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"Mr. Caution, Mr. Callaghan,"
William Collins, London, England, 1941
"Mr. Caution, Mr. Callaghan,"
Fontana Books, London, England, 1961
WHEN I go into Headquarters, O'Hagan is sittin' at his desk lookin' at a sheaf of papers. He is also usin' a whole lot of language which woulda paralysed a Marine Division. He looks up at me.
"Why wasn't I a 'G' man," he says, "instead of a police Captain dealin' with ordinary honest-to-goodness crime? You guys with a Federal badge make me sick. You just stick around an' look wise. This is the sorta stuff that gets you down."
He holds up the papers.
I sit down an' light a cigarette.
"What's eatin' you, Terry?" I ask him.
"What's eatin'me?" he says, "Get a load of this. Last night at twelve o'clock there's a big steal down at the Maybury Apartment. Some guy comes down there an' rings the fire alarm—close on midnight.
"O.K. Just when everybody is dashin' around the place lookin' where the fire is an' wonderin' whether to save their wives or collect the insurance instead, another guy busts inta an apartment and walks out with ten thousand dollars in bearer bonds. Havin' done same, the guy then scrams down the fire escape at the back an' gets inta a car driven by some dame that is waitin' for him.
"An' there you are!"
"O.K.," I tell him, "well, what's the matter with that?" He looks hurt.
"Nothin', Lemmy," he says, "only just this little thing. We know who pulled this job. The guy who rang the fire alarm was Willie Peracci; the guy who walked in an' took the dough was Frency the Wop, an' the dame waitin' with the car was Frency's girl Arabella. So what! We know just as well as if we'd asked 'em that they all got an alibi. If we pull 'em in they will all start shriekin' that they was down at Schribner's Skittle Alley on Waterfront."
"How come?" I ask him.
"Well," he says, "they all work for Dutch Squilla. Dutch runs this mob, an' he always fixes an alibi for his mob first, see? We reckon he's been casin' this job for some weeks now. O.K. Well, he's pulled it, an' by now the stuff is turned over to Jake Marelli who'll turn them bonds inta cash in no time. What you 'G' men don't know is that it's one thing to know who done a job an' another thing to hang it on 'em."
"You're tellin' me," I say. "Say, O'Hagan, supposin' you check up where Dutch Squilla was last night." He grunts.
"We know that wise guy," he says, "He was at the Turkish bath until eleven o'clock, an' then he went back to his apartment on Twentieth. He went to bed an' he ain't been out since."
"Swell," I say, "An' who's seen him since then?"
"Nobody," he says. "I just know he ain't been out to-day, that's all."
"Look, O'Hagan," I say, "Where do you reckon I can find these palookas supposin' I wanta look for 'em? Where does Willie Peracci and Frency the Wop an' this Arabella dame hang out?"
He yawns.
"They'll all be down at Schribner's Skittle Alley," he says. "An' if you go down there they'll all say that they was there last night at twelve o'clock an' about twenty other guys down there will swear to it. So what?"
I get up.
"Listen, O'Hagan," I say, "Let me handle this my own way. Just don't do anything about it. Lend me a coupla cops an' stick around. Maybe I can clean this up for you."
He laughs sorta sarcastic.
"Oh yeah," he says, "so you wanta see what a 'G' man can do, hey? O.K., go ahead, an' when you come back I'll still be laughin'."
He rings the buzzer an' sends for a coupla cops.
THE three of us get inta a yellow cab an' we drive around to Squilla's apartment on Twentieth. On the way the cops tell me that Dutch Squilla is the big shot; that he runs three separate mobs an' that he keeps a tight finger on his guys. They tell me that they reckon he will lake fifty per cent of the steal last night, an' that the rest of the cut will be split four ways between Peracci, Frency, the jane Arabella an' Jake Marelli the fence, who will turn the bonds inta cash. They tell me that Marelli is pretty close up to Squilla an' that the rest of the guys don't like him much because he's a tight wad an' takes 'em for a bit of their share when he can do it.
Ten minutes afterwards we get around to Squilla's apartment. I ring the bell but there ain't any answer. I bang on the door an' nothin' happens. I think that maybe this Squilla sleeps pretty hard. I knock some more an' when we don't get any results we bust the door in. Inside the bedroom lyin' on the bed with one arm hangin' down is Squilla.
WHEN we get to Schribner's Skittle Alley we get busy. We grab off Willie Peracci, Frency an' the Arabella baby, an' we run 'em inta Schribner's back office an' shut the door. They all try to look as if they was surprised.
The guys are a tough-lookin' lot, but this Arabella is a honey. I'm tellin' you that the west view of that dame from the north, while she is walkin' east, is swell.
I sit down at the desk an' light a cigarette. One of the cops is on guard outside the office door an' the other is inside watchin' these babies.
"Listen, you mugs," I tell 'em, "I just sorta wanta know what you was doin' last night round about twelve o'clock?"
They look at each other. They look sorta surprised.
"Why, we was all here," says Peracci, "We was playin' skittles an' a whole lotta people saw us. Anybody around here'll tell ya."
"O.K.," I say, "That's all I wanted to know." I look at the cop.
"That about fixes this job," I say to him. I turn around an' look at the three of 'em.
"What time did you guys leave here last night?" I ask 'em.
Arabella answers up all brightly.
"Maybe it was a quarter-past twelve," she says, "Wasn't, it, boys? Plenty people around here saw us go, didn't they, boys?"
"O.K.," I say, "That's the clinch on this case."
"I'm chargin' you three with the murder of Dutch Squilla," I tell 'em, "an' how do ya like that? I think I oughta tell you that you practically convicted yourselves. When we went around to see Dutch Squilla this mornin' he was lyin' on his bed dyin'. Somebody had slugged him three times through the chest with a thirty-two gun. He's been passin' out all night.
"But before he handed in his dinner pail he talked. He told us how he picked you three guys up here last night at twelve-fifteen, an' took you back to his place for the pay-off for the job you pulled for him last night; an' he told us how Arabella here got playful an' took his gun outa his hip pocket, an' how Peracci shot him twice an' Frency finished him off with a third one.
"After he passed out we went an' saw Jake Marelli an' he got cold feet an' blew the whole works on you.
"He told us how you three was supposed to pull a job at the Maybury apartment last night. Squilla arranged that you guys should do it, but you didn't. You farmed the job out. You got three other guys to go an' pull that bond snatch while you stuck around here. You arranged that the guy who pinched the bonds should take 'em straight along to Marelli an' say that you'd pulled the job an' sent 'em along for him to get rid of.
"Instead of which you stuck around here an' waited for Squilla. You knew he'd be pretty high at that time of night an' Marelli has also squealed that you guys was discontented with the deal that Squilla was givin' you and had been aimin' to give him the heat for a long time. So there it is, babies. This case is in the bag."
Arabella gets up an' lets go a squawk.
"Marelli's a lousy liar," she says. "That heel couldn't tell the truth even if he was paid to. He's framin' us. I'm goin' to blow the works on the job. We wasn't around here at all, an' if Marelli says that we didn't do that bond-snatchin' job at the Maybury apartment at twelve last night, then he's committing perjury in seventy-five different positions. Why I took the bonds around to him myself after I got 'em from Frency here. Willie Peracci was the guy who started the fire alarm so's Frency could pull the steal. We was never near Schribner's last night. Ain't that right, boys?"
"Sure it's right," says Frency, "Look, Mr. Caution," he goes on, "I'm goin' to do a bit of squealin" myself. I can tell ya who bumped Dutch Squilla an' so can these two. It was Marelli. Marelli has been tryin' to muscle in on Dutch for a year. He figured he ought to be runnin' the mob. Why he even asked me if I would come in on a scheme to drown Dutch last summer when he was goin' swimmin'. Marelli is the guy who did the job an' he's tryin' to hang it on us."
"O.K.," I say, "Well, maybe there's somethin' in what you say, because we found a handkerchief with Marelli's initials on it in Squilla's apartment. Anyhow, I reckon I'd better take a statement from you guys about your bein' at the Maybury apartment at twelve o'clock, an' then we'll go around an' pull in Marelli. But it looks bad for you."
I take a long statement from 'em an' they all sign it. They are all lookin' pretty scared I'm tellin' you, especially Arabella. I get up.
"Come on, babies," I tell 'em, "I'll take you outside an' buy you one last, drink each before I take you back to headquarters. Put the bracelets on 'em, officer."
WE are havin' a drink at Schribner's bar when Arabella looks around towards the door an' nearly has a fit. I turn around an' see Dutch Squilla comin' in. Jake Marelli is with him.
Squilla comes straight over to me.
"Say, Mr. Caution," he says, "What's the big idea? Whadya mean by handcuffin' me to the bed this mornin' while I was asleep? What's goin' on around here?"
"It's O.K., Dutch," I tell him. "I wanted to get some really swell evidence against these guys here that they had pulled that steal at the Maybury last night. I knew that if they was accused of it they'd alibi themselves by sayin' they was here.
"So I tried a different lay. I locked you in your apartment an' come around here an' accused 'em of bumpin' you off last night. I said that Marelli here had blown the works on 'em.
"Well, they was so keen on beatin' the murder rap an' hangin' it on Marelli, that they signed a full statement about the Maybury job.. If they'd done that they knew they couldn't have been around at your place at the time I told 'em you was bumped. An' how do you like that?"
He mops his head, "The mugs," he says, "Didya ever hear anything like that?"
"The worst of it is, Dutch," I go on, "that their statement implicated you as an accomplice an' Marelli as well, so I reckon we'll be takin' you two guys along too. Finish your drinks, sweethearts!"
I send 'em all back in the patrol wagon. The cops was laughin' their heads off, but just as she was gettin' in Arabella said a wicked word at me. That jane just sorta didn't like me at all.
Some dames are never satisfied.
MAYBE some of you bozos who have met me before have by now got wise, to the fact that I am a most sentimental cuss where dames are concerned. Because any time I hear a doll's voice—even on the telephone—I go all goosey an' reach for an alibi.
W. Shakespeare—who was an intellectual guy livin' on the Stratford-on-Avon branch line durin' the old days when a poet who said the wrong thing at the right moment was likely to get himself chopped plenty by the public executioner—has already spread himself so much on the subject of dames that anythin' I could think up would be practically as redundant as last Friday's cold chop suey before I said it.
So I will merely content myself with murmurin' that anythin' that W. Shakespeare didn't prove about blondes was left to Jakie the Wop to discover for himself... an' even then he was wrong. If you don't believe me shed your ear muffs an' listen....
JAKIE the Wop (his square name was Giacomo Fantelli) threw a warm look at the babe who checks hats at the Club Mulberry. He gave her ankles the once over as she turned around to put the fedora away.
A nice little doll, thought Jakie. Maybe one of these days he'd get around to doing something about that babe.
He sauntered along the passage, through the swing doors at the end, onto the raised balcony that ran around the dance floor.
Salcci, the head waiter, and three underdogs hurried over. "Hi'yah, Salcci," says Jakie, "Me—I ain't eatin'. Maybe I'll play a big whisky sour."
"Sure t'ing, sure t'ing, Mr. Fantelli," said Salcci.
He took a quick look around the Club floor. People were trickling in. He took another quick look at the bulge under Jakie the Wop's left arm and sighed.
"Fetch over a big whisky sour," he muttered to a waiter, "Don't charge for it an' keep him sweet. This guy can start something."
Jakie leaned his elbows on the waist-high gold rail that ran around the balcony set four feet off the dance floor, an' took a look.
The dames were lousy, he thought. When they took a peek at him he gave 'em a sorta half smile, unless they had a guy with 'em. If they had a guy he gave 'em a big smile just to annoy the guy.
Get a picture of Jakie the Wop:
He was tall, slim and elegant. His clothes were tops an' cost plenty. His socks were silk. His shirt an' tie had set him back a century. His shoulders were broad, running down to a definite waist, slim hips, neat legs an' feet. He moved easily. Everything was under control.
He was a wow with a gun. Under his left arm he wore a soft, Mexican half-breed holster. The gun was a special .32 Mauser with a non-jamming ejector action.
He'd used it plenty.
He looked towards Salcci. The wop started to sweat and came running.
"Hey, Salcci," says Jakie, "I don' wanna wait. See? Put the show on, Kid." They put the show on.
The Mulberry dinge orchestra got going. They got hot an' gave plenty. The opening of the show number was a swing that made dames swing their hips. The Club "hostesses" got around the balcony, keeping an eye on tired business men, handing out a neat crack here and there. It was the time of day when a tired business man can get sentimental about a club hostess. Got me?
The Mulberry Girls—precision-trained—came on for the first verse. Sang it. Went into a hot schottische dance with a bit of hula thrown in for the not-so-young customers. Then they opened out and as the Club lights went down Francesca came down the back steps with a steel blue spot-lime on her an' started to croon.
She had on a skin-tight, white satin gown, slit to the waist, black silk tights an' little court shoes with six-inch heels. She went into her own dance with the girls behind her and I'm telling you that this dame could move. The guy who invented figure control must have seen Francesca first.
Half-way through they put two more limes on her. Right in front of her she could see Jakie the Wop, hanging over the balcony, giving her the once over, his white teeth shining.
JAKIE closed the dressing-room door behind him, "Hi'yah, Fran?" He walked over to the table where she was sitting.
"Hey, Jakie," she says, "How's it goin'?"
He smiled down at her. She saw the end of his pink tongue running over his lips.
"You sorta get me goin', Fran," says Jakie, "You got what it takes. Say, how're you makin' out with Clancy these days?"
"You oughta know, feller," says Fran, "He's the guy you can't get away from. Also he's nuts about me an' liable to get tough with anybody who gets sorta nosin' around. See?"
She looked up at him. Her lips were parted and her eyes bright. Jakie the Wop looked her over very carefully.
"Yeah, Fran," he says. "I read about that tough stuff in a book."
He fished in his hip for a thin platinum case and took out two cigarettes. He lit them with a gold-striped lighter He handed her one. She noticed that his fingers were manicured; the nails polished a nice shade of pink.
He sat down, drew in a mouthful of smoke, let it out through one nostril.
"I was thinkin', Fran," says Jakie, "that if it wasn't for that guy Clancy I could sorta get around to you some old time, hey? Maybe I could go for you. It would be sorta tough if anything happened to Clancy. He ain't a bad guy—a good mobster, but sorta careless. You get me?"
She nodded.
"I get you, Jakie," she says. "There's somethin' about you that I like too, but I just couldn't stand for Clancy sorta gettin' sore an' makin' a lotta trouble for me. Me—I'm a one-man woman."
She laughed and he joined in.
He got up. He put his hands out and took her by the shoulders, "So long, kid," he said, "I'm goin' for a conference with the Big Boy. I'll be seein' you."
WHEN the doll in the hat-check handed out his fedora, Jakie gave her another long look. He thought that maybe one of these days he'd just have to get around to doing something about that babe.
He sauntered out of the Club and picked up a yellow cab. He told the guy to go to Riverside at 141st. It was well after midnight when he paid off the cab and started to walk towards Hamilton.
He took a quick look around and went into a big apartment block. The night guy touched his cap and took him up to the fifth floor pronto.
Jakie walked along the corridor and tapped on a door. After a minute it opened. He went right in through the hall and knocked on a door the other side. Somebody said to come in.
The Big Boy was sitting in a lounge chair reading a news-sheet, drinking coffee. Jakie took off his fedora.
"Pleased to see you," said the Big Boy, "What's eatin' you, Jakie? Help yourself."
Jakie helped himself from the drinks table.
"Listen, boss," says Jakie, "I'm sorta worried about Clancy. He's sorta careless. I reckon he ain't keepin' his nose clean, neither. You know that guy can talk if he has liquor. Me—I'm worried."
The Big Boy smiled. It was a nice sort of smile.
"You don't mean that, Jakie," he said, "I've never known you to get het up over Clancy." He smiled again—a slow, sympathetic smile, "Maybe you're worryin' about that doll of his—what's her name—Francesca?"
Jakie smiled back.
"Yeah," he said, "Maybe I am."
The Big Boy poured himself a cup of coffee. He poured it very carefully. He drank some and put the cup down.
"I'm not very pleased with Clancy," he said, "In fact there are one or two of the boys are getting me a little worried. Maybe you know that Sikalski of the Homicide Squad is looking for Clancy right now. Sikalski wants to question him about the Anton shooting. Sikalski is a rather difficult police officer, very enthusiastic—too enthusiastic."
He drank some more coffee; lit a cigar very carefully. It was a full minute before he spoke. Finally:
"You're very intelligent, Jakie," he said, "Please listen carefully. I gave definite instructions to Clancy to stay under cover for two or three weeks until the heat is off over the Anton business. I also told him he was to lay off seeing Francesca in case Sikalski was keeping an eye on that quarter.
"But Clancy had other ideas. Salcci called through from the Mulberry to-night that Clancy is meeting Francesca at two o'clock—just before she does her last show. They are going to meet in the empty ground-floor office room at Schmidt's old warehouse on Barrell Alley, around back of the Mulberry."
