Chapter 3 Chapter 3 Some Black

At the address in Nobby Hill that Halstead had given me, I gave my name to the boy at the switchboard and asked him to pass it on to Fitzstephan.I remembered Fitzstephan as a lanky, chestnut-haired man of thirty-two, with sleepy gray eyes, comically wide lips, and informal dress.He puts on a slacker attitude than he really is.Chatting is above all else for him, and he can come up with a lot of seemingly accurate information and insightful ideas on any topic, as long as it is considered a bit strange. I met him five years ago in New York.I was following a string of swindlers who had scammed a widow out of ten thousand dollars.Fitzstephan was also working hard in this field in order to find writing topics.We got acquainted and united.I got more out of this association than he did, because he knew everything about the Grudges; then, with his help, I solved the case in two weeks.We were very close for a month or two, until I left New York.

"Mr. Fitzstephan says you can go straight up," said the boy at the switchboard. His apartment is on the sixth floor.When I got out of the elevator, he was already waiting at the door. "My God," he said, holding out a thin hand, "it's you!" "Isn't it me?" He hasn't changed at all.The room we stepped into was stuffed with six bookcases and four desks, leaving little room for anything else.Magazines and books in every language were strewn about, along with reports, clippings, proofs—it was exactly like his house in New York. We sat down, found space between the legs of the table to rest our feet, and chatted briefly about our respective lives since parting.He had been in San Francisco for more than a year—except for weekends and a two-month stretch in a country retreat in order to finish a novel.I spent nearly five years in San Francisco.He said he did like San Francisco, but he was fine with the movement to give the West back to the Indians.

"How was it written?" I asked. He looked at me sharply and asked scoldingly, "Didn't you read my book?" "No. Where did you get such a weird idea?" "The tone of your question is a bit problematic, like a boss who thinks he bought out a writer for a little money. This kind of attitude is rarely encountered by me, and I'm not used to it. God! I even gave away a set once As a gift for you!" He has always spoken like this. "Yes. But I don't blame you. You're drunk." "Sherry's bad--Elsa Dunn's sherry. Remember Elsa? She showed us a painting she had just finished, and you said it was beautiful. By God, she was mad." What the hell! You speak it honestly and frankly, as if you were sure she'd like your compliment, remember? She yelled, but we're both drunk on her sherry. But you still Not drunk enough to accept my book."

"I was afraid that if I did read the book and understand it," I explained, "that would be a great insult to you." A Chinese boy brought us chilled white wine. "It seems you're still after the unfortunate unjust?" asked Fitzstephan. "Yes, that's why I found you here again. Halstead told me you knew Edgar Leggett." A light flashed across his lazy gray eyes.Sitting up a little in his chair, he asked, "Is Leggett involved in anything?" "Why did you say that?" "I didn't tell you, I was asking you." He sank back into the chair, but the gleam in his eyes was still there, "Come on, tell it all. You don't have to hide it from me, boy, you don't It's not this stuff, and you can't hide it if you want. Just say it: what good has Leggett done?"

"I don't like that," I said. "You're a novelist, and I don't expect you to make up what I say. I'm going to wait until you finish what you know before you listen to me. If you don’t, tamper with your own lines. How long have you known him?” "I've known him since I've been here. I've always been intrigued by him. He's kind of mysterious, with a dark and thought-provoking side. Well, for example, physically, he's kind of an ascetic. —No smoking or drinking, eating abstinently; as for sleep, I heard that I only sleep three or four hours a night; but in terms of spirit or senses—you know what I mean?—it’s almost depressing. You were old before Say I'm too fanciful, you should really see him. His friends - oh no, he has no friends - he chooses the company of the most whimsical: Marquard and what outlines of him are Crazy talk of delimiting regions of space, Dunbar Cotter and his Algebraic Cosmology, the Haldorns and their Grail Cult, Crazy Lola Junes, Farnan..."

"And you," I interjected, "explained for a long time without saying anything. You don't think what you said just now has any meaning to me, do you?" "Now I sort of remember: you've always been like this." He grinned at me, running his thin fingers through his chestnut hair, "tell me before I find the word that sums you up What's going on?" I asked him if he knew Eric Collinson.He said he knew; said there was nothing about the man—except that he was engaged to Gabrielle Leggett, and that his father was Collinson, the lumber magnate.He graduated from Princeton, is a securities company, plays handball, and is a good young man.

