“State Fair Murder” (February 1939, Black Mask)
“Funny Man” (May 1939, Black Mask)
“Oliver Quade at the Races” (November 1939, Black Mask)
“Words and Music” (March 1940, Black Mask)
Death at the Main
Oliver Quade had perused both the Social Register and Bradstreet’s Journal on a number of occasions and he calculated mentally that there was easily a billion dollars worth of blue blood here tonight in this big renovated barn. Reggie Ragsdale, the host, was worth a hundred million if he was worth a cent; the average fortune of the two hundred-odd other men could be estimated conservatively at five million.
Long Island didn’t see many cocking mains. Cocking wasn’t a gentleman’s sport like horse racing and fox hunting. In fact, many of Long Island’s blue-bloods had shaken their heads when Young Ragsdale took up cock fighting. But they had eagerly accepted invitations to the Ragsdale estate to witness the great cocking main between Ragsdale’s birds and the best of the Old South, the feathered warriors of George Treadwell.
Ragsdale had cleared out this large barn, had built tiers of seats in the form of a big bowl surrounding the cockpit. The place was ablaze with lights, and servants in uniforms scampered about with liquid refreshments for the guests.
Oliver Quade had crashed the gate and was enjoying himself immensely. He’d heard of the cocking main quite by accident; and being a Southerner by birth and a cocking enthusiast, he’d “crashed.” He’d brought along a bagful of books, too. After a long and varied career he never knew when the opportunity might present itself to dispose of a few volumes and he wanted to be prepared for any contingency.
He chuckled at the thought of it. Two hundred millionaires protected daily by business managers, secretaries and servants; few of them had ever been compelled — or privileged, depending upon your viewpoint — to listen to a really good book salesman. And Quade was a good book salesman, the best in the country. Oliver Quade, the Human Encyclopedia, who traveled the country from coast to coast, selling books and salting away twenty thousand dollars every year.
The fights had already been started when Quade bluffed the doorkeeper into letting him into the Ragsdale barn. For an hour he rubbed elbows with the Long Island aristocrats, talked with them and cheered with them while the feathered warriors in the pit fought and bled and died.
The score stood at eight-all now, with the seventeenth and last bout of the evening to come up, which would decide the superiority of Ragsdale’s Jungle Shawls and the Whitehackles of George Treadwell. Ragsdale rose to make an announcement as the handlers carried out the birds after the sixteenth fight.
“There’ll be a short intermission of ten minutes before the final bout, gentlemen.”
Quade’s eyes sparkled. This was his golden chance, the one he’d waited for all evening. Perhaps they’d throw him out, but Quade had been thrown out of places before. Chuckling, he climbed upon a bench. He held out his hands in a supplicating gesture.
“Gentlemen,” he cried out suddenly in a booming voice that surprised people who heard it issue from such a lean body, “give me your attention for a minute. I’m going to entertain you — something entirely new and different.”
A couple of attendants looked with surprised eyes at Quade. Reggie Ragsdale, on the other side of the pit, frowned. Quade knew that he’d have to talk fast — catch the interest of the audience before Ragsdale tried to stop him. He had confidence in his oratorical powers.
“Gentlemen,” he continued in his rich, penetrating voice. “I’m Oliver Quade, the Human Encyclopedia. I have the greatest brain in the United States, probably the greatest in the world. I know the answers to all questions; what came first, the chicken or the egg; the population of Sydney, Australia; the dates of every battle from the beginning of history; the founders of your family fortunes. Try me out, gentlemen. Any question at all — any! History, science, mathematics, general interest. You, sir, ask me a question!”
Quade, knowing the hesitation of any audience to get started, pointed to a man close to him, whose mouth was agape.
The man flushed, stammered. “Why, uh — I don’t know anything I want to ask — Yes, I do! At what price did N.T.&T. close today?”
“Easy!” cried Quade. “You could read that in today’s newspaper. National Telephone and Telegraph closed today at 187 ½. A year ago today it was 153. Ask me something harder. You, sir,” he pointed. “A question; history, science, mathematics—”
“What is the distance to the moon?”
“From the center of the earth to the center of the moon the distance is approximately 238,857 miles. Next question!”
The game was catching on. Quade didn’t have to point at anyone now. The audience had gathered its wits and the next question came promptly.
“What is ambergris?”
“Ambergris is a greasy substance spewed up by sick whales and is used in the manufacture of perfumes. It comes in lumps and is extremely valuable, a chunk of approximately thirty pounds recently found in the North Atlantic bringing $5,200. Next!”
“How do you measure the thickness of leather?” That was evidently a wealthy shoe manufacturer, but his question didn’t phase Quade in the least.
“By irons,” he shot back. “An iron is one seventy-second of an inch. The ordinary shoe sole is eight irons thick, although some run as thick as twelve irons and those on dancing pumps as thin as four irons — And now—”
Quade stooped, snapped open his suitcase and extracted a thick volume from it. He held it aloft. “And now I’m going to give each and every gentleman here tonight an opportunity to learn the answers themselves to any question that may arise, today, tomorrow or any time during the year. This book has the answers to ALL questions. The Compendium of Human Knowledge, the knowledge of the ages crammed into one volume, two thousand pages. Classified, condensed and abbreviated.”
Quade paused for a brief breath and shot a glance at Reggie Ragsdale. The young millionaire, who had assumed a tolerant, amused expression a few moments ago when he saw that Quade’s game was catching with the guests was frowning again. Entertaining the guests was all right, but selling something to them, that was different! Quade knew that he’d have to work even faster.
He launched again into his sales talk, exhorting in a vibrant, penetrating voice that was famous throughout the country. “The price of this magnificent volume is not twenty-five dollars as you might expect, not even fifteen or ten dollars, but a paltry two ninety-five. It sounds preposterous, I know, but it’s really true. The knowledge of the ages for only two ninety-five! Yes, Mr. Ragsdale, you want to ask a question before you purchase one of these marvelous books?”
“I don’t want to buy your confounded book!” cried Ragsdale. “I want to know how you got in here?”
Quade chuckled. “Why, your doorkeeper let me in. I told him I was a book salesman and thought this gathering would be ideal for selling books. Really, Mr. Ragsdale, that’s exactly what I told him and he let me in. Of course, if he didn’t believe me, that’s not my fault.”
A roar of laughter swept the audience. None doubted that Quade had actually made his entrance in that manner. His audacity appealed to the thrill-jaded aristocrats. Even Ragsdale grinned.
“All right, you can stay. But put up your books now; they’re coming in with the birds for the last fight. After it, you can sell your books. I’ll even buy one myself.”
Quade was disappointed. He’d made his pitch, built up his audience to the selling point and he didn’t like to quit before collecting. But he couldn’t very well cross Ragsdale — and sight of the handlers coming in with the birds was making the sportsmen turn to the pit. The best book in the world couldn’t compete against a couple of fighting roosters.