The Big Boy took a long pull at his cigar.
"The interesting point is," he went on, "that Clancy's gun is in the right-hand drawer of Francesca's dressing-table at the Club. I gave orders that he would not carry a gun while the Police are looking for him. And Francesca got him to give it to her.
"Therefore," went on the Big Boy with a smile, "her fingerprints will be the last ones on the gun. Presumably she will leave her dressing-room at five minutes to two. She will go out the back way, through Martindale, along by the jute warehouse and turn into Barrell Alley. She will meet Clancy, but she must leave him at two-fifteen in order to be back for her last number at two-thirty. Have you got all that?"
Jake nodded.
"If somebody were to go into Francesca's dressing-room at two o'clock, wearing gloves, take Clancy's gun, get along to Barrell, wait for Francesca to leave, shoot Clancy with his own gun, and throw it down beside the body; surely, if the gun had been carefully held by gloved hands, the fingerprints on it would be those of Francesca. She would be the person last known to meet Clancy. Sikalski would pull her on a first-degree murder charge."
The Big Boy drank some more coffee.
"Then," he went on, "if Francesca were to agree to listen to reason about you, Jakie"—he smiled again—"we would alibi her. I would arrange that somebody else took the rap for the Clancy killing. Well, Jakie?"
Jakie looked at his platinum wrist-watch. He grinned.
"Are you the brain guy?" he said admiringly, "It's all done. I'll give it to him myself at two-fifteen. Thanks a lot, boss."
"Thank you, Jakie," said the Big Boy.
AT two-fifteen Jakie stood in the shadow of the last doorway in the jute warehouse and watched for Francesca to pass. A minute afterwards he saw her running back towards the Club. He supposed she thought she was late for her number.
Jakie ran quickly down Martindale into Barrell. As he neared the ground-floor door of Schmidt's empty warehouse he put his gloved hand into his coat pocket and drew Clancy's gun.
He pushed open the street-level door and looked in. He saw Clancy lying in a pool of blood over a box on the other side of the floor. Clancy was as dead as mutton.
Jakie raised his eyebrows; dropped the gun. What the hell?
At the same instant a voice called him from the street.
"Hey, Jakie," said the voice, "I wanna talk to you!"
Jakie spun round, stepped back into the street. Across the road coming towards him was Sikalski. Across the far end of Barrell Jakie saw a police patrol wagon with four cops standing beside it.
Jakie looked towards Martindale. At that end were two cops standing easy swinging their night sticks.
Jakie grinned like a wolf. So the Big Boy had sold him out—the rotten heel!
In the few split seconds whilst Sikalski was walking towards him, Jakie saw right through the frame-up.
Francesca was in it with the Big Boy. They'd played him like a cheap sucker.
Whilst he was on his way to Riverside, Francesca had phoned through to the Big Boy, who had thought out a pretty little set-up.
One of Salcci's gun-boys had been sent to get Clancy around to the warehouse and bump him there. Then, at the right time somebody had called through to Sikalski that Jakie was all set to shoot Clancy in Barrell Alley.
And Jakie the Wop—the baby who always kept him nose clean—was going to be the fall guy who was pinched for bumping Clancy whilst the Big Boy got Francesca. Jakie knew now what the Big Boy had meant when he said he was worried about two or three of the boys. Jakie was the guy he was worried about.
He gave a tweak to his fedora and went to meet Sikalski.
"Say, Sikalski," he said and as he spoke he kicked the police lieutenant in the guts. Sikalski yelped and went down.
Jakie turned and ran like a hare for the Martindale end. As he ran he pulled his Mauser. The two cops at that end dropped their night sticks. Their hands went round to their hips for their guns.
Jakie fired twice from the hip. At twenty-five yards it was swell shooting. He got one cop through the guts and the other through the knee. He gave the knee one another through the face as he passed.
He went through Martindale like a streak; out Armine into Minnetta Street. Somewhere behind him shrieked a police syren.
He jumped a cab on Minnetta at Thompson.
"Through Riverside at 141st to Hamilton," he grinned at the driver, "Don't make any mistakes, sweetheart, or I'll blast your spine in. Get goin'!"
AS Jakie walked into the apartment block near Hamilton he could hear the police syrens shrieking.
The night guy touched his cap as Jakie stepped into the elevator. Then he saw the gun in Jakie's hand and stood close to the elevator wall breathing very slowly, very quietly.
Jakie got out of the elevator and walked down the corridor. He knocked quietly on the door. It opened. He went straight across the hall into the room.
The Big Boy was sitting in a lounge chair drinking coffee. Francesca, was sitting opposite drinking a gin fizz.
Jakie did a quick' calculation. He had used three shells on the two cops in Martindale. The Mauser carried ten. He had seven to go.
The Big Boy saw the gun.
"Jakie..." he began.
"Keep your trap closed, heel," said Jakie, "You both got it comin'. It was a swell frame-up an' you didn't think I'd shoot my way out. You was wrong."
He looked at Francesca. She was staring—pallid.
"Listen, dame," said Jakie, "The show is about to begin. You're goin' to be in it too. Here we go!"
Artistically he shot the Big Boy through the left lung. Then through the right; then through the intestines, and then through the heart. All the while he was laughing—he didn't even hear Francesca screaming.
He turned his attention to her. As she lay shrieking on the rug he shot her three times through the heart. Then he threw the empty gun on the floor and turned towards the door.
He went down by the stairway. On the way down he straightened his silk tie and gave his fedora the proper tweak. He liked it just over one eye.
Down in the hallway was Sikalski. There were seven cops behind him. Jakie the Wop grinned when he saw the Thompson guns.
He walked towards Sikalski, his hands in front of him so that they could see he was being nice and quiet about it, "Hey, Sikalski," says Jakie, "I'm sorta sorry I had to kick just like that." Sikalski grinned. There was sweat on his forehead.
"O.K., Jakie," he said. "There's no out for you this time. You done plenty to-night, kid. We got a sweet hot chair for you, bozo. Let's go."
"That's O.K. by me," says Jakie, "I'm satisfied."
Sikalski put the bracelets on him. Then he lit a cigarette. The cops looked at each other. They never thought Jakie would have given up so quietly.
"There's just one little thing, kid," says Sikalski, "I'm sorta curious. Whatdya wanna shoot them two cops on Martindaie for? I never saw a guy act so strange as you."
"No?" says Jakie.
"No," says Sikalski, "When I saw you goin' into the warehouse, I guessed you'd heard about Clancy. I was just goin' to tell you that he was dead. I thought maybe you'd heard about it."
"Heard about what?" says Jakie. He was beginnin' to get a screwy sort of idea. A sort of idea that he might have made, a mistake.
"Well," says Sikalski, as they walked towards the patrol wagon, "I been trailin' Clancy all day. When he went down to the warehouse to-night I went after him. I wanted to ask him plenty about the Anton killin'.
"O.K. Well, when I went in there he reached for a gun.
"So I shot him."
Jakie the Wop stepped into the patrol wagon.
"Listen, Jakie," says Sikalski. "What are you laughin' at?"
LISTEN folks: maybe you can take it and maybe you ain't ever been in love, but I'm tellin' you that tryin' to catch up with a dame is a tough business. It's like eatin' water melon... you just gotta get your ears wet.
But the first time that I ever set eyes on this Duchess I knew that any time I looked at some other dame afterwards it would be like sour pickles. She had everything. She is tall an' willowy and her eyes are like matched diamonds. She has got teeth like the dame in the toothpaste ad and she talks English with an accent that is so pretty that it sounds like velvet, only better.
After I have got over the shock of lookin' at her I start in, "Listen, Duchess," I tell her, "Maybe things is different in your country, but Chicago is always Chicago—never mind what it says in the guide-books—and maybe the Police Commissioner here ain't so far wrong in thinkin' that you've been silly to get tied up with Dutch Balazzo over this beauty show business. This guy is just poison although we ain't ever nailed him properly yet. One time he was in the beer business—before repeal that was—an' after that he did a little kidnappin' for a change. Bumpin' guys off is just relaxation to this baby. He's dangerous, an' never mind what he says, he's either after your money, or your jewels, or maybe he's aimin' to snatch you an' hold you for a ransom that would make the treasury in that country of yours about five dollars an' two battleships short in the next budget. That's why I'm here an' my orders are to stick around an' see that Dutch don't try any funny business, see?" She smiles at me.
"Mr. Caution," she says. "I theenk that is verry goot. I shall feel that I am so safe. But you are verry wrong about Mr. Balazzo. He is what you call the gangster, but he is so verry charming, no? And as I am studying types to write my book, I like to study Mr. Balazzo too. And he is quite honest about this beauty competition. He is just verry, verry hopeful that hees young lady will win it, that ees all, and he is quite what you call straight. He brought the prize money here to-day; it is in the hotel safe—20,000 dollars—so nothing can be wrong about the competition, can eet, Mr. Caution?"
I get up.
"Lady," I tell her, "anything with Dutch Balazzo in it has just gotta be wrong. Duchess, you watch your step because it looks like there's something very screwy goin' on over this beauty competition."
She puts her hand out an' we shake. She has gotta little soft hand, an' she gives me a look that makes me feel like a million dollars.
Which is funny because I ain't never been stuck on a Duchess before.
I FIND Dutch Balazzo in a saloon on Clark an' Peabody. He is feedin' whisky to a parrot an' teachin' it to cuss. What that bird is sayin' is so sweet that a top sergeant of Marines has just fainted out of jealousy.
I grab hold of Balazzo an' take him in a corner.
"Listen, punk," I tell him, "supposin' you give me the low-down on this beauty competition racket, otherwise I'm goin' to get tough with you. Don't you know that this dame is the Duchess of Saltzburen-Biedenbad, an' that she rates so durn high in her own country that if anything happened to her it is liable to start a war between Siam an' Iceland or somethin', after which some war profiteer will corner the world market in snowballs. Besides which, this Duchess is a lovely who don't have to be given the run around by a cheap four-flushin' son of a beer-runnin' chiseller like you are; so what's goin' on around here, hey?"
He spreads his hands out.
"Listen, Mr. Caution," he says. "You know me an' you know I ain't such a mug as to start anythin' with you around, now am I? I'm tellin' you how this business gets goin'. I hear that this Duchess is over here lecturin' an' writin' a book about American types, an' one night Chief of Police O'FIaherty brings her around to some night club where I am just leanin' up against the wall thinkin'. O'FIaherty brings this Duchess over an' introduces me as a type of American gangster who is so dumb that he thinks that a gorilla is somethin' you cook kippers on. So I answer back an' say that I am nothin' but a misunderstood guy who is nuts about beauty, an' that I have got a big idea to run a big beauty competition, everybody to enter any girls they like from fifteen to forty an' nothin' barred except bow legs, because I reckon my girl Rene de la Zouche—Lizzy Callaghan of Clark Street to you, Mr. Caution—is goin' to walk away with the prize.
"Right then this Duchess says the idea is swell, an' that she would like to see this collection of Chicago beauty, an' so I say O.K. an' will she be the judge, an' she says sure she will. Then Chief O'FIaherty says that if I try any funny business over this competition he is goin' to get me four thousand years in the pen, an' I say to prove I am on the up an' up I will send the prize money around to the Duchess. An' I sent the dough around yesterday—20,000 smackers—just to prove that I am a right guy who would not even steal the gold stoppin' outa a sleepin' baby's teeth."
"O.K.," I tell him, "but watch yourself, Balazzo, otherwise I'm goin' to get you electrocuted for something you mighta done some time. I'll be seein' you."
I LIGHT myself a cigarette an' I ease along to Fin Squilla's over by the Transdine wharf. I reckon this baby might talk an' what Fin don't know can be written on one side of a nickel.
He is standin' around in the back room tryin' to remember where he stuck his chewin' gum last night.
"Hey, Fin," I tell him, "whatdya know about this beauty competition of Balazzo's? Is it a set-up or is it? Are you tryin' to tell me that this thing is on the level?"
"Listen, Mr. Caution," he says, "I ain't no squealer, but I always had one in for that Dutch Balazzo ever since he put printer's ink in some beer I was makin'. It made the stuff taste BO lousy we hadta sell it as a cure for rheumatism. Me, I don't know anything about this competition, but you can put two an' two together an' make it come out right, can't you?
"Figure it out for yourself; Balazzo has taken the Geraldine Hall down on Pembury for this competition. There is fourteen hundred dames who reckon that their faces is easy to look at has entered theirselves an' they haveta pay ten dollars each to get into it—there's fourteen thousand dollars, ain't it? O.K., Then the people who come in an' want to see this show have gotta pay five dollars to get in. O.K. Well, the hall holds one thousand people an' Balazzo's boys have sold about ten thousand tickets, so nine thousand people are goin' to be unlucky when the time comes. I reckon Balazzo thinks that there will be such a shemozzle goin' on around there that it will be like the Civil War had started some more, an' look who else has got their girls entered for this thing: Willie Fandigo, that north side crook, has entered his girl, his sister an' his mother-in-law. Bugs Rafferty from the wharf gang has put his two aunts an' his grandmother in as entries, an' Schultzie the Wop has entered the whole beauty chorus from the night club he runs on Twelfth. I tell you these boys ain't goin' to let Balazzo's girl win anythin'. They'll start another revolution first. So what?"
I nod. Then I give myself another cigarette an' scram. Me—I don't like this thing. I am worryin' about the Duchess. It looks to me that there will be trouble around at this Geraldine Hall, an' when there is trouble for the cops to look after that is the time to snatch a Duchess. You get me?
I get an idea.
I walk over to Fern Daly down at the Club Carraway, an' I talk cold turkey to him.
"Look, Daly," I tell him, "I know you. You got the finest counterfeitin' racket in this man's town. Now you don't have to get excited, I ain't goin' to pinch you to-day, an' if you wanta stand in with me get busy. You send over 20,000 in counterfeit bills to my hotel by six o'clock this evening an' see that they're good-lookin' ones, an' then maybe I'll lay off you for a bit. You got that, Daly?"
He gets it. He says he will send the bills over.
I walk around to a drug store an' I call Mefflet. This guy is the star picture snatcher of the Evening Star an' Tribune.
"Listen, Mefflet," I say, "I want you to do something for me. You get a picture of every girl that is entered in this competition that is aces with any gangster around town. Never mind the other ones, all I want is the ones who have got boy friends in the rackets. I don't care if the pictures are old ones or new ones, but get 'em. Is that O.K.?"
He says it's O.K. He will get 'em an' send 'em around.
I give myself a high-ball, an' I do some heavy thinkin'. I reckon I am goin' to look after this swell Duchess plenty. I reckon that these pictures will show me just what gangs are aimin' to go to town over this beauty competition.
AT twelve o'clock that night I go over to the Duchess's hotel. I see the manager an' flash my badge at him. I also tell him what the set-up is. He opens up the hotel vault an' we take out the 20,000 dollars prize money that Balazzo has sent around, an' put in its place the 20,000 in phoney five-hundred and thousand-dollar bills that Fern Daly has delivered to me as requested. We put the real dough in the hotel safe.
Then I go back to my hotel an' start lookin' through the pictures that Mefflet has sent around. When I have done this I get through to the night officer at the city hall an' ask him to get me a plan of the Geraldine Hall from the City Surveyors' Office, because I am gettin' to be very interested in this beauty competition.
I HAVE seen some trouble in my time but I reckon that Dutch Balazzo's Beauty Competition was just tops. Half-way through there are eleven thousand people out on Geraldine and the Boulevard tryin' to get inta the place. There are cops fightin' everybody, an' they have called up for four riot squads.
All the guys who have bought tickets have been sent around to the back entrance that has been bricked up for years an' the guys who have got in have hadta pay twice for admission an' any change they have comin' is all in counterfeit bills.
I am sittin' at the end of the platform when the call comes through from the Chief of Police that the Duchess is to award the prize to somebody an' get the business over, otherwise there is goin' to be a war outside. Balazzo is not to be seen an' the guys in the ticket offices have all scrammed.
A cop gives the Duchess the Chief's message, an' she gets up an' she moves—can that dame walk or can she?—over to the front of the platform, right in the middle, an' she says:
"My dear friends, I haf verry mooch pleasure in awarding thees prize (she holds up the envelope with the dough in it) to..."
An' then the trapdoor she is standin' on drops an' she drops with it. Behind me I hear a cop yell.
"They got her... they snatched the Duchess!"
I don't do a thing. I just give myself another cigarette.
I SIT on the edge of the Chief's desk an' look at the Duchess. She looks swell an' she is smilin' like she liked it.
"It was a swell idea of Balazzo's, Chief," I tell him, "but it just didn't work. Directly I found the picture in the bunch that Mefflet sent over—the picture that looked like the Duchess only with blonde hair—I remembered the dame that used to get around with Balazzo, the one who went to Europe last fall. hen I got it. The Duchess is Mary Green, Balazzo's girl.
