The Bandbox

“Wasn’t forged – genuine.”

“Chapter Two,” observed Staff, leaning back. “It is a dark and stormy night; we are all seated about the camp-fire. The captain says: ‘Antonio, go to it.’”

“You are certainly one swell, appreciative audience,” commented Iff morosely. “Let’s see if I can’t get a laugh with this one: One of the best little things my dear little cousin does being to pass himself off as me, he got himself hired by the Treasury Department some years ago under the name of William Howard Iff. That helped him a lot in his particular line of business. But after a while he felt that it cramped his style, so he just faded noiselessly away – retaining his credentials. Then – while I was in Paris last week – he thought it would be a grand joke to send me that document with his compliments and the suggestion that it might be some help to me in my campaign for his scalp. That’s how I happened to have it.”

“That’s going some,” Staff admitted admiringly. “Tell me another one. If you’re Iff and not Ismay, what brought you over on the Autocratic?”

“Business of keeping an eye on my dearly beloved cousin,” said Iff promptly.

“You mean Ismay was on board, too?”

“’Member that undergrown waster with the red-and-grey Vandyke and the horn-rimmed pince nez, who was always mooning round with a book under his arm?”

“Yes…”

“That was Cousin Arbuthnot disguised in his own hair.”

“If that was so, why didn’t you denounce him when you were accused of stealing the Cadogan collar?”

“Because I knew he hadn’t got away with it.”

“How did you know?”

“At least I was pretty positive about it. You’ll have to be patient – and intelligent – if you want to understand and follow me back to Paris. The three of us were there: Ismay, Miss Landis, myself. Miss Landis was dickering with Cottier’s for the necklace, Ismay sticking round and not losing sight of her much of the time, I was looking after Ismay. Miss Landis buys the collar and a ticket for London; Ismay buys a ticket for London; I trail. Then Miss Landis makes another purchase – a razor, in a shop near the hotel where I happen to be loafing.”

“A razor!”

“That’s the way it struck me, too… Scene Two: Cockspur Street, London. I’m not sure what boat Miss Landis means to take; I’ve got a notion it’s the Autocratic, but I’m stalling till I know. You drift into the office, I recognise you and recall that you’re pretty thick with Miss Landis. Nothing more natural than that you and she should go home by the same steamer. Similarly – Ismay… Oh, yes, I understand it was pure coincidence; but I took a chance and filled my hand. After we’d booked and you’d strutted off, I lingered long enough to see Miss Landis drive up in a taxi with a whaling big bandbox on top of the cab. She booked right under my nose; I made a note of the bandbox…

“Then you came aboard with the identical bandbox and your funny story about how you happened to have it. I smelt a rat: Miss Landis hadn’t sent you that bandbox anonymously for no purpose. Then one afternoon – long toward six o’clock – I see Miss Landis’s maid come out on deck and jerk a little package overboard – package just about big enough to hold a razor. That night I’m dragged up on the carpet before the captain; I hear a pretty fairy tale about the collar disappearing while Jane was taking the bandbox back to your steward. The handbag is on the table, in plain sight; it isn’t locked – a blind man can see that; and the slit in its side has been made by a razor. I add up the bandbox and the razor and multiply the sum by the fact that the average woman will smuggle as quick as the average man will take a drink; and I’m Jeremiah Wise, Esquire.”

“That’s the best yet,” Staff applauded. “But – see here – why didn’t you tell what you knew, if you knew so much, when you were accused?”

Iff grimaced sourly. “Get ready to laugh. This is one you won’t fall for – not in a thousand years.”

“Shoot,” said Staff.

“I like you,” said Iff simply. “You’re foolish in the head sometimes, but in the main you mean well.”

“That’s nice of you – but what has it to do with my question?”

“Everything. You’re sweet on the girl, and I don’t wish to put a crimp in your young romance by showing her up in her true colours. Furthermore, you may be hep to her little scheme; I don’t believe it, but I know that, if you are, you won’t let me suffer for it. And finally, in the senility of my dotage I conned myself into believing I could bluff it out; at the worst, I could prove my innocence easily enough. But what I didn’t take into consideration was that I was laying myself open to arrest for impersonating an agent of the Government. When I woke up to that fact, the only thing I could see to do was to duck in out of the blizzard.”

Staff said sententiously: “Hmmm.…”

“Pretty thin – what?”

“In spots,” Staff agreed. “Still, I’ve got to admit you’ve managed to cover the canvas, even if your supply of paint was a bit stingy. One thing still bothers me: how did you find out I knew about the smuggling game?”

Iff nodded toward the bedroom. “I happened in – casually, as the saying runs – just as Miss Landis was telling on herself.”

Staff frowned.

“How,” he pursued presently, “can I feel sure you’re not Ismay, and, having guessed as accurately as you did, that you didn’t get at that bandbox aboard the ship and take the necklace?”

“If I were, and had, would I be here?”

“But I can’t understand why you are here!”

“It’s simple enough; I’ve any number of reasons for inviting myself to be your guest. For one, I’m wet and cold and look like a drowned rat; I can’t offer myself to a hotel looking like this – can I? Then I knew your address – you’ll remember telling me; and there’s an adage that runs ‘Any port in a storm.’ You’re going to be good enough to get my money changed – I’ve nothing but English paper – and buy me a ready-made outfit in the morning. Moreover, I’m after Ismay, and Ismay’s after the necklace; wherever it is, he will be, soon or late. Naturally I presumed you still had it – and so did he until within the hour.”

“You mean you think it was Ismay who broke into these rooms tonight?”

“You saw him, didn’t you? Man about my size, wasn’t he? Evening clothes? That’s his regulation uniform after dark. Beard and glasses – what?”

“I believe you’re right!” Staff rose excitedly. “I didn’t notice the glasses, but otherwise you’ve described him!”

“What did I tell you?” Iff helped himself to a cigarette. “By now the dirty dog’s probably raising heaven and hell to find out where Miss Searle has hidden herself.”

Staff began to pace nervously to and fro. “I wish,” he cried, “I knew where to find her!”

“Please,” Iff begged earnestly, “don’t let your sense of the obligations of a host interfere with your amusements; but if you’ll stop that Marathon long enough to find me a blanket, I’ll shed these rags and, by your good leave, curl up cunningly on yon divan.”

Staff paused, stared at the little man’s bland and guileless face, and shook his head helplessly, laughing.

“There’s no resisting your colossal gall,” he said, passing into the adjoining room to get bed-clothing for his guest.

“I admit it,” said Iff placidly.

As Staff returned, the telephone bell rang. In his surprise he paused with his arms full of sheets, blankets and pillows, and stared incredulously at his desk.

“What the deuce now?” he murmured.

“The quickest way to an answer to that,” suggested Iff blandly, “is there.” He indicated the telephone with an ample gesture. “Help yourself.”

Dropping his burden on the divan, Staff seated himself at the desk and took up the receiver.

“Hello?”

He started violently, recognising the voice that answered: “Mr. Staff?”

“Yes – ”

“This is Miss Searle.”

“I know,” he stammered; “I – I knew your voice.”

“Really?” The query was perfunctory. “Mr. Staff – I couldn’t wait to tell you – I’ve just got in from a theatre and supper party with some friends.”