“How can I have news for you when the Lowenstein girls are out on strike?” I asked. “Nor am I likely to find out anything unless they return to work.”
His broad forehead crinkled into a frown. “I heard about that. A sorry matter, Miss Murphy. Not that I would shed a tear for Lowenstein, but it’s the rest of us that I worry about. Once our girls hear about it, they’ll all be getting ideas. We have to nip this in the bud before it spreads to the other garment shops.”
“That’s precisely why I wanted to see you, Mr. Mostel. How can I complete my assignment and ferret out your spy if Lowenstein’s is closed?
“Of course this could be a blessing in disguise,” he said. “My new designs could be finished and in the stores while that criminal Lowenstein wrings his hands in despair and his factory remains closed.”
I was not happy with this way of thinking. It was an all too probable line of development and would mean that I was not paid. I shook my head. “He told the girls he intends to fire them all and hire new workers if necessary. He’ll get those garments into the stores, by hook or by crook. And having all new girls wouldn’t stop your spy from slipping the designs to him.”
“True.” He nodded, his large, melancholy jowls quivering. “So what is the answer, Miss Murphy?”
“I’ve been thinking, Mr. Mostel, and I’ve come up with a solution.” He leaned closer to me, across the marble-topped table. “You must announce to everyone at your factory that your new designs will be completed, let’s say, next Tuesday. Make sure everyone knows this. I have another idea as well—why not make a false set of designs, dresses you never intend to make and sell, and see if your spy takes the bait. Add something outlandish to the design—a big frilly collar, a velvet hood, a gentleman’s bow tie—and see if Lowenstein is tricked into making it.”
Mr. Mostel rubbed his hands together in delight. “I like it, Miss Murphy. Oh, the joy of getting the better of Lowenstein.”
“You must make sure that these drawings are easily accessible on your desk and you are away from your office enough so that the spy is able to sneak in and take them.”
“Naturally. Naturally.” He was still rubbing his hands and beaming. “And if that fool Lowenstein is stupid enough to make a dress with a frilly collar or a bow tie, you’ll make me the happiest man in New York City!”
“Let’s hope he takes the bait,” I said, “and that we catch your thief. I have to admit that I’ve found no hint of suspicion so far, but time will tell.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. An image of Ben Mostel in the back of Lowenstein’s car came into my head, but I didn’t think it was the right moment to tell Mr. Mostel that I had my suspicions about his son. “You are not personally worried that your employees might follow suit and go out on strike then?”
“My employees? I’m like a father to them, Miss Murphy. Why should they think of striking?”
I bit my tongue and moved to the next topic. “So you’ve no particular troublemakers at the moment?”
“You saw for yourself. They are happy and content and if anyone wants to make trouble, then I show her the door. I don’t tolerate troublemakers.”
I took a big swig of coffee and grasped the bull by the horns. “I heard you had an English girl working for you who was a bit of a rabble-rouser? One of the girls at Lowenstein’s told me, because she thought I was English too.”
His face didn’t register any change in expression. “I don’t recall any English girl. She can’t have lasted long. I leave the hiring and firing to my foreman and concentrate myself on making the profits.”
“So your business is flourishing, is it, Mr. Mostel?” I asked sweetly.
“I can’t complain, Miss Murphy. It’s a living.”
“And your son—that was your son who came into the shop once, wasn’t it—he plans to follow you into the business one day?”
“My son?” He rolled deep soulful eyes. “You speak of my oldest son, Ben? He plans to break his father’s heart, that’s what he plans to do, Miss Murphy. We made a mistake with that boy—we brought him up to have everything he wanted, all the things we never had ourselves. And has he thanked us for it?” He shook his head. “My wife cries herself to sleep worrying over him. We scrimp and save to send him to Harvard University, the finest in the land, and what do I hear but that he’s failed his latest examinations. All he’s interested in is having a good time and going through his father’s money. He’ll be the ruin of me, Miss Murphy.”
“Does he have a sweetheart who might be a sobering influence, Mr. Mostel?”
“Does he have a sweetheart? It’s a different sweetheart every week, Miss Murphy. And it’s my money that is buying them expensive presents and jewelry and taking them to dine at Delmonico’s. He won’t hear of a matchmaker. He tells us that he’s an American and he lives in the twentieth century and he’ll choose himself a bride when he’s good and ready.”