Arriving at the Washington Street main doorway to City Hall, Harold T. Armbruster checked his watch and noted that he was on time.
Entering the marble lobby, he made for the recently installed elevators, and told the operator inside that he wished to go to Mayor Carter Harrison's office suite on the third floor. After the slow ride up, Armbruster stepped into the corridor and headed for the mayor's office.
In the reception room, he was met by a young man who left him to inform the mayor that Armbruster was present. Moments later, the young man returned to guide him through the empty secretarial office into the mayor's own impressive sanctum.
Mayor Harrison was already on his feet, hand outstretched. Armbruster impatiently shook it.
'You wanted to see me,' Armbruster said.
'Yes, yes, please sit down.'
Armbruster sat on the edge of a chair across from the mayor's desk, as Harrison settled into his own high-backed leather chair. The summons from the mayor had been unexpected, and Armbruster was restless with curiosity.
The mayor shuffled some papers and raised his head. 'It's about the matter of Prince Henry's visit to Chicago.'
'I hoped you'd have some news,' Armbruster said. 'He hasn't changed his itinerary, has he?'
'No, he will be here exactly as scheduled. A morning, an afternoon, an evening, before returning to New York, and to Germany the following day.'
'Well, did you inform him of the wedding and the banquet at my home?'
The mayor nodded. 'Up to a point.'
'What does that mean, Mayor?'
'It means I had to follow protocol,' said Mayor Harrison. 'I worked out a schedule with my staff to cover every hour of the prince's visit to Chicago. It included your son's wedding and the banquet to follow. Then, still observing protocol, as I'd been advised, I sent the schedule to the German ambassador in Washington, D.C. I want you to see the schedule so that you will know that I have faithfully kept my promise to you.'
Harrison half lifted himself and handed a sheet of paper to Armbruster.
The meat-packer studied the official schedule. It read:
OFFICIAL PROGRAMME FOR PRINCE HENRY
6:30 a.m. Arrival at Union Station. 10:30 a.m. Visit to Lincoln Park. 11:oo a.m. Choral festival at First Regiment Armoury. 12:30 p.m. Luncheon at Germania Club. 3:00 p.m. Reception with Mayor Harrison and aldermen at City Hall. 7:00 p.m. Grand Banquet at the residence of Mr and Mrs Harold T. Armbruster, to celebrate the prince's visit, as well as the wedding of Mr Alan Armbruster to Miss Cathleen Lester.
Satisfied, Armbruster returned the schedule to the mayor's desk. 'You have it there, and you put it well,' Armbruster said. 'You haven't told me the prince's response.'
'The very reason I wanted to see you,' said the mayor. 'I have a response of sorts, but it is from the German ambassador, and not from Prince Henry. I want you to read it.'
He handed another sheet of paper over his desk to the meat-packer. Armbruster took it. The sheet of heavier paper with a smooth cottony surface was thicker than the sheet that bore the schedule, and the letterhead was embossed with the address of the German Embassy. Armbruster read it carefully:
Dear Honourable Mayor Carter Harrison,
I am most pleased to have received the programme you outlined for the overnight visit of Prince Henry of Prussia to your renowned metropolis.
Of course, Prince Henry will wish to lay a wreath at the foot of the Monument in Lincoln Park. He certainly will be pleased with the luncheon at the Germania Club, aware as he is that the city of Chicago possesses the sixth-largest population of Germans in the entire world.
Regarding the rest of the schedule, including your reception at the City Hall and the banquet to be hosted by the distinguished Mr and Mrs Armbruster, I can only assume that the prince will be honoured and pleased. However, I do not have his official reaction to the plans as it is too soon to have heard from him.
I have forwarded your programme to Berlin via diplomatic pouch, and I expect to have Prince Henry's response soon, certainly before his arrival in Chicago.
I will keep you further informed.
With best wishes,
Sincerely, Hans Schulter Ambassador
Armbruster reread the letter and then, shaking his head, threw it on the mayor's desk. 'It's an acknowledgement, but it doesn't tell us a damn thing.'
'Not yet, perhaps,' said Harrison, trying to pacify Armbruster, 'but it does indicate that the ambassador expects Prince Henry to approve of everything on our programme, including your festivities.'
'You may be right,' said Armbruster, somewhat mollified. 'Still, the prince himself has not yet approved. You must let me know the moment you hear from him. After all, Mrs Armbruster and I have to make special, more elaborate plans for a royal guest.'
Mayor Harrison threw up his hands. 'What can I say, Mr Armbruster? I know only what you know from the ambassador's letter, that he expects to hear from Prince Henry before the prince's arrival in Chicago.'
'That could be cutting it close.'
'I really don't think you have to worry, Mr Armbruster. The prince can only be pleased with your invitation. I feel that you can go ahead and plan accordingly.'
'Fine,' said Armbruster, standing. 'I'll take your word for it and proceed.'
The mayor also rose. 'Are you still expecting to make your request of the prince?'
'My request? Ah, you mean to tell him of my desire to be the next ambassador to Germany?'
'Precisely.'
'I'll be totally honest with you, as I was when I first brought this matter up,' said Armbruster. 'While it will definitely improve my social standing in Chicago to have the prince in my home, it is equally important that he feel obligated to me, his host, and that he find time to speak to me alone.'
'I understand,' said Harrison amiably.
'I want to get him aside. To impress upon him how qualified I am to be ambassador, and to let him know how eager I am to have the post. Obviously, he can't play any decisive part in this except to influence the kaiser, who may then make it known to the White House that I would be most welcome in Berlin. Am I making a mistake in undertaking this?'
'Not at all, not a bit,' said the mayor, seeing Armbruster to the door. 'You do things for people, and then you expect them to do something in return. It is the way of the world.'
'I'm relieved to hear you say so. Thank you very much, and keep in touch with me.' He paused. 'Meanwhile, I wish you luck in your reform campaign. I agree that it is necessary to have Chicago clean as a whistle on the day Prince Henry arrives.'
They were in the stable area of the old Washington Park race track, some distance behind the wooden two-tier grandstand. Bruce Lester and Karen were escorting a horse owner named Robert Clifford to the farthest stall, where Bruce's colt, Frontier, was feeding.
Clifford was the fifth – and last – potential buyer that Bruce was showing his horse to. Of the first four, three had shown no interest and one had offered a meagre $300.
'Here he is, Mr Clifford,' said Bruce, leading the man into the stall. 'A beauty, isn't he?'
Clifford stood away, surveying the horse. 'Rather small for a three-year-old. Is he undernourished?'
'He's well-nourished,' Bruce snapped. 'He's strong.'
Clifford walked around the friendly brown colt, patting his body, then stopped to study his legs.
