If the Shoe Fits—

Front matter

IF THE SHOE FITS—

A Novelette:

by

Chapter 1

I

THE man crouched lower still in the shadow of the box car. He was shivering, one would have said with a sudden chill. And yet it was an intensely warm night, not yet midnight, the middle of August. He wore a heavy overcoat, very long, touching the heels of his shoes, the collar drawn up about his throat. There was more darkness than light in the freight yards, and it seemed to his quivering nerves that everywhere about him the darkness was a thin, insufficient veil through which a million brilliant lights were flashing, seeking him out.

A slight noise, the sound of a man walking across the tracks, drove him deeper into the shadow until he had pressed his body between two cars. A brakeman with swinging lantern went across the yards, moving swiftly to supper and bed. The man between the cars eyed him suspiciously, half expecting him to turn and come back. But the brakeman passed on, into the station-house and out of sight.

The man, who had stopped shivering a little, and who now was again shaking so that the heavy coupling chain against which he leaned clanked rustily, turned his eyes back to the way along which he had come. Yonder, like a sort of yellow, unnatural dawn against the horizon, he could see where the myriads of lights of New York turned upon him like evil, watchful eyes. He turned his back to them again, and again the softly jangling coupling chain startled him so that he moved swiftly as though about to run, and then dropped back, crouching, almost upon his knees.

Suddenly he grew very still, his whole body rigid, his nerves frozen with the greater, newer fear. Again he had heard footsteps, again they were moving across the graveled yard. But this time they were slow, seeming to take on a vague, disquieting quality of stealthiness. And they were close to him. He turned his head a little. It seemed to his terror-sharpened senses that the noise his neck made against his stiff, starched collar must have cried out across the yards. For a moment the beating of his heart stifled him, the blood rushing into his ears shut out all other sounds. And then his leaping heart went suddenly still, and he grew weak and faint and sick.

Another man had swung down from one of the box cars, from the door upon the other side or from the rods underneath. He had crawled quietly beneath the car and now, a vague blur in the night, came forward. He had not seen the man in the long overcoat, did not see him until their bodies touched in the narrow space between the cars. Then he drew back with a little grunt, his head thrust forward, his fists lifted a little at his sides.

“Well?” he demanded when the two of them had stood silent for ten seconds. “What's the game?”

The man in the overcoat made no answer. He was moistening his lips, trying to drive back the tight, dry lump in his throat. And he still crouched in the thickest of the shadows, still shivered spasmodically. The other eyed him suspiciously.

“I asked what's the game?” he repeated presently. “Looking for somebody? You're a bull, I suppose?”

The man in the overcoat laughed nervously. And he had thought that he would never laugh again as long as life and memory were left to him. And then he broke off, shuddering again.

The other grunted again and put a hand in his pocket, not seeming to note how the crouching man drew back distrustfully from him. The thing he had sought was a cigarette. With a careless movement he swept a match across his thigh, held it cupped in his hand and brought it close to his face.

As he stood the light from the big lamp across the yard, running under the car, found out his feet. They were the feet of a tramp, encased in ill-fitting shoes, much worn, laced with bits of string, the toe of his sock showing where the upper was breaking away from the thin sole. And now his hands, in the tiny light of his match, seemed not to belong to the same body as the feet. For, in spite of the grime upon them, they were white and the fingers were soft and slender and in all things the fingers of a gentleman unused to contact with the rough boards and rusty iron of freight cars. The clothes were old and tattered, the soft hat torn so that in places his dark hair showed. But again the face was the face of a man of intellect, of refinement even. As the light of the match flared across cheek and jaw and nose, as it showed the high forehead with the smudge of grease across it—

“My God?”

The cry, whipped from the lips of the man in the overcoat, was one of profound amazement. He stood suddenly upright, as suddenly as though he had been jerked upward by some force outside himself, greater than his own. And as he moved he drew his coat collar higher about his throat, pulled his hat brim lower over his face. The match flared a little in the gust of a draft drawn through the cars and went out. In the glow of the cigarette the face of the smoker was seen faintly and only fitfully.

