by D.B. Anderson
Copyright © 2005 D.B. Anderson All rights reserved
Private Detective Bruno Clew was greeted at
the massive mahogany front door of the Renee Portel Second Empire mansion by a
young man dressed in a gray business suit.
The young man adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles and glanced up and
down at nattily attired Bruno, who was donned in a light-brown wool suit with a
tan necktie, brown leather ankle boots, a dark brown
The young man smiled approvingly. “Detective Bruno Clew I assume?”
“Your assumption is correct, young sir.”
“Please follow me. I am Paul James, Mr. Portel’s personal
aide.”
Bruno was quickly led through a marble lined
front hall and then down a mahogany wainscoted hallway. Paul James knocked twice on the door before
them and a stern voice called out “Entree!”
Paul James escorted Bruno into the library
of the mansion and then quickly exited.
Bruno found Renee Portel seated behind a massive desk curiously
constructed of white pine logs.
He found Mr. Portel to be an elderly man,
very stout and built very much like a lumberjack from the North Woods. He had a bushy head of grayish-white hair,
deep set piercing dark eyes, and he had a horrible scar across his left cheek. His expression was awash in worry.
“Please be seated, Detective Clew. You may remove your overcoat if you
wish. We are not very formal around
here. Pour yourself a brandy, light up a
cigar.” He then slapped his hands down
on his legs. “I’m afraid I am quite
crippled from a logging accident some time back.”
Bruno sat in the stuffed, leather maroon
tinted chair across from Mr. Portel’s desk.
“I am just fine thank you,” Bruno responded. “May I ask why you requested this meeting?”
Mr. Portel shook his head in
frustration. “Sorry for the secrecy, but
this is a very private family matter and I wished to keep the incident entirely
confidential. I am familiar with your
sterling reputation as a private investigator particularly sensitive to the
problems of people of wealth. I
understand you work quietly, efficiently, and most important - confidentially.”
“That I do, Mr. Portel. The Society Detective Agency prides itself in
confidentiality.”
Mr. Portel lowered his head. “Quite so." He then paused, and sadly raised his deep-set
brown eyes to Bruno. “Detective Clew, I
am a widower with two daughters in their late teens. Matilda is shy and studious; Marianne is
gregarious and adventurous like me.
Quite frankly, it is not unusual for the bold Marianne to be missing for
a few days at a time, but now shy Matilda has been missing for three straight
days. I had my secretary, Paul James,
the young man who let you in before, do some checking on her whereabouts, but
I’m afraid his skills are better left for bookkeeping and contract work. I remember hearing your name mentioned by one
of the members of our poker club as being an excellent confidential private
detective. I’d appreciate if you would
handle this matter for me.”
Bruno could clearly see that Mr. Portel
was deeply distressed. “I accept the
case. Please relate any facts and
figures you have available.”
Mr. Portel sat back in his chair obviously
relieved at receiving some professional help to clear his distress. “It is rumored that Matilda was swept off her
feet by a brash, handsome, fast-talking New Englander she met in the tea and
coffee cafes surrounding the
Bruno studied the photo. “A very attractive young lady. I see she wears wire rim spectacles.”
“Yes, the poor dear has weak eyes. She particularly needs them for reading.”
Bruno handed the photo back to Mr.
Portel. “Do you think they might have
eloped, or worse; do you suspect foul play is involved?”
Mr. Portel released a deep sigh. “Frankly I don’t know. Since my wife died five years ago, I’m afraid
any control I had over my daughters has disintegrated. We are not much of a family. We all head off in our own directions.”
Bruno arose and extended his right hand
down to Mr. Portel. “I’ll immediately
begin my investigation. I would like to
start by interviewing your daughter Marianne.”
Mr.
Portel smiled broadly as he shook Bruno’s hand.
He then pressed a button on the side of his desk and Paul James quickly
entered from the hall. “Show Detective
Clew to Marianne’s room. She is in, is
she not? I ordered her to stay put!”
“Yes, sir. She is the parlor.”
Mr. Portel then reached in his center desk
drawer and removed a brown business-size envelope. “Will one thousand dollars be adequate to
start your investigation? If you must
pay off people to retrieve information please give them anything they
wish. No questions asked.”
Bruno reached over and retrieved the
envelope from Mr. Portel. “I’ll report
back to you as swiftly as possible. It
may take a day or two.”
