Traffic in Souls: A Novel of Crime and Its Cure Read online

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE PURITY LEAGUE AND ITS ANGEL

  In a few days, when an afternoon's relief allowed him the time, Officer4434 decided to visit the renowned William Trubus. He found theaddress of that patron of organized philanthropy in the telephone bookat the station house.

  It was on Fifth Avenue, not far from the windswept coast of the famousFlatiron Building.

  Burke started up to the building shortly before one o'clock, and hefound it difficult to make his way along the sidewalks of the beautifulavenue because of the hordes of men and girls who loitered about,enjoying the last minutes of their luncheon hour.

  Where a few years before had been handsome and prosperous shops, with athrong of fashionably dressed pedestrians of the city's better classeson the sidewalks, the district had been taken over by shirtwaist andcloak factories. The ill-fed, foul-smelling foreigners jabbered intheir native dialects, ogled the gum-chewing girls and grudgingly gavepassage-way to the young officer, who, as usual, when off duty, worehis civilian clothes.

  "I wonder why these factories don't use the side streets instead ofspoiling the finest avenue in America?" thought Bob. "I guess it isbecause the foreigners of their class spoil everything they seem totouch. Our great granddaddies fought for Liberty, and now we have togive it up and pay for the privilege!"

  It was with a pessimistic thought like this that he entered the bigoffice structure in which was located the headquarters of the PurityLeague. Bob took the elevator in any but a happy frame of mind. Hewas determined to find out for himself just how correct was Dr.MacFarland's estimate of high-finance-philanthropy.

  On the fourth floor he left the car, and entered the door which borethe name of the organization.

  A young girl, toying with the wires of a telephone switchboard, did notbother to look up, despite his query.

  "Yes, dearie," she confided to some one at the other end of thetelephone. "We had the grandest time. He's a swell feller, all right,and opened nothing but wine all evening. Yes, I had my charmeusegown--the one with the pannier, you know, and----"

  "Excuse me," interrupted Burke, "I'd like to speak to the president ofthis company."

  The girl looked at him scornfully.

  "Just a minute, girlie, I'm interrupted." She turned to look at Bobagain, and with a haughty toss of her rather startling yellow curlsraised her eyebrows in a supercilious glance of interrogation.

  "What's your business?"

  "That's _my_ business. I want to see Mr. Trubus and not _you_."

  "Well, nix on the sarcasm. He's too busy to be disturbed by every bookagent and insurance peddler in town. Tell me what you want and I'llsee if it's important enough. That's what I'm paid for."

  "You tell him that a policeman from the ---- precinct wants to see him,and tell him mighty quick!" snapped Burke with a sharp look.

  He expected a change of attitude. But the curious, shifty look in thegirl's face--almost a pallor which overspread its artificial carnadine,was inexplicable to him at this time. He had cause to remember itlater.

  "Why, why," she half stammered, "what's the matter?"

  "You give him my message."

  The girl did not telephone as Burke had expected her to do, accordingto the general custom where switchboard girls send in announcement ofcallers to private offices.

  Instead she removed the headgear of the receiver and rose. She wentinside the door at her back and closed it after her.

  "Well, that's some service," thought Burke. "I wonder why she's soactive after indifference?"

  She returned before he had a chance to ruminate further.

  "You can go right in, sir," she said.

  As she sat down she watched him from the corner of her eye. Burkecould not help but wonder at the tense interest in his presence, butdismissed the thought as he entered the room, and beheld the presidentof the Purity League.

  William Trubus was seated at a broad mahogany desk, while before himwas spread a large, old-fashioned family Bible. He held in his lefthand a cracker, which he was munching daintily, as he read in anabstracted manner from the page before him. In his right hand was aglass containing a red liquid, which Burke at first sight supposed waswine. He was soon to be undeceived.

  He stood a full minute while the president of the League mumbled tohimself as he perused the Sacred Writ. Bobbie was thus enabled to geta clear view of the philanthropist's profile, and to study the greatman from a good point of vantage.

  Trubus was rotund. His cheeks were rosy evidences of good health, goodmeals and freedom from anxiety as to where those good meals were tocome from. His forehead was round, and being partially bald, gave anappearance of exaggerated intellectuality.

