On With Torchy Part 5

"Huh!" he grunts at last. "So you're the one, eh? But why the blue-belted blazes did you do it?"

All Cubbins does, though, is to finger his cap bashful.

"Well, Torchy," says Mr. Ellins, "you seem to be running this show.

Perhaps you'll tell us."

"That's further'n I've got," says I. "You see, when I traced this floral tribute business down to a window washer, I----"

"In the name of all that's brilliant," breaks in Old Hickory, "how did you ever do that?"'

"Why, I got to thinkin' about it," says I, "and it struck me that we had our gla.s.s cleaned every Wednesday, and if there was no way of anyone smugglin' flowers in through the doors, the windows was all there was left, wa'n't it? Also who's most likely to be monkeyin'

around outside, fifteen stories up, but a window washer?"

"Ha!" says Old Hickory through his teeth. "And did you do that by the introdeductive process, may I ask?"

"No such bunk as that," says I. "Just used my bean, that's all. Then I got Mac, the a.s.sistant buildin' super, to put me wise as to who had the windows on our floor, and by throwin' a bluff over the 'phone I made the Consolidated people locate Mr. Cubbins for me. Found him putterin' round in his garden over in Astoria, and pumped more or less out of him; but when it come to gettin' him to explain why it was he'd picked you out, Mr. Ellins, as a mark for his bouquets, I fell down complete. Mr. Cubbins is English, as maybe you noticed by his talk, and he used to be a house painter before his health got so bad. Now he lives with his son-in-law, who tells me that the old gent----"

"'E's a bit of a liar, my son-in-law is," pipes up Cubbins; "a bally Socialist, Sir, and I'm ashymed to s'y 'as 'ow 'e's fond of abusin' 'is betters. Thet's 'ow it all come abaht, Sir. Alw'ys tykin' on over the rich, 'e is; and 'e's most fond of s'yin' wrong things abaht you special, Sir; callin' you a bloodsucking predatory person, Sir, and himpolite nimes like thet. 'Ah, stow thet, Jimmy!!' says I. 'All bloomin' lies, they are. There ayn't a finer man lives than Mr.

Ellins,' says I. ''Ow do you know?' says 'e. ''Ow?' says I. 'Don't I wash 'is hoffice windows?' But 'e keeps at it of evenin's, s'yin' as 'ow you do this and that, an' 'e fair talks me down, Jimmy does. But I know w'at I knows; so to relieve my feelin's a bit I've been bringin'

you the flowers on the sly, Sir; meanin', as I says before, no 'arm at all, Sir."

"Well, I'll be dashed!" says Old Hickory, squintin' at Cubbins humorous. "So you think I'm a good man, eh?"

"I'm quite sure of it, Sir," says he. "As I was tellin' Jimmy only last night, 'W'y, at 'ome 'e'd be a Lord!' And so you would, Sir.

But, as I sees it, you're just as much 'ere, Sir. You build things up, and keep things goin',--big things, such as the likes of me and Jimmy mykes our livin' from. And it ayn't just your money mykes you a gryte man; it's your brains and your big 'eart. I know w'at I knows, Sir, an' I 'opes as 'ow you'll tyke no hoffense at the flowers, Sir."

"Not a bit, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim. "In fact, that's a first rate idea of yours. We ought to have some sort of flowers here all the time. Got many left in your garden, have you, Cubbins?"

"Plenty, Sir," says Cubbins. "The roses'll be gone soon now, Sir; but there's golden glow, and hasters comin' on, and zinnias, and----"

"Then you're engaged, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, "to supply the office with fresh ones every day. When yours give out we'll have to buy some, I suppose. And you'll give up this window cleaning job at once. It's too dangerous. I can't afford to have the only man in the United States who holds a good opinion of me risking his neck like that."

"Thankee kindly, Sir," says Cubbins, beamin' grateful. "And we'll see w'at Jimmy 'as to s'y to that, so we will!"

