The Dime Museum Murders (16 page)

"Nothing
for you to concern yourself over, my dear," Hendricks answered.

"You're
a very exasperating man, Father," Miss Hendricks said. "Don't
feel left out, Mr. Hardeen. I've brought a flower for you, too."

"Why—why,
thank you," I stammered as she arranged the flower on my lapel.

"There,"
she said. "You look quite smart now."

"Flowers
are very lovely," I said, inanely. Her perfume appeared to be
clouding my mind.

"I'll
tell you another thing about Josef Graff," Hendricks said as we
continued walking. "They'd better let him out of jail soon,
because I can't get my train set-up running. He just sold me a big
new locomotive with a double set of pilot tracks, and I can't get the
blasted thing to work. Need him to come up and show me."

"Compound
gears or worm-shaft?" I asked.

He
stopped short. "Worm-shaft," he said. "Are you a model
train enthusiast, Hardeen? A collector, perhaps?"

"Hardly,"
I said. "But I used to work for Mr. Graff, and I know my way
around the switching yard."

"Just
the man I've been needing," he said, patting his daughter's
hand. "Come along and have a look at my set-up. We'll give you
tea afterwards. Perhaps we can impose upon Katherine to join us, so
that you won't find the experience entirely disagreeable."

Mercifully
I had fallen a half-step behind them, so that no one saw the bloom of
crimson on my cheeks. Miss Hendricks, walking arm-in-arm with her
father, appeared to be admiring a row of blossoming trees as if they
had amused her in some way.

We
walked on for a time while Hendricks chatted enthusiastically about a
line of new trains he expected from "those upstarts at Ivers."
He solicited my opinion of a new type of collector pivot, and
wondered idly whether such a device might have some practical
application in the nation's railways. He had just begun to describe
the loading ramp of his new lumber car when we reached our
destination. "Ah! Here we are," he announced. "Be it
ever so humble."

In
truth, the structure could only have seemed humble in contrast to the
sprawling luxury of the Wintour mansion. Mr. Hendricks's home proved
to be a stately four-story wooden manor with a mansard roof and no
fewer than seven brick chimneys breaking the roof line. We passed
through a black wrought iron gate and followed a tree-lined walk to
the front door, which was opened by a uniformed butler as we reached
the top of the steps. "Thank you, Becking," said Hendricks
as the butler took his hat and coat. "Mr. Hardeen and I will be
in the study."

I
passed my coat and my Trilby to the butler and followed Hendricks
into a room off the main hall. Closing the door, he loosened his tie
and headed for a sideboard covered with bottles and decanters. "Now,
Mr. Hardeen," he said, rubbing his hands together, "what
can I offer you?"

The
study made a dramatic contrast to the room where we had seen Branford
Wintour's body the night before. Where Mr. Wintour's study had
appeared extravagant but sterile, Mr. Hendricks had created a private
sanctuary with little regard to appearances. Books lay open on the
arms of battered leather chairs. Papers and correspondence were
stacked haphazardly on cluttered occasional tables. Stray articles of
clothing were draped over the back of a plush sofa. A battered
captain's desk stood in a bay window overlooking the street, its
surface barely visible beneath an overlay of documents.

"Forgive
the mess," Hendricks said. "The housemaid only gets in here
once or twice a month. Even that's too often, if you ask me. Now,
what can I get you? I'm having a whiskey and soda."

"That
will be fine," I said. Hendricks poured two hearty measures of
Walker & Sons whiskey into a pair of glasses, then squirted a
stream of aerated water from a tall glass gasogene. "Your good
health," he said, handing one of the glasses to me.

I
raised my glass to return the salute. "This is a splendid room,"
I said.

"Thank
you, young man. What do you think of this?" He indicated a low
platform that curved along the wall of a corner turret. A bewildering
double-horseshoe pattern of model train track covered the surface,
with more than a dozen switch-points on the straights.

"Incredible,"
I said. "You've merged three different track patterns."

"Four,"
he said. "I got tired of watching it go around
in
a circle. This way I can run several trains at once, just as you
would on a real railroad." He took a healthy snort of his
whiskey. "Damned silly thing for a grown man to do with his time
and money. Katherine says I'm just a boy who refuses to put away his
toys."

"My
brother and I are professional magicians, Mr. Hendricks. Is that any
sort of occupation for a grown man?"

He
gave a short, barking type of laugh. '"Let me show you the
problem with my train." He stepped over to a wooden box and
clicked the lever that sent electricity coursing through the tracks.
A set of indicator dials began to waggle impressively.

"I
don't believe I've ever seen this type of train set before," I
said. "Is it new?"

"It's
not widely available just yet," he answered. "I have some
money in the company."

"The
Minotaur,'" I said, reading the model name off the side of the
locomotive. "Isn't this the same type of train Mr. Wintour had
in his study? Was this another area where you and Mr. Wintour
competed?''

"Trains?
Hardly." He stood for a moment, listening to the hum and crackle
of the tracks as they warmed up. "As a matter of fact, we tried
several times to develop a model train set of our own, but I'm afraid
it never came to very much. After we dissolved the partnership,
neither one of us pursued the venture." He twisted a dial on the
control box. The locomotive emitted a whistle blast and its firebox
began to glow. "A shame, really. Branford was the best damned
businessman in the entire city. Who knows what we might have done."
He pressed a plunger-button and a black locomotive slowly inched
forward, gathering speed as the reach rods and draw bars loosened.
"My wife hates this train set," he

said.
"She's convinced I'll burn the whole house down one day."