"O.K. She comes back over here as this Duchess who is goin' to write a book, an' everybody falls for it. The idea is that Balazzo gives her the 20,000 to make it look straight, an' she goes down the trap while the riot is on. Then we all start lookin' for a Duchess who has been snatched an' all she does is to wash the die outa her hair an' go back to Clark Street an' be Mary Green again, got me? A sweet clean-up.
"When I thought she was the Duchess I figured that they would snatch her for the dough an' so I changed it for phoney stuff. The real dough is round in the hotel safe. But when I saw that old picture of Mefflet's I got wise. I just stuck a coupla cops over the coal cellar at the back of the Geraldine Hall. I knew she'd scram out there."
I get up.
"So long, Chief," I tell him.
I get to the door an' turn around.
"Hey, Duchess," I grin at her, "You come up an' see me sometime!"
I AM standin' on the second floor of police headquarters, lookin' outa the window, when I see Zinza Gringo on the other side of the street.
Zinza Gringo is as smart as they come, an' she is also the gun moll for Frank Ritti.
While I am lookin' at her I see Willie Sidka come easin' along the street. He passes close to Zinza, an' she sorta trails along after him.
I scram along to the corridor telephone an' ring through to the detective bureau on the first floor. I get O'Halloran.
"Hey, Terry," I tell him, "I just spotted Zinza Gringo an' Willie Sidka goin' down the street. If them babies are not goin' to have a conference some place, then I am a lady with bow legs. Get out an' tail 'em, because when Zinza waits round for a guy I can smell crime comin'." He says O.K.
I light a cigarette an' go down in the lift. I am just walkin' towards the avenue when I see Willie Sidka watchin' me. He finally comes up to me, lookin' sorta innocent.
"Look, Mr. Caution," he says, "you know that I am not a copper's nark who goes singin' about his pals, but I reckon I gotta talk to you, otherwise there is goin' to be another bump-off in this town."
I say, yeah, so what?
He tells me that he has sorta run inta Zinza Gringo accidentally just now, an' that she has wised him up that she is all steamed-up about her boy friend Frank Ritti. He says that Ritti has given her the air for some other dame, an' that she is aimin' to get back on him.
I ask him how she reckons she is goin' to do it.
He says that she knows that this dame has previously been sorta partial to Twist Maloney, who does not like his lady friends bein' taken off him by guys like Ritti. She says that Ritti knows this an' that he has asked Twist to meet him down at the back to Caloot's garage on Arminetta Street some time after nine o'clock to-night to talk over a bank stick-up, an' that Ritti is goin' to give it to Twist outer a gun.
"What're you tellin' me all this for?" I ask him.
He grins sorta sheepish.
"Zinza sorta reckoned that I might drop you a word," he says, "She sorta reckoned that, as Ritti has given her the air, she would like to see him pinched."
I do some quick thinkin'.
"Who is the dame that she says Ritti has given her the go-by for?" I ask him.
He thinks hard for a minute, an' then says that he thinks it is the dame in Gregory's gramophone store.
I say thanks a lot, an' he scrams.
I go back to headquarters, an' after five minutes O'Halloran calls through. He says that he has tailed Zinza to the Frederick Grill, where she has ordered herself a swell lunch. I tell him to have a quiet word with the manager, an' tell him to take plenty time serving that lunch. He says O.K.
I ring through to Centre Street an' ask them to send a car round pronto to a house on Pell an' pick up a pickpocket called Jake the Finger. They are to rush him around an' wait for me at Gregory's gramophone store.
Because you have gotta understand that Willie Sidka's story about Zinza an' Ritti sounds very screwy to me.
I TAKE a cab to Gregory's gramophone store, an' I go in an' do a little talkin' to the dame inside. She is certainly one peach.
I ask this dame if she knows a guy called Ritti very well, an' she says she knows him all right, but only as a guy who has bought some stuff in the shop. Now, I know why Willie sorta hesitated when I asked him who the new dame was that Ritti had fell for. He didn't know, so he said the first dame that came inta his head. I say thanks a lot an' scram.
I walk very quickly over to the gun-shop on Twelfth an' I buy a .38 clip of blank ammunition. Then I walk back to Gregory's an find the police car outside with Jake the Finger sittin' inside, chewin' gum.
"Look, Jake," I tell him, "this is where you are goin' to do a spot of work for the police. Take a cab, slip along to the Frederick Grill, an' you will find Lieutenant O'Halloran hangin' about. He will show you a dame eatin' there. Get a table near Iris, order yourself some eats, an' quietly get your hooks on her handbag Open it, an' inside you will find a .38 Colt automatic. Grab out the clip an' put this clip of blanks in its place, then put the gun back in the bag. If you fall down an' she gets wise, I'm goin' to pinch you on a charge of poisonin' your mother-in-law. You got me?"
He says he has got me all right. I give him five dollars an' he scrams.
I AM STILL WONDERIN'.
At three o'clock in the afternoon I get round to Gregory's gramophone store an' ask the blonde there if she was tellin' me the truth when she said that she only knew Ritti just as a customer, an' she says may she be struck with green an' blue stripes if she is tellin' me a lie.
I then ask her to show me the delivery-book to see what Ritti has been buyin' there. So she gets the book an' shows me.
At half-past three I go back to headquarters an' tell the radio guy to put a quiet call out to all cars to let me know just where twist Maloney is hangin' around, an' that if he leaves his dump a car is to keep on his tail all the time an' not leave him. Otherwise this guy is likely to get himself severely killed, which would not do nobody any harm, but which happens to be a crime in this town.
At four o'clock I get a surprise. Frank Ritti comes through to headquarters an' asks for me. He tells me that he has got word that that lyin' hell-cat Zinza Gringo has tipped me the wink that he is goin' to bump off Twist Maloney. He says that this is nothin' but a lotta punk, that she is tryin' to frame him. He says that he is at his apartment at the Castle Arms if I care to check on the call, an' that if I like he will telephone through every half-hour to show that this Zinza Gringo is nothin' but a liar with bells on.
I say thanks a lot, but he need not worry himself. I have gotta ideas on this job at last!
At five-thirty, just when it is nice an' dark, one of the police cars calls through that Twist Maloney has just left his dump an' is gettin' a cab an' goin' some place. I say stick around an' do not let this guy get out of sight, an' that if he goes anywhere near Caloot's garage they are to leave the car an' tail him on foot, but that they are to keep outa sight an' get ready to make a pinch.
AT seven o'clock Zinza Gringo calls through to headquarters an' says she wants to speak to me.
"Hey, Mr. Caution," she says, "I am speakin' from Frank Ritti's place at the Castle Arms. I been a low-down little heel to get Willie Sidka to tellya that phoney story about Frank aimin' to kill Twist Maloney. I reckon I was all steamed up with him an' I wanted to get even. I knew some other guy was plannin' to bump Twist, an' I thought I would hang it onta Frank. Hold on; he would liketa speak." I hold on. Ritti comes on.
"Hey, Mr. Caution," says Ritti, "I'm sorry you had all this trouble, but you know what dames are. Me an' Zinza hadda row, but everything's all right now, an' I hope you ain't goin' to hold this up against us. So-long, Mr. Caution! I'm keepin' my slate clean these days."
Two minutes later the police car dick comes through that they have just pinched Frank Ritti on the waste lot behind Caloot's garage, which is six miles from his apartment! He says that Frank has had three shots at Twist Maloney, but that they find his gun was only loaded with blanks, a fact which drives him crazy when he finds out. I tell 'em to bring him in.
I CHASE around pronto to the Castle Arms. I scram up the stairs an' bust down the door of Frank Ritti's apartment on the first floor!
Inside, lyin' on the lounge in an elegant sorta dressin' wrap, is Zinza, smokin' a cigarette.
"Get your clothes on, honey," I tell her; "you an' me are goin' places. I'm pinchin' you for bein' accessory to attempted murder. We got Frank right on the job."
"Well, I'll be sugared an' spiced!" she says, "Didya say 'attempted murder'? Didn't Frank kill that heel Twist? An' anyhow, how did you know about it, copper?"
I grin, "Jake the Finger slipped a clip of blanks inta the gun you was carryin' for Frank," I tell her, "D'ya mind if I play a tune on your gramophone?"
I switch on the gramophone, which starts up an' says:
"Hey, Mr. Caution. I'm sorry you had all this trouble, but you know what dames are. Me an' Zinza hadda row, but everything's all right now, an' I hope you ain't goin' to hold this up against us. So-long, Mr. Caution! I'm keepin' my slate clean these days."
"Big-time stuff, hey, honey?" I tell her. "An' the joke is that if Willie Sidka had thoughta some other dame's name to tell me instead of the girl in the gramophone shop you an' Frank woulda got away with this killin', an' the gramophone woulda alibi'd Frank.
"Mm. I took a look at what he had been buyin' in the gramophone shop, an' when I saw he had ordered six recordin' discs I got wise. Let's get goin', kid. An' you'd better take some cigarettes you'll need 'em where you're goin'."
MAYBE some of you mugs heard about this "Crime Don't Pay Stuff"? Well... I reckon that crack is so goddam old that nobody believes it. They sorta put it into the same thinkin' category as "There's No Place Like Home" or "Rome Wasn't Built in a Day." Both of which things don't matter a cuss to a guy who don't live at home anyway and who ain't particularly interested in Rome since Musso turned the dump into a branch office for Adolf.
I would be grateful if you babies would relax for just a minute while I tell you how it was that Rudy Scansa got wise to the fact that "Crime Don't Pay" means somethin' more than a wall ornnament.
WILL you guys take a look at Rudy Scansa? This baby is a one hundred per cent he-man with all the side dishes.
His square name is Rudolfo Antonio Scancinella an' he is a second-generation wop whose old man usta sell ice-cream cones an' think he was doin' fine any time he got himself enough jack to eat two plates of spaghetti with cheese at one sittin'.
O.K. Well, Rudy is not at all like that. He is tops in the big rackets an' he has got three roadsters, a penthouse on Lakeside Drive, an' dough stacked away in safe deposits in six different States.
Rudy is the boy all right. He has a lotta ambition an' gets steamed up very easy, which a lot of guys could tell you about, only these guys are not talkin' because they are all very nicely ironed out an' buried. So they do not have to worry any more.
Rudy is also one hundred per cent with dames. He has a line that blondes fall for like they was bein' hypnotised by an outsize in snakes. He has got black wavy hair an' a long handsome face, with sad eyes, an' a nice mouth that sorta smiled all the time.
Because I gotta tell you that Rudy has got a grand sense of comedy an' always sees the joke when the other guy gets bumped off.
IT is ten-thirty one night an' the town is just wakin' up. Rudy is at the bar in the Club Carberry, drinkin' high-balls.
He looks up when Tony Rhio—who is Rudy's collector for the North Side numbers swindle—eases in. Tony is not lookin' so good.
"Hey, hey, Tony," says Rudy, "How's it comin'? What's eatin' you?" Tony sits down. He is sweatin'.
"Look, Rudy," he says, "things is not so hot. I just heard somethin'. I just heard they're springin' Jim Tullio to-morrow. They're lettin' that so-an'-so outa Joliet Prison. The parole board..."
"Yeah!" says Rudy.
He gets up an' his mouth is like a thin red line. He stands there for a minute an' then he sorta smiles an' relaxes an' sits down again.
"So what?" he says. "So they're springin' Tullio!"
He lights himself a cigarette an' sits there draggin' on it, sendin' the smoke outa his thin nostrils. Then he says: "Where'd you get this stuff from, Tony?"
"Tullio's dame Mayola told me," says Rhio, "She don't know whether to take a run-out powder on Tullio before he gets out.
"She says she don't reckon he'll be outa the can for long because she says it's a cinch that when he gets out he's goin' to take a nasty poke at you to sorta even things out." He wipes his forehead.
"That guy is pure poison, Rudy," he says, "He'll get the lot of us. He'll..."
"Why don't you sew up that trap of yours an' relax?" says Rudy. "Ain't you the scared guy? Always bellyachin' about somethin'."
He starts grinnin' again. "Maybe I can handle this," he says. "Say, where does this dame live?"
MAYOLA has got a swell apartment out near the Evanstown Highway. Just in case you don't know anythin' much about Mayola, here is the low-down:
When she is seventeen she takes a run-out powder on Pa and Ma, who are runnin' a small-time farm in Marinette. Mayola is as pretty as paint an' reckons that she wants to see her name in neon lights on Broadway.
You know the stuff—she thinks she can act. But her Ma is sorta strict and wants to bring her up to be the sorta dame that men look up to. Mayola don't want this. She wants to be the sorta dame they look round at.
So she puts her best hat on an' scrams to Chicago with twenty-iwo dollars and a lotta ambition, to meet her big chance.
After three weeks she has got fifty cents, no ambition to speak Of, an' the only thing she meets is Jim Tullio, who is pure poison where dames are concerned, an' very tough.
So that is that. She sticks around with Tullio until they pulled him in for a five-years' rap, which was a sweet little set-up framcd by Rudy Scansa, who don't like Tullio an' who proceeds to pinch his rackets. So now you know.
MAYOLA was goin' out when her dinge maid comes in an' says that Rudy Scansa is outside an' wants to see her. Mayola thinks for just one minute and then says tell him to come right in.
Rudy comes in. When he sees Mayola his eyes start poppin'. I'm tellin' you this dame is an eyeful. She is now twenty-five—a real blonde with a figure that would give you a crick in the neck—an' very easy on the eyes.
An' does she know how to wear clothes or does she?
She is wearin' a three-hundred-dollar plain blue coat an' skirt cut by a guy who knew how to allow for curves; silver-fox furs, an' a little tailored hat. She is carryin' a black suede handbag with her initials in diamonds an' a pair of white kid gauntlet gloves.
The perfume she is wearin' would make you sniff like a coupla bloodhounds. She looks a million dollars an' she knows it. She throws Rudy a little smile.
"Well, Mister Scansa," she says nice an' soft, "What's on your mind?" She looks at him sorta wicked. "It wouldn't be Jim Tullio, would it?" she says. "Just park anywhere you like."
Rudy sits down an' puts his hat on the floor. He can't take his eyes off this dame. He wonders what he has been doin' for the last five years.
He sits there lookin' at her, smilin' nice an' polite, lookin' like the sorta guy who is kind to dumb animals an' always remembers Mothers' Day—you know what I mean, that sorta polite "After you, lady," stuff.
He says, "Listen, Mayola, I don't know you very well an' maybe you don't know me much. But I reckon that we oughta have a little talk about Jim Tullio.
"I hear they are goin' to spring this guy to-morrow an' it's a cinch that'he will be comin' back here to start a whole lotta trouble with me an' the boys, which means a headache for all concerned. Now maybe you're stuck on Tullio an' maybe you ain't, but..."
"I am anythin' else but stuck on Tullio," she says, sorta cold, "I never was. I stuck around because if I hadn't he would have fixed me like he's fixed every dame who walked out on him."
Rudy grins. "Swell," he says, "Well, I'm tellin' you that I got all the rackets in this man's town sewn up an' in the bag. I'm takin' a hundred grand a week in the numbers racket alone. I'm takin' another fifty grand from the stock quotation lotteries.
"If Tullio comes back here an' starts tryin' to get back where he was there's goin' to be nothin' for nobody. You got me?"
She stands there in front of the fireplace lookin' at him.
"I got you," she says. She lights a cigarette.
"Jim Tullio ain't comin' back here for two weeks," she says, "an' when he does come back he's startin' plenty! I heard from him yesterday. He's told me to meet him at some hick place in the backwoods—near Peoria—where he was born.
"It's a small-time, one-eyed dump. I been down there with him before. He says he's goin' to do a little pistol shootin' practice before he comes to town to meet you!"
Rudy smiles, "You don't say?" he says.
"Yeah," she goes on, "He's got a little road-house he owns down there, an' there's an old forge at the back where his old man usta work. He's got the anvil stuck up on a mound in the forge an' he takes a half-dozen bottles of champagne down there an' two-three dozen glasses. He takes a drink an' then he sticks the glass on the anvil, an' starts in shootin'.
"He's pretty good till he gets through the fourth bottle, after which he is liable to go a trifle wild on the trigger. I had to duck once or twice. I don't think I like that guy—much," says Mayola.
She stands there, lookin' at him, sorta smilin'.
Rudy gets up. He walks over to her. He stands lookin' down right into her eyes.
"Listen, honey-babe," he says, an' his voice is like velvet, "I reckon that you an' me could get along swell. I'm an easy guy string along with an' I'm worth plenty. You can have anythin' you want."
She looks up at him.
"So what?" she says.
"Well... we gotta fix Tullio," he goes on, "You don't like him an' I don't like him. Now I gotta idea. You meet him down there at the dump like he wants you to. You get him down at this forge on the pistol-shootin' racket.
"Let him drink all he wants to an' then—well, there's an accident, see. He asks you to try a shot an' you ain't used to guns, You shoot him accidental... see?
