Rubin nodded. "I suppose so. And that bugged me, too. It bothered me. I could see that Charlie didn't believe me. He didn't think there was any banging. I was the only one to mention it, he said."
"Doesn't Mrs. Rubin hear it?"
"Of course she does. But I have to call it to her attention. It doesn't bother her, either."
Gonzalo said, "Maybe it's some gal practicing with castanets, or some percussion instrument."
"Come on. I can tell something rhythmic from just random banging."
"It could be a kid," said Drake, "or some pet. I lived in an apartment in Baltimore once and I had banging directly overhead, like someone dropping something a few hundred times a day. And that's what it was. They had a dog that kept picking up some toy bone and dropping it. I got them to put down a cheap rug."
"It's no kid and it's no pet," said Rubin stubbornly. "I wish you wouldn't all assume I don't know what I'm hearing. Listen, I worked in a lumberyard once. I'm a pretty fair carpenter myself. I know the sound of a hammer on wood."
"Maybe someone's doing some home repairs," said Halsted.
"For months? It's more than that."
Henry said, "Is that where the situation stands now?
Did you make any other effort to find the source after the doorman failed you?"
Rubin frowned. "I tried but it wasn't easy. Everyone has an unlisted number around here. It's part of the fortress mentality Avalon talks about. And I only know a couple of people to talk to. I tried knocking on the most likely doors and introducing myself and asking and all I got were hard stares."
"I'd give up," said Drake.
"Not I," said Rubin, tapping himself on the chest. "The main trouble was that everyone thought I was some kind of nut. Even Charlie, I think. There's a kind of general suspicion about writers on the part of ordinary people."
"Which may be justified," said Gonzalo.
"Shut up," said Rubin. "So I thought I would present some concrete evidence."
"Such as?" asked Henry.
"Well, by God, I recorded the damned banging. I spent two or three days keeping my senses alert for it and then, whenever it started, I tripped the switch and recorded it. It played hell with my writing but I ended up with about forty-five minutes of banging-not loud, but you could hear it. And it was an interesting thing to do because if you listened to it you could tell just from the banging that the bum is a rotten carpenter. The blows weren't even and strong. He had no control over that hammer, and that kind of irregularity wears you out. Once you get the proper rhythm, you can hammer all day without getting tired. I did that many a time-"
Henry interrupted. "And did you play the recording for the doorman?"
"No. A month ago I went to a higher court."
Gonzalo said, "Then you did see the super?"
"No. There's such a thing as a tenants' organization."
There was a general smile of approval at the table which left only Henry untouched. "Didn't think of that," said Avalon.
Rubin grinned. "People wouldn't in a case like this. That's because the only purpose of the organization is to
get after the landlord. It's as though no one ever heard of a tenant annoying another tenant and yet I'd say that nine-tenths of the annoyances in an apartment house are caused by tenant-tenant interactions. I said that. I-"
Henry interrupted again. "Are you a regular member of the organization, Mr. Rubin?"
"I'm a member, sure. Every tenant is a member automatically."
"I mean do you attend meetings regularly?"
"As a matter of fact, this was only the second meeting I'd attended."
"Do the regular attendees know you?"
"Some of them do. Besides, what difference does that make? I announced myself. Rubin, I said, 14-double-A, and I made my speech. I had my tape recording with me and I held it up and waved it. I said that was the proof some damn fool was a public nuisance; that I had it labeled with dates and times and would have it notarized if necessary and see my lawyer. I said that if the landlord had made that noise, everyone in the audience would be howling for united action against the nuisance. Why not react the same to one of the tenants?"
"It must have been a most eloquent address," growled Trumbull. "A pity I wasn't there to hear you. What did they say?"
Rubin scowled. "They wanted to know who was the tenant who made the noise and I couldn't tell them. So they let it drop. Nobody heard the noise; anyway, nobody was interested."
"When did the meeting take place?" asked Henry.