'Small,' Clifford said again. 'Delicate, I suspect.'
'Strong,' Bruce persisted.
Clifford extracted a card from his pocket and studied it. 'The breeding record doesn't promise too much.'
'His dam showed in the Futurity.'
'A poor third,' said Clifford. 'I don't know. I don't think he'd be much of a horse to run. I might be able to use him for stud. I think I can make you an offer of $500.'
'No more?'
'Not a cent more.'
Karen pulled Bruce aside. 'Don't accept it, Bruce. Someone else will come along.'
Bruce returned to Clifford. 'I don't know. I'd like a little more time to make up my mind.'
'You make up your mind, young man,' Clifford said. 'I'll be leaving Chicago three days after the Derby.'
'I'll give you an answer by then,' Bruce promised.
After Clifford had left, Bruce and Karen remained behind in the stall.
Studying his horse as it munched hay, Bruce said, 'Even if I sold him, the buying price wouldn't go very far. Not enough to restart a stable of my own in Kentucky.'
Karen stared at him. 'Are you saying you'd have to take a job with Armbruster – and what goes with it?'
'I'm not saying anything yet,' Bruce protested. 'I'm only saying I have a father who is an invalid, who is about to lose his home, and I'm the only person who can help him. I'm trying to keep reality in perspective, Karen.'
'What about your sister?' asked Karen. 'She's marrying into the Armbruster family.'
'Impossible,' said Bruce. 'She couldn't ask for money from the Armbrusters. We're supposed to be a well-off Southern family. That's why we're staying with our aunts, so that we'll appear to be more than we are. No, it's all up to me.'
'Well, what are you going to do?' She hesitated. 'Except marry Judith Armbruster.'
Bruce ignored her remark. 'I have two choices for the moment. One is to sell Frontier for what Clifford offered. If I do that I'll have no horse and almost no money. The second is to let Frontier run in the American Derby for the $25,000 purse. I've already had him entered, but he'll be up against big favourites like The Picket and he doesn't stand much of a chance. He doesn't have stamina. He doesn't even have a jockey.'
'Find a jockey,' Karen persisted. 'I see no other choice.'
Bruce sighed. 'I've already tried. The top jockeys are signed for other entries. The rest of them wouldn't ride a long shot without a guaranteed payment and for only a percentage of his winnings.'
Unhappily, Karen turned away from the stall to leave. 'I guess your best bet is still Judith Armbruster.'
Bruce followed her out into the stable area, about to protest, when he was diverted by a red Ford chugging towards them. Edmund was at the wheel with Minna Everleigh, her face covered with a veil, beside him and Dr Herman Holmes in the rear seat.
Minna was waving to them. As the Ford came up to them and stopped, Minna called down, 'Bruce, what are you doing here? We're just having a look around before the Derby. Bruce Lester, meet our family physician, Dr Holmes.' Turning to Holmes, she added, 'Doctor Holmes, meet Karen Grant.'
Karen flushed, and momentarily stammered her acknowledgement.
Dr Holmes touched his derby, smiling. 'I've met Miss Grant. Pleased to know you, Mr Lester.'
Minna was addressing Bruce. 'You haven't told me what you're doing here.'
'Remember, I mentioned I brought my best horse up from Kentucky, a three-year-old named Frontier? I have him stabled here. I've entered him in the American Derby.'
'Wonderful,' said Minna.
'Less than wonderful,' said Bruce. 'I entered him, but I haven't got a jockey – I mean, one who'll ride for only a percentage of the purse.'
Minna stared at Bruce. 'You're looking for a jockey to ride Frontier?'
'Exactly.'
'Have you ever heard of a Garrison finish?'
'Of course. When a horse comes from behind to win.'
'Do you know how the expression Garrison finish came into being?'
'No.'
'About ten years ago,' said Minna, 'there was a jockey named Ed 'Snapper' Garrison. In the Suburban Handicap at Belmont Park, Garrison was riding dead last rounding into the stretch. Then he started a whiplashing run through the
stretch, coming from last to first to win by a head. That was a typically Garrison finish.' She paused. 'Well, Ed 'Snapper' Garrison is here in Washington Park today. Have you tried him?'
'Tried him?'
'To be your jockey,' said Minna, rising. 'Edmund, will you help me down?'
On the ground alongside her nephew, Minna adjusted her veil and said, 'Let me introduce you.' She grabbed Bruce by the arm. 'Come along. I just saw Snapper playing chess with a stablehand a few stalls back. He's an old friend. I want you to meet him.'
Briskly, Minna led Bruce away, while Karen trailed behind.
As they approached the two men playing chess, Minna called out and Snapper Garrison jumped to his feet, abandoning the chessboard.
'Wait here a moment,' Minna said to Bruce.
She ran ahead to meet Garrison. He peered up at her, puzzled, until she held aside her veil.
'Why, it's you, Minna -'
'Shhh,' whispered Minna, 'listen. I want you to meet my nephew from Kentucky. He doesn't know what the Everleigh Club actually is and I don't want him to know. Don't mention it. And, Snapper, he thinks my name is Minna Lester.'
'Whatever you say, Minna.'
'Let me bring him over.'
Minna went back to Bruce and Karen, and guided them towards the jockey.
Bruce found himself confronting a very abbreviated, middle-aged man, with the wizened face of a small monkey. He greeted Karen with a grin, and was courteous in a brisk way.
'Snapper, do you have a mount for the Derby?' Minna inquired.
'You know I don't,' said Garrison. 'Except for workouts, I don't ride anymore. Over the hill, I'm told. Too old.'
'You look spry enough to me,' Minna said.
'Oh, I am,' Garrison assured her. 'I've never been in better shape. But nobody else here thinks so.'
'How would you like a mount in the Derby?' Minna asked.
'What do you mean?'
'Bruce here brought a three-year-old thoroughbred up from the Bluegrass Region. He has him entered in the American Derby. Unfortunately, he hasn't found a jockey who'll ride for a percentage. Would you?'
Snapper Garrison grinned again. 'That might be better than what I'm earning now. Still, I don't want to make a fool of myself.' He took in Bruce. 'Do you want to show me this colt of yours? What's his name?'
'Frontier,' Bruce said.
'All right, let me have a look at him,' said Garrison.
Leading Garrison, Minna, and Karen, Bruce brought them to Frontier's stall and gestured Garrison inside.
Garrison spent five minutes examining the horse before he emerged.
'A nice horse, a sound one,' Garrison said. 'His only problem is that he's small.' Garrison's grin reappeared. 'Yet, so am I.'
'You'll ride him?' said Bruce excitedly.