"O.K. Well, everybody knows you're his girl an' that he's your meal ticket. They don't know about me. I'll fix you a swell lawyer who knows all the answers an' we'll have it all fixed in no time, after which you an' me can hit the high spots for plenty."
He puts his arm around her shoulders an' looks at her like he can look at a dame when he wants to. She thinks for a minute.
"Are you sure you can fix it for me?" she says. "You're certain you can get me out of it on this 'Accidental' stuff?"
He laughs.
"Listen, baby," he says. "You know I can. It's a marvellous set-up. It's a cinch!"
She goes on thinkin'. Then, all of a sudden, she smiles up at him. He hauls off an' lights another cigarette. He reckons the job is O.K.
She starts pullin' her white kid gloves on. She works 'em down over her fingers carefully. Then:
"Listen, Rudy," she says. "Here's the way we play it. I'll go down there an' meet him to-morrow. O.K. Well, I reckon he'll want to shoot his mouth about his five years in the big house all day, so we'll leave the big act until the next day—the day after to-morrow.
"All right. Well, I'll get him down at the forge at twelve O'clock an' we'll do this pistol practice act. I'll wait until he gets good an' high an' then I'll give him the works. After which I'll bawl the place down about it bein' an accident like you said. O.K. Well I reckon they'll take me over to Peoria an' hold me lhere for bail, so you be around there about one o'clock, sorta accidental, see? Don't let anybody know you're in the neighbourhood. Be sorta passin' through an' just heard about it.
"Then you can blow along an' get the lawyer an' fix bail."
Rudy grins at her.
"Atta girl," he says, "I'll have you outa that jail by three o'clock an' then, oh boy, will we go places!"
"O.K., Rudy," she says, "I'll do it because I got a lot on that guy Tullio. He's been plenty tough with me."
She throws him an ace look, then she walks over to the sideboard an' takes out a bottle of champagne an' a glass. She opens the bottle and fills the glass.
She holds it up.
"Here's to me an' you, Rudy," she says. She takes a drink an' then she hands the glass to Rudy.
THE State cops picked Rudy up in his roadster on the Galesburg-Peoria road just after one o'clock. One of the coppers held a gun on him.
"I'm takin' you in for shootin' an' killin' Jim Tullio this mor'nin' at New Rock," he says.
Rudy laughs.
"Don't make me laugh," he says, "I been in this car drivin' around from New York early this mornin'."
The cop grins.
"Oh yeah," he says, "Anybody see you doin' it?"
"Nope," says Rudy, "But all the same this stuff about shootin' Tullio is just a lotta hooey. Why..."
"Save it," says the cop, "We got a call at five past twelve from a pay-box in New Rock—from Tullio's girl Mayola. She said she saw you an' Tullio down at the forge. She was afraid there'd be trouble. We know how things were between you two.
"O.K. Well, when we get down there we find him as dead as a cold hamburger. There was broken glasses all over the place an' the murder gun was lyin' on the ground. Some clever guy had wiped the fingerprints off of it.
"But you was the big mug after all, Scansa. Because stuck up on the anvil was a champagne glass an' it had your fingerprints all over it.
"Come on, Rudy. We got a nice electric chair waitin' for you!"
IT is seven o'clock when I go inta the 43rd Precinct Police Office, an' there I find McGuire, the Precinct Captain, mutterin' words that woulda done credit to a truck driver who had trod on his own foot.
I ask him so what, an' he tells me that at five o'clock in the afternoon some patrolman has found Mario Fidelli, who is a gangster with a very nasty nature, so durn full of holes that he looks like a nutmeg-grater. It also looks like that everybody around town knows it is no less a person than a thug called Johnny MacMallow who is so tough that he is practically unsinkable.
I ask McGuire why he does not pinch McMallow for this killin'. He spreads his hands.
"You're askin' me!" he howls. "This guy has got himself a sweet alibi. Fidelli was bumped at four-thirty an' McMallow has got two pals of his—a dame by the name of Paula the Babe an' her boy friend Roccaza—to swear that he was playin' cards with them from three o'clock this afternoon till six o'clock this evenin'."
He gets up an' gives himself a drink of water, which makes me think that things must be very bad.
"I reckon this guy Johnny McMallow has killed about forty-two people in the last two years," he says; "an' it is time that somebody introduced him to the electric chair. But what can I do with a cast-iron alibi like that?"
I give myself a cigarette.
"Where do these two swell witnesses Paula the Babe an' her boy friend Roccaza hang out?" I ask him. He looks at me an' grins.
"So the big 'G' man is goin' to have a go, hey?" he says. "O.K. Well, you'll find 'em at the Carmine Club. They're always around there, an' if you can shake that alibi of Mc Mallow's I will give you two dozen medals an' the Statue of Liberty."
I don't say a word. I just take half a dozen of his cigars outa-the box an' scram.
I FIND 'em at the Carmine Club.
Boy, has this dame Paula the Babe got style or has she? An' she has got blue eyes, ruby lips, an' an expression of disdain like she thinks something is wrong with the drains.
Her boy friend Roccaza looks plenty tough, too. Altogether Ihey are a very sweet pair.
"Do not disturb yourself," I tell 'em, as I sit down at their table. I show 'em my badge, an' Paula looks at me as if I was a snake.
"Look, honey," I tell her, "Me, I am makin' a few inquiries into the fact that somebody has suggested that it was Johnny McMallow who decided to perforate Fidelli this afternoon with a hand-gun. I am also informed that youse two are alibi-ing this bird, an' that your story is that he was with you plavin' cards from three till six. Is that correct?"
"O.K., fly cop," says Roccaza, "that is our story an' we are stickin' to same."
"That's all right by me," I tell 'em, "I was just askin', that's all."
"This dame Paula of yours is a honey," I tell Roccaza, "I suppose you two are plenty fond of each other." Roccaza grins.
"I reckon that me an' Paula are like the paper on the wall. Anything else, flatfoot?"
"Nothin' much," I say, "Maybe Johnny McMallow has got a girl friend, too?"
"You're dead right, ugly," says Paula, "He has. An' that dame is too classy to squeal to coppers, if that is what you are thinkin' of. On your way, policeman. You are cloudin' the atmosphere."
I go outside the club an' go into a phone-box. I call McGuire an' ask him the name of Johnny McMallow's girl. He tells me that she is a dame called Layola Fenny, with black hair and an ingrowin' temper. I say thanks a lot an' hang up.
I LIGHT one of McGuire's cigars an' take myself for a walk around to the art department of the Tribune-News. I see Mefflet, the star picture-snatcher, an' I go into a huddle with him. We go down inta the library an' we get four pictures out of the files. One of 'em is Johnny McMallow makin' a speech at the Grids Club with his arms stuck out, another is of Paula the Babe sittin' in court listenin' to Roccaza bein' acquitted for somethin' last year, the third is of Roccaza sittin' in the court next to his attorney, an' the last one is this dame Layola Fenny strugglin' with a cop outside the Carmine Club.
Mefflet an' me discuss the state of things in general, after which he says he is beginnin' to see daylight.
I go around to the record office at Headquarters, an' I look up the list of fortune-tellers who have been fined in the City courts for tellin' fortunes durin' the last six months. I pick one of these out—a dame called Mazda the Seer. I go to this dame's address an' find her cookin' sausages on an electric iron.
"Look, Mazda," I tell her, "When you have finished defraudin' the Electric Light Corporation, maybe you will listen to me for a minute an' do what I tell you, otherwise I am goin' to take you inside on a framed-up charge of readin' my hand an' tellin' me that next Friday night somethin' is goin' to happen, after which I will never look at blondes again. Well, do we do a deal, or do we?"
This dame says that when she was a little girl a gipsy told her that she shouldn't argue with coppers.
Havin' completed this business, I scram back to the Carmine Club an' stick around the staff entrance until twelve o'clock when the girl in the hat-check room comes off duty. When this baby comes out, I grab her an' take her around to Joe Slipner's for a cup of coffee an' a little talk. I give this dame ten bucks an' he promises to do like I have told her.
NEXT evenin' at about eight o'clock I am sittin' in the 43rd Precinct Police Office when the desk sergeant busts in an' says that Paula the Babe is outside foamin' at the mouth an' demandin' to make a whole lot of statements about the Fidelli killin'.
She comes in like a coupla sandstorms.
"Hey, you!" she hollers at McGuire, "If you want the low-down om on the guy who bumped Fidelli, I'm going to give it to you. It was that low-down son of a she-cat Roccaza that I been fool enough to get around with."
She tells us that Johnny McMallow an' Roccaza aimed to bump Fidelli an' that they both went out lookin' for him, an' that they arranged that whoever did it the other one an' his girl would alibi the killer. She says that Roccaza did the job, but that as McGuire tried to hang it on McMallow she an' Roccaza put up the fake alibi.
We take the statement down an' we throw her in the can.
ABOUT fifteen minutes afterwards Layola Fenny busts in lookin' like Cleopatra after a tough session with Mark Antony. This dame says that she is goin' to blow the works on Paula the Babe, who arranged to get the heat taken off Johnny McMallow an' squeal on her own boy friend Roccaza. Layola says that Johnny McMallow was the guy who bumped Fidelli, an' if that is not enough, she has got information about twenty other killin's that he has done—enough to get him executed about four hundred times an' then sentenced for life.
We take another statement from this dame an' we lead her to the next cell to Paula.
Just at this moment there is a lot of shriekin' of police sirens an' a cop dashes in an' says that Johnny McMallow an' Roccaza have just been fightin' like a coupla alligators on the waste lot at the back of Arminetta Street, an' that Johnny has thrown two pineapple bombs at Roccaza an' that Roccaza has been doing so much target practice on Johnny with a sub-machine-gun that they have had to bring 'em both back in a sack.
McGuire, who has been tryin' to get these two guys for years now breathes a big sigh of reiief an' turns to me an' says that this must be a good day for Police Captains an' how does all this luck happen to him?
But I do not tell him that I got Mazda the Seer to telephone through to Paula an' tell her that she had been lookin' in the crystal an' that the spirits had told her that Roccaza was runnin' around with Johnny McMallow's girl Layola. I do not tell him that Mazda has telephoned through to Layola an' told her the same story about Paula and McMallow.
I also do not tell him that I got Mefflet to fake up an' re-photograph them pictures we had of the four of them, so that there is one picture of Roccaza with his arms around Johnny's girl Layola an' another one of Johnny with Paula strugglin' in his arms.
I do not say one word about havin' got the hat-check girl at the Carmine Club to show Paula an' Layola one picture each, thereby provin' that their boy friends have been cheatin' on 'em good an' hard.
No, I do not tell him; but I am feeling mighty good inside.
Me, I'm a bit hot on psychology or the study of dames. Blondes, redheads or just no colour at all, you can get 'em when you want 'em if you get 'em on the raw. And there's nothin' rawer in a dame's whole make-up than her jealous streak. Let her think her boy friend's breaking loose and chasin' another trail, an' she's in off the deep end and not stopping to breathe, either.
BOYS an' girls, Mr. Caution would like you to meet "Two-Time"!
"Two-Time" was big and burly and smilin'. He looked to be a nice, easy-tempered sort of fellow who might be kind to animals and send a fifty-dollar bill to his old mother in Oklahoma now and again.
He wasn't a bit like that. He was a killer. He carried a gun for Calcimo the Dude, and he liked using it. "Two-Time" was the baby who shot the two cops in the Joplin Bank stick-up in '30. He was nice with a gun. He carried an English Webley-Scott naval automatic in a soft Mexican leather shoulder holster, and he could shoot the cigarette out of a man's mouth at forty yards with a drop shot.
"Two-Time" ran a plump forefinger round between his fat neck and the silk collar that was nearly strangling him; sent a sly, fast wink over to the bar-tender.
Yelltz, the bar-tender, red-faced, thick-set, with two little pig's eyes stuck in the face of a small-time crook, sent the wink back to Willie the Goop.
Willie the Goop, thin, ferret-faced; a bullet scar across his neck where a .32 Police Positive had all but squared his account in an Oklahoma stick-up in '34, sent the wink back to Two-Time.
"Start the music-box," says Two-Time, "an' set up three highballs. One of 'em's for you because you ain't so dumb as I thought you was."
"Thanks, Two-Time," says the bar-tender.
He turned on the radio.
Two-Time screwed around on his heel and took a quick peek at the guy at the other end of the bar. The guy was a very quiet sort of guy. You could see dozens like him in any bar around town, He was of middle height with a thin, wiry kind of figure. There was nothing special about his face either.
Two-Time began to hum the tune the radio was playing. Then, almost imperceptibly, he began to edge nearer to Willie the Goop.
"Scram, kid," he muttered. "Get on to The Dude an' tell him to get around here fast. I got somethin' to tell him an' it won't wait."
IT look Rudy Calcimo—commonly called The Dude—exactly ten minutes to get around to the speakeasy.
The Dude was slim and dapper. His clothes were English cut and cost plenty. His eyes were of a peculiar light blue—so light that they were only just blue. The pupils were tiny because most time to time The Dude indulged in a little dope. Sometimes a sniff of cocaine, sometimes just a "reefer"—one of those Mexican cigarettes that carry a kick—and sometimes a shot of the real stuff—morphine. He found that this process made life a little easier on occasion. Also it helped him to think and The Dude's big act was thinking.
The Dude was a dandy all right. His tie was of Spitalfields silk from London, and a diamond and ruby pin worth a thousand twinkled in the middle of it. His shirts were of silk at twenty-five dollars a time and he wore cuff-links to match.
His lace was interesting. It was pallid-white—like the face of a corpse and his lips, drawn tight over white teeth, seemed to make a red slit in his face. His chin was pointed with a cleft in the middle and his fingers were long and hooked like talons.
The Dude was quite unscrupulous, quite ruthless and absolutely merciless.
The Dude swept a look along the bar, fixed it for a split second on Two-Time, then he moved over to a table in the corner of the room and sat down.
Two-Time ordered two highballs and carried them over. He took a seat opposite The Dude with his back to the bar.
"So what?" says The Dude, "Where's the fire, Two-Time?"
Two-Time took a drink. Then he drew a news-sheet from his coat pocket and made a play that he was showing The Dude something. All the time he was talking quickly and quietly.
"Get a load of this, Boss," he says, "Take a peek at the guy along the end of the bar; the quiet-lookin' bozo in the grey suit an' brown fedora. Got it? O.K. Well, he's a Fed, see? A 'G' man—name of Daly, an' he's plenty interested in you."
The Dude made a play to read the news-sheet; his cold, light blue killer's eyes wandered slowly to take in the man sitting along at the end of the bar, then they narrowed into a cynical grin and returned to the paper.
"How d'ya know?" he says. "An' what's he think he's after?"
"Yelltz the bar-tender here knows him," said Two-Time, "He don't like that hombre neither. This Federal dick makes a play for Yelltz's sister up in Cleveland where she is workin' in with a mob. The lousy dog gets Lilla Yelltz to fall for him, plays her along nice an' sweet till she don't know which way she's pointin' an' then pulls in the mob on information he got outa the dame.
"He don't know Yelltz, but Yelltz knows him. Last night he was in here askin' questions about you; tryin' to get the low-down on where you garaged your car an' a lotta other stuff. Yelltz says he reckons this fly cop is lookin' for the mob that hoisted the Second Farmer's Bank in Luna last week, an' where do we go from there? Maybe he knows we pulled that stick-up."
The Dude grinned.
"Hooey," he said, "The mug's just guessin'." He got up.
"Stick around, Two-Time," he grinned, "I'm goin' to handle this my own way."
He stubbed out his cigarette; straightened his tie. His pallid face was taut; his pale eyes glittering. Then he eased over to the end of the bar and stood next to Daly, the "G" man. He spoke loudly so that every guy in the speakeasy could hear him.
"There's a stink around here," he said, "This place smells to heaven—the sorta perfume that a lousy ferretin' 'G' rat might carry around with him. Say, Yelltz, why don't you disinfect this dump?"
The "G" man grinned; turned slowly around on his seat. Then he slipped off the high stool and walked along the bar, past the Dude, until he faced Yelltz.
"So you had to talk, Yelltz," he says, "You had to go shootin' off your mouth after I told you to keep it sewn up. Next time I tell you something's confidential, just remember, see? An' this might help you."
He leaned across the bar. He put his left hand out and took Yelltz by the collar; smashed him between the eyes with a sudden right swing. Yelltz cannoned against the back of the bar, reeled and fell to the floor half stupid from a crack that nearly sent him to sleep.
The "G" man turned on his heel. He took a long look at the Dude; then he walked out of the bar. He was half-way to the door, when Yelltz, the bar-tender, began to scramble to his feet. He was dizzy and it took him a second or two to get his balance. He was shaking his head rather like a professional boxer who has taken a slug on the point and wants to clear his brain.
He put his hand up to his nose, which was pouring with blood. Then he looked up and saw the back of the "G" man who was lust pulling his hand up to the door handle. Then he made a jump for the drawer that was under the counter. He dragged it open and began to fumble about inside for the gun that was kept there.
