“The truth of the matter, Mr. Alder,” said Pleschette, “is that we can be of service to each other. You have a brilliant mind. Your logic is as inflexible as a warden’s heart. But you have a weakness, a flaw. And you know what a single flaw can do to a machine. The tiniest of wheels, a broken cog in a Univac machine, can render it useless. Your weakness, Mr. Alder, and I deplore it, is that you do not think like a criminal. I, sir, am a criminal. You admire a masterpiece in an art gallery, but I look at a painting and I see the brush stroke of the forger. You go into a bank and you admire the soundness of its protective system, while I note its weaknesses. You watch a parade and you cheer the statesman who is driving by in the open car, while I am aware only of the anarchist in the throng. I see the bulge under his coat where he has the bomb. An honest man, sir, is not perfect. Neither am I. I decry my weaknesses, but I know my strength. Mr. Alder, together you and I would be invincible. Let me add my talents to yours, augment you. Help me find my brother — and I will help you accomplish your mission.”
“You know what it is?”
“Of course I know. My dear sir, do not disparage my talents that much. You are seeking the long-lost heiress, the famous Doris Delaney.”
“I’m sure, like everyone else, you have a theory about her. How she disappeared. Why?”
“But of course. I have been many years in prisons. My constant associates have been criminals. One knows people, one hears things. In the land of my ancestors, Mr. Alder, there is an old saying: ‘Cherchez la femme!’ Which means—”
“Search for the woman!”
“Precisely. Behind every man’s crime, there is a woman. In this case, we merely reverse the process, the truism, so to speak. A woman has committed a crime — ‘Cherchez l’homme.’ Which means, search for the man!”
“Doris Delaney disappeared, then, because of a man?”
“Indubitably. You have gone right to the crux of the matter. As always. Again my compliments to you. Find your man, Mr. Alder, and you will find your woman.”
“I’ll give that right back to you, Pleschette. Find your woman and you will find your man.”
“You find him — her!”
Alder shook his head.
Pleschette cried out like a wounded boar. “Mr. Alder, have I made no impression on you? Has all of my eloquence been in vain? My good man, I sold the entire stock issue of the Cold Star Mines and Metallurgical Corporation with less effort, with less persuasiveness!”
The enormous Frenchman was quivering as he rose to his feet and picked up his Homburg hat.
“Mr. Alder, I am not a man to make threats, but you are aware by now that I am a formidable man. You have seen only my pleasant side, but I assure you, the ogre in his castle atop the beanstalk is no more fearsome a creature than I when my back is to the castle and the enemy is coming at me across the drawbridge. Guard yourself well, Mr. Alder!”
Pleschette went to the door, opened it, and stalked out of the room.
Alder leaned back against the couch, stretched out his legs, and exhaled heavily. Yes, Jacques Pleschette would be a formidable opponent. But he was just as overwhelming an ally. The torrent of words that gushed from him was enough to exhaust a man. He was so gifted, so tricky in his eloquence that it was necessary to listen to him with the utmost alertness, to try to detect the tiny little barb that was always somewhere in the tremendous barrage of speech.
Pleschette had almost glossed it over, almost but not quite. What was it?
“‘A woman has committed a crime... cherchez l’homme.’”
What crime had Doris Delaney committed?
She had run away from home. That was not a crime. She had become pregnant possibly. At the very worst that was not Doris’ crime. She had been sixteen years old. Whoever had caused her pregnancy was more likely to be the criminal.
Yet Mrs. Delaney believed that her daughter had run away, not because of pregnancy, but because of something so serious that she had been afraid to go to her parents with it. Why? Because the thing she had done was too heinous for the parental arms to protect her?
Alder reached for the manila envelope that he had received from the message clerk in the lobby, along with the telephone slips. It bore the return address of Detectives, Incorporated and contained the dossier on Jacques Pleschette.
Chapter 15
Alias François (Big Frenchy) Fanchon, Pierre LaTour, Niccola Giambini, Jefferson Van Landingham, Ferdinand Rockingham, etc. etc.
Born January 3, 1898. Dumas, North Dakota. Son of Jacques and Antoinette Pleschette.
Arrested New York City, February, 1916. Petty larceny. Case dismissed.
Arrested Buffalo, New York, June, 1919. Fraud. Sentenced to three years at Sing Sing. Released February, 1921.
Arrested Newark, New Jersey, February, 1922. Charge of fraud, but case dismissed, lack of evidence.
Arrested New York City, November, 1923. Sentenced five to ten years on charge of fraud. Sing Sing. Paroled 1928.
Arrested New York City, January, 1924. Violation of parole. Remanded to prison. Paroled March, 1931.
Arrested Chicago, Illinois, June, 1935. Grand larceny. Sentenced to ten years at Atlanta. Released June, 1942.
Arrested New York City, November, 1942. Grand larceny. Sentenced to Dannemora Prison as habitual criminal. Life. Pardoned January, 1957.
According to his own story, Pleschette had left his native North Dakota at the tender age of fifteen. He was sixty-two now. Of the forty-seven years, since reaching his “maturity” of fifteen, he had served twenty-six years in prison! More than half his adult life.
Alder put the dossier back into its manila envelope. There was only one important fact in it. Pleschette had been in. Atlanta Federal Prison from June, 1935, to June, 1940. He could not possibly have had any connection with the Doris Delaney case.
Yet he had said to Alder: “One knows people, one hears things.”
He had made a positive statement that “the woman,” in this case, Doris Delaney, had committed a crime. Had it been an unwitting remark — or had it been based on assurance he had retained in his memory from something he had heard? From a fellow inmate in one of his prisons?
The clamor of the telephone at his elbow startled him. For long moments he had forgotten — Linda Foster.
The operator said: “We have a long distance call for you, Mr. Alder. Chicago.”
Chicago!
Perhaps!
But it wasn’t. It was Linda.
Her first words jolted Alder. “Tom, I’m worried sick. I’m in Chicago. I didn’t tell you last night, but when Nikki telephoned me she asked me to come to Chicago. She... she made it sound terribly important.”
“Something’s happened to her?” exclaimed Alder.
“I don’t know. That’s what’s wrong. I can’t find her. She told me to come to the Palmer House. I’m there now. She isn’t here — hasn’t even been registered.”
“Linda, wait,” interrupted Alder. “Give it to me from the beginning. You told me last night she telephoned her husband at the Brown Derby. That was when you talked to her.”
“The first time. She called me later. She said she — she had to do something and would I come to Chicago? She didn’t want me to tell Walter. Something — about her family.”