Mr. Portel shook his head in
agreement. “I fully understand”
Bruno then followed Paul James to the
parlor to find an attractive young lady impatiently waiting for him.
“Please hurry. I have an important tea engagement,” she
ordered.
“Tell me what you know about your sister’s
disappearance, and you are free to flee.”
“I don’t know anything about her
affairs. We travel in different
circles.” She then paused, “All I heard
from second parties is that Mattie frequented a coffee shop, The Sketch Pad
Café, near the Chicago Art Society Gallery. Mattie loves art and it is said she
became chummy with a handsome, young New Englander studying art here in
Chicago. That is all I know, and quite
frankly I am absolutely delighted that Mattie has finally drummed up the
gumption to be whisked away by a handsome young fortune hunter, and I wish her
the best whether it be just an affair, or marriage.”
“I see,” Bruno nodded his head. “Thank you for your assistance.”
She immediately arose and headed for the
parlor room door. Bruno gazed at Paul
James who held a tiny smirk on his thin lips.
Bruno decided to start his quest at The
Sketch Pad Café a few blocks from the Chicago Art Society Gallery. He ordered a cup of Colombian coffee
accompanied by a huge sugar doughnut, which he viewed with great pleasure. As he paid the portly, middle-aged waitress
for his purchase he casually asked, “Has Matilda Portel stopped by today? I was to meet her earlier, but became involved
in a rather long business discussion.”
“Mattie?
No as a matter of fact I have not seen her for a few days.”
“I am actually her Uncle Bob from
Milwaukee. I also enjoy art and she was
going to give me a tour of your wonderful Chicago Art Society Gallery.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“She also wrote me of a young man she is
seeing.” Bruno then paused with a quizzical mask on his face. “Has her male friend been around? I believe his name is William…”
“You mean Freddie Surrey?” The waitress then paused. “As a matter of fact I haven’t seen either of
them for about three or four days.”
“We did have an appointment for today, and
she did not cancel it…”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,
sir.”
“Do you know anything about this Freddie
Surrey?”
“Sir, I must return to the kitchen.”
Bruno quickly reached into his coat pocket
and removed a small gathering of money secured by an engraved silver money
clip. He slipped out a five-dollar bill
and set it on the table. “Any information you give me will be deeply
appreciated.”
The waitress quickly slipped the money
into her apron pocket. “I understand he
is an artist and lives in a run down store-front in the old tannery district,
but I do not know exactly where.”
“Thank you very much,” Bruno
responded. He arose and began to make
his way to the front door, but then paused and returned to the table and
snatched up his sugar donut.
Through his many years on the Chicago
Police Force Bruno had a very sound idea as to the approximate area where
Freddie might set up housekeeping in the old tannery district and he took a
small stroll amongst the old dilapidated buildings.
As he walked among the ruins he was
suddenly startled by a high-pitched man’s voice resounding from behind him. “Is
that you, Copper? Gentleman Bruno Clew,
the Bear, the greatest detective to ever serve on the Chicago Police force?”
Bruno suddenly burst into laughter. “Sammy ‘The Mole!’ I’d recognize that voice anywhere! Greatest tunnel man that ever lived!” He then spun around and gazed in joy at a
diminutive, thin old man. “Sammy ‘The
Mole’ Plankowski. I’ll be damned.” They wildly shook hands and slapped each
other on the back. “When did you get out
of prison?’
“Just last year.”
“Are you back to digging tunnels into
banks and jewelry stores to heist their objects of value?”
“No, I have been cured of tunnel
work.”
“I’ll bet your old bones and muscles are
on the stiff side, same as mine.”
“I can still hold my own,” Sammy proudly
stated. He then did a curious little
dance resembling an Irish jig. “See I
still got it!” His feet then became
tangled and he almost fell over.
Bruno steadied him. “Easy, lad.
Neither of us is thirty anymore.”
“Just a matter of getting back into
shape.”
“Certainly,” Bruno agreed. “Same thing here.” He then paused studying Sammy’s somewhat
bedraggled appearance. “Sammy, if you
are free now, I could use your help. I
am looking for a young fellow; he has a New England accent, dresses well, and
claims to be an artist. I understand he
has a studio around here.”
Sammy released a broad grin. “I know exactly where he is! Just down the block as a matter of fact.”
