s stop with this casual deal. Let’s have the story.”
Florence Reed went to a divan, sat wearily, lowered her head and touched fingers to her temples. “Last night. It seems a year ago. Last night, he went out, my husband, he went out for a newspaper.”
“What time?”
“About ten o’clock. He... didn’t return. It’s happened before. He’d step into a tavern, become involved in a discussion, or just drink in the company of others. Anyway, I went up to bed, fell asleep, and when I awoke, suddenly... it was two o’clock, two in the morning. He wasn’t back yet and I became... apprehensive. Just then, the downstairs bell rang. I thought it was he... that he had left his keys. I slipped into a dressing gown quickly, I hoped the servants hadn’t awakened... and I opened the door myself. It was Uncle Harry.”
“I think,” Uncle Harry said, “I ought to take over at this point.”
I said, “Okay with me.”
“Well, sir, I live nearby, on lower Fifth Avenue. At about one-thirty last night, I received a phone calclass="underline" It was from Abner... my niece’s husband, Abner Reed. His voice sounded somewhat muffled, and for a moment, if you’ll forgive me, I had an idea that he was inebriated. But that idea was quickly dispelled. He informed me that he was talking to me with a gun pointed at his head. He told me that he’d been slugged, rendered unconscious, and kidnapped. Naturally, I was frightfully perturbed.”
“Naturally.”
“He said that he didn’t know where he was, that he was blindfolded, that this phone call had been made for him, and then he was put on, and that he was merely repeating what he’d been told to say.”
“And what was that?”
“That I was to come here and inform Florence, and that there would be another call, here, in the morning. And, that if the police were notified, he’d be killed. Then there was a click, and the wire was dead.”
“Then?”
“I came here — I told my wife to follow in half an hour, which she did — and the three of us sat up until morning. At eight o’clock in the morning, the second call came.”
“Abner again?”
Mrs. Reed said, “Yes.”
“You sure it was he?”
“No question. He sounded tired and... and beaten... physically beaten... but it was he. Anyway, to make a long story short, the arrangements were made, and... you must have quite a reputation, Mr. Chambers... because your name was given to him to give to me as... I believe the word is intermediary. You know the rest.”
“That all?”
She stood up. She tried to control it, but I saw she was trembling. Uncle Harry put his glass away and went near her, holding her lightly at the elbow. She sighed, said, “It was promised that he’d be returned to us during this night.”
I shook my head and softly I said, “Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”