“I—I am going crazy!” muttered the man in the overcoat. He covered his eyes with his hand, his left hand, and stood still for a little, now and then moaning like a man in physical pain. And then suddenly, with a new something of command in his voice: “Let me see your face again! Light another match.”

The newcomer eyed him strangely, drawing back a step or so.

“If you are not crazy,” he said bluntly, “you're giving an excellent imitation.”

“Here!” The left hand had dropped from his eyes and was now thrust out eagerly, something in the fingers rustling crisply. “There's ten dollars. Let me see your face, and you can have it. Quick!”

“No one ever told me that my face was my fortune!” The slender white fingers tapping the cigarette made no move towards the crinkling bill. “If I had gotten a place in a side show—”

“I'll give you ten, twenty dollars, a hundred dollars!” He was fumbling again in his pocket before he had said the last word. There was no doubting his genuine excitement, his nervous eagerness.

“Why?” The question, snapped out, was half anger, half curiosity. “Why do you want to see my face? I haven't seen yours yet.”

“I'm paying for it, am I not?” The left hand, holding the bank-notes, went upward swiftly to the hat brim, drawing it still lower down over the features already hidden. “Say I'm mad if you like. Here's the money. Do you want it?”

There was just a little hesitation, and that died quickly under a little, amused laugh. The fine, slender hand reached out for the bills.

“I happen to need just a bit of change,” with a chuckle. “You wouldn't guess it from the style in which I travel, would you? And I need a new pair of shoes, as you may have noticed. I'll trust you, friend, and won't count the money. Now,” as another match scratched across his thigh, “I earn my money. Drink your fill of my manly beauty!”

Again the clean-shaven jaw, the dark line of the brows, the good-humored, frank eyes stood out in relief in the faint light. The man in the overcoat drew nearer, peering close into the face which he had paid a hundred dollars to see. And as the match burned down and went out he fell back, muttering to himself:

“It's impossible, impossible!— Things like this don't happen, they can't happen!—God! There's a chance!”

“And now—you don't want to spend another hundred dollars, do you?—I'll be going.”

“Wait.” A nervous hand, still the left hand, clutched him by the arm, dragging him back into the thick shadow. “I—I want you to do something for me. I,” hesitatingly, “I wanted to see if—if you were honest. Will you go to the police station, quick? Tell them that Mr. Ruud, Jasper Ruud, is in the yards here and that he is hurt, badly hurt. I... I have been attacked by hold-up men... badly beaten. Tell them to rush here. Look!” For the first time he held up his right hand. There was a handkerchief about it and this was no longer white but drenched with blood. He drew the handkerchief away with a jerk, holding the hand out so that the lamp-light fell across it. Two of the fingers were crushed out of all semblance of shape. “You see? And I have a bruised side, and the side of my head— You will hurry? Here, wait. This,” as his left hand went into his pocket and brought out a thick envelope. “Take this. You are to have a new pair of shoes!”

“I say.” The other swung about and came back. “If you are hurt...."

“Never mind. Do as I say. And run, man!”

The man in the overcoat watched anxiously as the other hesitated and then began to stride off across the yards. He continued to watch until the swiftly moving form stood clearly outlined in the street fifty yards away. And then he drew back between the box cars, slipped quickly under the coupling-chain, darted out upon the further side, and ran as a man runs for his life.

The man in the worn-out shoes and tattered clothing hurried down the quiet street, stopped once to ask a passer-by where the police station was, and hastened on again. He crossed the street, turned a corner, went down a short street, now running himself, swung about another corner and flung open the door of the station-house. A policeman in uniform was sitting at a little table, making his report. Two men in civilian dress were idling in the far end of the room, smoking and laughing. They all looked up as the newcomer came in, panting from his running. And as they saw him clearly the three of them stood up as one man and swung upon him with something in their air which did not escape him, which looked to him very much like excited surprise and threatening hostility.

