Read Online Grab Bag by Charlotte MacLeod - Free Book Online Page B

didn’t require him to be otherwise. “I think he might be described as shaken to the core.”
    “To the core, eh? Okay, let me talk to him again.”
    Max Bittersohn was a professional tracker-down of valuables that been stolen, pawned by spouses faced with private financial emergencies, or otherwise detached from their rightful owners. Thanks to his expertise, he was able to extract from Jem a complete and perhaps even reasonably accurate account of what had happened. He offered words of cheer and comfort, then went back to his Sarah, who did not want to hear about her uncle’s missing Codfish, she being a recent bride with other things on her mind.
    In truth, Bittersohn himself gave little thought to Jeremy Kelling’s dilemma until the following evening when Egbert dropped by to break the tidings that Mr. Jem had fallen downstairs and broken his hip. Sarah was horrified. Max was intrigued.
    “Fell downstairs? How the hell did he manage that? Jem hates stairs.”
    “The elevator appears to have been stuck on the top floor, Mr. Max.”
    That was credible enough. The building where Jem and Egbert lived had an antique elevator about the size of a telephone booth, that wouldn’t work unless it had been tightly latched by the last person who got out of it, which frequently didn’t happen.
    Jem’s usual procedure in such cases was to bellow up the elevator shaft until somebody was goaded into going out and shutting the door properly. In desperate circumstances, however, such as when it was Egbert’s day off and he’d run out of gin, Jem had been known to walk down the one flight of stairs from his second-floor apartment. This had been one of those times. Now he was over at Phillips House with a brand-new stainless steel ball where the hip end of his left femur used to be. Egbert thought Mrs. Sarah and Mr. Max would want to know.
    “Of course we do,” cried Sarah. “How ghastly! Bad enough for Uncle Jem, of course, but think of those poor nurses. What happened, do you know?”
    “All I know is, I got home about five o’clock and found him sprawled on the floor of the vestibule, yowling his head off. He said Fuzzly’s had called to say his whiskers were ready and they’d be closing soon, so he’d rushed out, found the elevator stuck, and gone cavorting down the stairs. There was no darn need of it, you know. I could perfectly well have gone and got them tomorrow morning but you know Mr. Jem. He wanted those whiskers.”
    “What for?” asked Max.
    “The Tooters’ railroad party,” Sarah told him. “Uncle Jem was going to dress up in Dundreary whiskers and Grandfather Kelling’s old frock coat, and impersonate Jay Gould.”
    “Did Jay Gould have Dundrearies?”
    “Who knows? Anyway, Uncle Jem was all in a dither about the party. He’s an old railroad buff like Tom Tooter.”
    “Do you mean model trains?”
    “No, that’s Tom’s brother Wouter. Tom collects real trains. He has his own steam locomotive and a parlor car with velvet-covered settees and fringed lampshades. Also a dining car and a caboose.”
    “Any particular reason?”
    Sarah shrugged. “I suppose he got them cheap. The Tooters have always been in railroads. Anyway, Tom and his wife are having an anniversary and Tom’s rented the B&M tracks for the evening. They’re going to have a string ensemble playing Strauss waltzes and a fountain spouting champagne.”
    “My God,” said Bittersohn. “Jem will have apoplexy at missing a bash like that.”
    “He was in a highly aggravated state of profanity when I left him,” Egbert agreed. “They were about to administer a sedative.”
    “I don’t wonder.” Sarah poured Egbert a tot of their best brandy, for he was an old and beloved friend. “Here, have one yourself, then Max will walk you home. Go to bed early, you’re going to need your rest.”
    “Truer words were never spoken, Mrs. Sarah.”
    “At least a broken hip ought to take his mind off that silly Codfish for a while.