'Oh, sure,' said Snapper Garrison. 'I'll ride him. But I'll tell you one thing. Unless there's hot weather – the hottest May weather – the day of the Derby, he won't have a chance.'
'And if it's a hot day?'
'He'll have a chance,' said Garrison enigmatically. 'I was peeking at my Farmer's Almanac last week. It says the day of the Derby will be a hot day. So let's wait and see.'
Mayor Carter Harrison sat stiffly behind his desk in City Hall, still smarting from the unpleasant meeting he'd had two hours ago.
The pressure for reform had become unbearable.
Awaiting his next visitor, he mentally reviewed the high points of this morning's confrontation.
The confrontation had been with the thin-lipped, dour Reverend John Stonehill, president of the Municipal Voters' League.
'You know why I am here, Mayor,' Stonehill had begun, almost before being seated.
Harrison had suspected the reason behind the reverend's request for a talk, but he had not been ready to admit it. 'To be truthful, I'm not certain why you wished to see me.'
'Reform,' Stonehill had blurted. 'Your key campaign promise was that you would eliminate vice in this city, especially in the Levee, and you promised specifically that you would close down the Everleigh Club, which has come to symbolize the worst of Chicago, throughout the nation and the world. On the basis of your promise to instigate reform, the entire Municipal Voters' League stood behind you and elected you to office. Mr Mayor, we've waited patiently. We see not one single shred of evidence that cleanup has begun.'
Harrison had cleared his throat. 'Reverend Stonehill, I assure you I have been most active in the area of reform, mainly in my effort to close down the Everleigh Club as an example and warning to all the other lesser houses of ill fame.'
'I see no evidence of movement. I have information that the Everleigh Club is as wide open as ever.'
'Not quite,' the mayor had insisted, 'not really. Fewer men are going there, and the Everleighs claim to be operating only a restaurant. Nevertheless, I too suspect a degree of illegal sexual activity still goes on there. To date I've been unable to prove it and I must have proof. However, I will confide in you that right now I have an undercover observer there who will bring me indisputable proof of illegal sexual acts. Once I have this proof my chief of police will be able to close the Club. The rest of the clubs will then see the handwriting on
the wall. They'll also close down and move to other cities. Trust me, Reverend Stonehill.'
'I trust your sincerity,' the Reverend Stonehill had said, 'but I distrust your competence in this matter.'
'I can only say I have been handling this competently.'
Stonehill had come to his feet. 'We shall see. We will wait another few weeks for affirmative results. If you still have not fulfilled your campaign promises, I shall – the entire League shall – petition for your resignation.'
On that threat, the reverend had departed and the mayor had been left to stew over the matter.
Presently, he had acted. Fearing that his own voice might be recognizable, he had ordered a member of his staff to telephone Calumet 412, the well-known Everleigh Club number. It was blatantly listed in the telephone directory under the name of Aida Everleigh. The aide had been told to get hold of Karen Grant personally and tell her to come to the mayor's office as soon as possible. She had said she would be there in an hour.
That had been an hour ago, and Mayor Harrison was becoming increasingly restless when Karen Grant came into the room.
Harrison wasted no time. 'Sit down, Karen. We've got to have a straight talk.'
She sat down, but Harrison remained standing.
'If you want to talk about the Everleigh Club I have nothing new to report.'
'Indeed that is what I want to talk about. Before lunch I had Reverend Stonehill of the Municipal Voters' League in here. He's demanding I deliver on my campaign promise of reform. If I fail, he's going to have the League pressure me to resign.'
'You can't do that -'
'I won't have to,' Harrison said, 'if I can get faster results from you.'
'I'm doing the best I can, Mayor.'
'It's not enough.' He paced agitatedly. 'Have you seen or do you know of any sexual activity in the Everleigh Club? That's the question.'
'I simply don't have an answer yet,' Karen pleaded. 'The sisters have only their restaurant open. I'm one of six hostesses. The other girls have been put up in neighbourhood hotels. The Club will remain closed this week and next until the Everleighs' niece is safely married and gone off on her honeymoon. When the Club reopens I can get the proof you're waiting for.'
'That's too long to wait. Isn't there a nephew here, also?'
'Yes, there is. Bruce Lester.'
'What about him?' the mayor wanted to know. 'Maybe he'd give you some evidence that his aunts are really madams.'
'Oh, him. God, no. Bruce thinks they're socialites with a big house. Forget about Bruce.'
The mayor eyed Karen keenly. 'He's Bruce to you, I see. I gather you've become acquainted.'
'Naturally. There are only a handful of us in the Club.'
'Don't get too involved with this Bruce,' said the mayor. 'Don't be diverted by anyone. Concentrate on the other girls in the Club. They may be doing a little on the side for the Everleighs.'
'I doubt it,' said Karen. 'I'd know.'
'Just make sure, Karen. You're there to do a job. Your job is to get proof that the Everleighs are still running a house of ill fame. If – temporarily – they're not, then you must keep your word and let me know the first minute they give the go-ahead sign.'
'I promise you I will.'
'The important thing is that I've got to have that brothel closed down before the Municipal Voters' League tries to force me to resign – and certainly before the prince of Prussia turns up to see our fair city. Indeed, when he sees Chicago, I want to
be sure it is the fairest city in America. It's up to you, Karen.'
The next day, just after finishing their noon dinner, Karen led Cathleen and Bruce out to Minna's red Ford. Climbing up to the driver's seat, settling herself behind the wheel, Karen waited while Bruce helped his sister into the front seat and took the back seat for himself.
While waiting, Karen recalled how this gathering had come about.
Early in the morning, Edmund had come to Karen's bedroom.
'Miss Grant,' he had said, 'if you are free right now, Miss Minna would like to see you in her office.'
Wondering what this was all about, Karen had said, 'I'm perfectly free.'
She had followed Edmund out of her doorway and downstairs, where she headed for Minna's office.
In the office, Karen had found Minna standing beside her desk, staring off.
'There's something I'd like you to do for me, Karen,' Minna had begun without any preliminaries.
'Anything you wish, Minna.'
'It has to do with my niece and nephew,' Minna had said.
Karen had brightened at once. She had enjoyed being with Bruce at the race course yesterday, and she welcomed any opportunity to be with him again.
'I'd be delighted to do whatever you ask,' Karen had said.
'My nephew Bruce has been pressing me to take him and Cathleen on a tour of Chicago. He wants to see something of the city before he goes back to Kentucky. I keep promising to show him the sights, but I'm really afraid to do so. Someone might recognize me and spill the truth about who I really am. I took a chance going to Washington Park yesterday, but I really had to wear a veil to keep from being recognized, and I'll do so again when the Derby is run. I can't take more chances. Anyway, Bruce told me he'd bumped into you somewhere and you'd offered to take him on a tour. So I thought of you, even though you're fairly new here. At least your face
wouldn't be as familiar as that of one of the other girls. If you would show Bruce and Cathleen the highlights of this city – maybe a few hours – that would get him off my back. Would you consider doing it?'