“In the freight yards,” he burst out, panting, his arm flung.out, pointing. “A man named Jasper Ruud has been robbed and beaten. He wants you to come—”

The two men in plain clothes looked at each other, significantly, smiling a little. The policeman moved a couple of steps until he stood in the open doorway. His hand had dropped to the skirt of his coat. The two other men came forward slowly.

“Well?” demanded the man in rags, frowning. “What's the matter?”

“So Jasper Ruud is down in the freight yards, is he? And he has sent you for the police?”

“That's what I said!” And as he saw that they believed no word of what he was saying, “Just because I didn't stop to put on a dress suit you're not going to pay any attention to me, is that it?” He swung about towards the door. “I'm going to get a doctor. That man is badly hurt. And—will you let me by?”

The-heavy hand of the big policeman was upon his shoulder, jerking him back. The two men in plain clothes had leaped forward, again as one man, when he had turned. They were experts at such things, and before he had guessed what was happening it had happened, and he was handcuffed and the things in his pockets were dumped on the table.

“What are you doing?” he stormed, shaking his. double fists at them. “What do you think—”

The door at the far end of the room was flung open, and a heavy-set man in the uniform of a captain of police hurried into the room. He stopped suddenly, his mouth dropping open in his surprise.

“Jasper Ruud!” he gasped. “You got him!”

“I don't understand,” muttered the stranger. “Jasper Ruud sent me. He is—”

The police captain laughed shortly. Then he stepped to the table upon which lay the articles which had been jerked from the struggling man's pockets, noting particularly the roll of bills and the envelope which the man in the overcoat had said was for a new pair of shoes. Here were more banknotes, a thousand dollars at the least, and a dozen or more checks.

“I am sorry, Mr. Ruud.” The captain's voice was meant. to be sympathetic, but there was an undercurrent of great satisfaction in it which did not escape the prisoner's ears. “But it is our duty to arrest you!”

“But, I tell you, I am not Jasper Ruud! You are making a mistake.”

“Maybe you can explain then, about these things?” He held up the sheaf of checks, held together by a rubber-band. “They are payable to Jasper Ruud!”

“He gave them to me.”

The captain turned them over.

“They are not endorsed. Rather a strange sort of present, isn't it? And the banknotes?”

“He gave them to me, too. To bring word to you and—”

“And what?” quickly.

“To get me a new pair of shoes!”

The four men laughed loudly, as they no doubt thought they were supposed to do,

“It's a great dodge, Mr. Ruud. I don't know that I see just what you're figuring on. But I guess you know. And it's bold, by the Lord, it's bold and new! Going to make it a question for alienists when the thing comes to trial?”

“Trial? Do you mind telling me what you mean? What is this man Ruud accused of?”

“So you've forgotten?” The captain's eyes twinkled. “Well, you've the right to have us remind you. You are arrested for the murder of a man named Lon Kelton.”

Chapter 2

II

THE papers were filled with it the next morning. An enterprising young reporter had gotten wind of it before the doors of the cell had clicked behind the man arrested as Jasper Ruud, and he had fought hard for an exclusive morning story, the biggest “scoop” of the season. But before he had pried out details from between the stubborn jaws of the police captain half a dozen other servants of the great dailies had wired frantically to their various sheets to hold space for them. And when New York sat down to its breakfast it was with a damp paper spread out over bacon and eggs and coffee which were rapidly growing cold.