  His nose was that of a Roman centurion--bold, cruel as a hawk's beak,strong-nostriled as a wolf's muzzle. His firm white teeth, as theycrunched on the cracker suggested, even stronger, the semblance to acarnivorous animal of prey. A benevolent-looking pair of gold-rimmedglasses sat astride that nose, but Burke noticed that, oddly enough,Trubus did not need them for his reading, nor later when he turned tolook at the young officer.

  The plump face was adorned with the conventional "mutton-chop" whiskerswhich are so generally associated in one's mental picture of bankers,bishops and reformers. The whiskers were so resolutely black, thatBurke felt sure they must have been dyed, for Trubus' plump hands, withtheir wrinkles and yellow blotches, evidenced that the philanthropistmust have passed the three-score milestone of time.

  The white gaiters, the somber black of his well-fitting broadcloth coatof ministerial cut, the sanctified, studied manner of the man's posegave Burke an almost indefinable feeling that before him sat a cleverly"made-up" actor, not a sincere, natural man of benevolent activities.

  The room was furnished elaborately; some rare Japanese ivories adornedthe desk top. A Chinese vase, close by, was filled with fresh-cutflowers. Around the walls were handsome oil paintings. BeautifulOriental rugs covered the floor. There hung a tapestry from some oldFrench convent; yonder stood an exquisite marble statue whose valuemust have been enormous.

  As Trubus raised the glass to drink the red liquid Bobbie caught theglint of an enormous diamond ring which must have cost thousands.

  "Well, evidently his charity begins at home!" thought the young man ashe stepped toward the desk.

  Tiring of the wait he addressed the absorbed reader.

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Trubus, but I was announced and told to come inhere to see you."

  Trubus raised his eyebrows, and slowly turned in his chair. His eyesopened wide with surprise as he peered over the gold rims at thenewcomer.

  "Well, well, well! So you were, so you were."

  He put down his glass reluctantly.

  "You must pardon me, but I always spend my noon hour gaininginspiration from the great Source of all inspiration. What can I dofor you? I understand that you are a policeman--am I mistaken?"

  "No, sir; I am a policeman, and I have come to you to get your aid. Iunderstand that you receive a great deal of money for your campaign forpurifying the city, and so I think you can help me in a certain work."

  Trubus waved the four-carat ring deprecatingly.

  "Ah, my young friend, you are in great error. I do not receive muchmoney. We toil very ardently for the cause, but worldly pleasures andthe selfishness of our fellow citizens interfere with our solving ofthe great task. We are far behind in our receipts. How lamentablylittle do we get in response to our requests for aid to charity!"

  He followed Bobbie's incredulous glance at the luxurious furnishings ofhis office.

  "Yes, yes, it is indeed a wretched state of affairs. Our efforts nevercease, and although we have fourteen stenographers working constantlyon the lists of people who could aid us, with a number of devoutassistants who cover the field, our results are pitiable."

  He leaned back in his leather-covered mahogany desk chair.

  "Even I, the president of this association, give all my time
to thecause. And for what? A few hundred dollars yearly--a bare modicum. Iam compelled to eat this frugal luncheon of crackers and grape juice.I have given practically all of my private fortune to this splendidenterprise, and the results are discouraging. Even the furniture ofthis office I have brought down from my home in order that those whomay come to discuss our movement may be surrounded by an environment ofbeauty and calm. But, money, much money. Alas!"

  Just at this juncture the door opened and the telephone girl brought ina basket full of letters, evidently just received from the mail man.

  "Here's the latest mail, Mr. Trubus. All answers to the form letters,to judge from the return envelopes."

  Trubus frowned at her as he caught Burke's twinkling glance.

  "Doubtless they are insults to our cause, not replies to ourimportunities, Miss Emerson!" he hurriedly replied.

  He looked sharply at Burke.

  "Well, sir, having finished what I consider my midday devotions, I amvery busy. What can I do for you?"

  "You can listen to what I have to say," retorted Burke; resenting thecondescending tone. "I come here to see you about some actualconditions. I have read some of your literature, and if you are asanxious to do some active good as you write you are, I can give youenough to keep your entire organization busy."

  It was a very different personality which shone forth from those sharpblack eyes now, than the smug, quasi-religious man who had spokenbefore.

  "I don't like your manner, young man. Tell me what you have to say,and do it quickly."