'Would I?' Karen had said ardently. 'I'd love to do it.'
'Then set it up for this afternoon, and feel free to use my car. I'd appreciate that.'
And so the tour had come to pass, and Bruce and Cathleen were in Minna's Ford with Karen as their guide.
Thinking how to best go about the excursion, Karen decided that she would show Bruce and Cathleen the more expensive residential area first, then the leading major boulevards and parks. After that they would plunge into the downtown Loop.
Karen drove the Ford from Dearborn to Michigan Avenue, and slowly through the green, quiet neighbourhoods of stone mansions owned by millionaires.
'This is the rich residential area of Chicago,' she explained, recalling what she had seen with the mayor. 'There are plenty of poor in the city. But there are these wealthy people also. That brownstone you see, the one with towers, minarets, balconies, belongs to Potter Palmer, the hotel magnate. The rooms are all done in the French style, with Corots and Monets on the walls. There's a ballroom where he once hired the Russian ballet to perform for a party. Palmer's house has two private elevators, and twenty-seven servants. Look over there. That Gothic on the corner is a $60,000 house that belongs to Charles T. Yerkes, who owns the El trains – the elevateds – and the electric trolley cars. I'm told he sleeps in a bed that the king of Belgium used to own.'
After pointing out the $200,000 mansions belonging to Marshall Field, Philip Armour, and George Pullman, Karen tired of all this splendour and turned on to Drexel Boulevard. Again slowing, she showed Cathleen and Bruce the main feature of this drive. It was a magnificent park, 200 feet wide, that paralleled the boulevard, a park thickly ornamented with
walks that wound through trees, shrubbery, plants, and beds of yellow daffodils.
'This leads to Washington Park,' Karen called over her shoulder to Bruce, 'where we went yesterday to see Frontier. I'm glad you're going to run him in the American Derby.'
'Poor man's roulette,' murmured Bruce.
'Maybe,' said Karen. 'Now let me show you some of the bigger buildings your aunts would want you to see, modern landmarks Chicagoans are proud of.'
Twisting through the streets, stopping briefly now and then, Karen showed them the Palmer House Hotel, the sixteen-storey Monadnock Building, which filled an entire block, the Home Insurance Building, the Fine Arts Building in spacious Jackson Park, a park 1,500 acres in size with tennis courts and grazing sheep.
'Now,' said Karen, 'let's see something more interesting – our downtown section known to natives as the Loop. We'll drive there, leave the car, and wander around on foot.'
When they reached the Loop, it proved to be a beehive of humanity and moving vehicles. Above them, like a steel girdle, the tracks of the elevated trains circled the area, pouring almost three-quarters of a million shoppers into the streets daily. The Loop seethed with people dodging automobiles, horse-drawn trucks, buses, and electric streetcars. The din of people talking and walking and of machines whirring and banging was almost deafening.
Karen inched the Ford along, searching and searching for a vacant parking place; at last she found one and eased the auto into it.
Once safely parked, Karen urged Cathleen and Bruce to descend into the bedlam of the street. She told them to follow her. She seemed to have some kind of destination in mind. As they pushed and shoved along, Karen indicated the rumbling elevated that blocked out the sky above them.
'The third elevated line to be installed in the country,' Karen explained. ' New York and Brooklyn had them first.
We followed in time to create mass transportation for the World's Columbian Exposition. A year before the fair, the elevated consisted of a small steam locomotive hauling four wooden coaches. Each olive-green coach was forty-six feet long. Eventually, the Els were converted to electrically powered trains, essentially what you see up there at a second-storey level today.'
Bruce made a mock gesture of covering his ears. 'As a country horseman, I don't know if I could stand all this thunder and confusion on a daily basis.'
'Well, I'm going to show you that we have other diversions,' said Karen. She had come to a halt before a theatre. A sign identified it as the American Music Hall. 'Have either of you ever seen vaudeville?' Karen asked.
'Many times in Louisville,' Cathleen replied.
'Good,' said Karen, 'but today I want you to spend fifteen minutes seeing the best. Have you heard of Joe Cook?'
Neither Cathleen nor Bruce had.
'I've timed our arrival so we can see his performance today.'
'Who is Joe Cook?' Bruce wanted to know.
'A comedian,' said Karen, as she bought three tickets. 'He does what they call a nut act. He satirizes vaudeville. He's marvellous.'
The three of them went into the darkened theatre, which was two-thirds full for the matinee.
As they walked down the aisle and found their seats, a magician on stage was concluding his performance to applause.
Karen whispered to Cathleen and Bruce, 'Now Joe Cook. He's going to do his Four Hawaiians number.'
They watched as Joe Cook, carrying a mandolin, ambled out of the wings. A plain wooden chair had been set in the centre of the stage, and Joe Cook sat down, mandolin in his lap. He squinted out at the audience and began to speak.
'I will give an imitation of four Hawaiians. This is one.'
Cook whistled. 'This is another.' He tinkled the mandolin. 'And this is the third.' He marked time with his foot. Then he resumed speaking. 'I could imitate four Hawaiians just as easily but I will tell you the reason why I don't do it. You see, I bought a horse for fifty dollars and it turned out to be a running horse. I was offered $15,000 for him and I took it. I built a house with the $15,000, and when it was finished a neighbour offered me $100,000 for it. He said my house stood right where he wanted to dig a well. So I took the $100,000 to accommodate him. I invested the $100,000 in peanuts, and that year there was a peanut famine, so I sold the peanuts for $350,000. Now why should a man with $350,000 bother to imitate four Hawaiians?'
Calmly, Cook picked up his chair and left the stage, while the audience burst into laughter, and Cathleen, Bruce, and Karen held their sides and joined in the merriment.
Presently, after another number, the three of them left the theatre and made their way through the jostling crowds towards the parked car.
Bruce shook his head. 'Joe Cook was wonderful.'
Karen cast him a sidelong glance, pleased. 'I wanted you to know there was a lot of fun in Chicago too.'
'What next?' Bruce wanted to know.
'The afternoon is almost gone,' Karen said. 'I think your aunts will be expecting you.'
They were in the Ford once more and wending their way out of the Loop.
'I guess you've seen just about everything of importance,' said Karen.
'Not quite,' said Bruce.
'What do you mean?' said Karen, with surprise. 'If you mean we missed the Union Stockyards, I skipped that on purpose. I didn't think a potential vegetarian would want to see that.'