“I’ll give you a fiver if you show me exactly where.”
“For a fiver
I’ll carry you on my back!”
They quietly moved down the block. Sammy then pointed to a one-story run-down
storefront and was about to say something, but Bruno raised his hand to Sammy’s
mouth.
“Shhh…” he cautioned.
They slowly made their way around the
building, finding its backside abutting the Chicago River. Sammy pointed to a back window. He then motioned for Bruno to stay back and
he balanced himself on a rickety pier attached to the structure and inched his
way over to the window. Sammy’s eyes lit
with delight as he viewed a young lady sitting on a chair. A handsome young man, who Sammy knew to be
the resident, was striding about and then began pointing a finger at her in a
threatening manner. Sammy then carefully
made his way back to Bruno.
‘Yup, she is in there. The young gent is also there. Looks like he is ranting and raving about
something, keeps pointing a finger at her, his face all filled with
angriness.”
“I don’t like that,” Bruno mumbled. “Does she appear if she has been beaten, or
violated?”
“No, but she looks very worn out. Poor little darling.”
“Yes,” Bruno angrily replied, gritting his
teeth in anger. He then glanced around
at the alleyway they were in. “Sammy,
I’ll stand by the side door of his studio.
You knock over those old trashcans and pieces of rotting lumber at the
end of the alley. When he comes out to
see what the commotion is all about, I’ll plummet him with my cane.”
Sammy’s eyes lit with delight. “Some excitement at last!”
Bruno moved to the side door and raised
his silver bear head walking cane into the air.
Sammy rattled the metal trashcans and tossed the lumber about, probably
awakening every derelict animal and person in a two-block area. No response from Freddie though. Bruno motioned for Sammy to rattle the
buckets once again. He did so, and
suddenly a huge wharf rat ran from the alley, screeching an animal obscenity at
the intruders.
Yet, Freddie would not stick his head
outside the door to see what the noise was all about.
Bruno then motioned for Sammy to look into
the back window again. Sammy again
balanced himself on the rickety old pier jutting into the Chicago River. He gazed in the window to find Freddie standing
motionless with his face twisted in fear.
Sammy then carefully made his way back over the pier to Bruno.
“It is very confusing in there,” Sammy
softly spoke to Bruno. “He is just
standing next to her, and he looks scared to hell. Probably from the ruckus we made.”
“Well, that’s that!” Bruno thundered. He then strode up to the side door and
violently beat upon it with his cane.
“I’m coming in!” he shouted, and then
backed up, mustered up a head of steam, and rushed the door with his two
hundred pound rotund body. The rotting
door tore from its hinges and landed on the floor with Bruno on top of it. Petrified Freddie quickly stepped on Bruno’s
fallen body while making a wild dash outside to the alley. Bruno arose as swiftly as he could for his
age to make chase, and was absolutely delighted to find diminutive Sammy riding
on the back of the fleet footed Freddie bounding down the street, as a jockey
on a horse.
Bruno then rushed to Matilda who was
standing still, and was surprised to find a slight grin on her lips. “How are you fairing through all of
this? Poor thing,” he then took her in
his arms to comfort her. At first
Matilda welcomed the attention, but then swiftly pulled away.
“And just who are you, sir?”
“Not to worry. I was hired by your father to find you. He is sick with worry over your
disappearance.”
Matilda eyes then suddenly lit with
pleasure and she once again held that strange mischievous grin on her thin
lips. “Sick with worry, you say?”
Bruno viewed her suspiciously. “He is frantic.” He then placed his arm over her
shoulder. “Come; let’s rid our self of
this filthy rat hole.”
“What will happen to Freddie?” Matilda
asked in apparent concern.
“If your father wants him caught and
punished I will attempt to do so, but he is like a young jackrabbit and
probably half way to points unknown by this time.”
Matilda chuckled. “Then you are not the police?”
“Private detective.”
Sammy quickly entered the building. “He got away!”
Matilda’s face momentarily filled with
joy, but then she swiftly attempted to mask that with a sorrowful gaze.
Bruno chuckled. “Great piece of horsemanship on your part
though.”
“He threw me when he jumped over a small
bush.”
“Good show. Now if you are not too bent up, find us transportation. I wish to return our little lady to her
father.”
“Jimmy the cab driver lives two blocks
away, and keeps his horse in a backyard stall.