"Nearly a month ago. And they haven't forgotten about it, either. It was an eloquent address, Tom. I fried them. I did it deliberately. The word was going to spread, and it did. Charlie the doorman said he heard half the tenants talking about it-which was what I wanted. I wanted that carpenter to hear it. I wanted him to know I was after him."
"Surely you don't intend violence, Mr. Rubin," said Henry.
"I don't need violence. I just wanted him to know. It's been pretty quiet the last few weeks, and I'll bet it stays quiet."
"When's the next meeting?" asked Henry. "Next week. ... I may be there."
Henry shook his head. He said, "1 wish you wouldn't, Mr. Rubin. I think it might be better if you dropped the whole thing."
"I'm not scared of whoever it is."
"I'm sure you're not, Mr. Rubin, but I find the situation peculiar on several counts-" "In what way?" asked Rubin hastily. "I-I- It seems melodramatic, I admit but- Mr. Avalon, you and Dr. Drake arrived downstairs in the lobby just ahead of me. You spoke to the doorman." "Yes, that's right," said Avalon.
"Perhaps I came too late. I may have missed something. It seems to me, Mr. Avalon, that you asked the doorman if there had been any incidents of a distressing nature in the apartment house and he said there had been a robbery in a twentieth-floor apartment the last year and that a woman had been hurt in some fashion in the laundry room."
Avalon looked thoughtful and nodded.
Henry said, "Yet he knew that we were heading for Mr. Rubin's apartment. How is it that he didn't mention that this apartment had been broken into only two weeks before?"
There was a thoughtful pause. Gonzalo said, "Maybe he didn't like to gossip."
"He told us about other incidents. There might have been a harmless explanation, but when I heard of the break-in, I grew perturbed. Everything I've heard since has increased my feeling of uneasiness. He was a fan of Mr. Rubin. Mrs. Rubin had turned to him at the time. Yet he never spoke of it."
"What do you make of it, Henry?" asked Avalon.
"Is he involved, somehow?"
"Come on, Henry," said Rubin at once. "Are you trying to say Charlie is part of a holdup ring?"
"No, but if there is something peculiar going on in this apartment house, it might be very useful to slip the doorman a ten-dollar bill now and then. He might not know what it's for. What is wanted may seem quite harmless to him-but then when your apartment is invaded, it may be that he suddenly understands more than he did before. He feels involved and he won't talk of it any more. For his own sake."
"Okay," said Rubin. "But what would be so peculiar going on here? The carpenter and his banging?"
Henry said, "Why should someone haunt the floor waiting for you and Mrs. Rubin to leave the apartment untenanted and single-locked? And why, when Mr. Avalon mentioned the matter of the woman in the laundry early in the evening, Mr. Rubin, did you promptly dismiss the matter with some reference to the Chinese delegation to the United Nations. Is there a connection?"
Rubin said, "Only that Jane told me some of the tenants were worried about the Chinese getting in here."
"Somehow I feel that is too weak a reason to account for your non sequitur. Did Mrs. Rubin say that the man she had surprised in the apartment was an Oriental?"
"Oh, you can't go by that," said Rubin, drawing his shoulders into an earnest shrug. "What can anyone really notice-"
Avalon said, "Now wait a while, Manny. No one's asking you if the burglar was
really Chinese. All Henry is asking is whether Jane said he was."
She said she thought he was; she had the impression he was. . . . Come on, Henry. Are you proposing espionage?"
Henry said stolidly, "Combine all this with the matter of the irregular banging-I believe Mr. Rubin mentioned the irregularity specifically as the sign of a poor carpenter. Might the irregularity be the product of a clever spy? It seems to me that the weak point of any system of espionage is the transfer of information. In this case, there would be no contact between sender and receiver, no intermediate checkpoint, nothing to tap or intercept. It would be the most natural and harmless sound in the world that no one would hear except for the person listening-and, as luck would have it, a writer trying to concentrate on his writing and distracted by even small sounds. Even then it would be considered merely someone hammering-a carpenter."
Trambull said, "Come on, Henry. That's silly." Henry said, "But then what about a break-in where virtually nothing was taken?"