'I don't,' said Bruce. 'But there's something else I'd like to see – one more thing.'
'What?' Karen wondered.
'A place called the Levee,' said Bruce. 'I understand it's not far from our aunts' home.'
'The Levee?' said Karen, brow furrowing. 'Are you sure? It's miserable. It's supposed to be the wickedest section of the city.'
'I know,' Bruce agreed. 'I've heard about it. But I hoped to see Chicago completely, for better or for worse.'
'If you insist,' said Karen, still troubled.
Bruce was adamant. 'I insist.'
Karen sighed. 'In that case, we'll return to your aunts' home, leave the car in front, and take a short walk through the Levee.'
After they had returned to the Everleigh Club and parked Minna's car, Karen reluctantly led her charges into the heart of the Levee.
'There's not too much to see,' Karen told Bruce. But then the mayor's reform statistics came to mind. 'The Levee itself is roughly four blocks by four blocks, with over 200 brothels, some of them small as a closet, but of these, thirty-seven are major bordellos. There are about 3,000 persons who inhabit the area. Most of these are hoodlums, drunkards, gamblers, opium dealers, criminals of every stripe. In a single day, usually at night, there's an average of five murders here, seven suicides, ten persons killed by bombings. Raping of women daring to walk through here is routine. Most of the rapes don't get into the press, but I was told that one time a socialite, Mrs Frank C. Hollister, was found in a garbage heap. She had been raped, strangled with copper wire, and then beaten to a pulp. That made the papers and provoked some police protection, but only briefly.'
Cathleen shuddered. 'How can our aunts live near such a terrible neighbourhood?'
Karen was uncertain what to say. She said what she could. 'I imagine they were taken by the idea of dwelling in a mansion, but couldn't afford one in a more respectable area.'
Together, the three of them strolled past a brothel where painted young women, semi-clad, stood in the windows and beckoned to Bruce.
Karen pointed to another brothel. 'It's called The California. There are dozens of prostitutes inside, wearing only flimsy chemises and colourful high-heeled shoes. The two men standing in front are cadets trying to lure customers inside.'
'Cadets, you call them,' Bruce laughed. 'You know they're pimps.'
'I try to avoid such language,' Karen retorted.
As they strolled along, Karen waved her hand to take in the entire block. 'All you'll find here are winehouses – some play Scott Joplin ragtime on piano rolls all night long, saloons awash with whisky, pawnshops, gambling joints, and, above all, the mainstay of this district, houses of prostitution. This red-light district is filled with them.'
'Red-light district,' said Cathleen. 'What does that mean?'
'Women for sale,' said Karen. 'Red-light comes from the fact that many of the bordellos have red beacons on the outside.' Again she pointed. 'Over there you see the house owned by Julia and Maurice Van Bever, who were found guilty of practising white slavery, inducing innocent young women to become prostitutes.'
'White slavery?' Cathleen was appalled. 'Isn't that ancient history?'
'It still goes on here and there,' said Karen. 'Off to your left, do you see that hovel with the windows painted over? It's known as a breaking-in house. A handsome man finds a girl who is looking for a good time, a few drinks, some song, and for some love. The man takes the girl to a breaking-in house like that and fills her with liquor. Then he takes her into a back room where a gang of men are waiting. All the men take turns raping the girl, standing in line to do it. Then they give her cocaine or morphine to make her even more passive. After that, she's broken in and ready to become a prostitute.'
'How horrible,' Cathleen gasped.
'It's not the rule,' Karen assured her. 'White slavery is uncommon. Such tactics are unnecessary these days. The madams claim the majority of girls come here to become prostitutes out of choice or out of necessity. Once, the British journalist William T. Stead made a study of the Levee and wrote a book about it called If Christ Came to Chicago. I read it. He wrote the Levee had no civilizing influences. He found no concert hall, no resident clergyman, no educator. He found one German church and wrote, "It is an oasis set in the midst of all the vice and squalor and drunkenness of the district."'
Cathleen looked about her, shocked. 'Those poor girls, how I pity them.'
Bruce squeezed her hand. 'As Karen told you, most of the girls are here by choice. It's the madams of the brothels that trouble me. They're hiring the girls. I wonder what their excuses are?'
'There can't be any excuses,' Cathleen said firmly.
Karen was feeling extremely uncomfortable. As they reached the end of a block, she announced, 'I think we've had enough of this sorrowful place. Let's turn around and get back to your aunts' home before Minna and Aida begin to worry about what I've done with you.'
They retraced their steps to the Everleigh Club. After Cathleen and Bruce had gone upstairs to their bedrooms, Karen turned around to see Minna standing outside her study, beckoning her.
She hastened toward Minna, then followed her inside.
'That was a long tour,' said Minna. 'How did it go?'
Karen recounted where they had been, and what they had seen, omitting the visit to the Levee. 'Bruce and Cathleen enjoyed it all.'
'Then it went perfectly.'
Karen hesitated, then decided to speak out. 'Not quite, Minna. Afterwards, as we were coming here, Bruce wanted to see a place he'd heard about called the Levee.'
'The Levee,' Minna repeated with disbelief. 'He wanted to see that?'
'He saw it.'
'But for heaven's sake, why did you take him there – here – all around here?'
'Because he insisted, Minna. He wanted to visit the worst of Chicago as well as the best.'
'He saw the brothels?'
'They both did,' admitted Karen.
Minna was silent for an interval as she fixed her eyes on Karen. At last Minna spoke. 'What… what did they say? You can be honest with me, Karen.'
'They were upset by everything in general,' said Karen. 'They seemed to understand and excuse the girls who work here.' Karen paused. 'They blamed the brothel madams most.'
'Oh, my God!' Minna gasped. 'What if they ever found out what Aida and I are really doing here?' When Karen did not comment, Minna drew herself up resolutely. 'Well, they won't. They'll never find out. I won't let that happen. From now on, Aida and I will be doubly on our guard. Thank you, Karen, for telling me the truth and putting me on warning. A hundred thanks.'
Many of the Everleigh girls were idling at the Tremont House Hotel during their enforced vacation.
Dr Holmes had agreed to examine each of them once a week, and he had been doing so during the past two hours.
Now, towards the end of his day, there was only one girl waiting to be examined. This was Greta, a Swedish beauty of about twenty, who was the most playful of all the girls and the most receptive to Holmes's advances.
Greta and Holmes were alone in her room on the fourth floor, and Holmes, removing his jacket, watched her provocatively undressing.
It had crossed his mind when he had arrived, and it was still on his mind as he waited for Greta, that he could have her right there in her room. He had never attempted any sexual advances in the Everleigh Club itself, because it was too populated, and there was a chance that Minna or Aida might walk in on one of his examinations.