I’ll hurry right over and roust him up.”
“I’ll search the premises for any clues I
can find regarding our runaway… gentleman.”
“Be back shortly.”
Bruno then gazed sympathetically at
Matilda. “Why don’t you be seated? We’ll have you back home within the hour. For now I wish to go through Freddie’s
belongings.” Bruno began searching the
drawers in a dresser and found several items of fairly expensive men’s
clothing, shirts, ties, and linen handkerchiefs. “Please do tell me about Freddie. How did you meet him?”
“It was about three weeks ago. I love art, I actually dabble in oils a bit,
and I frequent the wonderful coffee cafes around the Chicago Art Gallery. One morning Freddie quite boldly sat across
from me at my table. I was startled, but
then found a kind handsome face grinning stupidly at me, and I couldn’t help
but smile.”
Bruno nodded his head as he continued his
search, looking through personal papers with a Boston, Massachusetts
address. “Please continue.”
“I liked him, but I didn’t like him…” She then paused. “I will explain this all to father.”
Just then Sammy dashed into the room. “Harry’s hansom cab is out front.”
“Excellent service! Well done,” Bruno congratulated Sammy, as
Matilda gathered up her coat and hat.
“I gave him the fiver you gave me,” Sammy
made sure to tell Bruno. “Had to get him
out of bed.”
Bruno reached into his pocket and pulled a
ten-dollar bill from his wad of cash and slapped it into Sammy’s outstretched
hand. “This cover it?”
“Thank you, Governor,” Sammy responded,
viewing the ten-dollar bill as if it were a one hundred dollar bill.
Bruno then paused in thought. “Sammy, meet me in my office The Society Detective Agency tomorrow morning at about
ten. It’s located at eighth and Commerce
Street on the third floor. I’d like to
have a chat with you. Perhaps have you
do some work for me from time to time.”
“My pleasure!” Sammy responded with
unabashed joy.
Bruno gave the cab driver the address of
the Portel mansion and as the cab made its way through the cold winter day,
Bruno softly asked Matilda, “Are you comfortable? Would you like to bundle up in my overcoat?”
“No, no.
I am just fine. I have to admit I
am completely worn out, and very sleepy.”
“Take a nap if you wish. You are in safe hands.”
Matilda gazed up at Bruno’s broad,
elderly, handsome, grandfather like face and then rested her head on his
shoulder.
Paul James, Mr. Portel’s private secretary
answered the door at the Portel mansion, and beamed with ecstatic delight when
he viewed Matilda.
“God be praised! Are you all right, Miss Portel?” he asked,
taking her coat and hat.
“Thank you Paul James. Is father in his library?”
“Yes, he is asleep on the divan.”
Bruno remained silent as he followed
Matilda and Paul James to the library.
Matilda quickly opened the door and then ran to her father who was
stretched out on the divan. She kissed
him, and he awoke, tenderly smiling.
“Mattie.” He tenderly stared up
into her frightened blue eyes, and then reached up to straighten her crooked
eyeglasses. He then glanced to Bruno.
“Thank you so very much, Detective Clew!
How did you find her so swiftly?”
“I am a retired Sergeant of Detectives of
the Chicago Police Department. Believe
me, sir; I know exactly where to search out incidents of this type”
“Where is the…scamp?”
“When I broke down the door to their room
to make sure your daughter was unharmed he made a mad dash outside to the
alley, and quite frankly at the speed he was traveling he just might be in
Missouri by now. Would you like me to
put out a wanted bulletin on him?”
“No, no!
Emphatically no! Complete
privacy. This is a family matter.” Mr. Portel then nodded his head to Paul James
who picked up a check from Mr. Portel’s pine log desk and handed it to Bruno
who folded it in half without looking at the amount, and casually tucked it
into his side topcoat pocket.
“Would you like a written report?” Bruno
inquired.
“Not necessary,” Mr. Portel replied with
his arm lovingly around his daughter’s waist.
Paul
James then pointed to the door and said, “Thank you for your assistance
Detective Clew. I will escort you to the
door.”
Bruno obeyed, and as he sat in the hansom
cab on the way to his flat on Royall Place, he slowly reached into his topcoat
pocket and removed the check he had received from Mr. Portel. He grinned ever so slightly as he found the
check to be written in the amount of $4,000, then remembering he also had the
$1,000 in cash Mr. Portel had give him to start the investigation. He then chuckled remembering he used to get
$1,200 a year as a sergeant of detectives.