The Dude, who was watching him, grinned. As Yelltz's fingers closed over the gun and pulled it out, The Dude's iron fingers reached out and seized the bar-tender's wrist.
"Relax, mug," says The Dude. "That way'll only get you the electric chair. Maybe I got a better idea."
THE DUDE, resplendent in a shot-silk lounging gown, lay back on the settee blowing smoke-rings from an expensive Turkish cigarette.
When the apartment bell rang, Willie the Goop went over across the hall to the door. When he came back Two-Time and Yelltz the bar-tender were behind him.
Yelltz's nose and face were swollen. There was a four-inch strip of adhesive plaster across his upper lip. The "G" man had hit hard.
The Dude looked at him and grinned.
"Sit down, Yelltz," he says, "Take it easy an' have a drink. Then you can do a spot of concentratin', because I'm goin' to talk plenty sense to you."
He regarded the bar-tender with cynical, appraising eyes; drew in a long breath of smoke right down to the lungs; sent it out through his nose.
"Listen, sucker," he says. "I reckon you got it in for this Daly, this 'G' man with his little tin badge, ain'tya? Well, so have we. Now you get this an' tell me if it sounds sense to you."
Yelltz sat down on the over-stuffed chair opposite The Dude. He sat there waiting. His head was hung forward because it was easier for him to sit that way. His nose, which was swollen from the punch, was lopsided and gave him a peculiarly humorous expression.
The Dude began to grin.
"How's that sister of yours, Yelltz?" he asked "The dame that Daly, that goddam 'G' man, made a fool out of?" Yelltz grunted.
"She's all right," he says, "But I don't see where she comes inta this."
"No?" says The Dude, still grinning. "Daly made a big play for your sister Lilla up in Cleveland, didn't he?" he asked, "An' he pulled that four-flushin' act on her so's he could put the finger on the mob he was after, didn't he? He pulled that mob in on information that he got outa your sister because she thought he was stuck on her, an' when he'd done the job he gave her the air an' let her ride."
He blew a smoke-ring and watched it sail slowly into the air.
"I reckon she don't like him very much, does she?" he asked.
Yelltz grunted. He began to look a little more interested.
"O.K.," says The Dude, "Well, this 'G' guy probably thinks that in spite of the fact that he gave her a raw deal she still might be sorta keen on him. Now here's the set-up:
"You get that sister of yours down from Cleveland so that she'll be around on Thursday. I'll stake you. All right, on Thursday evenin' she rings up Daly at headquarters an' she tells him she wants to see him, see? She says that she's heard from you that he busted you in the nose an' that you're planning to go in with me an' my boys. She says that she can't bear the idea of your turnin' crook an' she wants him to talk sense to you.
"O.K. Well, what does the mug do? Right then he thinks that he can still use Lilla; that if he pretends to play her along again he can get all the information he wants about me from you an' her. So he arranges to see her, an' she makes a date to meet up with him at twelve o'clock on Thursday night down at the office in Jakie's Skittle Alley on Arminetta Street.
"Now this Daly always plays his hand on his own, see? So when he gets down to Jakie's place as arranged he's surprised to find that your sister ain't there. What he don't know is that Two-Time here is planted in the passage-way back of the Office.
"There's a little window in the passage wall, an' Two-Time, who Is tops with a gun, gives it to Daly through the window, see? He croaks that rat just like that.
"O.K. While this is goin' on, which will be about five minutes after twelve, you're sittin' around here drinkin' highballs.
"Well, at twelve-fifteen you can scram. Directly Daly has got the heat, I'm goin' to fix you with a swell job in Cleveland. You can work for me up there, see? At twelve-fifteen we fix you up with a car, an' you can drive around, call by for your sister if you wanna take her with you, an' scram up'to Cleveland."
Yelltz ran his tongue over his lips. His pig's eyes narrowed. "I'd sure like to even up with that copper," he says, "an' so would Lilla."
He looked across at The Dude and grinned.
"Maybe it would be worth somethin'?" he says.
The Dude laughed.
"Listen, kid," he says, "ain't you heard about me? I'm a regular guy. Money don't mean a thing to me." He leaned forward.
"Listen, Yelltz," he says, "When Daly's bumped, an' you're ready to go off, I'm going to give you a little present. I'm goin' to give you five grand—5,000 dollars—an' how do you like that? It's just a little present for you an' your sister."
Velftz's face lit up.
"Gee," he grinned, "is that good news! Why, I'd have done it for nothin'—just for the pleasure of gettin' tops over that rotten cop."
The Dude laughed.
"All right, Yelltz," he says, "Now get goin', you gotta work. Get hold of that sister of yours an' wise her up to what She's gotta do. When she's got Daly all set for that fake appointment at Jakie's, you ring through here.
"So long, kid, I'll be seein' you."
WHEN Two-Time had seen Yelltz out of the apartment he came back and poured himself a stiff one. The Dude was lying back on the settee smoking. Two-Time looked at Willie the Goop and then at The Dude. Finally:
"Listen, boss," he says, "Me, I don't wanta interfere in this Idea which I think is a honey; but ain't you payin' that sucker too much? Five thousand is a lotta money for a little thing like that. I reckon he woulda been plenty excited with a hundred bucks."
The Dude looked at him. He might have been looking at a slug.
"Look, mug," he says, "Why don't you leave thinkin' to me? Ain't anybody told you that you only got sponge-cake in your head instead of brains?"
He got up and leaned forward on the settee.
"Now listen, you two mental cases," he says. "Get this, because it's so easy it even makes me laugh."
"This Daly is gumshoein' around trying to hang that Luna Bank stick-up on somebody, ain't he? O.K. Well, I'm goin' to help him. I'm goin' to hang that job on the Yelltz mug an' here's the way I'm goin' to do it."
Willie the Goop and Two-Time get interested.
"Daly gets around to the back room at the Skittle Alley on Thursday night to meet Lilla Yelltz, don't he? An' he'll go there by himself because he always plays along on his own; because he don't trust anybody.
"All right, when he gets there he don't find no dame waitin' for him, but Two-Time's out in the back passage an' he gives him three or four slugs in the place where it'll hurt most. O.K. Two-Time, directly you done this you take Daly's gun off him an' you wipe the fingerprints off both the guns. An' you take care that you don't mark 'em afterwards. Wear gloves, see?
"You got that? All right. Directly you finished with Daly you jump a cab an' you get back here. Outside around the back you find the car that we're goin' to give to Yelltz to drive up to Cleveland in. You stick both the guns—the one you shot Daly with an' his own gun—under the back seat of that car.
"Then you grab another cab an' get straight down to the depot. You scram up to Chicago an' you lie low there until you hear from me. That fixes you.
"All right. Well, that's at twelve-fifteen. At twenty minutes past twelve I proceed to hand the 5,000 dollars to this mug Yelltz, but what I don't tell him is that the five thousand I'm givin' him is part of the take that we got from the Luna Bank—the dough that I ain't been able to get rid of because the Federals have got the numbers of the notes plastered all over the country, see?
"So what? Well, then. Yelltz goes off, don't he? He's tickled silly with himself. He's got Daly where he wants him; he's got five thousand; he's got a car an' he's goin' up to a job we're goin' to find him in Cleveland.
"But what the poor sucker don't know is this. Twenty minutes after he's gone, Willie the Goop here goes out an' rings through to police headquarters. He don't say who he is; he just says that he's tippin' 'em off that Yelltz has shot a Federal officer down in the back office at Jakie's Skittle Alley, an' that he is makin' for Cleveland.
"So what do they do? Why, they send out a wireless call an' they pick Yelltz up on the Cleveland road. They find that the number-plates on the car he is drivin' proves it to be the car that pulled the Luna Bank stick-up; they find five thousand dollars on him that was pinched from the Bank, and under the back seat they find Daly's gun an' the gun that killed him. Well, rollers?"
Willie the Goop and Two-Time look at each other.
"Can you beat it!" says Two-Time. "Boss, I never met up with a guy like you for brains. I reckon you oughta be President. An' to think that I was mug enough to fall for the idea that you was goin' to give that mug five thousand!"
Words failed Willie the Goop. He reached for the whisky buttle.
IT was Thursday night—twenty minutes past twelve. The Dude looked at his watch. Then he looked at Yelltz and grinned. Yelltz grinned back.
"Twenty after twelve," says The Dude, "I reckon it's all over by now. I reckon that bastard 'G' man is so full of holes that he looks like a sieve. Two-Time never misses his guy. He's sweet with a gun is that boy, an' I told him to make a certainty of Daly. Maybe he gave him the whole durn clip of ammunition."
He sighed.
"I wish I'd been there to see it," he concluded.
The Dude got up and stretched. Then he re-tied the sash on his crêpe de Chine lounging gown and walked over to a bureau in the corner of the room. He took out a packet of notes. Then he walked over to where Yelltz was sitting and counted out five thousand dollars, in bills of five hundred, into the bar-tender's hand.
Yelltz grinned.
"Gee," he says, "this is swell."
"O.K.," says The Dude. "Now blow, Yelltz. You'll find the car out the back. When you get up to Cleveland stick around at the hotel I told you. A pal of mine will get in touch with you. It's been nice work, baby."
Yelltz put the money in his pocket. He held out his hand.
"So long, boss," he says, "You've been fine."
The Dude looked at him and grinned as he shook hands.
"You're tellin' me?" he says.
Yelltz picked up his hat, waved so-long and left.
The Dude went back to the settee, and lay down. He lit a cigarette. Then he looked across at Willie the Goop and grinned. Willie grinned back. They waited.
At a quarter to one The Dude nodded at Willie.
"Go over to the drug store and phone headquarters," he says, "They'll put a radio out and they'll pick up that mug inside half an hour. Get goin', Willie."
Willie grinned at The Dude and got going.
AT half-past one The Dude and Willie the Goop started their second bottle of champagne. Willie, in the act of drawing the cork, paused as the apartment doorbell rang. The Dude signalled to him to see who it was.
Wiliie went and opened the door. He came back across the hallway into the room. Behind him came two New York State motor-cycle cops, and in between them was Yelltz with bracelets on his wrists.
"Hey, listen, Calcimo," said the sergeant, "We picked this guy up a quarter of an hour ago. He's in a car with the same number-plates that stuck that bank up in Luna last week, an' we got him on a murder charge too. Somebody's rubbed a 'G' man out down in Jakie's Skittle Alley on Arminetta.
"This guy's got a screwy story. He says he's been framed an' he says you framed him. We brought him in on the way to headquarters to let you know that the District Attorney will probably want a few words with you about it."
The Dude smiled.
"Sure, Sergeant," he said, "By the way ain't there anythin' else you'd like to hang on to me. If anythin' happens around this man's town someone always likes to make out that I'm in it."
The sergeant shrugged.
"Well, that's his story," he said, "I don't reckon there's anythin' in it, but I thought I'd let you know."
"O.K.," says The Dude, "Maybe I'll look in at the D.A.'s office to-morrow mornin'."
The two cops, with Yelltz between them, turned back towards the apartment door. As they did so the door opened.
A whisper of surprise came from the lips of The Dude. He shot a quick look at Willie the Goop.
Through the door came Daly the "G" man—the man who was supposed to be dead.
"Just a minute, Sergeant," he said.
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his badge.
"I'm Daly," he said to the cops, "Federal."
He turned to The Dude with a grin.
"I'm pinchin' you, Calcimo," he said, "an' you, Willie the Goop. I'm takin' you in on a charge of stickin' up the Luna Bank last week, an' attempted murder—the little job that Two-Time thought he was goin' to pull down at Jakie's."
The Dude said nothing. He was thinking hard. Willie the Goop sat down. He didn't look so good.
The "G" man walked over to where Yelltz the bar-tender stood; slipped his hand into his pocket, found a key and unlocked the handcuffs. He grinned at Yelltz.
Yelltz grinned back. Then he reached into his inside pocket i mi a cigarette-case. He opened it and moved to where The Dude was standing, his face more than ever like a corpse.
Yelltz was grinning.
"Have a cigarette, Dude," he says. "You look as if you needed something for the nerves."
He held the open case out to The Dude, and when The Dude put his hand out to take the cigarette, he got it—all of it; and a curse broke out of his thin lips at what he saw.
For in the empty side of Yelltz the bar-tender's cigarette-case, Calcimo The Dude—the wise guy who had never been taken for anything—saw the thing he was to remember for fifteen long years—a "G" man's badge.
IT is eight o'clock when I blow inta Filipino's joint, an' I see Rosie Kells sittin' in the corner. I reckon that dame woulda carried a gun for Satan if he'd paid her enough dough.
"Look, Rosie," I tell her, "I am very interested in some guys who have shot a mail carrier on the East State Highway last Week. I reckon this job was pulled by Gabby Tirla an' that side-stepper of his, Mugs Eagles. I also reckon that you was around somewhere at the time." She looks at me an' her eyes are sorta pathetic.
"Listen, Lemmy," she says, "I'm tellin' you that Mugs Eagles never had nothin' to do with that job."
"Oh, yeah," I tell her. "Then you are suggestin' that Tirla done the job solo, hey? I thought you was Tirla's dame an' very sweet on the boy."
"Like hell!" she says. "Me, I stick around with Tirla just because if he knew I was nuts about Mugs he woulda ironed me out long ago."
She gets up.
"Say, Lemmy," she says, "I gotta idea. Maybe Mugs knows about that mail stick-up because maybe Gabby told him about it. I'll make a deal with you. If I can get Mugs to ease along an' blow the works to you on the job, will you give him an' me a break?"
IT is twelve o'clock an' a lousy night. I am sittin' smokin' in the "G" office off North Clark when a message comes through that Gabby Tirla has been shot up in his apartment at 365 Calross Street.
When I get there Police-Captain Schultz has got it in the bag, an' all over bar to-morrow's front page. Gabby Tirla is sittin' in his big chair in a room on the third floor of the house in Calross where he has been hidin' out. Some guy has shot him twice in the stomach. In his right hand he is holdin' his own gun, an' two shots have been fired outa it.
I tell Schultz about the talk I had with Rosie Kells around at Filipino's.
"There's the story, Lemmy," he says, "It's easy. The old beezer who runs this joint uses the room on the other side of this landin'. O.K. Well, at ten o'clock to-night she says that Gabby Tirla tells her that he is goin' out dancin' with a frail. At ten minutes past ten Rosie Kells comes around an' goes inta his room. She leaves about twenty past ten, an' the old ma hears her tell Gabby that she'll see herself fried before she goes dancin' with a heel like him. Then she slams the door and goes.
"At about quarter after eleven, when everybody in this dump is in bed, the old dame reckons she hears somebody comin' up the stairs. She opens her door a bit an' peeks out. She sees Mugs Eagles comin' up the stairs, an' he goes inta Gabby's room. He's there for some minutes, an' then he sorta comes out around the edge of the door, an' when he gets on the landin' he says, 'Well, so long Gabby, I'll be seein' you,' and scrams.
"AT a quarter to twelve Rosie Kells comes back an' goes into Tirla's room an' lets go a scream that coulda been heard four miles away. They go in an' then find her in a dead faint on the floor, havin' discovered Gabby sittin' there as dead as a cold sausage."
"So what then?" I ask him.
"Well, it's easy," he says, "Here's the way I see it. Rosie comes in here just after ten an' has a row with Gabby. She goes off an' she meets Mugs Eagles an' she tells him that Gabby has been chasin' her again. So Mugs comes around here at a quarter after eleven. He goes up to Tirla's room an' they have a show-down. Gabby pulls a gun an' so does Mugs. They both got silencers on their guns so nobody hears 'em shootin'. Mugs is hit by them shots of Gabby's but not so bad that he can't make a getaway, an' Gabby is dead.
"O.K. When Mugs opens the door to go, he sees the old dame on the other side of the landin' peekin' through her door. So he puts on an act. As he closes the door he says, 'Well, so long, Gabby. I'll be seein' you.' He then scrams an' is hidin' out some place. Now all we gotta do is find him."
We start walkin' down the stairs. When we come to the first-floor landin' I see a cupboard like you use for puttin' brooms an' cleanin' things in. It has got a hole in the door where you put your finger in to open it.
Just outa curiosity I stick my finger in this hole. I pull the door open an' I say oh, boy! to Schultz.
Because inside the cupboard stands Mugs Eagles, as dead as a bean. He is shot twice through the body, an' lyin' on the floor is his gun. When we look we see that two shells have been fired outa it.
AT two o'clock in the mornin' Schultz calls through to my apartment. He is plenty pleased. The medical examiner has checked that the two bullets in Gabby come outa Mugs' gun, an' the two bullets in Mugs come outa Gabby's gun.
I say swell. But I am still thinkin' about the dough that these guys look outa that mail van.
I light a cigarette an' get around to 365 Calross again. I take a look around the stairs, an' do some more thinkin'. Then I go downstairs an' take another look in the cupboard place where we found Mugs.