It was all there. Jasper Ruud, who had struck Lon Kelton, the gambler, with a billiard cue, crushing his skull and killing him almost instantly, had been arrested. His automobile, in which it was known that he had escaped from the city, had been found on the outskirts of Tarrytown, a useless thing with an exploded tire and a jammed axle. He, himself, seeing the impossibility of further attempt at escape, had dressed himself in old, tattered clothing, had smeared dirt and grime upon his face and hands, and had gone boldly to the police station, telling a story of Jasper Ruud beaten and robbed down in the freight yards. He had had upon him over a thousand dollars, and about another thousand in checks. He had claimed that his name was John Rand, and that Ruud had given him these things.

One paper, friendly to the great capitalist, was strong in its assertion that Jasper Ruud had lost his reason, that the thing which he had done before half a score of witnesses had driven him mad. All of the others saw in the whole thing but an extremely clever attempt of pretending to be insane, and contended that it was a thing to be looked for from the cleverest financier on the street. Naturally, no single paper, no single individual, for a moment placed the slightest credence in the statement which had been made to the police.

For when the real Jasper Ruud, fleeing terror-stricken from justice and from the memory of the thing that he had done; had looked into the face of the man who had lighted a match for his cigarette, it was as though he had looked into a mirror. He had seen himself, disguised as a tramp, to be sure, but himself as clearly as though he were standing in his own room looking upon his own reflection. Feature for feature it was himself that he had looked at. Impossible? He had told himself that it was, that he was surely going mad to imagine such an absurdity. And yet he had known that he was not mad, that he was seeing with eyes which must make no mistake, that from among the millions of men upon the earth there had come to him the one who was as much like him physically as one pea is like another. And he had seen his chance, and had taken it.

The man who said that his name was John Rand was rushed to New York in a big police car, handcuffed, with a heavy policeman upon each side. He had a temper, had John Rand, and it flared out often and bitterly. He cursed them roundly and unsparingly for a pack of fools, dolts, ninnies, blockheads, everything he could put his tongue to. He insisted that at least they look in the freight yards for the man whom he swore he had left there, and he flew into a towering rage when they shrugged their shoulders and laughed at him. And finally he grew silent, seeing that his angry explosions were taken in mere good nature and with a certain admiration of the way he was “playing his rôle.”

“When we get to the city,” he had ended significantly, “there will be men called in who know Jasper Ruud. And then, my dear brass-buttoned little heroes, you are going to know what it feels like to have all New York laughing at its country police!”

Captain Hudson, the chief of the local police, who could not deny himself the pleasure of escorting his prisoner in person, smiled and nodded approvingly. He knew that his capture was going to be the sensation of the day, that the newspapers from coast to coast and upon the other side of the Atlantic would grow garrulous with word of the taking of the multi-millionaire, and that his own name would appear in printed letters more times within the next forty-eight hours than it had ever done before. It is not every day that a man who is a power in Wall Street. flees so wildly from an angry justice, not every day that it falls to the lot of a rural officer to control for a little the destiny of a man who daily controlled tens of thousands of his fellow beings.

He had telephoned the news immediately to Mr. McAdams, the district attorney, and had had his first thrill from the tone of suppressed surprise of that gentleman, who was very much used to surprises. And while the automobile swept on, with John Rand at last silent and for the present resigned, Captain Hudson dreamed dreams of swift promotion.

They turned into upper Broadway at One Hundred and Twenty-eighth Street while the clocks were booming the first hour after midnight.

“It's an unpleasant duty, Mr. Ruud,” Hudson was saying, well-disposed towards the whole world, with all men and women in it, “but we are going to make it as easy for you as we can. We are going to take you straight to McAdams.”

“The district attorney?”

“Yes. You will spend the night at his home. You see, Mr. Ruud, we all realize that the whole thing is unfortunate, and that—oh, well, we don't look on you as a common criminal.”

“Thanks,” drily. “May I ask why the distinction?”

“Why, you certainly see it yourself. A man of your position...”

“That's so. I'd forgotten. Jasper Ruud has money, a lot of money, hasn't he? And influence, political influence?”

“When you begin to remember again,” chuckled Hudson, “that ought to be clear to you. Since there's not a boy on the street who doesn't know that you put McAdams in office!”