"Nuts," said Rubin. "Jane came back too soon. If she had stayed away five minutes more, the stereo would have been gone."
Trumbull said, "Look here, Henry. You've done some remarkable things in the past and I wouldn't totally dismiss anything you say. Just the same, this is very thin."
"Perhaps I can present evidence."
"What kind?"
"It would involve the recordings Mr. Rubin made of the banging. Could you get them, Mr. Rubin?"
Rubin said, "Easiest thing in the world." He stepped through an archway.
Trumbull said, "Henry, if you think I'm going to listen to some stupid hammering and tell you if it's in code, you're crazy."
"Mr. Trumbull," said Henry, "what connections you have with the government, I don't know, but it is my guess that in a few moments you will want to get in touch with the proper people and my suggestion is that you begin by having the doorman thoroughly questioned, and that-"
Rubin came back, frowning and red-faced. "Funny. I can't find them. I thought I knew exactly where they were supposed to be. They're not there. So much for your evidence, Henry. I'll have to ... Did I leave them somewhere?"
"It's the absence that's the evidence, Mr. Rubin," said Henry, "and I think we know now what the burglar was after, and why there's been no hammering since."
Trumbull said hastily, "I'd better make-" Then he paused as the doorbell sounded.
For a moment all were frozen, then Rubin muttered,
"Don't tell me Jane is getting home early." He rose heavily, moved to the door, and peered out the peephole.
He stared a moment, then said, "What the hell!" and flung the door open. The doorman was standing there, red-faced and clearly uneasy.
The doorman said, "It took time to get someone to stand in for me. . . . Listen," he said, his eyes darting uneasily from person to person. "I don't want trouble, but-"
"Close the door, Manny!" cried Trumbull.
Rubin pulled the doorman inside and closed the door. "What is it, Charlie?"
"It's been getting to me. And now someone asked me about troubles here. . . . You did, sir," he said to Avalon. "Then more people came and I think I know what it must be about. I guess some of you are investigating the break-in and I didn't know what was going on but I guess I was out of line and I want to explain. This fellow-"
"Name and apartment number," said Trumbull.
"King! He's in 15-U," said Charlie.
"Okay, come into the kitchen with me. Manny, I'm going to make that phone call on the phone in here." He closed the kitchen door.
Rubin looked up, as though listening. Then he said, "Hammering messages? Who'd believe it?"
"Exactly why it worked, Mr. Rubin," said Henry softly, "and might have continued to work had there not been in the same apartment house a writer of your-if I may say so-marked eccentricity."
Afterword
This story, and the two that follow, did not appear in Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, but, as I explained in the Introduction, were written especially for the book.
This one is an example of how writing enriches one's life. The business about hearing mysterious banging from one's apartment is taken from actual fact. Someone in my apartment house bangs away at all hours. I've never taken the strong action Manny Rubin took, but have contented myself with shaking my head and gritting my teeth.
I was getting more and more irritated at it and might have worked myself into an ulcer when it occurred to me that I might use it as the central point of a short story. So I did. This one.
Now when I hear the banging (it isn't really so often or so bad) I just shrug cheerfully and remember that it supplied me with a story. Then I don't mind it at all.
10
Yankee Doodle Went to Town
It was general knowledge among the Black Widowers that Geoffrey Avalon had served as an officer in World War II and had reached the rank of major. He had never seen active service, as far as any of them knew, however, and he never talked about wartime experiences. His stiff bearing, however, seemed suited to the interior of a uniform, so that it never surprised anyone to know that he had once been Major Avalon.
When he walked into the banquet room with an army officer as his guest, it seemed, therefore, entirely natural. And when he said, "This is my old army friend Colonel Samuel Davenheim," everyone greeted him cordially without so much as a raised eyebrow. Any army buddy of Avalon's was an army buddy of theirs.
Even Mario Gonzalo, who had served an uneventful hitch in the army in the late fifties, and who was known to have acerbic views concerning officers, was pleasant enough. He propped himself on one of the sideboards and began sketching. Avalon looked over Gonzalo's shoulder briefly, as though to make sure the artist member of the Black Widowers would not, somehow, draw the Colonel's head upward into a crown of ass's ears.
