Shorty McCabe on the Job Part 9

CHAPTER V

THE CASE OF A FEMALE PARTY

You know how free this J. Bayard Steele has been in callin' on me for help in puttin' over his little deeds of kindness, at so much per deed?

Well, here the other day he shows up at the studio with sealed envelope No. 3 in his pocket, and after springin' his usual guff about the door of fate he opens it.

"Well, who's the party of the second part this time?" says I.

But he just gazes at the slip of paper he's taken out and smiles mushy.

"All right," says I. "Keep it to yourself. This is my busy day, anyway."

"Pardon me, McCabe," says he. "I was lost in wonder at the varied character of the persons whom the late Pyramid Gordon numbered on his conscience list. This time it is a lady."

"Huh!" says I. "Didn't know Pyramid ever had any skirt complications."

"From Adam down has any man escaped?" says J. Bayard, wavin' his cigarette jaunty. "No, your friend Gordon was no wiser than the rest of us, as this shows. Hearken to the name--Josie Vernon!"

"That does listen flossy," says I. "But I never heard him mention any Josie as long as I knew him. Any details?"

"There's an address," says J. Bayard, "and in one corner is written, 'Mrs. Fletcher Shaw.' Probably a friend, or next of kin. Ah, but this is something like! Knight-errantry for the fair s.e.x! Here, McCabe, is where I s.h.i.+ne!"

"You do, eh?" says I. "Think you can handle this case all by your lonesome?"

Did he? Why, to see him turkeyin' round, glancin' at himself approvin'

in the mirror, and pattin' them Grand Duke whiskers of his into shape, you'd think he had some matinee idol as an understudy. Oh, yes, he rather fancied he understood women, knew how to handle 'em, and all that. He would look up Josie Vernon at once, find out what had been the trouble between her and Pyramid, and decide on some kind and generous way of evenin' the score, accordin' to the terms of Mr. Gordon's will.

"And in this instance, Shorty," says he, "I shall probably not be compelled to trouble you at all until I submit my plans for your indors.e.m.e.nt. Now I'm off. The ladies, bless 'em!" and he winks giddy as he trips through the door.

Ain't they the nutty ones, these old cut-ups? Look at Steele now,--in the late fifties, but just at the mention of a name like Josie Vernon he gets kittenis.h.!.+

Well, it's nothin' to me, and I'm glad to duck any dealin's with stray dames; for when it comes to the surprisin' s.e.x you never know what you're goin' to be let in for. Besides, my part of his executor game was only to O.K. J. Bayard's final schemes and see that he spent the money somewhere near the way I judged Pyramid meant to have it distributed.

Course, I hadn't been able to stick to that very strict in the first two cases; but this time it looked like I would.

So by the next afternoon, havin' been busy in the gym since nine A.M., I'd forgotten the incident complete, and I'm some surprised when Swifty Joe announces that there's a female party askin' for me in the front office.

"Wha' d'ye mean--female party?" says I. "Is it a lady?"

"Ah-r-r-r chee!" says Swifty. "How do I know?"

That's some surprisin' too; for as a rule he ain't strong on drawin'

fine distinctions. If they're young and flossy dressed, he calls 'em "fluffs"; but anything over twenty-five, no matter how she's costumed, is a lady to Swifty, even a scrubwoman. So his describin' this visitor as a female party gets me curious.

The minute I steps into the office and gets a glimpse at her, though, I got Swifty's point of view. The battered old lid had been gay enough once, a few seasons back, when the willow plume hadn't been dislocated in four places, and before the velvet trimmin' had faded into so many differ'nt shades. It had been a lady's hat once. And the face under it, in spite of the red tip to the nose and the puffs under the eyes, might have belonged to a lady. Anyway, there was traces of good looks there.

But the rusty black cloak that hung limp over the sagged shoulders, only part hidin' the sloppy s.h.i.+rt waist and reachin' but halfway down the side-hiked, draggled-edge skirt--that's the sure mark of a female party.

I don't know why, but it is.

Where they get cloaks like that is a mystery. You see 'em on women panhandlers, on the old hags that camp on park benches, and in the jag line at police courts. But you never see a new one. Perhaps they're made special by second-hand shops for the female party trade.

"Well?" says I, lookin' her over cold and curious.

But you can't faze a female party so simple. They're used to that. She stares back at me just as cool, and then remarks, "I guess you know who I am well enough."

"Sure!" says I. "You're the long lost d.u.c.h.ess of Gainsborough, ain't you?"

She just gazes at me bra.s.sy and shakes her head.

"Then you must be a lady snake agent," says I.

"What?" says she, scowlin' puzzled.

"I don't know the answer, either," says I. "Called for Professor McCabe, didn't you? Well, you're connected. Shoot the rest of it."

"I'm Mrs. Fletcher Shaw," says she.

And for a minute there I couldn't place the name. Then it came to me.

"Oh!" says I. "Some relation of Josie Vernon's, eh?"

"Suppose I am?" she demands, eyin' me suspicious.

"Tut, tut, now!" says I. "You're the one that's occupyin' the witness stand, you know. You were about to tell why you came."

"Was I?" says she. "You might guess that: you've had a man pryin' and snoopin' around my flat for two days."

I gawps at her for a second, and then chuckles. "You mean a cla.s.sy-dressed gent with whiskers?" says I.

She nods.

"Mr. J. Bayard Steele," says I. "He's the one to see. He'll give you all the partic'lars."

"Humph!" says she, sniffin'. "What does he want of Josie Vernon? What's his game?"

"Deeds of kindness, that's all," says I.

Mrs. Shaw indulges in a hard, throaty cackle. "There ain't no such animal," says she. "Come now, you're in on this with him. He said so.

What's it all about?"

"Mrs. Shaw," says I, "you've heard all I got to say on the subject. I'm more or less busy too, and----"

"How impolite!" she breaks in. "And me a lady too! Heavings! how faint I feel!" With that she sidles towards my desk chair and slumps into it.

"Very distressin' symptoms," says I. "But I got a quick cure for attacks like that. It's fresh air, taken outside."

"I sha'n't budge until I've found why you're hounding me!" says she, grippin' the chair arms.