"Maybe," I said, "but he lied to me." "You are really a real detective." Fitzstephan smiled and shook his head, "You must have found the wrong person, someone pretended to be him. Well-known kids don't lie, besides, lying requires imagination. You really—wait! Did you also mention a woman?" I nod. "Then you're right," said Fitzstephan firmly. "I apologize. Boys and boys lie whenever a woman is involved—even if it's unnecessary and causes the lady a lot of trouble. It's a traditional Chivalry, like protecting her honor or something. Who is this woman?"

"Gabrielle Leggett," I said, and told him everything I'd learned about the Leggetts and the Diamond and the dead man on Golden Gate Avenue.The disappointment on his face deepened as I spoke. "Trivial, boring," he complained when I had finished. "I thought Leggett was the hero of Alexandre Dumas, but what you said was O. Henry's rhetoric. You and your cheap The diamonds disappointed me so much. But—” His eyes lit up again, “the follow-up may be interesting. Anyway, whether Leggett is a criminal or not, he can’t just cheat some insurance money. " "You mean," I asked, "is he the kind of man behind the scenes? So you read the newspaper? Then who do you think he is? Bootlegger? Head of international criminal organization? Human trafficker? Drug trafficking organization The leader? Or a woman disguised as a man?"

"Don't be silly," he said, "but he's got ideas, and he's got some dark secrets. There are things he doesn't want to think about, but he can't forget. As I said, he longs for The most absurd things, but the surface is cold, dry and uninteresting. He is very neurotic, conditioning his body to be healthy and sharp, always ready--what for? And then poisoning his spirit with fantasies. But he It is still very calm and rational. If a person has a past that he wants to forget, the easiest way is to resist the memory by paralyzing the body. Instead of relying on drugs, one has to indulge the senses. But if the past is not over yet, and this person must It's at its best when it comes back, well, then he'd better just numb his mind and keep his body strong and waiting."

"And this past refers to—" Fitzstephan shook his head, and said: "Even if I don't know—I really don't—it's not my fault. Just wait and see, and you'll find out that trying to get a trick out of that family It's harder than climbing to the sky." "Have you tried?" "Of course. I'm a novelist, and my profession is all about the soul. His soul appeals to me, but he never confided in me, and I can't bear it. You know, I doubt Leggett." Is it really his name. He must be French. He told me he was from Atlanta, but he looked French, in appearance, in spirit, and in other ways. He just wouldn't admit it."

