Read Online Groucho Marx and the Broadway Murders by Ron Goulart - Free Book Online

probably chloroform that did it.”
    Wobbly, Arneson took a few steps toward the bedroom doorway. The train gave a sudden lurch and he thrust out his hand to steady himself against the wall. “I prowl quite a bit nighttimes,” he explained. “To see that everything’s okay. This time … well, I got knocked out before I realized anything was going on wrong.”
    “Out like a light,” announced the conductor from within the bedroom. “I’m not sure why he was knocked out, Mr. Arneson. You better come in, see if anything was stolen.”
    “I saw somebody bending over him with a knife,” mentioned Groucho, taking a cigar out of his coat pocket.
    “Then possibly you interrupted a murder attempt,” said the conductor. “I’ll notify the authorities to meet us when we stop at Flagstaff. They’ll investigate this whole mess and—”
    “Wait now.” Arneson pushed into the bedroom, glanced at his unconscious boss, and nodded. He put a hand on the conductor’s arm. “What’s your name again?”
    “Hopkins. Leonard Hopkins.”
    “Okay, Leonard. Here’s the situation,” said the big man. “We don’t want this sort of publicity just now.”
    “But there’s been an attack on you and Mr. Manheim, possibly a murder attempt,” protested Hopkins. “I simply can’t let it—”
    “Sure, you can, Leonard,” cut in Arneson. “It’s not going to please Mr. Manheim, when he comes to his senses again, to find out that you’ve made a big stink about what is, far as I can see, a minor incident. We’re about to introduce a major new actress to the world. Unsubstantiated crap about a juvenile prank played aboard your train isn’t going to do us any good.”
    “Even so, Mr. Arneson—”
    “And, as you probably know, Mr. Manheim is a very good friend of several of your Santa Fe railroad executives,” continued Arneson, moving his hand from the conductor’s arm to his shoulder. “I’m not saying
that annoying Mr. Manheim is going to affect your position with the Super Chief, Leonard, but it’s not likely it’ll do you a hell of a lot of good.”
    After a few silent seconds, Hopkins said, quietly, “I suppose, if you and Mr. Manheim don’t intend to make a complaint about what’s happened, well, then I can probably forget this.”
    Arneson grinned and let go of the conductor. “Mr. Manheim’s going to be pleased by your decision, Leonard.”
    The conductor looked down at the snoring producer, frowning. “But we’d best have a doctor look at him.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” Arneson assured him. “I have some experience along that line. You just see about replacing those damaged lightbulbs, Leonard, and then forget all about this.” He lurched over to the doorway to eye Groucho. “Be nice if you didn’t blab about this either.”
    “Mum’s the word,” promised Groucho, bowing slightly in his direction. “Not much of a word, but one of the few I can think of at this ungodly hour. Good evening, one and all.”

Ten
    G roucho, as best he could, paced his relatively small compartment while he recounted to Jane and me what had befallen him when he attempted to visit the baggage car. He paced in a sort of shuffling slouch, unlit cigar between his teeth, hands clasped behind his back.
    I was leaning against the wall, Jane was sharing the couch with Groucho’s guitar case.
    “And that, kiddies, concludes tonight’s episode of I Love a Mystery Not to Mention Three Awfully Cute Sailors, ” he announced when he reached the end of his account.
    Jane watched him for a few seconds, then asked, “Are you all right?”
    “Well, I must admit I seem to be suffering from an acute case of the wimwams, but other than that—”
    “I mean this would-be assassin knocked you down,” she amplified. “Did you get hurt?”
    “I’ve taken so many tumbles that I’m immune to injury, my dear, but thanks for asking,” he said.
    “Do you have any idea who it was?”
    “Not much, Professor Quiz. Middle-sized,