“Humph!” was Rand's sole answer. And nothing further was said until the car drew up before a two-storied, square, rich-looking residence set back a little from the street in its conventionally pretty grounds. Hudson sprang down lightly, his two policemen with him, and the three with John Rand in their midst hastened along the shrub-bordered walk to the wide front doors. Before Hudson's outstretched hand had found the bell the door was flung open and in the bright light rushing out stood a man in slippers and dressing-gown. His face looked worried and there was a certain air of nervousness in his manner.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Ruud, sorry,” he said quickly. “Come in.” He put out his hand and noticed the handcuffs. “Hudson,” he cried sharply, swinging about suddenly. “What the devil does this mean? Didn't Mr. Ruud give himself up? Take those confounded things off! But come in first, come in, all of you.”

They went into a wide hallway and McAdams slammed the door shut and locked it. And then in the splendidly appointed library, with shades low drawn, he turned again to Hudson.

“Who have you got with you? Jennings and Condon? Now, boys, you two can go into the room across the hall there. You'll find cigars and a little lunch. We'll let you know when we want you. Hudson, for God's sake, take those cursed things off!”

Hudson jerked out his key and unlocked the handcuffs. Rand opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by McAdams.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Ruud,” he said again. “But you're going to be comfortable for the night. Sit down. Here's your favorite chair.” He dragged the biggest, softest leather chair up to the table. “What a night you've had!” He drew decanter and glasses to the edge of the table and threw back the lid of a box of cigars. “Help yourself to some Scotch and a cigar and then we'll talk.”

For the first time since he had met the stranger in the freight yards the humor of the whole thing struck John Rand and he laughed.

“Do you know,” he said, as he poured his whiskey, “it's rather fun to be arrested, when everyone is so courteous about it! I had never imagined it would be like this to be arrested for murder. Your very good health, Mr. McAdams.”

The three men sat down and for a little there was silence while they lighted their cigars. And then McAdams, leaning forward, said quietly:

“It's too bad, the whole thing's too bad. You shouldn't have made a bolt that way. But now ... well, we'll see what's to be done.” He drummed, frowning, upon the table with his finger nails. And then, jerking his head up suddenly, “What's this that Hudson was trying to tell me over the telephone, about your being beaten and robbed by thugs?”

Rand smiled. He began to be a little sorry for the police captain. The fellows were so cocksure, and now when he had told his story to the district attorney—

“The whole thing is a wretched mistake, Mr. McAdams,” he said quietly. “I,” with a grin, “feel like a thief, accepting your hospitality under false pretences! You see, I had just swung down from an east-bound freight car. I ran across a man in the yards who showed me a crushed hand, and who told me that he had been beaten and robbed, and who said further that his name was Jasper Ruud. It was the first time that I had ever seen the gentleman, and in the poor light of the yards I scarcely saw him then. It happens that I am not Jasper Ruud at all, but a mere ordinary man and my name is John Rand.”

Captain Hudson's keen eyes twinkled through his cigar smoke. Rand's air was quietly matter-of-fact, as he was certain now of being believed. McAdams's look of worry deepened.

The district attorney got to his feet and walked up and down the room, frowning. Suddenly he whirled upon Hudson.

“Would you mind, my dear Captain,” he barked out, “going in and showing your men how to open bottles properly? I want to talk with Mr. Ruud. Oh, I'll be responsible to you for his safety.”

If the dreams which Captain Hudson had dreamed of promotion and a desirable berth in the city were to come true it was well to do a favor for the city's prosecuting attorney. With no slightest hesitation he went out, closing the door behind him. McAdams came quickly to where Rand sat.

“Look here, Jasper,” he said gently, but none the less emphatically. “Here's the very devil of a mess you've got yourself into with that fly-away temper of yours. And then running away on the top of it!” He groaned. “And getting hauled back this way. I've got to prosecute you or quit. And if I quit the next fellow will make it all the harder for you. I can keep you from going to the chair—I'll do it if they run me out of town for it!—but, man, it looks like a long term in spite of everything we can do.”