The next morning Bruno awoke from his
night’s slumber and slowly moved to the bedroom window of his flat on
fashionable Royall Place. In the far
distance Lake Michigan was shimmering as a sea of perils floating on a blue
background. The sun was bright and warm,
and all in all it appeared to be a marvelous Fall season day. Yet, he was experiencing that cautious
gnawing feeling of doubt he often labored over as a Chicago police detective
when an investigation appeared closed, but a shadow of a doubt remained.
“Freddie Surrey,” he mumbled to
himself. “He is a scoundrel, and would
not merely disappear from sight with shy Matilda under his spell, and with her
father worth several million dollars.”
Bruno reasoned Freddie would most
certainly return, perhaps he has already done so, with some sort of nefarious
scheme to again gain her attentions.
He quickly bathed and dressed and decided
to visit the Sketch Pad Café near the Chicago Art Museum. He took an indoor table by the window, able
to watch the four tables on the outdoor patio.
He ordered coffee, a ham sandwich, and a wonderfully huge sugar
donut. He also purchased a copy of the
morning newspaper from the waitress who remembered him from yesterday.
“Were you able to contact Freddie Surrey?”
“No, I was hoping he might stop by here
sometime today.”
“She shrugged her shoulders. “As I told you, I haven’t seen him for
several days, but one never knows.”
Bruno nodded in agreement. “If you see him, please do not tell him I was
here. I wish to surprise him.”
“I’m actually going off duty now, but good
luck in finding him.”
Bruno busied himself with the ‘Crime’ page
of the newspaper, reading a list of thefts about town that occurred within the
past week. He found the names of a few
antagonists from his past police force employment, and when he finally gazed up
from the newspaper to the outside patio he was stunned to find Matilda and
Freddie Surrey chatting over a pot of tea.
He shook his head in disgust at
himself. “My, my, I am getting old and
feeble minded.”
He noticed Freddie appeared perfectly
groomed and well attired. It surprised
him for he thought Freddie had left his only clothing behind in his supposed
studio at the run-down waterfront storefront building.
Matilda and Freddie then arose and moved
east on Hornsby Boulevard. Bruno
followed, keeping about a half-block behind them on the mildly crowded thoroughfare.
Matilda and Freddie entered The Espionage
Pub about two blocks along the boulevard.
Bruno paused in front of the pub and held his folded newspaper up to
partially conceal his face and quickly glanced through a small clear windowpane
surrounded with leaded glass panes. The
duo was seated in a back booth at the far east corner of the pub. Each booth was uniquely constructed in a
‘church confessional’ style with mahogany boards reaching half way to the
ceiling on either side for privacy. The
pair was involved in an animated discussion, accentuating their verbal points
with a mixture of hand gestures.
Bruno cautiously entered the pub and
stealthily moved to the enclosed booth next to their confessional. Matilda was pleading with Freddie.
“All you have to do is sneak into my
father’s den. I will have the safe open
for you. All you have to do is reach in
and pretend to steal his collection of loose gems. I’ll pretend to catch you at the task, scream
for help, and when Paul James or my father enters you make a dash out the
French doors and just keep on running. I
will pay you a thousand dollars for your trouble.”
“I don’t know about this,” Freddie
stated. “You must certainly hate your
father. First you pay me to stay with me
at my studio for a few days, and now want to hire me to pretend rob his safe
just so he can see me doing it.”
“I love my father, but he pays absolutely
no attention to me. I’m his quiet,
demure, spineless pet. My sister
Marianne is his favorite; bold, gregarious, just like him. By catching a thief who is robbing his safe,
and also previously abducted me, he’ll certainly see me in an entirely
different view.”
“I didn’t abduct you! You paid me…”
“Don’t interrupt me!”
“I
do escape, right? And you will give me
one thousand dollars?”
Matilda reached into her purse and removed
a bundle of cash, waiving it in front of Freddie’s eyes. “I’ll give it to you right after you open the
safe. I’ll then scream, hand you the
cash and you can dash out the French doors and keep on running. You said you wish to head west with the
railroad to gamble and so forth. A
thousand dollars should be a great aide to fulfill that quest. And all for a few minutes work.”
“All right. When?”
