Octavus Roy Cohen

“ Forty minutes later the street car reached the end of its run and Jim alighted. The suburb silently proclaimed the opulence of its residents. Wide, tree-shaded streets bounded by broad, velvety lawns behind which hugely handsome residences reared their architecturally perfect forms; gardens which paid flowering tribute to landscape experts; sinuously winding driveways, spurting fountains, cleanly clipped hedges. An atmosphere of forbidding and exclusive wealth. Parked by the curbs were limousines of the more expensive makes. ”

“ For Jim knew that Weston was all-powerful: fair but ruthless, a hard fighter and a game one. The little man in the doorway was rather of the lounge lizard type. ...
As for Weston he could not believe that this mammoth individual who bulked before him was the person who had been recommended as the best detective in the country. Jim was not at all of the detective type. His new raiment accentuated the flabbiness of the form, intensified the general impression of lethargic indifference and general unfitness. ”

“ Twenty minutes later Jim Hanvey departed for the city in one of Weston's limousines. He lolled against the rich upholstery enjoying to the ultimate the luxury and uniqueness of the experience. At his modest and untidy apartment he swiftly packed a near-leather suitcase with those articles which he fancied would be essential to his new rôle of society butterfly. ”

“ From outside came the crunch-crunch of horses’ hoofs on the gravel driveway, the sound of a man's voice—and a girl's—then nothing save the soft sighing of the evening breeze through the trees which surrounded the stately home. It was Theodore Weston who punctured the silence—
“What is this man’s criminal record?”
“He ain’t got none. We know he's crooked, we even know most of what he's done. ”

“ Whitey's a swell feller, Madge. A nawful swell feller. Best in the world. He's got his faults—we've all of us got them. But I’m strong for Whitey an’ I’d give anything in the world if he’d believe that. ”

“ Remember, Weston, I’m liable to pull a bone—the chances are that I’ll flunk it. Whitey Kirk is the cleverest crook on two continents. He's in soft here—awful soft. He ain’t gonna let go easy. But if you're willin’ for me to try—I’ll try. If I flop—it won’t be because I haven’t done my damndest.”
The smaller man rose, crossed the room and dropped a hand on Jim's fat shoulders. “You won’t fail, Hanvey.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” replied the other, “it means too much to Madge. If you’re what they say you are—you'll put it over.” ”

“ Jim blushed like a schoolgirl. “Gee! them words is music to my ears. There ain’t many folks have said that to me, Miss Madge. Y'know—it seems that when folks meet up with a fat man they think all they got to do to prove they’re good fellers is to give him a razzin’. Goshamighty, a fat feller likes friends as much as a skinny one. More, I’ll say. He needs 'em more.” He breathed heavily with the exertion of prolonged declamation. “That's why I wisht Whitey would like me an’ trust me like you do. ”

“ That afternoon Jim Hanvey and Theodore Weston faced each other across the polished surface of the walnut desk in the library. Jim was puffing peacefully upon one of his favorite black cigars and his host was struggling manfully with its mate. But however horrible the cigar might have been, it was not sufficiently malevolent to negative entirely the unalloyed exaltation which Weston was experiencing. ”

“ Theodore Weston turned.
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
Jim favored the man with a prolonged scrutiny. It was scarcely possible ... but there was certitude in the tone with which he made answer to his host's question.
“That's Whitey Kirk.”
“Who is Whitey Kirk?”
“The cleverest con man in the world,” was the answer, and there was a ring of professional admiration in his voice. “I didn't know he was a friend of yours—”
“He isn't.”
“There ain't anything to be ashamed of if he is. Y'know I’m awful strong for Whitey—Warren is his real name—because of the fact that he is so good. ”

“ It was in the library immediately preceding dinner that the detective met Whitey Kirk. That gentleman, tall and broad and handsomely debonaire in his dinner jacket, strolled into the room puffing on a cigarette. He paused and stared through the semi-gloom toward the large and strange figure in the outrageous clothes. The figure moved forward and, as though from a distance, Whitey heard the voice of his future father-in-law—“... my friend Mr. Hanvey. Mr. Kirk. ...”
Then Jim's limp hand and the well-known voice—“Sure, me an' Whitey Kirk is old friends, ain’t we, Whitey?”
“You know one another?” ”

“ He's a wizard, that’s what. He's tackled everything from stock swindling to smuggling and he's gotten away with it. I can’t help liking a man with his brains and ability. And nerve— Oh! Mamma!”
Weston walked heavily back to the table of black walnut which occupied the middle of the library. Jim followed slowly, and then, seeing that the attention of his host was not upon him, deftly exchanged the two cigars which lay upon the desk—so that his own vicious black one was once more in his possession. “Fair exchange,” he told himself, “ain't always robbery.” ”