  "Well, yours is the Purity League. I happen to have run across a gangof procurers who drug girls, and make their livelihood off the shame ofthe girls they get into their clutches. I can give you the names ofthese men, their haunts, and you can apply the funds and influence ofyour society in running them to earth, with my assistance and that of anumber of other policemen I know."

  Trubus rose from his chair.

  "I have heard this story many times before, my young friend. It doesnot interest me."

  "What!" exclaimed Burke, "you advertise and obtain money from thepublic to fight for purity and when a man comes to you with facts andwith the gameness to help you fight, you say you are not interested."

  Trubus waved his hand toward the door by which Burke had entered.

  "I have to make an address to our Board of Directors this afternoon,"he said, "and I don't care to associate my activities nor those of thecause for which I stand with the police department. You had bettercarry your information to your superiors."

  "But, I tell you I have the leads which will land a gang of organizedprocurers, if you will give me any of your help. The police are tryingto do the best they can, but they have to fight district politics,saloon men, and every sort of pull against justice. Your society isn'tafraid of losing its job, and it can't be fired by political influence.Why don't you spend some of your money for the cause that's aliveinstead of on furniture and stenographers and diamond rings!"

  The cat was out of the bag.

  Trubus brought his fist down with a bang which spilled grape juice onhis neat piles of papers.

  "Don't you dictate to me. You police are a lot of grafters, in leaguewith the gangsters and the politicians. My society cares for theunfortunate and seeks to work its reforms by mentally and spirituallyuplifting the poor. We have the support of the clergy and those peoplewho know that the public and the poor must be brought to a spiritualunderstanding. Pah! Don't come around to me with your story of'organized traffic.' That's one of the stories originated by thepolice to excuse their inefficiency!"

  Burke's eyes flamed as he stood his ground.

  "Let me tell you, Mr. Trubus, that before you and your clergy can doany good with people's souls you've got to take more care of theirbodies. You've got to clean out some of the rotten tenement houseswhich some of your big churches own. I've seen them--breeding placesfor tuberculosis and drunkenness, and crime of the vilest sort. You'vegot to give work to the thousands of starving men and women, who aredriven to crime, instead of spending millions on cathedrals and altarsand statues and stained glass windows, for people who come to church intheir automobiles. A lot of your churches are closed up when theneighborhood changes and only poor people attend. They sell theproperty to a saloonkeeper, or turn it into a moving-picture house andburn people to death in the rotten old fire-trap. And if you don'traise your hand, when I come to you fair and square, with an honeststory--if you dare to order me out of here, because you've got to gab alot of your charity drivel to a board of directors, instead of takingthe interest any real man would take in something that was real andvital and eating into the very heart of New York life, I'm going toshow you up, and put you out of the charity business----so help me God!"

  Burke's right arm shot into the air, with the vow, and his fistclenched until the knuckles stood out ridged against the bloodlesspallor of his tense skin.

  Trubus looked straight into Burke's eyes, and his own gaze droppedbefore the white flame which was burning in them.

  Burke turned without a word and walked from the office.

  After he had gone Trubus rang the buzzer for his telephone girl.

  "Miss Emerson, did that policeman leave his name and station?"

  "No, sir; but I know his number. He's mighty fresh."

  "Well, I must find out who he is. He is a dangerous man."

  Trubus turned toward his mail, and with a slight tremor in his handwhich the shrewd girl noticed began to open the letters.

  Check after check fluttered to the surface of the desk, and the greatphilanthropist regained his composure by degrees. When he hadcollected the postage offertory, carefully indorsed them all, andassembled the funds sent in for his great work, he slipped them into agenerously roomy wallet, and placed the latter in the pocket of hisfrock coat.

  He opened a drawer in his desk, and drew forth a tan leather bank book.Taking his silk hat from the bronze hook by the door, he closed thedesk, after slamming the Bible shut with a sacrilegious impatience,quite out of keeping with his manner of a half hour earlier.

  "I am going to the bank, Miss Emerson. I will return in half an hourto lead in the prayer at the opening of the directors' meeting. Kindlyinform the gentlemen when they arrive."

  He slammed the door as he left the offices.

  The telephone operator abstractedly chewed her gum as she watched hisdeparture.

  "I wonder now. I ain't seen his nibs so flustered since I been on thisjob," she mused. "That cop must 'ave got his goat. I wonder!"