After which I ease around to Schultz's place an' get him outa bed because I say we are goin' to do a little bit of detective work. He grumbles plenty, but he comes along, an' we get around to the dump where Rosie Kells is hangin' out on Dexter.
We ask the dame who is runnin' this place to get Rosie up, an' she comes down in a blue wrap, pink stockin's, an' a bad temper.
"Rosie," I tell her, "I am pinchin' you for killin' Gabby Turla an' Mugs Eagles to-night.
"Here's how you done it. When you saw me to-night around at Filipino's you got a big idea. You go off an' you tell Mugs that you have seen me, an' that Gabby is goin' to squeal on the mail-van job. Mugs says he will bump Gabby, an' you tell him just how he can do it. You also say you will take his gun in your handbag to Gabby's place an' leave it in the cupboard for him, an' that he is to come around later to bump Gabby.
"At ten minutes after ten you go around to Gabby an' you tell him the same story as you have told Mugs. He gets all steamed up, an' he reckons he is goin' to give Mugs the heat as soon as he can find him. You say take it easy, that you will go around to Mugs' place an' take Gabby's gun with you, that you will keep Mugs sweet, an' that Gabby can come along afterwards.
"He says O.K. He gives you his gun, an' you then take Mugs' gun out of your handbag an' shoot him twice, after which you start talkin' very loud about bein' fried before you will go dancin' with him, for the benefit of the old lady you've seen in the room on the other, side of the landin'.
"You go downstairs inta the street an' meet Mugs like you arranged with him. You tell him the coast is clear, an' that he is to go an' hide in the cupboard. When he gets there he finds that there ain't any gun there, an' he wonders what the hell. Maybe he thinks you have forgot about it, an' will come back later. He sticks around until he gets tired of waitin', so he goes creepin' up the stairs to have a look-see what is happenin'.
"He looks inta Gabby's room an' sees him dead, so he reckons that you have done the job yourself. As he is comin' out he sees the old dame on the other side of the landin' lookin' through the door, so he puts on an act that he is sayin' good-night to Gabby.
"He goes back to the cupboard to wait for you to show up.
"Directly everybody has gone to bed you sneak inta the house, you ease up to the cupboard, an' you stick Gabby's gun barrel through that hole in the cupboard door, an' you give Mugs two shots outa Gabby's gun. You know he's gotta be standin' up behind that door. You then open the door a crack an' throw his gun on the floor.
"You then walk straight up to Gabby's room as large as life, open the door, stick his gun inta his hand, give a big shriek, an' pretend to do a faint because you have just found the Tirla guy shot.
"There was blood on the floor in the cupboard, but there wasn't any on the stairs, so I reckoned that Mugs wasn't shot when he was goin' down the stairs.
"It was a sweet idea, Rosie, wasn't it? You get rid of these two guys, an' you make a getaway after the inquest with the dough that you was holdin' for 'em, the dough they got outa the mail-van stick-up.
"Well, they had it comin'. I guess you got it comin' too."
CALLAGHAN stood in front of the fireplace looking at Mrs. Gallery. He thought that Mrs. Gallery was a very charming woman with a great deal of that indescribable quality known us "sex-appeal." You could guess at her age, he thought, and whatever you guessed you would probably be wrong. She was one of those women who do not alter. They go through life well-dressed, fascinating, sure of themselves. They are as attractive at fifty as they were at twenty-five.
He concluded that he liked Mrs. Gallery—and none the less because, at that moment, her cheque for one hundred pounds reposed in his waistcoat pocket.
She came over to him with a cigarette-box. Callaghan helped himself and she lit his cigarette for him with an engine-turned lighter. Her fingers were long, supple and fascinating. She put the box down on the table and went to the sideboard, came back to him with a glass of sherry. Then she moved to the window and stood, leaning gracefully against the wainscoting, looking at him with serious grey-blue eyes.
She said, "I know that I shall be safe in your hands. Please realise, Mr. Callaghan, I'm not thinking of myself. I'm only concerned for Diana. She is only twenty-four. She has nothing in the world except the diamond necklace her mother left in my care. That is her last asset."
Callaghan asked, "What is she living on now?"
Mrs. Gallery shrugged.
"She's probably got a little money left. She had three thousand pounds in the bank three months ago, but if I know anything of our young friend De Savat he's probably had most of that."
She moved across to the arm-chair, sank into it.
"She's mad about him," Mrs. Gallery continued, "I've warned her against him. I've told her of some of the scandals with which he has been associated—always connected with women who've lost their money after they've met him."
Callaghan nodded.
"And you think that he's after the necklace now," he queried.
"I'm certain of it," said Mrs. Gallery, "When she asked me to take it out of the bank vault and hand it over to her I argued for an hour. I told her that as her guardian I wanted to retain it until she was twenty-five when, under her mother's will, she was entitled to have it. I told her that I would feel very unhappy knowing that she had the necklace and that she was attracted to De Savat. I told her that as I had been unwittingly responsible for introducing De Savat to her I felt an additional responsibility in protecting her against him.
"She wouldn't listen to me. She said that De Savat was a charming, honest and brave young soldier. When I pointed out to her that if he was so brave it was a pity that he didn't join up with General de Gaulle's Free French Forces, she replied that this was a matter for him to decide. Then I tried another tack. I said that here was a young Frenchman—an officer—who was practically penniless, who possessed nothing except two suits of uniform, good looks, an attractive personality. I said that I thought he was merely an adventurer.
"Then she said something quite beastly. She said that it was only since De Savat had given up being my tame cat, and had fallen in love with her, that I had turned against him. Then she asked me to let her have the necklace. She said that De Savat had asked her to get it: that he wanted to see her wearing it; that if I refused to let her have it until she was twenty-five I was merely being an obstructionist."
Mrs. Gallery shrugged her supple shoulders.
"I tell you, Mr. Callaghan," she said, "De Savat has hypnotised the poor child." Callaghan nodded.
"You felt you ought to hand over the necklace?" he asked.
"Why not?" she said. "She'll be entitled to have it in a few months. And I resented her attitude. I've done my duty by her in the past and I'm doing it now in employing you to keep an eye on her—and De Savat. I think that young man's past could bear a little investigation."
Callaghan stubbed out his cigarette and finished his sherry. He said:
"All right, Mrs. Gallery. I understand perfectly. I'll check up on De Savat." He picked up his hat.
"If you don't mind," he concluded, "I think I'll also have a word with your ward. I might be able to change her opinion about our French friend."
Mrs. Gallery smiled.
"You'll have your work cut out," she said. "But I wish you luck."
She went with him to the door of the apartment. As she shook hands, a suggestion of the subtle perfume she wore came to his nostrils. It matched the rest of her. It was as alluring, as attractive, as Mrs. Gallery was herself.
Down the corridor, Callaghan lit a cigarette. He was wondering whether it would be more politic to see De Savat before he saw the headstrong Diana Marett. As he replaced his cigarette-lighter in his pocket, the private detective's eye fell on envelope that lay on the floor. The flap of the envelope was open. He turned it over and saw that it was addressed to Mrs. Gallery.
Callaghan took out the sheet of notepaper from the envelope. It was addressed from a firm of Modistes in Bond Street. It said:
Dear Madam,
We think it very unfair of you to send back the four siren suits which you ordered three weeks ago. Our fitter says that these coats and trousers fitted perfectly, and the materials were specially selected by you. However, as you wish to exchange the suits for evening frocks we must agree to your wishes. But we think that you should allow us some margin on the exchange. Our fitter tells us that you expressed your satisfaction with the siren suits when you tried them on and we cannot understand your sudden change of mind.
Pucelle & Cie.
Callaghan grinned. Mrs. Gallery would be a most critical customer for a dress shop, and she certainly knew about clothes.
He put the letter back in the envelope, sealed down the flap; went back to the apartment door and slipped the letter through the letter-box.
Women were most amusing, he thought. It was probably this idea that decided Callaghan to see Diana Marett before he saw De Savat.
IT was some time before Callaghan succeeded in seeing Miss Marett, but when eventually he was shown to her apartment, in a fashionable block of flats not three miles from Mrs. Gallery's abode, he realised that the individual who said that the "course of true love never did run smooth" knew what he was talking about.
Quite obviously the girl had been crying. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked worried, distressed. When Callaghan was shown in she said:
"I suppose you've come to gloat. I suppose Mrs. Gallery's told you what's happened; sent you round here. Well, since you are here, perhaps you can help."
Callaghan put his hat down. He said:
"I don't understand. My name's Callaghan. I'm a private detective. I saw Mrs. Gallery about twenty minutes ago. She told me that she had handed over to you your mother's diamond necklace some months before she was really entitled to do because a young Frenchman by the name of De Savat wanted you to have it." Callaghan grinned amiably.
"She said a lot of other things too," he went on. "She said she didn't think very much of De Savat; that she thought he was simply making love to you in order to get that necklace, Do you mind if I smoke?"
The girl said, "I don't care what you do."
Callaghan lit a cigarette.
"You know," he went on cheerfully, "I think this thing can be straightened out. There's no reason why we shouldn't all be friends."
The girl raised her head.
"It is quite obvious," she said, "that Mrs. Gallery has told you what happened last night. We've only just discovered it. I telephoned her not five minutes ago. I expect you'd left her when I rang through."
"Oh," said Callaghan, "And exactly what did happen last night?"
Diana Marett raised her head antagonistically.
"Somebody stole that diamond necklace," she said, "and of course both you and she are going to say that Paul De Savat stole it. You're going to try and prove it. You're going to say that, just because I let him have the key of this flat, he had the opportunity last night of getting in—stealing the necklace. You're going to hound and persecute him just because he's in love with me."
"Just a minute," said Callaghan softy, "Miss Marett, why don't you sit down and relax. Let's talk this thing out, and I'd like you to believe this. I never make accusations against people until I have facts to go on. Now you say that the necklace was stolen last night. Was that before or after the air raid?"
"It was while the raid was on," said the girl, "The necklace was kept in this room in a wall safe behind that picture. I suppose I left the safe open, I'm careless about such things."
"I see," said Callaghan. "And where were you during the raid?"
"I was downstairs in the shelter," she said, "I went down in rather a hurry. I probably left the flat door on the latch too, mainly because I usually forget to take the key down with me when we have a warning."
Callaghan nodded. "When did you discover that the necklace was gone?" he asked.
"About fifteen minutes ago," she said. "But I tell you this... If you try to prosecute Paul just because he's a Frenchman with no friends in this country, I'll ..."
Callaghan interrupted smilingly.
"Nobody can prosecute Paul if you don't want to. The necklace is your property and you're the only person who could prosecute. Tell me something, Miss Marett. Was Mr. De Savat round here last night?"
"I don't know," she said, "The hall-porter said he thought he saw him, but people think they see a lot of things. I don't suppose he's at all certain of what he saw."
Callaghan said cynically, "What you really mean is that you don't want to think that the hall-porter downstairs did see De Savat."
She said, "What are you going to do?" Callaghan smiled.
"I'm not quite certain," he said. "But Mrs. Gallery commissioned me to look after that necklace, and I'm going to do my best. This is a pretty serious thing for you, isn't it? I believe that you haven't very much money except what that necklace would have brought. What's it worth?"
"About seven thousand pounds," she said, "And don't think I'm not fed up with losing it, because I am."
Callaghan said smoothly, "Well, if you're certain that Mr. De Savat had nothing to do with the theft, why don't we put this little matter in the hands of the police?"
She got up. She said angrily:
"I won't have it put in the hands of the police."
"All right," said Caliaghan. "Then we'll try something else."
"What are you going to do?" she asked. Her face was flushed. She was very angry.
Callaghan said, "I think I'll go and see Mr. De Savat. Mrs. Gallery gave me his address. I think I'd like to talk to your French friend."
LIEUTENANT Paul De Savat, late of a regiment of French Chasseurs, was extremely good-looking, very much at ease. His Uniform, beautifully cut, well pressed, looked as if it had been moulded on to his excellent figure. He spoke excellent English, possessed charming manners. He said:
"I am most terribly distressed to hear that Miss Marett's necklace has been stolen. But I know nothing of it, although, M'sieu Callaghan, I am not at all surprised that a suggestion is made that I stole it."
Callaghan raised his eyebrows.
"It is a little more than a suggestion, Lieutenant," he said, "You know your uniform is most distinctive. You couldn't mistake it for anything but what it is. Also, I understand Miss Marett has allowed you the use of her apartment at any time that you want to go round there. The hall-porter in the block of flats says that last night during the air raid, whilst Miss Marett and most of the other inhabitants of the flats were in the shelter in the basement, he came up to turn off the current that runs the electric lift. He says that as he was going down the stairs he saw someone who looked remarkably like you, wearing that uniform, hurrying out of the front entrance. That's a little more than a suggestion."
De Savat grinned cynically.
"I'm not worried, M'sieu," he said, "I take it that you are a man of the world. Then you will know your proverb which says 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' It is obvious to me that your mind has been poisoned against me by Mrs. Gallery and why?" He shrugged his shoulders. "When I came to this country," he said, "Mrs. Gallery was attracted to me. I wished to be good friends with her—nothing else. It was only after I discovered that I was madly in love with her ward, Miss Marett, that Mrs. Gallery found I was a person of such bad character."
He got up from his chair.
"However, M'sieu," he went on, "luckily on this occasion, fate has ordained that I should be protected. I have a complete and perfect alibi. Last night, just before the siren went and right through the air-raid warning until an hour afterwards, I was at our French Headquarters making arrangements to rejoin a regiment in our army. There are, I imagine, thirty or forty people who can prove that fact." He smiled cynically. "Perhaps you would like to go back to Mrs. Gallery and tell her that," he said, "because that is the truth."
Callaghan said, "Well, if it is, it lets you out, Lieutenant. I won't waste any more of your time."
He picked up his hat and went out.
CALLAGHAN dismissed the cab in Berkeley Square. He went up in the lift to his office, sat down. He lit a cigarette, put his feet on his desk and considered the characters in the drama in which he was a privileged onlooker. After a while he began to smile. His smile became a little broader when he took Mrs. Gallery's cheque from his pocket and laid it on the desk. It was a hundred pounds fairly easily earned, thought Callaghan.
He picked up the telephone, rang Mrs. Gallery. When she answered, he said:
"Miss Marett has already told you that the necklace was stolen last night. At first I thought it was De Savat, but it wasn't. During the only time that the necklace could have been stolen he was at French Headquarters. I have checked on that, and it is the truth."
Mrs. Gallery said, "Really. How extraordinary. What are vou going to do?"
"I don't know," said Callaghan, "I'm going to think. Perhaps I'll come round and see you later."
He hung up, went down into Berkeley Square and stopped a passing taxicab. He drove to De Savat's rooms. He was shown in immediately. He said:
"I've come to apologise to you, Lieutenant. I've checked on that alibi of yours and there is no doubt about it. I've spoken to Mrs. Gallery. I've told her that you are innocent."
De Savat said with a charming smile, "I thank you, M'sieu Callaghan. That was most kind of you."
Callaghan took out his fountain pen. He smiled.
"I'm going to see Mrs. Gallery. I think she owes you an apology. By the way, can I have your telephone number?"
De Savat gave the number. Callaghan moved close to the Frenchman, began to write in his notebook. Somehow or other his finger-nail became caught in the filler of his fountain pen. As he tried to disengage it, the pen shot a stream of ink over De Savat's uniform.
Callaghan was aghast. He apologised profusely. De Savat shrugged his shoulders.
He said, "It doesn't matter, M'sieu, it is very simple—one merely gets another uniform made, that is all. Don't concern yourself."
He showed Callaghan to the door.
AT seven o'clock that evening, Callaghan telephoned Mrs. Gallery. He told her he would like to see her, arranged to call at seven thirty. Then he telephoned De Savat. He said:
"Lieutenant, I have spoken again to Mrs. Gallery, and she wishes me to say that she considers she has been most unjust to you She wishes to apologise in person. She would like you to call on her at seven-thirty. Is that possible?"
"Certainly," replied De Savat. "I shall be there."
Callaghan hung up. He was grinning.
PUNCTUALLY at seven-thirty Callaghan went to Mrs Gallery'sflat. When he was shown in he was told that De Savat had just arrived. Mrs. Gallery, as beautiful as ever, but even more alluring in a dinner frock, stood in front of the mantelpiece, smoking. When Callaghan came in she said:
"It was a charming thought of yours, Mr. Callaghan, to ring M'sieu De Savat and tell him that I wished him to come round so that I might apologise personally to him. I should have thought of that myself later, but thank you for anticipating my wish."
Callaghan smiled at her. He said:
"That's all right. Now let's have that diamond necklace, whichever one of you two has got it."
