“Hold the line, I’ll see.”
I held the line, and in a minute he was back. “No Mr. Kugler here now.”
“When he comes in ask him to call Mr. Sharp. S-H-A-R-P.”
“Yes sir, I’ll tell him.”
I hung up. In about twenty minutes the phone rang. “Mr. Sharp? This is Kugler.”
“Oh, hello, Mr. Kugler. About those opera passes I promised you, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you for the time being. You may have read in the paper I’m having a little trouble now. Can you let me put that off till next week.”
“Oh, all right, Mr. Sharp. Any time you say.”
“Terribly sorry, Mr. Kugler.”
I hung up. I knew then that Sholto knew what he was talking about. I didn’t know any Mr. Kugler.
Harry kept bringing up new editions as they came out, and the stuff that was coming in for me. They still hadn’t got her. They found the taxi driver that rode her from Twenty-third Street. He said he took her down to Battery Park, she paid him with a five-dollar bill, so he had to go in the subway to get change, and then went off, carrying the valise. He told how Tony had flagged him, and Tony took another trip down to headquarters. It said the cops were considering the possibility she had jumped in the river, and that it might be dragged. The stuff that was coming in was a flock of telegrams, letters, and cards from every kind of nut you ever heard of, and opera fan, and shyster lawyer. But a couple of those wires weren’t from nuts. One was from Panamier, saying the broadcast would temporarily be carried on by somebody else. And one was from Luther, saying no doubt I preferred not to have any more opera appearances until I got my affairs straightened out. The last afternoon edition had a story about Pudinsky. I felt my mouth go cold. He was the one person that might know about Winston and me. If he did he didn’t say anything. He said what a fine guy Winston was, what a loyal friend, and defended him for calling up the Immigration people. He said Winston only had my best interests at heart.
I went out to eat around seven o’clock, dodged the reporters again, and had a steak in a place off Broadway. My picture was in every paper in town, but nobody seemed to notice me. One reason was, most of those pictures had been taken while I was in Hollywood, and I had put on a lot of weight since then. I wasn’t exactly fat when I arrived from Mexico. Then I had a little trouble with my eyes, and had got glasses. I ate what I could, walked around a little, then around nine o’clock came back to the apartment: All the time I was walking I kept looking back, to see if I was followed. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. In the cab, I kept twisting around, to see what was back of us.
There was another mountain of stuff when I came in, but I didn’t bother to open it. I read back all the newspaper stuff again, and then there didn’t seem to be anything to do but to go to bed. I lay there, first trying to think and then trying to sleep. I couldn’t do either one. Then after a while I did drop off. I woke up in a cold sweat with moans coming out of my mouth. The whole day had been like some kind of a fever dream, chasing in and out of cabs, dodging reporters, trying to shake the police, if they were around, reading papers. Now for the first time I seemed to get it through my head the spot we were in. She was wanted for murder, and if they caught her they would burn her in the chair.
What waked me up the next morning was the phone. Harry was on the board. “I know you said not to call, Mr. Sharp, but there’s a guy on the line, he kept calling all day yesterday, and now he’s calling again, he says he’s a friend of yours, and it’s important, and he’s got to talk to you, and I thought I better tell you.”
“Who is he?”
“He won’t say, but he said I should say the word Acapulco, something like that, to you, and you would know who it was.”
“Put him through.”
I hoped it might be Conners, and sure enough when I heard that “Is that you, lad?” I knew it was. He was pretty short. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I’ve called you, and wired you, and called again, and again—”
“I cut the phone calls off, and I haven’t opened the last bunch of wires. You’d have been through in a second if they had told me. I want to see you, I’ve got to see you—”
“You have indeed. I have news.”
“Stop! Don’t say a word. I warn you that my phone is tapped, and everything you say is being heard.”
“That occurred to me. That’s why I refused to give my name. How can I get to you?”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute... Will you call me in five minutes? I’ll have to figure a way—”
“In five minutes it is.”
He hung up, and I tried to think of some way we could meet, and yet not tip off the cops over the phone where it would be. I couldn’t think. He had said he had news, and my head was just spinning around. Before I even had half an idea the phone rang again. “Well, lad, what’s the word?”
“I haven’t any. They’re following me too, that’s the trouble. Wait a minute, wait a minute—”
“I have something that might work.”
“What is it?”
“Do you remember the time signature of the serenade you first sang to me?”
“... Yes, of course.”
“Write those figures down, the two of them, one beside the other. Now write them again, the same way. You should have a number of four figures.”
I jumped up, and got a pen, and wrote the numbers on the memo pad. It was the Don Giovanni serenade, and time signature is 6/8. I wrote 6868... “All right, I’ve got it.”
“Now subtract from it this number.” He gave me a number to subtract. I did it. “That is the number of the pay telephone I’m at. The exchange number is Circle 6. Go out to another pay telephone and call me there.”
“In twenty minutes. As soon as I get dressed.”
I jumped into my clothes, ran up to a drugstore, and called. Whether they were around the booth, listening to me, I didn’t care. They couldn’t hear what was coming in at the other end. “Is that you, lad?”
“Yes. What news?”
“I have her. She’s going down the line with me. I’m at the foot of Seventeenth Street, and I slip my hawsers at midnight tonight. If you wish to see her before we leave, come aboard some time after eleven, but take care you’re not detected.”
“How did you find her?”
“I didn’t. She found me. She’s been aboard since yesterday, if you had answered your phone.”
“I’ll be there. I’ll thank you then.”
I went back to the apartment, cut out the fooling around, and began to think. I checked over every last thing I had to do that day, then made a little program in my mind of what I was to do first, and what I was to do after that. I knew I would be tailed, and I planned it all on that basis. The first thing I did was to go up to Grand Central, and look up trains for Rye. I found there was a local leaving around ten that night. I came out of there, went in a store and bought some needles and thread. Then I went down to the bank. I still had over six thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills, but I needed more than that. I drew out ten thousand, half of it in thousand-dollar bills, twenty-five hundred more in hundreds, and the rest in fives and tens, with about fifty ones. I stuffed all that in my pockets, and went home with it. I remembered about the two shirts I had worn out of the hotel in Mexico, and pulled one just like it. I took two pairs of drawers, put one pair inside the other, sewed the bottoms of each leg together, then quilted that money in, all except the ones, and some fives and tens, that I put in my pockets. I put the drawers on. They felt a little heavy, but I could get my trousers over them without anything showing. Tony came up. They had got out of him how he had called the taxi, and he was almost crying because he had squealed. I told him it didn’t make any difference.