"What about the rest of his family?" I asked. "Gabrielle has some mental issues, right?" "I was wondering," Fitzstephan looked at me curiously, "are you just saying that, or do you really think so?" "I don't know. She's kind of weird and uncomfortable to look at. Besides, her ears are animal like, her forehead is too narrow, and her eyes go from green to brown and back again. I can't tell which color it is." .How much did you dig up about her, you nosy man?" "You, a person who relies on gossip for a living, actually have the position to ridicule my curiosity about others, and my efforts to satisfy my curiosity?" "I'm not like you," I said, "I work to put people in jail, and I still get paid—just less than I deserve." "What's the difference?" he said. "I work to put people in books, and I get paid for it—just less than I should." "Okay, but what's the positive of that?" "God knows. What's the point of putting people in prison?" "Reduce population pressure," I said. "Put enough people in jail and there won't be traffic problems in town. What do you know about this Gabrielle?" "She hated her father, and he adored her." "Where does hatred come from?" "I don't know, probably because he adores her." "That doesn't make sense," I complained. "You're just playing tricks. Where's Mrs. Leggett?" "I guess you haven't eaten her food, have you? If you had, you wouldn't ask such a question. Only a perfectly rational person with no anger can cook that kind of food. I often think, I don't know." What does she think of those two weird creatures who are her husband and daughter, but I guess she doesn't realize their abnormality, and just takes them for granted anyway." "Your argument makes sense," I said, "but you haven't said anything." "No," he replied, "but I don't have anything else to say, man. I've told you everything I know and imagine. It's all nonsense, I know, but here's the point: I It took a year, but I still don't have a detailed understanding of Leggett. If you remember how much curiosity I have and how good I am at satisfying it, it should not be difficult for you to believe that the man really has some secrets, and he is very good at hiding it ?” "Really? I don't know that. But I do. I've wasted a lot of time listening to people who can't be arrested. Let's have dinner tomorrow night, or the day after tomorrow?" "The day after tomorrow. About seven o'clock?" I said I would come get him and walked out the door.It was past five o'clock.I didn't even have lunch, so I ate a little at Bra's, and then I went to the Black Quarter to find Tingley the Rhino. I found him in Gibb's cigar shop.He was flicking a fat cigar and was talking to the other niggers in the store—four of them—about something. "...I said to him, 'Nigger, you talk too much fucking.' and reached for him, and then, oh my god, he just slipped away and there was nothing but the The footprints that followed his home were eight feet wide at each step." I bought a pack of cigarettes and looked at him as he spoke.Chocolate complexion, not thirty years old, nearly six feet tall, weighing more than two hundred pounds, with large protruding eyes, yellowish whites, a broad nose, a large mouth blue from lip to gum, and a rough black scar From the lower lip to the back edge of the blue and white collar.His clothes were new and gaudy.His voice was so deep that it rattled the glass windows as he laughed with his audience. I walked out of the store while they were laughing, and heard the laughter cut off behind me.Resisting the urge to look back, I continued walking towards the building where he and Minnie lived.When we were half a block from the apartment, he got ahead of me. We walked seven steps side by side, and I didn't say a word. Then he said, "You're the one who's been asking about me?" The sourness of the Italian wine was so strong that the eyes could almost see it. I thought about it and said, "That's right." "What do you want?" he asked.Not a bad attitude, but caring. Across the street, Gabrielle Leggett, in a brown coat and yellow and brown hat, could be seen coming out of Minnie's building, heading south without looking at us.She walked quickly, biting her lower lip with her teeth. I looked at the Negro, and he was looking at me, too, with a calm look—as if he hadn't seen Gabrielle Leggett, and wasn't bothered if he did. "You have nothing to hide, do you? So what do you care about?" I said. "That's true, but if you want to know about me, it's the fastest to ask me directly. You are the one who caused Minnie to be fired?" "She wasn't fired, she didn't do it herself." "Minnie isn't obligated to be insulted. She—" "Let's go talk to her," I suggested, crossing the street ahead of him.When he reached the main entrance, he went straight up, went up a flight of stairs, walked through the dark corridor to a door, took out a key ring with more than two dozen keys on it, and opened the door with one of them. Minnie Hershey wore a pink Japanese-style gown with yellow ostrich feathers hanging from the edges that looked like dead ferns.She walked from the bedroom to the living room, and her eyes widened when she saw me. Rhino said, "You know this gentleman, Minnie." Minnie said, "Yes... yes." I said, "You really shouldn't have quit your job at the Leggetts. Nobody said you were a suspect. What was Miss Leggett doing here just now?" "There's no Ms. Leggett here," she told me. