Author's note:
Due to the mystery/suspense plot, the individual parts of this tale are unlikely to make sense as stand-alone reads. Please see note at the beginning of Part 1 for more information.
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Chapter 39. MADISON SQUARE GARDEN
Sunday morning finally dawned, and he arrived almost a half-hour early for the rendezvous with Ondine. Worried about contaminating his freshly repaired laceration, he wore neither hat nor hair oil. At least he had shaved, so he was not entirely disheveled.
Disembarking at the El train station, Anders crossed Madison Square Park, approaching from the west the building hailed as architect Stanford White's masterpiece and dubbed "the most magnificent amusement palace in the world."
The enormous, Moorish-inspired, Madison Square Garden occupied an entire block --- the majority comprised by an exposition amphitheater said to be the largest in existence. He recalled reading it had seating for 8000 people. The edifice also housed a theater, concert hall, and restaurant.
Eyeing the roof line, he beheld several small towers punctuating the corners of the building --- but there could only be one tower to which Ondine's note had referred.
At the junction of the amphitheater with the remainder of the building soared a square, minaret-like tower some 300 feet tall. The lower half had scattered windows in the brick sides, while the upper half reminded him of a four-tiered wedding cake --- each successively smaller tier supported by the tier below.
Although the tiers differed in the details of their design, each had a circumferential observation walkway surrounded by stone balustrades or metal railings. The smallest tier was topped by a dome and golden orb --- the pedestal upon which the famous gilded statue of Diana the Huntress balanced on her left foot, bow drawn.
No one did he glimpse upon the tower. A thrill of excitement possessed him at the prospect of ascending the celebrated structure --- despite having lived in Manhattan for three years, he had never done so.
Moreover, if Ondine and he indeed had the tower to themselves, it was an excellent place for such a sensitive conversation. No intruders would be able to overhear or approach them without their knowledge. Ever since he had confirmed the presence of arsenic in Peter's specimen, Anders had felt jumpy and suspicious --- and after the sailing "accident" two days ago, his fears had redoubled.
Pausing on the streetcorner, he observed rolling past a glazier's wagon painted with the ironic name
Celestial Glass Co
. An auspicious sign from above, perhaps? He grinned. The wagon, laden with two large panes of glass upon its slanted wooden rack, disappeared around the far corner of the block.
He crossed the street. There was an electrical sign on the corner of the massive amusement palace --- currently unlit --- that read
GARDEN THEATRE
:
KING HENRY V.
Below that, along a covered arcade to the entrance, he walked past a row of posters advertising upcoming events. Holding the door for a pair of ladies, he entered the lobby after them. Lines of chattering people extended from the grilled ticket windows.
Following a sign labeled
To the Tower
, Anders headed into a hallway on the right, passing a gated archway overlooking the huge, bustling exposition floor. He had been to shows here twice before --- once with Fulton to a boxing match, and the other time with Izzy to a bicycle show. Today, there was a dog show underway, and the barking was an ironically innocuous sound after the recent disturbing matters on his mind.
Soon he located the entrance to the tower --- in a separate marble and tiled lobby with two elevators. Apart from a uniformed man reading a newspaper at a small desk, the lobby was unoccupied. This must be the guard mentioned in Ondine's note.
"I beg your pardon, sir. May I go up the tower?"
The man glanced up from his newspaper. "I'm sorry, sir. The tower is not open to the public on Sundays."
"I'm a friend of Mrs. Van der Veen --- Ondine Cornelissen. She asked me to meet her there."
That appeared to inspire the guard's respect. He at once stood and slid back the gate of the nearest elevator. "Of course, sir. Right this way." The fellow proved to be the elevator boy as well.
Anders looked about the elegantly decorated car. "How tall is the tower?"
"304 feet plus the thirteen-foot-tall statue."
"What's on the lower floors?"
"Apartments and offices. Mr. White keeps an apartment here."
Stanford White, the artichoke?
He grimaced to himself.
The guard let him out on the sixteenth floor and pointed him in the direction of the stairs. "Be careful, sir. It's windy up there."
Behind the indicated door, Anders beheld a narrow stairway, simply decorated by contrast with the elevator and lobby. The stairs wound around and opened onto the lowest observation floor: a square room with benches and tall windows along all sides. As impressive as the view already was from over two hundred feet up, he kept moving, eager to savor the prospect from the highest point possible.
Proceeding upwards, he soon discovered that the subsequent four, architecturally different tiers of the tower top were all directly open to the outside without intervening glass.
Tier one --- the base of the "wedding cake"--- was a square, brick-walled chamber with an archway in each wall. He ducked under one arch and stepped onto the exterior balcony surrounding the periphery. The balustrade along the edge came up to his hips and was decorated at each corner with a small tower --- a miniature version of the domed peak.