It would have been most inappropriate for Gonzalo to have done so, for there was every indication of clear intelligence about Davenheim. His face, round and a little plump, was emphasized by outmoded hair, short above and absent below. His mouth curved easily into a friendly smile, his voice was clear, his words crisp.
He said, "I've had you all described to me, for Jeff, as you probably all know, is a methodical man. I ought to be able to identify you all. For instance, you're Emmanuel Rubin since you're short, have thick glasses, a sparse beard-"
"Straggly beard," said Rubin, unoffended, "is what Jeff usually calls it because his own is dense, but I've never found that density of facial hair implies-"
"And are talkative," said Davenheim firmly, overriding the other with the calm authority of a colonel. "And you're a writer. . . . You're Mario Gonzalo, the artist, and I don't even need your description since you're drawing. . . . Roger Halsted, mathematician, partly bald. The only member without a full head of hair, so that's easy. . . . James Drake, or, rather, Dr. James Drake-"
"We're all doctors by virtue of being Black Widowers," said Drake from behind a curl of cigarette smoke.
"You're right, and Jeff explained that carefully. You're Doctor Doctor Drake because you smell of tobacco smoke at ten feet."
"Well, Jeff should know," said Drake philosophically. "And Thomas Trumbull," said Davenheim, "because you're scowling, and by elimination. . . . Have I got everyone?"
"Only the members," said Halsted. "You've left out Henry, who's all-important."
Davenheim looked about, puzzled. "Henry?"
"The waiter," said Avalon, flushing and staring at his drink. "I'm sorry, Henry, but I didn't know what to tell Colonel Davenheim about you. To say you're the waiter is ridiculously insufficient and to say more would endanger Black Widower confidentiality."
"I understand," said Henry agreeably, "but I think it would be well to serve the Colonel. What is your pleasure, sir?"
For a moment the Colonel looked blank. "Oh, you mean drinks? No, that's all right. I don't drink."
"Some ginger ale, perhaps?"
"All right." Davenheim was plainly grasping at straws. "That
will be fine."
Trumbull smiled. "The life of a non-drinker is a difficult one."
"Something wet must be pressed on one," said Davenheim wryly. "I've never managed to adjust."
Gonzalo said, "Have a cherry put in your ginger ale. Or better yet, put water in a cocktail glass and add an olive. Then drink and replace the water periodically. Everyone will admire you as a man who can hold his liquor. Though, frankly, I've never seen an officer who could-"
"I think we'll be eating any minute," said Avalon hastily, looking at his watch.
Henry said, "Won't you be seated, gentlemen?" and placed one of the bread baskets directly in front of Gonzalo as though to suggest he use his mouth for that purpose.
Gonzalo took a roll, broke it, buttered one half, bit into it, and said in muffled tones, "-keep from getting sloppy drunk on one martini," but no one listened.
Rubin, finding himself between Avalon and Davenheim, said, "What kind of soldier was Jeff, Colonel?"
"Damned good one," said Davenheim gravely, "but he didn't get much of a chance to shine. We were both in the legal end of matters, which meant desk work. The difference is that he had the sense to get out once the war was over. I didn't."
"You mean you're still involved with military law?"
"That's right."
"Well, I look forward to the day when military law is as obsolete as feudal law."
"I do, too," said Davenheim calmly. "But it isn't as yet."
"No," said Rubin, "and if you-"
Trumbull interrupted. "Damn it, Manny, can't you wait for grilling time?"
"Yes," said Avalon, coughing semi-stentorially, "we might as well let Sam eat before putting him through his paces."
"If," said Rubin, "military law applied the same considerations to those-"
"Later!" roared Trumbull.
Rubin looked through his thick-lensed glasses indignantly, but subsided.
Halsted said, in what was clearly intended to be a change of topic, "I'm not happy with my limerick for the fifth book of the Iliad."