But here in the Tremont House Hotel, a comfortable distance from the Everleighs, he felt safe to do whatever he wanted to do.
Greta sat down on the bed, and spread her legs. Finding his speculum, Dr Holmes approached her.
He kneeled down, and perfunctorily examined her for any evidence of recent sexual activity.
There was none. She was clean.
Holmes remained on his knees. 'No real problem,' he said.
'I shouldn't think so,' she called down to him. 'I haven't had a man since leaving the Club. I feel like a virgin.'
Gazing at her vagina, Holmes began to feel the stiffening between his legs.
'If there is any problem,' he said, 'it's that you're very tight down here. You need lubricating.'
'How do I do that?' Greta wanted to know.
'By letting your doctor help you.'
'If you think you can, go ahead,' she said lazily.
Holmes put down his speculum, and returned his attention to her vagina. 'Lie back flat,' he called up hoarsely. 'Spread your legs wider. Very good.'
With his head again between her thighs, his tongue circled her vaginal lips. Then he began to kiss her.
Her body started, and she sat up halfway. 'Hey, Doctor, I didn't know you did that.'
'I never do. But you're something special. I can't resist. Do you object?'
'Not especially, except Minna told me not to have anything to do with any man while I'm outside the Club.'
'Didn't she say you could see me?' he asked, looking up at her.
'Yes, of course.'
'Didn't she say I could treat you?'
'Yes, but-'
'I am treating you, Greta. Lie back and cooperate.'
Greta exhaled. She lay back and gave up all resistance. 'Whatever… whatever you say, Doctor.'
'I say let's enjoy ourselves.'
He bent down once more, easing his head between her thighs, until he could kiss her labia again, and then extended his tongue and inserted it inside her vagina.
She was moist, and her buttocks were rotating.
After a few minutes, he thought she'd had an orgasm, but he wasn't sure and he didn't care.
He pulled back slightly, clambered to his feet, and stood between her legs, unbuttoning his trousers.
'Sit up, Greta,' he commanded. 'Come here.'
He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her head down to his distended penis. 'It's fellatio time, darling.'
'It's what?'
'Time to do unto others as you would have done to you. It's time to suck, Greta.'
Her mouth closed over him and her tongue and lips slid expertly over his penis. He trembled with frenzy. She was good, very good, very, very good. Staring down at the top of her head, the exposed back of her neck, he realized how many men she must have done this to, and he was excited by one thing – a desire to sever her head from her body, to dismember her, so that she could do this to no one ever again.
He felt he was coming apart, and then he did, erupting and groaning and groaning.
Later, he patted her cheek. 'You were magnificent, Greta, better than any woman I have ever known.'
'Really? Well, you weren't half bad yourself.'
Holmes dropped the speculum in his bag. 'Then maybe we belong together.'
'What are you saying?'
'I'm saying we seem suited to each other. Why don't you pack your things and move out of here? Move in with me.'
Greta hesitated. 'I'd love to, but what will Minna and Aida say?'
'They'll never know. Move in with me tomorrow. We can live together, and if it works out as I think it will, we can get married. No more of that Everleigh drudgery for you. Will you?'
'Will I!' Greta exclaimed, falling upon Holmes with a hug, and kissing him again and again. 'I'll be there.'
Holmes was scribbling on a piece of paper. 'Here's my address. Any time from noon on tomorrow.'
'I'll be there. I'm so happy.'
'You won't regret it, darling. I'll have a real treat in store for you. I guarantee you one thing. You'll find peace for the first time in your life.'
It was not until just before noon that Minna Everleigh learned that yet another of her favourite girls had disappeared.
The word of this had come from Edmund, who had routinely checked the scattered whereabouts of the Everleigh girls and reported to Minna on what he could learn of their security and behaviour.
This morning he had reported that Greta was missing from the Tremont House Hotel. Edmund had learned that less than an hour before his phone inquiry, Greta had checked out of her room with her suitcases, leaving no forwarding address.
News of this defection had thoroughly mystified Minna and shaken her.
What disturbed Minna most was the constancy of the disappearances. First Fanny. Then Avis. Now Greta. There were two factors that troubled Minna. The first was the number of disappearances within so short a time. Minna had been ac-
customed to losing one girl a year, two at the most. But three leaving without a word in two weeks – it was unheard of. The second factor that concerned Minna was the manner of each disappearance. Until these, when a girl had wanted to leave the Everleigh Club, she usually had been honest with Minna in giving her reason and her destination. A man had proposed marriage to her and she wanted to settle down. She missed her home and family in Denver and wanted to return. Or, simply, she was bored with being enclosed in the Everleigh Club and devoting her life to lying on her back and pretending to enjoy herself. In the past, the departure of each girl, though few and far between, had always been courteous and forthright.
Now Fanny, Avis, and Greta had vanished into thin air, without any explanation.
Minna brooded over the matter for long minutes, and finally she telephoned the young reporter, Chet Foley, at the Chicago Tribune.
'Chet, this is Minna Everleigh at the Club.'
'I'm glad you called. I was planning to come by one day to have a drink with you.'
Minna put on her most gracious tone. 'You're always welcome, except this week and next. We're renovating the place. I'm really calling to ask you a question. If someone close to you disappeared, and you wanted to find them, what would you do?'
Foley answered immediately. 'I'd hire a private detective agency to trace them.'
'That makes sense,' Minna said. 'A detective agency. Why not? What would you say is the biggest one in Chicago?'
'The Pinkerton National Detective Agency, by far.'
'Do you know anything about them, Chet?'
'Not personally. We must have something on file here at the paper.'
'All right,' Minna said, 'I've just changed my mind about your dropping by. You may drop by if you bring me something on the Pinkerton Agency. Can you?'
'Certainly. Do you want to see me soon?'
'Right away. Soon as you have the information, come right over with it.'
Half an hour later, Foley was seated with Minna in her office.
He handed her a folder. 'All we have on the Pinkertons. Some clippings from the Tribune. One from the Observer. An official brochure from their firm. The clippings are repetitious. The brochure should tell you most of what you want to know.'
Minna sat in silence as she thumbed through the material.
The brochure was indeed impressive. It was headed, PINKERTON'S NATIONAL DETECTIVE AGENCY. It had a staring eye as its trademark, and the motto 'We Never Sleep'. The superintendent of the Chicago office was William A. Pinkerton.
Studying the Observer story, Minna saw that it had only praise for William Pinkerton. 'He is America's leading detective, the man through whose medium you may know the exact wealth of Li Hung Chang, how much your clerk bet on the election, or what African jungle hides the clerk who ruined the Bank of Timbuktu. His methods, though effective, are painfully matter-of-fact.'