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." "She was going out when we came in." "Oh, Miss Leggett, I thought you meant Mrs. Leggett. Sorry. Yes, sir, Miss Gabrielle did come here and wondered if I would go back. Gabriel Miss El really thinks highly of me." "You should go back," I said, "it would be too unwise to leave like that." Rhino took the cigar out of his mouth and pointed the lit end at the girl. "You leave them," he exploded, "leave! You don't need to ask for a living from anyone." He reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a large handful of banknotes, slammed them on the table, and roared, "What are you giving people a picture of?" He was talking to the girl, but he was looking at me, grinning with gold teeth in his purple mouth.The girl looked at him contemptuously and said, "What do you want people to think, stupid cow!" Then she also turned to me, her dark face was tense, and she urgently said in a tone eager to gain trust: "This money was made by him randomly. Gambled it, sir. If not, I shall die." Rhino said, "Where does my money come from? It's mine anyway. I have money, I have—" He set the cigar on the edge of the table, picked up the money, and put it on his He licked his thumb as thick as an ordinary person's heel with his tongue, and counted the banknotes on the table. "Twenty, thirty, eighty, one hundred, one hundred one, two hundred one, three hundred one, three hundred three, three hundred and thirty-five, four hundred and thirty-five, five hundred and thirty-five, five hundred and eight Fifteen, six hundred and five, six hundred and one, six hundred and two, seven hundred and two, seven hundred and seven, eight hundred and two, eight hundred and three, eight hundred and four, nine hundred and four, nine hundred and six, nine hundred and seven, nine hundred Seventy-five, nine hundred and ninety-five, one thousand and fifteen, one thousand and twenty, one thousand one hundred and two, one thousand one hundred and seven. Do you want to know how many I have? Well, that's all, one thousand One hundred and seventeen. Anyone want to know where I got it? I may or may not, depending on my mood." Minnie said, "He's a gamble, sir, in the Good Day's. If it wasn't, I'd be dead." "Maybe," said the rhinoceros, still grinning wide-mouthed at me, "but so what?" "I'm not good at riddles," I said, and once more urged Minnie to go back to the Leggetts and left the apartment.Minnie closed the door behind me.When I passed the corridor, I heard her cursing, and the rhino's deep laughter, booming. At a Hooters downtown, I looked in the phone book for the Berkeley area and found only one Fumand, so I dialed the number.Mrs. Begg was at home, and agreed to see me, if I could catch the next ferry. The Richman home is on a winding road leading to the University of California.Mrs. Begg was broad-boned and lean, with thin gray hair clung to the angular crown of her head, iron-gray eyes, and stiff, nimble hands.She was sullen and stern-faced, but her frankness saved me from having to have a courteous conversation with her before I got to the point. I told her about the burglary and how I thought the thief had inside support--at least maybe someone with knowledge of the Leggetts had tipped off something.Finally I said, "Mrs. Presley told me you were Leggett's housekeeper, and she said you might be able to help me." Mrs. Begg said she doubted what information she could give, and it was worth my trip from the city; but as an honest woman who had nothing to hide, she was willing to do what she could.So much for talking, and she started talking so much, the hell, it nearly deafened me.After stripping out the uninteresting information, I got this intel: In the spring of 1921 Mrs. Begg was hired by Edgar Leggett through an employment agency.At first she had a girl as a helper, but the housework wasn't long enough to require two, so at Mrs. Begg's suggestion the girl was dismissed.Edgar didn't ask much, and spent most of his time on the top floor, where he had his laboratory and a very small bedroom.Except for a few evenings when he invited friends, he rarely used the rest of the house.Mrs. Begg didn't like those friends, but she couldn't name any faults other than the rudeness with which they spoke.Edgar Leggett was the best kind of guy you could think of, she said, just mysterious and a little nervous.He never allowed her to go up to the third floor, and the laboratory doors were always locked.A Japanese man cleaned the lab once a month under Leggett's supervision.Well, she guessed he had a bunch of scientific secrets and dangerous chemicals he didn't want people to touch, but it was kind of creepy anyway.She knew nothing of her employer's personal or family circumstances, and knew her duty well enough not to ask questions. In August of 1923—a rainy morning, she remembered—a woman arrived at the Leggetts' house with a fifteen-year-old girl and a load of suitcases.She let them in, and the woman said she wanted Mr. Leggett.Mrs. Begg went up to the laboratory door and told him, and he went downstairs.When they met, it was the first time in her life that she had seen someone so startled.Mr. Leggett turned so pale that she thought he was going to faint--he was really shaking.She had no idea what the three of them had been talking about that morning, for they were muttering in some foreign language.But their English wasn't bad, and it was actually better than most, especially Gabrielle when she scolded people.Mrs. Berg then retired to go about her own business.It was not long before Leggett was in the kitchen and told her that the visitors were his sister-in-law, Mrs. Dane, and her daughter, whom she had not seen for ten years, and who were now coming to visit her.Mrs. Dane later told Mrs. Berger that they were English, but had lived in New York for several years.Mrs. Begg said she rather liked Mrs. Dane because she was reasonable and a first-class housewife.But Gabrielle is just too aggressive.Mrs. Begg always said "that" Gabrielle when referring to her. Because of Dan's mother and daughter, and Mrs. Dan's excellent family affairs, Mrs. Begg obviously has no use.They were really nice people, she said, not only helped her find a new employer, but also gave her a large reward when she left.She didn't see them again after that, but because she was used to carefully reading the wedding and ceremonies notice column of the morning paper, she knew that Edgar Leggett and Alice Dunn had registered their marriage a week after they left.

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