“ Weston and I sanctioned a secret engagement, hoping against hope that the true nature of the beast would show—and Madge would be awakened.
“It hasn’t worked, Hanvey. She is more infatuated than ever. That's why you were recommended to me. They told me that you were the one person who might be of real assistance.”
Jim leaned forward in his chair. “Me? How can I help?”
“I have been told that you know crooks better than any other man in the world. That you can work miracles with them—because you understand them. ”

“ Jim nodded slowly. “It sure is a pleasure to work with folks which uses their heads for somethin’ more than havin' a picture taken of.”
Meanwhile, on the veranda, Whitey Kirk was talking with low-voiced earnestness to the girl. “It’s this way, Madge—Hanvey is a detective and a good one. He is one of the leaders of the police clique which for years has been attempting to hang something on me. Your father has fallen under their influence. He has hinted to you that my past is not all it might have been. He has hired Jim Hanvey to come down here and prove to you that I am crooked.” ”

“ Kirk turned away. “One warning, Madge,” he flung harshly over his shoulder, “this man isn't to be trusted.”
She stared after his retreating figure, her own countenance aflame with embarrassment. Jim Hanvey, alone of the trio, seemed unperturbed. His attitude of disinterestedness was superb, and when she would have apologized for Kirk he cut her short. “That’s all right, Miss Madge. I don’t hold it against poor Whitey. They’ve been houndin’ him for so long he's just naturally suspicious of everybody. Don't you go lettin' this little scene worry you. Just remember that I'm your friend. ”

“ And he said he was remaining here because he is our friend and because if he resigned any other man who assumed the task would be our enemy. Isn't that simple?”
“Yeh,” chimed in Jim, “ain't it?”
Kirk gazed at him through half-closed eyes. “I still don’t get the drift——”
“It’s just this,” explained Hanvey. “Everybody says you’re a crook—but you ain't—are you?”
“No.”
“Folks just think you are. They’re terrible unjust to you. You're really a gent and you're engaged to a swell young girl. All you want is a chance to marry her. ”

“ It was Madge who insisted that the trio talk things over, and Madge who made evasion impossible. Lowering and sullen he greeted the impassive Jim who puffed placidly upon one of his murderous cigars and appeared happily oblivious to the rancor in the other's manner. But Madge was noticing—and she was vaguely uncomfortable for Jim.
“What's your game, Jim?” Whitey Kirk came straight to the point.
“Game? Who said I was playin' a game?”
“You know perfectly well that when you told Miss Weston you were here in the rôle of friend, you lied.”
“Mph! You don’t care who you call a liar, do you?” ”

“ We have a winter place there. My daughter is a golf enthusiast. This man, it seems, was down there playing golf—peculiar pastime for a criminal—”
“Whitey's a gent.”
“Madge was injured one day on the links—struck by a golf ball on number ten fairway. She was stunned. Number ten is farthest removed from the clubhouse. This man Kirk was playing right behind her. He is a powerful fellow and he carried her to the clubhouse in his arms. From there she was taken home in a car which he provided. ”

“ She inquired his whereabouts of her father.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Weston. “I saw Kirk strolling about with Jim Hanvey but I don’t know where they went. Weren’t you going riding with Warren?”
She nodded in dumb misery. As they reached the veranda Kirk appeared from the dusk. He seemed nervous and, in the light which streamed through the doorway, his face possessed a marked pallor. He addressed the girl: “All ready, Dear?”
“Yes.” She turned to her father. “Where is Johnson? I want him to get the roadster.”
Weston answered. “Johnson has gone to town in the big car, Dear. ”

“ It'd be worth a heap to him to get rid of you. Not that you ain’t a good crook, Whitey—an’ in a professional way I ain’t got nothin' but respect an’ admiration for you. But as a gent, Whitey, you ain’t worth a damn. ”

“ Hanvey, will be adequate. More than adequate, should you happen to be successful.”
Jim waved a pudgy hand. “Never mind that. I'll take a chance if you will.”
Again silence settled between them. Weston sat forward in his chair with his keen eyes glittering across the room. Finally he rose abruptly and stepped mincingly across the library to the window. Jim remained slouched on the lounge, apparently asleep. A miasma of rancid smoke hovered about his Brobdingnagian figure.
The descending sun of early evening bathed the dapper figure of the little industrial giant in a soft, mellow light. ”

“ He bent his handsome head close to her wide-open, frightened eyes. “I believe I am a gentleman, little girl. I want you to promise that the minute you lose your trust in me you will let me know—and I shall leave you. ”