"It
looks as if your grounding wires are more than adequate," I
said. "I think Mrs. Hendricks can rest easy. Tell me, were you
surprised when Mr. Wintour invited you to dinner last night?"

"Surprised?"
He watched as the train gathered speed on a straight section of
track, heading into a double-switch plate. "Yes, Hardeen, I
suppose I was. But in a town this size, it was getting difficult to
carry on avoiding one another. I'd often see him across the room at a
restaurant, or reading a newspaper at the club. At first we pretended
not to notice, but after a while it began to seem pretty damn silly.
I supposed he felt the same way—or so I hoped, at any rate. So
I was quite pleased by the invitation."

"Did
you have a chance to speak with him?"

"No,
sir, I did not. He never came out of the study after Nora and I
arrived. We were kept waiting in the morning room." He watched
as the locomotive clattered over the switching plate and promptly
derailed, plowing straight into the side of a wooden boxcar. "Damn.
Just painted that, too."

"I
think I see your problem," I said. I stripped off my suit coat
and crawled under the platform. "Switch off the power for a
minute, would you?"

He
tripped the power lever and the hot buzzing ceased. "You know,"
he said, "I was quite looking forward to seeing Branford again."
I heard the sloshing of his whiskey glass. "It's so rare that I
meet someone who shares my interests. I was looking forward to
telling him about my trains. Nora thought I was building up my hopes
for nothing, though. About working together again, I mean."

I
rolled over onto my back and tinkered with a loose ground bolt. "Why
is that?" I asked.

"Branford's
wife. I'm afraid she doesn't care for me."

"Or
Miss Hendricks, I would imagine," I said from beneath the
platform. I couldn't see his face, but he took a moment to reply.

"Hell,"
he said. "I suppose that's no secret. Bran was supposed to marry
Katherine some years ago. He was smitten with her, and she was fond
enough of him, though she thought of him more as an uncle than a
husband, I'd venture to say. In any case it seemed a really splendid
idea to the pair of us, sitting over port and cigars in the Century
one night. We never spoke directly of the business advantages, but it
was clear that we'd be uniting the two empires, as it were."

I
crawled out from under the train platform to find Hendricks
addressing his remarks to his whiskey glass, his face a study in
remorse.

"In
my own defense, I never forced the matter on Katherine," he
continued. "She seemed quite keen on the whole thing. I think
Bran may have filled her head with queer ideas—giving her some
sort of role in the company or some such. My daughter holds many
peculiar views. Reads a great deal of Susan B. Anthony and the other
one. What's her name? Elizabeth Cady Stanton. In any case, at least
Bran took the time to listen to my daughter when she spoke, which is
more than I can say for this pompous young ass who's squiring her
about at the moment. Anyway, my daughter's engagement soon came to
grief, as you undoubtedly read in the society pages. Why any
right-thinking man should leave my daughter at the altar is beyond my
ken." He set down his glass. "I'm talking rather a lot,
aren't I?"

"Not
at all, sir," I said. "I apologize if I've broached an
unpleasant subject. I believe I've found the solution to your other
little problem, though." I switched the train set back on and
sent the locomotive hurtling toward the troublesome portion of the
track. It cleared the turn easily and stayed on course for two more
high-speed circuits.

"My
God, Hardeen!" Hendricks cried. "You're a genius!"

"Hardly,
sir. I just loosened two of the bolts holding the track onto the
table. There wasn't enough give. The vibration was causing the train
to jump the track."

"Damn
it, I tried that. I got too much sway from side to side. The train
still derailed."

"I
compensated for that by replacing these bolt-pins with match sticks.
The wood is soft enough to absorb the vibrations but it still
controls the wobble."

Hendricks
put his face close to the switch-plate and examined my jury-rigging.

"It's
not exactly picturesque," I said. "You may want to paint—''

"Brilliant!"
he cried. "Just brilliant! Have you any training in this area?"

"Training?"

"Engineering
background? That sort of thing?"

"I've
toured with a travelling circus for months at a time. Believe me,
when you're stuck in Wichita with a broken hinge on your drop-trap,
you get pretty good at fixing things with whatever's at hand."

Hendricks
watched as the train eased past the turn and headed for the
straightaway. "I may have some work for you, Hardeen," he
said. "I just might, at that."

We
sat together in that room for the better part of two hours, drinking
his whiskey and playing with his train.

He
reminisced a little about his younger days with General Sherman's XV
Corps at Vicksburg, and I talked a bit about touring the backwaters
with a medicine show. Sometimes we just sat quietly and watched the
train. I don't know that I've ever spent a more pleasant time.

It
must have been late afternoon by the time I found my hat and got up
to leave. Hendricks tried to get me to stay for dinner, but I had to
get down to Huber's and meet Harry. As he led me out of the study,
Hendricks invited me to stop back again any time. I know he meant
this in all sincerity, but we both realized that starving young
magicians don't simply drop in on Fifth Avenue millionaires. He took
my visiting card and repeated what he'd said about sending some work
my way. I shook his hand and thanked him for his company. The butler
could hardly wait to close the door behind me.