Smugglers' Reef Part 24

Scotty sobered. "It worked like a charm," he said. "But Rick, old egg, from now on you and I had better stay away from the front end of Carrots' little air gun!"

CHAPTER XIV

Captain Killian

Jerry turned down the cross street and looked around him doubtfully.

"I don't know what a fancy hotel would be doing in this neighborhood, Rick."

"We don't know how fancy it is," Rick returned. "It just has a fancy name. But keep going. We should get to it soon. See any numbers?"

They had stopped and found the address in a telephone book as soon as they crossed the river into New York through the Holland Tunnel. As Jerry pointed out, it wasn't a likely neighborhood in which to find a hotel. It seemed to be mostly manufacturing plants engaged in making gloves and ladies clothes.

"Wonder how he happened to choose this location?" Scotty asked.

"Probably just came into the city and walked down this way and went into the first hotel he saw," Cap'n Mike speculated. "Man gets used to a fis.h.i.+ng trawler, he's not going to ask for anything fancy by way of a hotel."

Jerry and Rick had been scanning the numbers along the street. "It's on your side," Rick said. "Watch for it."

Jerry applied the brakes and the car slowed. "That must be it," he said, pointing across the street.

It wasn't what Rick had expected. A tiny metal sign announced that this was the Garden View Hotel. It was set above a dingy doorway through which a flight of stairs could be seen.

"Where's the garden it's supposed to have a view of?" Scotty wanted to know.

Rick motioned in the general direction of uptown. "Probably Madison Square Garden. You could see it from here easily if there weren't about two thousand buildings in the way including the Empire State."

He was wondering if they had the right place. "This calls for a small change in plans," he said.

On the way to New York they had decided it would be easiest to give a bellhop a generous tip and have him locate Captain Killian for them.

Bellhops usually knew about every guest in a small hotel, and they suspected the Garden View would be small simply because none of them had ever heard of it.

"You're right," Scotty agreed. "A place like that wouldn't have a bellhop."

Rick searched for an idea. "You wouldn't know his signature on the register, would you. Cap'n?"

"Never seen him sign his name."

"Why couldn't one of us be a relative looking for him?" Jerry offered.

"Say, that's an idea!" Scotty exclaimed. "We could pretend he's a little cracked and describe him. The clerk would know who we meant, and he'd probably be glad to tell us, because hotels don't like having people who might be a little bit off."

"Cap'n Mike could do it," Rick said. "Cap'n, couldn't you pretend to be his brother?"

"Sure I could. Well, what are we waiting for? Do I go alone?"

"I'll go with you," Rick offered.

"Jerry and I had better wait, then," Scotty said. "It might look funny if four of us came trooping in like a chowder-and-marching club."

Jerry spoke up. "That's okay, except don't forget I'm to talk with him if he has anything to say. Have to get an interview for the paper."

"We'll bring him down," Rick promised confidently. "Let's go, Cap'n."

The stairs leading up into the hotel were creaky with age, and the acc.u.mulation of dust and dirt showed months without a broom. At the top of the stairs was what had once been quite a nice lobby. But now the rug was worn to strings and the wallpaper had acquired a glaze of dirt that made it look like ancient newspapers. Behind the scarred ruin of an oak counter stood a clerk so fat Rick wondered how the floor could support him. He was reading a comic book, and he didn't even look up as they came in.

Cap'n Mike addressed him politely. "Excuse me, sir. I wonder if you can help me?"

Tired eyes looked up from the comic book. "What can I do for you?" The words and tone were surprisingly courteous.

"I'm looking for my brother," Cap'n Mike said. "He's a man about my height, five years younger, still a lot of black in his hair. Red complexion, pretty well lined. Smokes a corncob pipe. His real name is Killian, but I don't think you'd know him by that." He touched his head significantly. "Mind is going. He thinks he's being persecuted."

"What makes you think he might be here?"

Cap'n Mike's expressive face a.s.sumed a look of infinite sadness.

"Once, many years ago, he spent his honeymoon here. Lost his wife shortly after in an auto crash, but since his mind went he won't believe she's dead. Even though it was nigh onto twenty years ago.

Poor soul. Keeps looking for her. We try to keep him home, so he sneaks off and takes an a.s.sumed name. Found him here once before."

"When?" the tone was suspicious. "I've been here five years myself, and I don't remember anything like that."

"Oh, it was longer ago than that," Cap'n Mike added hastily. "Must be over eight." He coughed apologetically. "We've had him in an old seaman's home for a few years, but he wasn't happy there."

Rick looked at Cap'n Mike with admiration. When it came to spinning a convincing yarn right off the cuff, so to speak, Cap'n Mike was a master. Rick hid a smile. What had the old man said about ham actors a little while back?

The clerk was nodding slowly. "Old seaman, is he? Well, that fits one of our guests." He looked at Cap'n Mike sharply. "Sure it's all right?

Who is this boy?"

Cap'n Mike put his hand on Rick's shoulder. "This? Ah, sir, it's this boy's poor mother old Jim came here to find."

Rick bowed his head and looked as sad as possible. He had to bow it anyway, to conceal the grin that was forcing its way to the surface.

"What room is he in?" Cap'n Mike asked tenderly. "Poor old soul."

"I'll call him." The clerk went to the switchboard and plugged in a line, then pulled the toggle switch a couple of times. He picked up the phones and put them on. "Mr. Jameson? Your brother and son are down here to see you."

Rick held his breath.

The clerk unplugged the line and put the phone down. "He'll be downstairs in a minute." He went back to his comic book.

Rick and Cap'n Mike went over to a sofa and sat down. As they did so, a little cloud of dust rose.

The minutes ticked away. Rick fidgeted.

He leaned over close to Cap'n Mike. "What do you suppose is keeping him?"

"Don't know," Cap'n Mike whispered back. "We'd better see." He rose and walked to the desk again. "He's slow in coming, sir. I'm just wondering.