Mrs. Gallery looked at him, her eyes wide open. De Savat, the tunic of his uniform still marred by the ink-stain got to his feet. Callaghan said:
"When I left you this morning, Mrs. Gallery, I found an envelope out in the corridor. The flap was tucked in. I'm sorry to admit that I read the letter inside. It was from your dressmakers. They were complaining that you'd sent back four siren suits which you'd ordered and of which apparently you approved. I wondered why you'd suddenly decided that you disliked siren suits. Afterwards when I saw Miss Marett and learned that the necklace had been stolen, when I learned from the hall-porter that he'd seen somebody who looked like the lieutenant, wearing the same uniform, I realised why it was you didn't want to be seen in trousers.
"You went round wearing his second uniform during the air-raid. You had probably made an impression of the safe key some time before. You took the necklace and left the flat. You knew that during a raid every one would be in the basement, but at that time of night if you were seen you would be taken for De Savat.
"In the meantime, our French friend here had arranged for himself a perfect alibi."
Callaghan smiled happily. He looked from one to the other.
"It was a good scheme, Mrs. Gallery," he said. "Both you and De Savat are on the rocks. I made an inquiry this afternoon. You haven't much money in the bank—just enough to pay that cheque you gave me. So you introduced De Savat to Miss Marett, so that he might exercise his extraordinary charm on her, got him to suggest to her that she asked you for the necklace, and arranged this very good scheme for stealing it. The fact that you yourself accused De Savat from the start would nullify any suspicion against you, and his alibi would prove his innocence."
Mrs. Gallery said, "This is ridiculous."
Callaghan put up his hand. He said to De Savat:
"Lieutenant, when I was with Mrs. Gallery this morning, she told me that all you had in the world were good looks, a charming character and two suits of uniform. Having regard to the fact that your tunic is covered with ink at the moment, why aren't you wearing the other one!
"Shall I tell you, Lieutenant? The reason is that it is here. Mrs. Gallery has it. She hasn't had time to return it." Callaghan lit a cigarette. He said:
"Well, what about it?"
His smile broadened as Mrs. Gallery went to her writing-desk, unlocked the drawer and produced the necklace.
MacOLIVER held his glass of whisky and soda up to the light and regarded it gravely.
"It was an inside job," he said. "Work it out for yourself. Trevloar Towers is a big place and an old one, but it's modern inside. There are burglar alarms all over the place, the door and window locks are all up to date and the safe is the latest thing—a time-lock safe, too. Whoever pinched that necklace knew all about it."
Callaghan nodded. "What about the servants?" he asked.
MacOliver said, "There's one suspect, to my mind—the housemaid. Old Trevloar is away in France and there's only been a skeleton staff kept on at the Towers. First of all there's an old butler—Somers. He's been with the family for twenty years and is above suspicion. There's a footman-chauffeur named Franks who also seems O.K. There's a cook who's been there a long time and then there's the housemaid. She looked a sight too smart for me. She's only been there four months and she might have been put in to look the place over and let in the boyo who actually did the job. But it was an inside job all right. It had to be."
Callaghan grinned. "All the best jobs are inside jobs," he said. "Let's go back."
They walked back to the office. When they got there Effie Thompson, Callaghan's secretary, said:
"Lord Trevloar's been on the telephone. He rang through half an hour ago. He arrived back from France last night and wants to see you."
Callaghan said, "Where is he?"
"He's at his house in Mount Street," said Effie, "He said he'd expect you at seven o'clock. He seemed frightfully worried about the necklace."
Callaghan sat down and put his feet up on the desk. He said, "If somebody pinched a necklace of yours, worth thirty thousand pounds, you'd be worried, too, Effie. That sort of money doesn't come easily these days."
"You're telling me," she said. "Which reminds me. What about that rise I was going to get?"
Callaghan sighed, "Remind me about it," he said, "Some time next year would be the best time, Effie—around Christmas. Meantime ring through to Trevloar. Tell him I'll be with him at seven-thirty."
"All right," she said. She sighed heavily. "But why I go on working for you I don't know," she concluded.
Callaghan searched for a cigarette.
"It must be my fatal charm," he said. He grinned up at her as she bent over to light his cigarette.
Callaghan stood on the steps of the Mount Street house and kept his finger on the bell-push. He looked at his watch. It was half-past seven and a darkish night. From somewhere within came the sound of footsteps.
He wondered what sort of person Lord Trevloar was and if he disliked people who were late for appointments.
Callaghan's eyes, wandering downwards, took in the area below and to the left of the steps on which he stood. On the area doorstep of the servants' entrance, lined up in a row stood six bottles of milk and a couple of newspapers. The private detective imagined that the routine of the house must have been badly upset by the news of the theft.
The door opened. Within, and with just the right expression on his face, stood the butler.
His face was quiet and refined. His hair almost white. His shoulders bent.
"Mr. Callaghan?" he queried. "Please come in, sir. His lordship is waiting for you in the study."
Callaghan went in, followed the butler across the dimly-lit hallway, along the passage, into a room on the right.
At the end, behind a desk set in front of heavily-curtained windows, sat the peer, the desk-lamp reflecting on his greying hair.
The butler brought forward a chair and silently left the room. Trevloar pushed forward a silver cigarette-box. Callaghan helped himself, lit the cigarette and blew an excellent smoke-ring.
Trevloar began to speak. His voice was quiet, incisive and tired. Callaghan thought a man must be very experienced to get a voice like that.
"Mr. Callaghan," said the peer, "I have sent for you because I find myself in a very difficult position. I heard the news of the theft of my necklace from Trevloar Towers yesterday, in Paris. I came back here at once. I have been trying all day to make up my mind as to what steps I should take. This evening I came to a decision. I have heard from the insurance company that you are the investigator they usually employ. I also understand that you are a man of complete discretion. May I take it that anything that is discussed in this room is absolutely and entirely confidential?"
Callaghan nodded. "I can understand your being worried," he said. "The necklace is insured for twenty thousand but it's worth thirty-five thousand. It's a bad loss anyhow." The old man nodded. "It's worth more than thirty-five thousand pounds to me," he said. "It's been in my family for six generations. But that is not the worst. I am even more concerned with the manner in which the necklace was stolen."
Callaghan nodded. "It was an inside job," he said. "Whoever stole that necklace knew just how to put the electric burglar alarms out of action. They also knew the combination of the safe and they were clever enough to wear gloves while they were opening it."
Trevloar said, "You're right when you say it was an inside job, Mr. Callaghan. It was more of an inside job than you could guess. I know who stole that necklace!"
Callaghan raised his eyebrows. "Who was it?" he asked.
The old man passed a weary hand across his brow, "It was my wife, Mr. Callaghan," he said grimly.
Callaghan grinned. He blew another smoke-ring and watched it sail across the desk. "That complicates things, doesn't it?" he said.
Trevloar got up. He walked across the room and stood in front of the fire.
"It does and it doesn't, Mr. Callaghan," he said quietly. "Let me tell you the circumstances. I was married in the early part of last year—as you probably know. I imagined that I was marrying an American woman of good family who wanted a title. I was wrong. Two months after my marriage I discovered that the woman I had married was a first-class American crook, a woman with a definite ability as an actress who had managed to keep out of jail by a series of lucky chances. I made this discovery while we were at Trevloar Towers. I told her that a divorce must be arranged as soon as was possible. Her reply was that she would agree to a divorce only if I paid her ten thousand pounds. I refused. She then said that if she couldn't have the money she'd have the necklace—one way or another."
Callaghan grinned again. "A very pretty situation," he said.
Trevloar nodded.
"There is no doubt," he went on, "that she selected her time—while I was away in France—to go down to the Towers and steal the necklace. It would be easy for her. She knew how the burglar alarms were fixed and she had somehow found out the combination of the safe. She went down there three nights ago, got in and stole the necklace.
"Last night," he went on, "when I arrived here, she was standing on the other side of the road. I saw her as I got out of the car. She smiled at me and patted her handbag. She was as good as telling me that she had the necklace."
Callaghan helped himself to another cigarette.
"Where do we go from there?" he asked.
Trevloar said, "We pay her the ten thousand—or as little as she'll take. I have the money here. I expect you'll find her staying either at the Court Royal Hotel or at the Parkside. They are favourite spots of hers. She used to 'work them'—I believe they call it—when she engaged in her previous career as a confidence woman in the days when she was called 'The Duchess.'"
"I see," said Callaghan, after a moment's thought, "The idea is that I go and see her and do a deal. You don't want any scandal. And she knows it."
"That is correct," Trevloar replied, "Go and see her some time to-morrow. I will give you the ten thousand pounds now. Settle this business as cheaply as you can, but don't let her swindle you. She's very sharp. By the way," he continued, "have you ever seen the Trevloar necklace?"
Callaghan shook his head.
"Then you'd better go to the Antique Jewellery Show at Mardles in Bond Street to-morrow," said Trevloar. "They've got a very good paste replica of it on show there. Examine it carefully, and when you talk business with her see that she gives you the Trevloar necklace intact—and with no stones missing."
"Don't worry," said Callaghan. "I don't think the duchess will pull anything on me."
Trevloar walked back to the desk. He opened the top drawer and took out a new packet of banknotes. He handed them to Callaghan.
"There are one hundred hundred-pound notes there," he said gloomily. "It took a great deal of trouble to raise. I hope you'll get her to take less than that."
Callaghan counted the notes on the desk. Then he said, "Don't worry, Lord Trevloar. I think we can fix this business. By the way," he asked cheerfully, "have you such a thing as a cigarette? Your box is empty and so is my case."
"Certainly," said Trevloar. He looked through several of the desk drawers until he found the box of cigarettes.
"Fill your case," he said, "and for heaven's sake when you see my lady wife don't let her do you down!"
"I won't," said Callaghan grimly. "I'll look at that replica at Mardles to-morrow morning and I'll go and see her to-morrow evening. Perhaps she'll be in a good temper then. I'll telephone you what happens."
He picked up his hat, said good-night, and went. Outside in the hall the old butler waited by the front door. He smiled sympathetically as he opened it for Callaghan.
"Good-night, sir," he murmured, "and good luck."
IT was exactly eight o'clock when Callaghan pressed the bell at No. 16 Parkside Apartments. A thin-faced maid opened it.
"I'd like to see Lady Trevloar," said Callaghan pleasantly.
The maid began to close the door. "She doesn't live here," she said acidly.
Callaghan put his foot inside the door. "Then I'll come in and see 'The Duchess,' if you prefer that title," he said. He was still smiling. He pushed the door back and stepped into the hall. As he did so the door opposite opened and a woman came out.
She was wearing a black evening frock. Callaghan thought that she looked as if she'd been poured into it. She was very beautiful, very sure of herself. She said:
"Who is it wants to see the 'Duchess'?"
Callaghan hung up his hat on the hall-stand.
"I do," he said wth a grin. "The name's Callaghan. I've come to talk a little business with you—about the Trevloar necklace."
She smiled and showed a perfect set of teeth, "Come right in, Mr. Callaghan," she said, "We are always open for business."
IT was eight-thirty. Callaghan stopped talking. He stubbed out his cigarette.
"That's the position," he said after a moment. "I've told you exactly what Lord Trevloar told me last night. He doesn't want any scandal and the best thing you can do is to hand over the necklace and take the money. If you don't hand it over I don't suppose he'll do anything much. He won't bring an action against his wife. But if you try to sell it you'll be for the high jump. He'll put the police on you."
He looked at her and grinned. "Being a wise as well as a beautiful woman," he concluded, "I take it you'll sell?"
She nodded. "How much?" she asked.
"Three thousand," said Callaghan.
She shook her head. "Make it five and I'll sell," she said, "But I've got to have the money quickly. I'm leaving London tonight. When can I collect?"
"Now," said Callaghan. He took out his pocket-book. "Hand over the necklace and I'll give you the money."
He took out the wad of notes and began to count through them. She looked at the money in his hand, then she got up and walked out of the room. Callaghan watched her. She moved quickly and gracefully, like a cat.
Callaghan put the balance of the notes back into his pocket. When she came back he was holding the fifty hundred-pound notes in his hand.
She held out a black leather case towards him. He took it, opened it. Inside the Trevloar diamonds sparkled from theii bed of white velvet.
He examined the necklace carefully. When he looked up shie was smiling.
"It's all there, Mr. Callaghan," she said primly. She stood looking at him, one hand held behind her.
He dropped the case into his coat pocket. Then he held the bank-notes towards her.
His smile faded as she brought her hand from behind her back. Callaghan found himself looking into the blue-steel barrel of an automatic pistol.
"I'll have all the money," she said, "if you don't mind. I In whole ten thousand, and I shouldn't hesitate, otherwise this gun might go off. You can think yourself lucky I'm not asking foi the necklace as well."
Callaghan shrugged. "You win," he said. He took out his wallet and handed her the remainder of the bank-notes. Then he lit a cigarette.
"There's just one thing," he said. "Lord Trevloar told me that my fee would be the difference between that ten thousand pounds and what I pay you. I think you ought to pay the fee."
They stood smiling at each other. Then she said:
"All right. You can have two hundred pounds."
Callaghan said, "Won't you make it three hundred?"
She laughed. He thought that for a crook she was a very charming person. He almost liked her.
"Very well," she said. She took the top three notes of the wad of bank-notes and gave them to Callaghan. He put them in his pocket. "Thanks a lot," he said. "I hope we meet again some time."
She went over to the sideboard. She put the automatic pistol under one arm while she poured out two cocktails. She handed one to Callaghan.
"Here's to the Trevloar necklace," she said. "By the way, when are you going to hand it to his lordship?"
Callaghan drank the cocktail. It tasted good, "I'm going to telephone him now," he said, "He'll be glad to hear I've got it. I shall hand it over to him at once."
She nodded. Then she said smilingly:
"Mr. Callaghan. I think you've got a sense of humour. I might he able to tell you a rather funny story." She looked at her wrist-watch. "I'm catching the night train for Paris," she went on. "I'm going from Victoria at nine-thirty to-night. If you care to meet me on the platform before the train leaves I think I can promise you a good laugh."
"I'll be there," Callaghan said. "I like funny stories. Au revoir, Duchess!"
CALLAGHAN went into the telephone box on the street corner opposite the Parkside Apartments. He rang through to the Trevloar house in Mount Street. A minute later Trevloar came on the line. Callaghan said:
"I've got the necklace. Shall I bring it round? She stuck out for ten thousand, so I paid it."
Trevloar sighed. "Well," he said, "it's something that we have the necklace back. Will you bring it round and hand it to my butler, Somers. He'll put it in the safe here. I'm afraid I shan't be able to see you. I have to go out now."
"Very well, my lord," said Callaghan. "I'll get a cab and come straight round. I'll hand it over to Somers. He'd better give me a receipt for it."
"Excellent," said the peer. "And thank you for all you've done. Perhaps you'll call in and see me some time to-morrow."
Callaghan said he would. Then he hung up, lit a fresh cigarette and waited for a taxicab.
CALLAGHAN, threading his way through the people on the "foreign departure" platform, glanced up at the clock. It was just nine-thirty. He bought himself a platform ticket and passed through the barrier. A short distance down the platform, waiting outside the opened door of a first-class carriage, stood the duchess. She was wearing a three-quarter Persian lamb coat and a very smart travelling hat.
He took off his hat. "Well, Duchess," he said with a smile. "I'm impatient to hear that funny story you were going to tell me."
She smiled back at him. Then she stepped into the corridor of the train, closed the door, and leaned out of the window towards him.
"Believe it or not, I rather like you, Mr. Callaghan," she said. "Can you give me a cigarette?"
He gave her a cigarette and lit it—and one for himself. She said:
"This is a funny story. It's very funny. You've been taken for a ride. That Lord Trevloar of yours is a phoney. He's as much Lord Trevloar as I am."
Callaghan looked shocked. "You don't mean it!" he said, "Well, if he isn't Trevloar, who is he?"
"He's my old-time partner, Willie the Ritz," she smiled, showing her lovely teeth. "He and I made up our minds to get the Trevloar necklace while old Trevloar was in France. It was an inside job all right. Somers, the butler—the old, family retainer—was in it with us. He got the safe combination for us and tipped us off about the burglar alarms."
Callaghan looked even more shocked. He said nothing.
"I pulled a fast one on Willie," she said with a charming little grimace. "I got down there the night before we were supposed to do the job and pinched the necklace myself. Then Willie pulled a fast one on you. He knew that old Trevloar was in France and they didn't know his whereabouts.
"So he took a chance, telephoned to your office, said he was Trevloar and asked to see you at the Mount Street place. Somers, the butler, fixed that. He had the keys.
"Then Willie told you that funny story. All he wanted to do was to get that necklace. He knew that I couldn't dispose of it and he knew he could. So he was prepared to hand you ten thousand pounds to get it from me. He knew that I'd have to sell to you, and that he could make a good profit on the deal."
She looked down at him and laughed. Porters began to close the train doors. Departure time had nearly arrived.
"It's very funny, isn't it?" she asked.
Callaghan said, "Duchess, it's not so funny—for you! I knew Trevloar was bogus. While I was waiting on the front steps of the house in Mount Street I looked down the area. The morning's milk bottles were still there—they hadn't been taken in—and the newspapers. I knew that Trevloar was supposed to have arrived from France the night before and I wondered why, in a well-conducted household, no one had taken the milk in. I began to be suspicious.