“Tonight at ten. My father retires to his bedroom at that
time. Paul James helps him to his
bedroom just down the hallway. I will be
waiting to let you in.”
Freddie shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll be there. I certainly do need the cash.”
“I’ll have the safe opened for you. I have a key, as does my sister, for
emergency purposes.”
Bruno smiled and held the newspaper over
his face as the couple exited The Espionage Pub.
Bruno at first mulled over revealing the
plot to Mr. Portel, but then quickly reasoned that Mr. Portel would find his
following his daughter about without his permission, and then accusing her of a
possible burglary of his gem collection, absolutely intolerable. So he decided to wait in the garden of the
Portel mansion at ten for the events to unfold.
Shortly after ten Bruno found Freddie
skulking about in the garden, as a fox ready to raid the chicken coop;
carefully moving this way and that, dodging from tree to tree, bush to bush,
and finally moved to the French doors.
The doors immediately opened and Matilda
pulled him inside by his coat lapels.
Bruno quickly made his way to the French doors and peered in at Matilda
unlocking the safe door, reaching in and removing a black velvet clutch bag
with her right hand. In her left hand
she held a bundle of cash. Freddie
quickly grabbed the bag of gems instead of the cash and made a fast dash for
the French doors. Matilda screamed in
disbelief. Bruno opened the door and as
an astonished Freddie attempted to dash out, but Bruno raised his silver bear
head walking cane, and bashed Freddie atop his pate rendering him unconscious.
Mr. Portel then entered the library with
the aide of Paul James. “What in the
hell is going on in here?”
Matilda immediately collapsed into her
father’s arms, crying uncontrollably.
“Detective Clew!” Mr. Portel exclaimed in
further surprise. “Where the hell did
you come from?”
Bruno explained he suspected Freddie
Surrey might still be in Chicago, not having left in supposed blind fear after
enticing Matilda to his artist studio, and decided to follow up on the
case. He then explained the meeting of
Freddie and Matilda at the Sketch Pad Café, and then at The Espionage Pub.
“But why didn’t you come to me immediately
with this situation?” Mr. Portel asked.
“I might have prevented the total occurrence.”
“It simply was all too
circumstantial. I couldn’t very well
make an appointment with you to tell you your daughter was about to be involved
in a burglary of your gems. It was
necessary to play out the entire scenario.”
Mr. Portel grumbled, hugging his sobbing
daughter to his chest. “Mattie, what is
this all about?”
“Father, I wanted you to notice me. I can be daring and adventurous like
Marianne.”
Mr. Portel then hugged her closer to his
chest. “All right. We will discuss this later.” He then stared at Bruno with some
amazement. “What made you follow through
on this? I am very impressed.”
“Years of police training and experience
came to the fore. I reasoned Freddie
just might remain in Chicago to align himself with your daughter once
again. He is young and brash. I then followed my hunches and arrived
here.” Bruno then pointed down to
Freddie lying unconscious between the French doors. “Should I notify the police for you?”
“No, no!
No publicity!” Mr. Portel accentuated.
He then broke into a slight smile.
“Well done, Sergeant Clew. Do
stop by my office in the morning and we can discuss the matter fully.”
“Yes, sir,” Bruno responded.
“One thing…” Mr. Portel then added. “Perhaps you might be so good as to help Paul
James transfer the young man’s carcass to the cellar?”
“My pleasure,” Bruno replied.
Mr. Portel nodded in thank you to Bruno
and then spoke to Paul James. “Lock him
in the wine cellar. In the morning
arrange to have him taken to Northern Wisconsin. Let’s make a lumberjack out of him.”
The three gentlemen glanced at one another
and broke into a round of chuckles.
When Bruno arrived at his office the next
morning at ten he was quite surprised to find Paul James the personal secretary
to Mr. Renee Portel waiting for him.
Paul James was anxiously pacing in front of Bruno’s office door, and
when Bruno appeared he released a deep sigh of relief.
“Hallelujah, Detective Clew! Your services are once again direly
required!”
“How so?” Bruno asked in surprise as he
unlocked his office door. “Please do
enter.”
“That scoundrel, that rogue, Freddie
Surrey not only escaped from his cell in the wine cellar, but also robbed Mr.