"Report that in full," says Old Hickory. "And, Mr. Piddie, see that Mr. Cubbins' name goes on the payroll from today. But, by the way, where is your distinguished friend, the scientific investigator?"

"Why--er--why----" says Piddie, flus.h.i.+n' up and swallowin' hard, "Dr.

Bingstetter left a moment ago."

"Did, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "He should have stayed awhile and allowed Torchy to give him a few pointers on evolving things from primal facts."

"Ye-e-e-es, Sir," says Piddie, his face all tinted up lovely.

Which winds up, as you might say, the Mystery of the Fifth Bouquet.

But, believe me, there ain't any tamer party around the shop these days than this same J. Hemmingway Piddie. And if the old habits get to croppin' out any time, all I got to do is shut one eye, put my finger to my lips, and whisper easy, "Ah, go tell that to Doc Bungstarter!"

That gets him behavin'.

And Cubbins, why--he's blossomed out in a new fall suit, and he stops at the desk every few days to tell me how he put it all over Jimmy the night before. So that was some stroke, what?

CHAPTER III

WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP

It was good domework of Mr. Robert's to tip me off about this Higgins party, or there's no knowin' how hard a time he might have had gettin'

through the bra.s.s gate. As it is, the minute I spots the watch chain and the round cuffs and the neck freckles, I sizes him up as the expected delegate from the fresh mackerel and blueberry pie district.

One of these long, lanky specimens, he is, with a little stoop to his shoulders, ginger-colored hair and mustache, and a pair of calm, sea-blue eyes that look deep and serious.

I finds him pacin' deliberate up and down the waitin' room at eight-fifty-three A.M., which is two minutes ahead of my schedule for openin' the Corrugated for gen'ral business. His overcoat and a crumpled mornin' paper are on the bench; so I figures he's been there quite some time. Course, it might have been a stray Rube of most any name; but I thinks I'll take a chance.

"Mornin', Ira," says I.

"Howdy," says he, as natural as if this was a reg'lar habit of ours.

Which puts it up to me to find out if I'm right, after all.

"Mr. Higgins, ain't it?" says I.

He nods.

"When did you get in?" says I.

"About six," says he.

"Come down by train or boat?" says I.

"Train," says he.

"You've had breakfast, I suppose?" I goes on.

Another nod. Oh, yes, for an economical converser, he was about the most consistent breath saver I ever tackled. You could easy go hoa.r.s.e havin' a little chat with him. You'd need lots of time too; for after every one of my bright little sallies Ira looks me over in that quiet, thoughtful way of his, then counts fifty to himself, and fin'lly decides whether it'll be a grunt or just a nod. Gettin' information out of him was like liftin' a trunk upstairs one step at a time. I manages to drag out, though, that he'd been hangin' around ever since the buildin' was opened by the day watchman at seven o'clock.

"Well," says I, "Mr. Robert was lookin' for you to blow in today; but not quite so early. It'll be near ten before he shows up. Better come inside and have a comf'table chair."

He takes that proposition up with himself, fin'lly pa.s.sin' on it favorable; and from then on he sits there, with never a move or a blink, watchin' solemn all the maneuvers that a battery of lady typists has to go through before settlin' down for a forenoon's work. I'll bet he could tell you too, a month from now, just how many started with gum, and which ones renewed their facial scenery with dabs from the chamois.

So you can see why I was some relieved when Mr. Robert arrives and takes him off my hands. I knew from what he'd said the day before that he'd planned to have about a half-hour interview with Mr. Higgins; but when the noon hour struck: Ira was still there. At one-fifteen they goes out to lunch together, and at two-thirty they comes back. It's after four when Mr. Robert fin'lly comes out to the gate with his brow wrinkled up.

"Torchy," says he, "how is your b.u.mp of diplomacy today?"

"It's a dimple, I expect," says I.

"You're entirely too modest," says he. "Now, I remember several occasions when you have----"

"Oh, I gen'rally have my nerve with me, if that's what you mean," says I.

"But I don't mean that," says he. "Perhaps finesse is the better word."