“You don't understand,” expostulated Rand warmly. “I tell you I am not Ruud at all. Why won't you believe me? Send out for somebody who knows the man, and they'll tell you—”

“That's all right to talk that kind of stuff before those fellows,” cut in McAdams sharply. “But drop it with me. You're not trying to play insane, are you?”

“Damn it!” Rand, too, was on his feet, his anger flaring out again. “I tell you that I'm not the man you want. Why don't you get someone to come who knows me?”

“Don't I know you as well as any man in the world, Jasper?”

Rand blinked at him, speechless for a second.

“You know me? You've seen Ruud and—”

McAdams laughed shortly. “Since we belong to the same club, since we went to college together, since you are the best friend I've got or ever had or ever expect to have, I guess I do know you!”

Rand sank back into his chair weakly. “You'll begin to make me think that I don't know who I am,” he muttered. And then, upon his feet again, “Look at me, McAdams. Look closely. Maybe I look a lot like Jasper Ruud, but I can't be exactly like him. My nose, isn't it different? Or my eyes? Or my hair? Or something?”

McAdams stared at him, wonderingly, shaking his head.

“I tell you. it's all right before the others. Do what you please. But to me, Jasper—don't you trust me?”

“I tell you,” sternly, “that I am no more Jasper Ruud than you are. I'm John Rand, and I'm just in from South America. There is some likeness, I suppose. But you'll make a fool of yourself if you think of trying me in court as Jasper Ruud. There'll be dozens of men—”

“Have you seen your lawyers? Is it some scheme of theirs? Oh, well,” his voice showing a little hurt, “it's up to you. Only let me tell you something. New York is tired of having men play insane and get away with it, dead tired. It's a rich man's dodge ... and juries are as a general thing only too happy when they get the chance to hand it to their rich brother. Why,” his voice dropping very low again, “don't you make it self-defence? You've got a chance there.”

Rand had felt anger at the mistake and had felt amusement at it. Now he began to feel the first vague stirrings of alarm.

“The whole thing is incredible, Mr. McAdams,” he said finally. “That one man should look so much like another that a man who claims to be the best friend of one of them fails to see the difference. But there are these likenesses now and then in a thousand years, I suppose. And there must be someone—Has Jasper Ruud any very near relatives? People who see him daily?”

“Still stick to it, do you?” demanded McAdams stiffly. “Very well. Yes,” with mild sarcasm, “there is Mr. Jasper Ruud's sister, Audrey. She lives with him, and—”

“Telephone for her. There is the car outside. Send for her. She will tell you that you need to go to an eye specialist.”

“It is after one o'clock—”

“An impolite hour to disturb a lady's slumbers. But I'm getting tired of this. Will you send for her?”

McAdams strode across the room, jerked a telephone from its stand, and without turning to the directory called for a number.

“Miss Audrey,” when at last he had gotten her, “I am sorry to have to disturb you at this time of night. This is Mr. McAdams. Your brother is here and—Yes, he wishes it. I'll send a car for you. It will be there in ten minutes. Thank you. Oh, he's all right. And will you bring a suit of his clothes, shoes, hat, everything? Mine won't fit him. Good-bye.”

The clothes came, brought by a hurrying servant, before the sister of Jasper Ruud had had time to dress and follow. Rand, with a glance at himself in a mirror in McAdams' bedroom where the district attorney had gone with him, assured himself that at least he was entitled to something from Jasper Ruud for the night's adventure, and having washed the grime from his face and hands, began to dress. Meanwhile McAdams walked up and down, puffing furiously at his cigar, breaking out now and then into sharp protests at the ridiculous attempt of a man so well known as Jasper Ruud to even pretend to be somebody else.