Portel’s desk in the library of five thousand in cash, He also,” Paul James
then paused to catch his breath and adjust his wire-rim spectacles which were
slipping down the bridge of his nose, “left a note for Matilda.” He paused again, his eyes greatly
enlarged. “The rogue left the note on
her pillow, next to her right cheek, in the middle of the night!” Paul James then lifted his right foot and
stomped it down on the floor. “And do
you know the message of the note?”
Bruno fought to hold back a chuckle,
noticing Paul James obviously harbored a great deal of pent up affection for
Matilda. “No, I’m afraid I do not know
the contents of the message, sir.”
Paul James raised his right index finger
into the air. “Darling, I adore
you. I will be back soon to steal the
greatest treasures your magnificent mansion contains…your beautiful face, body,
and loving heart. Remember to leave your
balcony French doors unlocked at all times.
I shall return. Until then,
F.S.” Paul James shook his head in
disgust. “Filthy swine.”
“Is Mr. Portel waiting to see me?” Bruno
inquired, of the flushed-faced messenger.
“Oh, yes.
The mansion carriage is just outside.
Mr. Portel is in entire shock over the entire matter!”
“Let’s off,” Bruno stated, as he relocked
his office door.
Mr. Portel greeted them in the
library-office of his mansion. He was
seated behind his desk constructed of white pine logs, and when Bruno followed
Paul James into the palatial setting he expected thunder and lightening to emit
from Mr. Portel’s foul weather appearance, but, instead, found him beaming with
delight. He motioned for Bruno to be
seated.
“Did Freddie forcefully break down the
door of the wine cellar?” Bruno quickly inquired.
“No,” Mr. Portel chuckled. “The wine cellar door is rather fragile to
begin with. And the lock on the door is
an antique padlock about two hundred years old.
The security was more meant to indicate this is a private area and please
do not violate same. Being incarcerated
in a room filled with rare wines would have sent many gentlemen on a wine
tasting binge, but Freddy instead concentrated in reaching around the wooden
bars of his entombment and found a way to pick the lock,” Mr. Portel paused to
light up a cigar and handed one over to Bruno.
Bruno lit up his cigar. “I understand he took five thousand dollars
from your desk drawer.”
“Yes, I keep a large sum of cash on hand
for various purposes.” He then
grinned. “Actually, we have some good
size high stake poker games here in the library.” He took a long drag from his cigar and then
released the gray-brown smoke into the air.
“Understandable,” Bruno agreed, now
enjoying the sweet scent of rum emitting from their cigars. “Am I to understand he was also brazen enough
to leave a note next to your daughter’s cheek on her pillow, before taking
flight?”
Mr. Portel broke into laughter, much to
Bruno’s confusion. “The damn scamp! He now has Mattie totally in love with
him. I want you to find him and return
him to me. I owe him to my darling, shy
daughter.”
“Darling, shy daughter,” Bruno muttered,
coughing a bit as he puffed again on his cigar.
“I’ll have to spread a great deal of money about the city. It will be costly.”
Mr. Portel arose and limped to a bookshelf
near the fireplace. He removed an
oversized, red-hued leather bound book and limped back to his desk. He then handed the volume to a totally
confused Bruno who in turn examined the tome entitled “Dante’s Inferno.” Bruno ran his hand over the finely tooled
leather binding and opened the cover to find the book hollowed out and filled
with cash. Mr. Portel’s demeanor now
turned exceptionally serious and business-like.
“Take two thousand from The Inferno. Find this Freddie Surrey no matter what the
cost, and bring him to me. Explain to
him that all is forgiven, that I wish to offer him employment in my organization,
and that he may have my daughter Mattie’s hand in marriage. If he then refuses to accompany you…well, use
whatever force is required to get his stupid carcass to me.” A slight grin then slid across Mr. Portel’s
lips. “The young rogue reminds me of
someone I knew many years ago; brash, daring, and…” Mr. Portel then quickly
erased his grin, and pointed to his office door. “Stay in constant contact with me.”
Bruno immediately sought out his part time
employee Sammy ‘The Mole’ Plankowski, who possessed vast underworld contacts in
Chicago and gave him $500 to find Freddie Surrey. Two hours later Sammy delivered a confused,
but non-combative Freddie Surrey to Bruno’s office. Bruno outlined Mr. Portel’s terms of
relationship Freddie would have with his daughter Matilda, and Freddie appeared
overjoyed with the prospect of marrying into one of Chicago’s wealthiest
families.