CHAPTER XXIV
I was not satisfied with my partial victory before the lawyers. I hastened to Fulton Market and there found Mr. Tescheron surrounded by the slippery remnants of a big day's business in cold-storage and fresh merchandise. Here the art of making a three-cent Casco Bay lobster worth two thousand per cent. more on the New York City restaurant table is largely developed. The middleman who stands between the inhabitants of the sea and those of the land is indeed a fisher of men as well as fish. As an Inspector of Offensive Trades, I am ready to testify that the odor of the market is generally an index of the strength of the bank balance. The richness of the atmosphere around Tescheron's office convinced me that Jim could not afford to alienate the affections of such a father-in-law. As I advanced toward the small box in which Mr. Tescheron sat wrapped in his scaly ulster, I caught a glimpse of a live flounder, who appealed to me in whispers, as he made an effort to turn over and find some cooler ice. I did not interrupt him. He spoke as follows:
The Market Flounder's Icy Remarks
For Friday morn is hangman's day;
Fast in the noose I dangle.
At four a. m. the clam I seek,
And get into a tangle.
Alas! my wish—a one-eyed fish[B]—
To find a juicy ration;
The clam on high began to die—
A sweet anticipation!
Beware the scent, tho' hunger groan!
My gentle kiss (a fishing smack)
Shot far amiss and with a hiss
I landed pretty well for'ard.
A smack I smote with a fearful thwack,
A stunning whack across the back,
On the upper deck of the Judy Peck.
At noon to-day, the fishermen say,
We ornament the table—
O, wretched deed!—or chicken feed,
Two rods behind the stable.
My purpose was to be serious with Mr. Tescheron. I had fooled him quite enough. He recognized me, and as he was so cool, surrounded by his cracked ice, I did not give him the chance to refuse a hand-shake.
"I came to apologize to you, Mr. Tescheron," I began. "It seems that you can't take a joke and that you flew to Hoboken—"
He reached into a drawer and brought forth a small photograph of Hosley, which he handed to me.
"Yes, I know you seemed to think it was all a joke," he said. "But what do you think of that picture, taken from the Rogues' Gallery?—look on the back."
Sure enough, it was a familiar photograph of Hosley, and I knew the photographer who took it. But this picture was on a small card with no photographer's name on it. It might have been cut down from a larger photograph. At any rate, it was the usual size of the Rogues' Gallery police portraits, and was stamped and written upon the back like the official pictures of criminals. It made Jim look like a thief, and the plate must have been carefully retouched to order. You can buy anything in New York, thought I.
"I CAME TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU, MR. TESCHERON."—Page 322.
"Do you believe that is a real Rogues' Gallery picture?" I asked.
"Certainly. Here's a dozen of 'em from as many different cities. If you'd gone to the expense I did to get them, you would think they were genuine. Oh, there's no question about it. Strange, how you could be fooled like that! Lived with him for ten years, didn't you, and all the while he was married to that woman down-stairs and was kiting around the country for months at a time, raising hell in Michigan and Arizona along the Mexican border. I think he was planning to do away with you the same as he did with her. It's lucky I broke in when I did and knocked his little plans in the head, so far as my family was concerned." The murder of myself, of course, was a small matter.
"All of these pictures are forgeries," I interrupted. "The photographer where Hosley had his picture taken probably has his price."
"What? You still doubt? Well, you are a crazy man. That fellow Hosley was a great hypnotizer of women and weak men."
I did not become angry at this sneer. No, I was resolved to be patient. I wanted to get him in a frame of mind where he would turn on himself and say, "There's no fool like an old fool."
"This thing was about to come out through the coroner's office, but I settled as soon as I read the first newspaper item—here it is." He handed to me a clipping which Smith had used to clinch the payment of what he (Smith) called bribe money.
"Anybody could make one of those on a small printing-press as easy as they can make a camera lie or lie themselves. That clipping was manufactured, just as that woman in the flat below ours was made to order." I didn't lose my temper as I made this statement.
"But the death notice was in the papers giving the name and proper address. See, here it is, Browning, and your number. Oh, you are hypnotized yet!"
I was indeed surprised at the cleverness with which the Smith conspirators, including Obreeon, had planned to land this big fish—for such he truly was. He never sold a bigger one than himself. They had worked in the dark and could fool him every time by clouding his judgment with fear.
"You spoke of expense, Mr. Tescheron. Would you mind telling me, to satisfy my curiosity, just how much this thing has cost you?"
"Why, you are not thinking of paying it, are you?"
"No, I am sorry to say I cannot, although partly guilty, because I haven't so much money. But really I would like to know. I am amazed at your gullibility—simply amazed."
"Amazed, eh? Just look at these figures and you'll get some idea of the work we have been doing in this Hosley matter." He handed his neatly kept memorandum, which I scanned in wonder, and as we went over it, item by item, I could see the work of craftsmen shaping their clay. It all figured up, including board for his family at the Stuffer House, the payments for Smith's expenses and services, and the "settlement with Flanagan," to about $5,000.
"Mr. Tescheron," said I, "take the advice of one who wishes you well. Do a little investigating for yourself. I did not notify the coroner—I was only joking. Here is the address of Collins; see him, and get the particulars concerning the party at our old home, and then take a run up to this place and see what you think of it."
I handed to him the memorandum from Collins and left, saying:
"This is Wednesday. Think it over for a week and I'll arrange to see you next Wednesday. Then I shall expect to hear, if you are not convinced, that the sharks swallowed you like a porgy."