Minna looked up from the file. 'Their business seems mostly railroads,' she said.
'Their business is crime,' Foley assured her, 'any kind.'
'I suppose you're right,' said Minna, handing back the file. 'I should retain them to look into several disappearances of my girls. If someone's trying to ruin us, I better find out about it. Look, Chet, just hold on while I phone Pinkerton for an appointment. Then we'll have a glass of champagne together.'
After speaking to William Pinkerton and securing an immediate appointment, Minna had Edmund drive her down-
town to Pinkerton's National Agency, at 193 Fifth Avenue in Chicago 's downtown.
Once inside the building, she was escorted to William Pinkerton's cluttered office. He was a great bear of a man, with his hair slicked down flat and a full moustache. He directed Minna to a leather chair beside the desk.
'I'm Minna Everleigh,' she began. 'I don't know if you've heard of me.'
Pinkerton gave a short laugh. 'Who hasn't?' he replied.
'I've run into something that's disturbing me. I think I can use some of your detectives.'
'We don't have detectives,' said Pinkerton. 'We have trained investigators we call operatives.'
'No matter what you call them, they're detectives, aren't they?'
Pinkerton appeared pained. 'All right, if you insist.' He brought what resembled a ledger in front of him, opened it, and dipped his pen in ink. 'Give me the facts first, omitting nothing. On the phone you spoke of a problem concerning the disappearances of some of your employees. Do you want to expand on that?'
'We retain thirty young girls at the Everleigh Club to entertain our guests. In a normal year, I might lose one of them, at the most two, to marriage, homesickness, a desire to change jobs. Just now I have lost three of my best girls in a row, all within a period of two weeks. Each one simply upped and left, vanished into thin air. It gives me the uneasy feeling that someone took Fanny, Avis, and Greta away from me to destroy our Club.'
'Can you give me the girls' full names?'
Minna recited the full names: Fanny Spenser, Avis Kaufman, Greta Ryan. 'All under twenty-two, and pretty.'
'Please describe each one in detail,' Pinkerton said, as he entered the names in his ledger.
Minna described Fanny, Avis, and Greta as best she could.
Pinkerton continued to write. He glanced up. 'Would anyone you know have had contact with these three, someone who might have an idea of their plans or what they had on their minds?'
'The other girls, of course. I have my valet, Edmund, questioning them right now. I'm afraid that won't lead to anything fruitful. The girls are usually close-mouthed about what they know of each other. They'd be especially close-mouthed in a matter like this, about three of them who walked out on us.'
'I see,' said Pinkerton. 'Can you think of anyone else who had contact with these girls who might be more forthcoming?'
'Not really, except – well, there's our physician, who visits all the girls once a week and speaks to them intimately and regularly. He might have some clues.'
'His name?'
'Dr Herman H. Holmes. He knew them all. He could possibly be helpful.'
'How would I locate him?'
Minna gave Holmes's address to Pinkerton. 'Do you want his telephone number?'
'No. I think I'll just look in on him without an appointment. Let's find out if he knows what Fanny, Avis, and Greta had in mind.'
'When are you going to see Dr Holmes?'
'Immediately. Today. I'll do it personally. This is a fascinating mystery. I'll look into it right after you leave, Miss Ever-leigh, and then I'll report to you. Perhaps we'll get to the bottom of this or perhaps we won't. But we'll try.'
Dr Herman Holmes lusted for this girl. No longer sexually, but in anticipation of carving up her ample body.
Greta had moved in a few hours ago. He had taken her on a tour of his three-storey offices and home. She had been dazzled by its comfort and size.
As he left her at her bedroom, she said with awe, 'This is going to be my home too?'
'Yours and mine from this day on,' promised Holmes.
'Did you mean what you said about maybe marrying me?'
Holmes smiled. 'I'm a bachelor. I've studiously avoided marriage until I was sure I'd found the right woman.' He met her eyes. 'I think I've found her at last.'
'I'm so happy!' Greta exclaimed, melting into his arms.
He held her briefly, whispering, 'I'll try to see that you're always happy.' Parting from her, he added, 'I can't wait to make love to you again. You go into your room and undress. Have a leisurely bath. Then put on the silk robe you'll find inside and join me downstairs. I'll be waiting for you.'
A half-hour later, when he heard her descending the staircase, Holmes left his office to meet her.
She giggled when she saw him in his underwear.
Tightening the belt of her purple silk robe, she said, 'Looks like you have something special in mind, Herman.'
'I do, my pet.'
'Where do we go?'
'To a place where we can have complete privacy.' He took her arm. 'Come along.'
He brought her to the closed entrance to his airtight room. He pressed a button. The door slid open.
'How clever!' she exclaimed. 'I've never seen anything like that.'
He nodded. 'As I told you, I want to ensure our complete privacy. Actually, this is my examination room.'
She was in the room, surveying it. 'Cosy enough, but not a window.'
'Nobody to pry,' said Holmes. 'Take off your robe and hoist yourself on the examination table.'
She did as directed. He watched her, hypnotized by the lushness of her alabaster body.
'What are we going to do?' she asked. 'Are we going to do what we did this morning?'
'If you don't mind.'
'Don't mind? I love it.'
She spread her legs as he knelt on a step. She grasped his head and brought him closer.
She closed her eyes and arched her back as he licked her vulva.
At first, she began to moan. As he continued, she wanted to scream, then repressed the impulse. 'Can… can anyone hear me?'
He lifted his head slightly. 'We're alone.'
He ducked down to pleasure her again, and now she screamed lustily.
This excited him. His mouth pressed harder, his tongue probed deeper.
Suddenly, she shook, lifting herself with such force that she almost threw him to the floor. This time he was sure of her orgasm, a noisy and prolonged one.
When it was done, she sank down, breathless, gradually opening her eyes to find him.
'That was something,' she said. 'What about you, Herman?'
'I'm ready when you are,' he said. He stood up over her, stripped off his underwear. His penis was hard as a rod.
She took it expertly in her hands, pulled it to her mouth, and then closed her lips around it.
Blinking down at the nape of her neck, he knew that she was a marvel, but what was most marvellous about her was the back of her neck. He was glad that she could enjoy herself so much before losing her head.
The thoughts of her head, her neck, excited him even more. As she went on, he tried desperately to contain himself. It was impossible. The witch was relentless.
Then he came and came.
When he was limp, she toyed with him, laughing, 'You had a good time, didn't you, Herman?'
'I'll never forget it.'
'Neither will I,' she said.
Holmes pulled free of her, and snatched up his underwear. 'I'll be right back.'
'Where are you going, Herman?'