Delaying the gratification of the view outwards, he tilted his head to look at the tower looming above and confronted a row of carved-stone, snarling lions' heads in the brick face. Three tiers past them, against the gray sky far above, the statue of Diana shone like a golden grail.
The guard had not exaggerated --- it was indeed windy up here. And significantly colder than on the ground. Hair ruffling in the wind, Anders fastened the top buttons of his coat and turned up the collar, newly grateful for Mrs. Sullivan's initiative in hanging it before the fireplace.
Back inside and up he went. The next flight of stairs was a winding, wrought iron spiral. On tier two, he was in an even smaller square space, demarcated by columns instead of brick walls.
Onwards and upwards to tier three. It consisted of a circular space enclosed by a ring of twelve columns. Peering between them at the balcony, he noted the corners of the surrounding railing were topped by carved stone structures likely intended to be ornamental finials, but whose somber appearance reminded him of funerary urns.
He was almost to the top! The spiral staircase to the fourth tier occupied almost all the limited space inside the ring of columns. The stairs ended with a metal landing large enough to accommodate one person. Pulse accelerating, Anders turned sideways to slip between the columns. A cluster of pigeons took flight as he stepped onto the final, wind-buffeted observation deck --- now a circular walkway guarded by a steel railing.
In wonder, he gazed out over the stirring panorama of New York City from 300 feet in the air --- higher even than Fulton's apartment at the Astoria Hotel. Slowly, he walked the entire circumference, overwhelmed by the extent and beauty of the metropolis. Amid the profusion of brick buildings, church spires, parks, avenues, and gray skyscrapers, he endeavored to pick out familiar places.
To the north he recognized the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, the dome of the Casino Theater, and the long rectangle of Central Park --- cast in a rust-colored haze from the remaining late November foliage. To the east was Bellevue Hospital, the East River, Brooklyn, and Queens.
In the distance to the South --- in what must be the Financial District --- he spied a pair of skyscrapers he guessed to be the World Building and the Park Row Building --- the previous and current tallest buildings in the city. Beyond that lay the harbor. Completing the circuit on the west side, he beheld ships at the innumerable piers along the Hudson River with New Jersey in the background.
Next, he approached the metal railing, testing it with his hands. Notwithstanding its spindly appearance, it felt sound. Cautiously, he looked downwards. Far below him, he could see the tiny moving rectangles and dots of carriages and pedestrians along Madison Avenue and 26th Street --- reminding him of the tin soldiers with which Fulton and he had once played.
Even though the tower was not the highest point in the city, it was the highest spot off the ground upon which Anders had ever stood --- well, the highest man-made spot anyway (the mountain at his grandparents' lodge in Norway being higher) --- and an awe-inspiring tribute to human ingenuity.
The view down upon Stanford White's creation was impressive as well. The arched roof of the amphitheater constituted approximately two thirds of the structure, while the remaining third was occupied by the renowned rooftop garden and cabaret whose attractions Fulton had occasionally extolled. He could see the stage at the base of the tower. Naturally, with the cold weather, the outdoor entertainment venue was presently closed.
He checked his pocket watch --- it was five minutes till the appointment time.
Turning around, he faced the tower and gazed up at its pinnacle. Some six feet above him was the final dome topped by the gold orb upon which Diana stood. The splendid statue was so close, he could drink in every detail of her naked beauty. Thirteen feet tall, was she? Just over twice his height. Anders again circled the walkway, this time studying the goddess --- her golden glow remarkable even in the gray weather.
Unsurprisingly, the gilded surface had not been spared the activity of birds, and he could not help the whimsical, lascivious thought that it looked as if Diana had been ejaculated upon by multiple men --- the whitish runnels decorating her face, arms, and bosom.
Speaking of which, she did indeed have a lovely, graceful figure with small breasts and a pert ass --- naturally enough, reminding him of Ondine. The front view revealed featureless smoothness where her mound and split should be --- as was the frustrating custom in all artistic depictions he had seen of unclad females.
He recalled the
Town Topics
article about the brawl between Fulton Fordyce and Peter Van der Veen at the Newport archery competition ---
QUIVER ME TIMBERS!
The artist had depicted Ondine as this Diana statue --- how apt!
He couldn't wait to tell her his theory about Fulton --- the mysterious death of his long-hated brother, soon thereafter followed by the death of his rival for her affections. Both victims manifesting intestinal distress prior to succumbing.
Or had the murderer been Peter's mistress Marjorie Montrose, disguised as a waiter, with the later assistance of her lover, Dr. Pemrose?
But --- Fulton
had
attempted to kill him after learning he was the only one who knew about the arsenic.
