That evening, Kron’s man called to tell him that he was successful in tailing La Rue after she had left the candy shop. She was living in a shabby tenement house on West Fifty-eighth Street. Tom reported that she had lived there several months and was regarded as something of a mystery by her less eccentric neighbors. Kron was surprised. He wondered why a woman of her apparent breeding—and he was convinced of that—was living in a slum. What was she hiding? Kron checked his watch. It was never too late for detective work.
Kron rang the janitor’s bell at La Rue’s building. The door was answered by a shaggy-haired giant of a man. He had blond hair and light-colored eyes. Posing as a credit investigator, Kron asked him questions about La Rue but received only silence. Kron handed the man a good-size greenback and explained whom he was looking for.
“She is of medium height, slender, a Spanish type, and dresses very well,” Kron said. “She has rung up bills at the largest stores and has given as her references the names of prominent Spanish counts and barons. Now, that money is yours if you know her.”
Kron could tell that the janitor had eyes for La Rue.
“Miss La Rue knows a great many barons and counts,” the janitor said. Kron heard a distinctive Slovakian accent in his words. “They used to come very often right here to this house,” continued the janitor, “driving up in their rich limousines. Without doubt she is the lady you seek. If she used another name—that is her affair.” Kron handed the janitor the money and suggested there was more, but only if he had more to say.
The janitor obliged. He said that many fancy-looking men, most of them exotic in nature, had visited La Rue. Many of the other residents were convinced that she was a princess in disguise. More than once the sound of violent quarreling was heard. Or something like it. La Rue had few women friends, but once or twice young girls had been her guests for short periods. The large janitor didn’t recall that she had been recently missing. Kron walked away from the tenement house and made a call to Grace from the corner. He had no more desire to talk to Consuelo La Rue. Her life was an act, and she was a distraction. They needed to get into Cocchi’s basement.
The next day, Kron went to see Deputy Police Commissioner Guy Scull about getting into the cellar. Scull was a step below Woods, but he still had power in the department. A Harvard man, Scull had been a Rough Rider with Roosevelt, a treasure hunter in the Caribbean, and followed Buffalo Jones deep into Africa. When Scull was married in 1914, he told Woods he would be back to work that same day. “If you are,” said Woods, “I’ll fire you.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what I can do for you, Mr. Kron,” Scull said. “The building was searched through by this Department and nothing at all was discovered. I am perfectly willing to do anything I can to help you out, but the only thing I can suggest is that you get some corroborative evidence, and apply to the Magistrate of Washington Heights for a search warrant. If you want men to aid you in the search, you may call on the Captain of the Fourth Branch and tell him you talked this over with me.”
Kron went back to Grace. Together, they got to Magistrate Green’s office just after noon. He was about to go out for lunch. Green invited them in and listened, his stomach rumbling, as they told him about the cellar, the boy Herbert, and everything else.
“The police have been all through there,” Green explained, sighing. “I’m afraid I can’t give you one unless you have new evidence.”
But that was the whole problem. Grace was positive in her mind that there was something there that might provide a clue to where Ruth was, but she was also mindful that there was always a chance that they wouldn’t find anything. They could be sued by Mrs. Cocchi for several hundred thousand dollars in damages. They would be made fools.
“Talk about the cup of Tantalus,” Kron sighed.
“I wish I could do something,” Green said. “But the only suggestion I can make—and it isn’t an official one—is that you ask Captain Alonzo Cooper of the Fourth Branch Detective and see if you can bluff an entrance.”
When they visited Cooper, the next desk in line of the men who were in power, Grace implored the captain. “I’ve simply got to go over each inch myself in order to satisfy myself that I am overlooking nothing,” she said, somewhat uncharacteristically. “Just give me two men to help me search the place.” They were desperate. Cooper surprised them with his answer.
“I’ll go with you myself.”
For the first time in days, Grace felt like she might be able to get her investigator into that basement. Mrs. Cocchi wouldn’t dare try any of her tantrums on the captain. He was a tall, majestic chap, six foot five, exceedingly handsome with a military bearing.
Maria Cocchi met them on the street. Her eyes focused on Kron.
“You back again. You won’t get in here.” Then she turned to Grace.
“You, Mrs. Humiston?” she asked.
“Yes,” Grace replied.
“You snooping around long time.”
Grace and Kron dropped back as Cooper doffed his hat, opened his arms a bit, and smiled as he talked nicely to Mrs. Cocchi. After their conversation, he returned, shaking his head.
“It is useless,” Cooper said. “She has evidently seen a lawyer and knows her rights.”
They all stood in silence, looking at the building.
“What is the place next door?” Kron asked, pointing to the left.
“That’s an old gin-mill,” Cooper said. “The place beneath was a gambling dive; it used to be raided every week or so. If you want to scout around there, I’ll give you a couple of men.”
Grace thought his voice sounded almost too kind. But the history of the building was interesting and possibly a lead. Cooper replaced his hat and told Kron to hang around. He promised to send Detective McGee to help him. As Cooper left, Grace walked down the street. Things had changed. Kron had had his cover blown and other leads had turned up cold. Grace saw the busy candy store on the corner near Cocchi’s store, the one where Kron took La Rue.