'Just want to freshen up. I'll be right back. You'll find a towel on the end of the table. You can tidy up too.'
He went off through the open sliding door, and pushed the button to shut it.
Before it closed, he heard Greta's voice calling out, 'Hey, why are you closing the door?'
'Never mind,' he called back. 'I'll be with you shortly.'
The door slid shut.
Pleased, Holmes went to his office, pulled on his union suit, his shirt and trousers, then his stockings and shoes. He knotted his tie. Then he started for the row of levers, prepared to turn on the gas.
He was halfway to the lever when he thought he heard the front doorbell ring. He halted, listened again, and heard the bell ring more distinctly.
Holmes detoured out of his office and headed for the foyer, wondering who the unexpected visitor could be at this hour. He still had much to do after he turned on the gas. There would be great joy in cutting up Greta's plumpish body. Definitely orgasmic.
He put his hand on the knob of the front door and pulled it wide.
The doorway was filled by a huge middle-aged man with plastered hair, a full moustache, an expensive suit, and carrying a cane.
He had a calling-card in his free hand, and he offered it to Holmes. 'I am William A. Pinkerton, supervisor of the Chicago branch of Pinkerton's National Detective Agency,' the man announced. 'I'm here at the instigation of Miss Minna Ever-leigh, your employer, who feels you may give me some help in a matter I'm investigating.'
Glancing at the calling-card, Holmes said graciously, 'To be sure. Please come in.'
Leading Pinkerton to his office, Holmes cast a sidelong look at the sliding door. It was tightly closed, and if Greta was still voicing her confusion, she could not be heard.
After seating Pinkerton in his office, Holmes took his own place behind the desk.
His posture one of hospitality and relaxation, he said, 'What can I do for you, Mr Pinkerton?'
Pinkerton was not one to delay. 'Miss Everleigh is distressed because three of her girls have disappeared in the last two weeks. This is something that has never happened at the Club before.'
'I'm sorry for her. Of what help can I be to you?'
'Miss Everleigh thought it might be useful if I questioned you for some clues to their whereabouts.'
'Who are these girls?'
Pinkerton extracted a pad from his pocket, and flipped the pages. 'Miss Fanny Spenser, Miss Avis Kaufman, Miss Greta Ryan. They are all young prostitutes employed by the Everleigh sisters. Do you recognize their names?'
Holmes bobbed his head. 'I think I do. While I never knew their last names, I do recognize the first names. Fanny, Avis, Greta. Yes, I've medically examined them.' He seemed to recall something. 'As a matter of fact, now I do remember. I missed Fanny and Avis on my last visits to the Club. I meant to ask Minna where they were, but it skipped my mind.'
'Then Greta. She was one of the girls Miss Everleigh housed in the Tremont House Hotel. She checked out late this morning. What is unusual is that neither she nor the other two informed Miss Everleigh that they were leaving. They just left without word as to their destination. They simply vanished into thin air.'
Holmes shook his head sympathetically. 'Too bad. Still, why would Minna have you question me about them?'
'Because you were the one person who saw them regularly and intimately, and Miss Everleigh hoped that you might
have heard from one or all of them – about any plans they might have had.'
'I see, I see,' said Holmes. 'Well, there is some conversation when I'm examining the girls, but rarely anything meaningful. Let me concentrate on the last times I saw these girls. Fanny, you say?'
'Fanny Spenser.'
'The last time I saw her was a few weeks ago. I can't remember anything noteworthy that she had to say. Oh, something about being displeased because her income would be reduced for a while. One might say she was complaining about this, and hinting that she had heard of a few houses in Nashville and San Francisco that paid as well as the Everleigh Club and guaranteed work regularly.'
' Nashville and San Francisco,' repeated Pinkerton, making notes. 'We'll check around.'
'As to Avis,' continued Holmes, 'I do recollect that she mentioned being tired of prostitution, and planned to one day give it up to take on some other line of work.'
'Did she speak of what line of work? Or where such a job might exist?'
'I'm afraid I can't recollect. My memory for names isn't what it used to be.'
Pinkerton looked down at his notes. 'Greta Ryan.'
'You know I examined her early this morning at her hotel,' Holmes said openly.
'I know you did,' said Pinkerton.
Holmes shrugged. 'She seemed quite satisfied with her lot. I had the impression that she was pleased with her vacation. She spoke of catching up on her shopping. I think she mentioned seeing some kind of garment that she wanted to purchase at Carson, Pirie, Scott. That is the most I can remember, I'm afraid.'
'Yet, she did not go shopping today, because she packed her bags and checked out of the hotel.'
'I am truly surprised,' said Holmes.
Pinkerton lifted his big body out of the chair. 'I appreciate your cooperation, Dr Holmes. If you can jog your memory to recollect any more, I wish you'd give me a call with any information, no matter how seemingly insignificant. You have my card with the telephone number. Do phone me if something comes to mind.'
Holmes was on his feet. 'I will, you can be sure. We must help Minna get her girls back.'
He preceded Pinkerton to the front door and showed him out, securing the lock firmly behind his visitor.
Returning to his office, he chuckled. He'd done a smooth job, and that fool of a detective had swallowed it whole. No one, anywhere, was smarter than Herman Holmes, and no one more clever and deceptive.
Still chuckling, he crossed his office to the levers and brought up the top lever, turning on the gas.
Goodbye, dear Greta. When he had his scalpel in hand, he would have another orgasm with her – the most exciting one of all. He could almost hear the gas hissing into the airtight room. It was a wonderful day, wonderful.
Once back in his own cluttered office, safe behind his own cluttered desk, William Pinkerton fished about in his jacket for a notebook, found it, and turned to the pages on which he had scrawled during the Dr Holmes interview.
On his way to the office, he had intended to phone Minna Everleigh and inform her that nothing had come of the meeting with Dr Holmes. But now, finishing with the notebook, he had second thoughts.
Pinkerton telephoned the Everleigh Club, and waited patiently until Minna Everleigh came on.
'Miss Everleigh. This is William Pinkerton again.'
'Yes?' Her voice was eager.
'I've just come from a meeting with Dr Herman Holmes. While he was cooperative, I'm not certain the meeting was
productive. I have a few leads on your missing girls, but they are vague. I will pursue them, but if nothing comes of them, I would like to pursue another course.'
'What course?'
'It involves Dr Holmes's veracity.'
'You think he was misleading you about Fanny, Avis, and Greta?'
'Possibly. At any rate, do you mind if I pursue this investigation a step further?'
'Will that be expensive?'
'It won't cost you a penny, unless I get results. Is that agreeable?'
'I couldn't ask for anything better.'
'I'll go on then,' said Pinkerton. 'Let's see what happens.'