"After my conversation with him in the library I asked him for a cigarette. He had to search through every drawer in the desk to find a cigarette-box. He didn't even know where the cigarettes were kept. That settled it. I knew he was bogus. And that's a funny story, too, isn't it, Duchess?"
Her eyes widened. She looked at him, her mouth half open, in surprise.
"For crying out loud!" she exclaimed, "Well—if you knew he was a fake, what did you do with the necklace I sold you—you didn't give it to him!"
Callaghan began to grin, "Not on your life, Duchess," he said. "You see, he told me to go and examine a paste replica in Bond Street before I saw you—so that you shouldn't do me down. I bought it. The necklace that I handed in to Somers this evening was the replica. The real necklace is in my office safe."
She began to smile.
"They always told me you were pretty smart," she said. "I think you're wonderful. Will Willie be annoyed! Can you imagine what he said when he found that necklace was a fake and that he's paid ten thousand pounds for it!"
The train was just about to move. Callaghan threw away his cigarette stub.
"He didn't, Duchess," he said. "If you examine the banknotes I handed you you'll find they're counterfeit. When Willie handed them to me they were in a bound package—as if they'd come straight from the bank. There were a hundred one-hundred pound notes. The top three notes were genuine and the rest counterfeit." His grin broadened. "Naturally I kept the three genuine notes on the top of the second packet and that's why I told you the fairy story about my being paid the difference between the ten thousand and what I was forced to pay you as my fee when you held me up for it. I got you to give me three one hundred pound notes. Naturally you took the ones off the top of the packet. They were the genuine ones. I've got them in my pocket. It was very kind of you, Duchess!"
The train began to move out. Callaghan walked alongside it, looking up at her. She could not speak.
"Now that's what I call a really funny story," said Callaghan, "So long. Duchess. Have a nice trip. But don't try to spend any of that money or it'll land you in jail. When you come back drop in and see me some time. Good-night, my dear."
The Duchess said nothing at all. She looked as if she had been hit with a sledge-hammer. But she recovered herself just in time to lean out of the window and hiss a word or two at Callaghan as the train steamed out.
And the words she said were certainly not "Good-night!"
CALLAGHAN crossed the office and drew the heavy curtains across the window. Outside, the air-raid warning rose to an almost shrill crescendo. He said:
"Would you like to go downstairs? There's a very good shelter in the basement."
The woman shook her head.
"I'm not afraid of air raids," she said. "I never think of them. My mind's too full of the other thing... I'm too frightened of that..."
She clasped her gloved hands tightly.
Callaghan sat down. He looked at the woman on the other side of his desk for a long minute. Then he got up, lit a cigarette and began to walk about the office.
Eventually he said, "Of course, I ought to send you to the police. This isn't a job for a private detective. It's much too serious."
She shook her head. Callaghan thought she was very beautiful. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he saw that everything about her was exquisite. The quiet perfection of her clothes, her soft voice. He thought it odd that beauty always seemed to bring some sort of unhappiness in its train.
She said, "Mr. Callaghan... this isn't a matter for the police. It would be hopeless to go to the police. If I did he'd just wait. He wouldn't do anything. Besides ... if I told them what he'd said he'd merely deny it. You don't know how clever he is... how utterly ruthless."
Callaghan sat down at his desk. He was wondering whether he was going to handle the case or not. Almost simultaneously he was telling himself that he knew perfectly well that he was going to handle the case even if only because of the fascinating woman who sat opposite him.
Callaghan had a weakness for fascinating women.
He said eventually, "Very well, Miss Everard, I'll do what I can. I'll go and see him. Maybe he'll listen to reason...."
She got up, pulled her furs about her.
"When you've seen him you'll realise what a beast he is. You'll realise that I haven't exaggerated. But he won't listen to anything you have to say."
Callaghan grinned cynically.
"Perhaps I'll find a way to make him listen," he said. She put out her hand, "I was rather relying on that," she said. She looked straight into his eyes and smiled.
"One day I hope I'll be able to show you how grateful I am," she said.
CALLAGHAN turned into the bar off Albemarle Street and went downstairs. Sitting in the corner, smoking, a whisky and soda the table in front of him was the man he was looking for. The detective walked across the room. He sat down opposite the man. He said:
"You're Rentaul, aren't you?" The man looked at Callaghan. His face was thin, white and drawn. His eyes glittered evilly. Callaghan thought he looked like a snake.
"That's my name," he said. "And what do you want?"
Callaghan said, "I'm a private detective. My name's Callaghan. This evening, a lady—Miss Everard, your wife's sister—came to consult me. She told me a rather amazing story. It concerns you and I want to know if it's true."
Rentaul grinned.
"It might be," he said sarcastically. "What is it? I like listening to amazing stories."
Callaghan said, "Briefly, it is this. Miss Everard tells me that your wife left you three months ago. She left you because she was sick and tired of your ill-treatment. She also left you because she happens to be very much in love with another man—Arthur Frayling.
"You seem to have been rather annoyed about this, so annoyed that, although you know that there has never been anything in fact between Frayling and your wife, you have told him and her, and my client, Miss Everard, that in due course you propose to kill her."
Rentaul stubbed out his cigarette. He finished his whisky and soda coolly, lit another cigarette. He grinned at Callaghan. He looked like a devil. He said:
"That's all right. That's true enough. Well, what about it?"
Callaghan got up.
"That's all I wanted to know," he said. "As you have confirmed what Miss Everard told me I shall take steps to look after my client's sister."
Rentaul said, "Marvellous! May I ask how you propose to do that? I suppose you'll go to the police?"
"No," said Callaghan. "It wouldn't do very much good, would it? If I went to the police and told them that you'd threatened to kill Mrs. Rentaul at some time selected by yourself, you'd deny it. You'd say it was a joke. You'd simply postpone the process."
Rentaul nodded.
"Once again you're correct, Mr. Callaghan," he said. He leaned back in his chair. "You see," he went on airily, "I rather like this situation. My esteemed wife, who is fondly hoping to secure a divorce against me some time or other so that she can marry the handsome Frayling, will be rather worried, wondering just when and how I propose to deal with her." He grinned again.
"It's bad enough living in London anyway in these days," he said, "what with air raids and one thing and another, but when in addition to that a woman is never quite certain when she goes out at night in the darkness whether she is going to get a bullet through her head before she gets home, then the situation becomes almost unbearable, doesn't it, Mr. Callaghan?"
The detective looked at Rentaul. He was wondering whether he was mad. He said:
"Well, why haven't you done it before, Rentaul?"
The other man shrugged his shoulders.
"I've been busy," he said calmly, "and I wanted her to have a little more time. I want her to be very frightened. Another thing, I've just moved and I can't find my automatic pistol. It's somewhere in my baggage. I'll make time to find it though fairly soon." He smiled reminiscently, "I've already killed two men with that pistol," he said, "in South America. I'd like to use it on her. She gave it to me as a present soon after we were married."
He emitted a thin stream of smoke from one corner of his mouth.
"Would it be asking too much," he said, "to know just how you propose to protect my charming wife from the justice which I shall inevitably wreak on her?"
Callaghan said, "That's my business."
Rentaul nodded.
"Quite," he said pleasantly, "But I think you will agree with me that these days are ideal for the carrying out of a project such as mine—the deserted streets, the darkness. I think you'll have your work cut out, Mr. Callaghan."
Callaghan said, "I'll take care of that—but I'll tell you what I think."
Rentaul said, "Do tell me what you think."
"I think if anybody is going to get shot," said the detective, grinning amiably, "it's going to be you. Good-night, Mr. Rentaul."
He went out.
IT was twelve o'clock. Outside a pall of darkness hung over the streets. The silence was broken only by the occasional sound of a fire-bell. Away towards the east the sky was lit with the reflection of flames.
Callaghan poured out two glasses of whisky. Nikolls squirted in the soda. Callaghan held up his glass and looked through the amber fluid.
"Listen, Windy," he said, "this Rentaul's poison. Also I think he's a mental case, and he's right when he says that this is the ideal time to pull a job like this."
"All right," said Nikolls. "Well, all she's got to do is to stay indoors, and we stick a man on the entrance to the apartment house where she lives. If Rentaul comes in we knock him over the head. He'll soon get tired of that."
"It would be easy if it were going to be like that," said Callaghan, "but I don't think it will be. He'd get her out somehow. By the way he spoke it seemed that he had the idea in his head that he was going to do this on the street somewhere."
"I see," said Nikolls, "And how does he get her out?"
"That's pretty easy," said Callaghan, "He could wire her or telephone her, say that he was Frayling, that he wanted to see her urgently. There's a dozen things he could do. Of course we could warn Mrs. Rentaul not to take any notice of telephone messages, but you know what women are, and she's in love. She's probably worrying about Frayling too, thinking that maybe Rentaul will try to deal with him as well."
Nikolls nodded.
"It seems a pity we can't bump off Rentaul ourselves," he said.
"I know," said Callaghan, "but we can't. This is England, Windy. This isn't Chicago, you know."
"You're tellin' me," said Nikolls.
Callaghan said, "I've got an idea about that telephoning business though. I see a way that we can take care of that. Listen, Windy, this is what you've got to do." Nikolls listened as he refilled his glass.
CALLAGHAN'S eyes opened as the telephone began to jangle. He lay quietly for a moment, looking up in the darkness, then he shot out of bed, grabbed the telephone. It was Miss Everard. Her voice was hoarse. Callaghan sensed she was fighting to keep back her sobs.
"Well," he said, "what is it?"
"It's terrible, Mr. Callaghan," she said. "My poor sister. I..."
Callaghan said grimly, "You mean that Rentaul's done that...?"
She said, "No, it's worse than that. Not very far from my sister's apartment is an empty house. It was bombed an hour ago. They found her in it dead. It seems that she got in to take shelter. Isn't it terrible to think that that should happen when we were afraid of the other thing?"
Callaghan said, "I gave her implicit instructions that she wasn't to go out. What was she doing out at that time of night?"
"I don't know," said Miss Everard, "but she telephoned me before she went out. She said she'd had an urgent telephone call and she must deal with it. She said she'd only be out for three-quarters of an hour, that she'd ring me when she got back home. She said I wasn't to worry."
"I see," said Callaghan, "Well, who would be likely to telephone her urgently at that time of night? It would have to be someone of sufficient importance to make her disobey my instructions."
"I know," said the tearful voice the other end of the line. "I don't know why but I had the idea that it was Arthur Frayling who'd called her, although why he should do such a thing... unless...."
"Unless what?" said Callaghan.
"Unless Rentaul telephoned her," the woman went on, "and said that he was Arthur. Isn't that the sort of thing he'd do?"
Callaghan thought for a moment. He said:
"Yes, he might. And you mean then that she went out on a call that was possibly a fake call, got frightened and took shelter in a house that was bombed, before Rentaul had a chance of getting at her." He smiled grimly. "If that's true," he said, "he'll be very pleased. He won't have a murder charge against I him."
He paused for a moment. Then he said:
"Well, it's no good worrying, Miss Everard. We did our best. I'll come and see you to-morrow. Try and take things as easily as you can. We've all got to die some time."
He hung up.
He sat there for quite a time in the darkness. Then he went over to the door and switched on the light. He put on a dressing-gown and lit a cigarette. After a while he went to the telephone, phoned Scotland Yard. He asked for Detective-Inspector Gringall. When Gringall came on the line Callaghan said:
"Listen, Gringall, the body of a woman—Griselda Rentaul—was found in an empty house in the south-west area to-night. The house had been bombed. They found her underneath somewhere. The idea is that she was out, that she'd gone in there to take shelter."
Gringall said, "Well, what's the catch, Slim? Why are you particularly interested?"
Callaghan said, "I want a post-mortem, Gringall—a quick one. Send somebody round to have a look at the body. I want to know if there's a bullet in that woman; I've got an idea that there might be."
Gringall whistled softly. "I see," he said, "So it's like that?"
Callaghan said, "Yes, I think it's like that."
WHEN Callaghan was shown into the flat, Rentaul was sitting at breakfast in a dressing-gown. He smiled cheerfully at the detective. He said:
"Good-morning, Mr. Callaghan. I suppose you've come to tell me the distressing news about my charming wife. Well, you needn't bother—the authorities have already reported the facts to me."
He spread a piece of buttered toast with marmalade appreciatively.
"It would seem," he said airily, "that fate has taken matters out of my hands."
Callaghan put his hat on a chair. He took out his cigarette and lit a cigarette. He said:
"I've no doubt that that's what you'd like me to think, Rentaul, but it's not as easy as that. Last night when I heard that Mrs. Rentaul's body had been found, I was rather intrigued as to why she should have taken shelter in an empty house—only a two-storey house too—when just down the road was a proper and very safe shelter. So I asked for a post-mortem."
Rentaul's expression changed. His eyes glittered.
"I see," he said. "Quite clever, aren't you? Well, what did they find?"
"They found a bullet," said Callaghan. "A .38 bullet from a Colt automatic, and the gun which your late wife presented you with when you were married was a Colt .38 automatic."
Rentaul drank some coffee.
"How amusing," he said. "This business grows more interesting each moment, doesn't it?"
"Yes," said Callaghan grimly, "It's an interesting case."
Rentaul lit a cigarette.
"I should be gratified to know," he said pleasantly, "just how I knew that my late wife was going to be hiding in an empty two-storey house, so that I might go there and shoot her. Would it be possible for you to enlighten me on that point?"
Callaghan said, "I think I can do that. When I saw Mrs. Rentaul yesterday I told her that she wasn't to go out anywhere for two or three days until we'd completed arrangements for looking after her. I asked her if there was any specific reason why she should go out. She said that the only thing that would make her break my instruction was if Mr. Frayling wanted her to meet him. She was worried about him. She thought that you might have ideas about him too."
Rentaul nodded.
"Go on," he said.
"I imagine," said Callaghan, "that you telephoned her last night, that you said you were Frayling, that you suggested that she met you at that house because that would be the safe place, because you wouldn't suspect them of meeting at a place like that. I think she fell for it; that you were waiting for her. You killed her," Callaghan went on, "and afterwards by an extraordinary stroke of fate the house was bombed. You must have been rather pleased to hear that news. It meant that normally you'd have got away with this, that no one would have looked for that bullet in the body of a woman who'd been found surrounded by fallen bricks and mortar."
Rentaul got up. He walked over to the window and looked out on to the sunlit street.
"It's not a bad theory," he said, "All you've got to do is to prove that I did telephone her and that I went out after I'd telephoned her and that I killed her. That's all you've got to prove."
He came back and stood, his hands in his dressing-gown pockets, looking at Callaghan impudently.
"Now that she's dead," he said, "I don't mind telling you, Mr. Clever Dick, that I never intended to kill her. The whole idea was merely to scare both of them, to make their lives miserable and to make the life of my charming sister-in-law—your client, Miss Everard—miserable too. I loved the idea of keeping 'em all on tenterhooks, but I never for one moment intended to shoot my wife."
Callaghan said, "So that's your story?"
Rentaul grinned evilly.
"That's my story," he said. "And I'm sticking to it."
Callaghan picked up his hat.
"Where were you last night, Rentaul?" he asked.
Rentaul lit another cigarette.
"Where do you think?" he said. He shrugged his shoulders. "I was in bed asleep."
LUCILLE EVERARD stood in front of the mantelpiece looking at Callaghan. Her amethyst eyes were red-rimmed with tiredness and tears. Callaghan could not help noticing that the severe black frock she wore suited the lines of her perfect figure. She said:
"Isn't there any way we can prove this against him, Mr. Callaghan? Must we have proof? Isn't the fact that he threatened to kill her sufficient evidence?"
Callaghan said, "No, it isn't. Another thing," he went on, "Rentaul didn't kill her."
Her eyes widened.
"But I don't understand," she said, "I don't understand..."
"Oh, yes, you do," said Callaghan. "You understand very well because either you or Frayling killed her. At any rate you'll both be charged with the murder."
She said, "Mr. Callaghan, I think you're mad."
Callaghan grinned.
"No, I'm not," he said. "First of all, Miss Everard, I was rather intrigued as to why you should come and see me about this business. After all, the right person to protect Mrs. Rentaul was Frayling, and he carefully kept out of the way. I got an idea about that. You came to see me because you are in love with Frayling, and you didn't want him to appear in this at all. The second thing was I've always believed Rentaul from the start. My experience has shown me that people who walk about threatening to kill other people never do it. The reason why he was so annoyed when Mrs. Rentaul left him was because it was she who had the money. I have discovered that when her life was threatened by Rentaul she made a Will leaving her money to Frayling. So that in the event of her death you'd get Frayling and the money.
"The third thing was, when I saw Rentaul before your sister's murder he said he couldn't find the gun which he intended to kill her with, the gun which she herself had given to him. Well, it seemed only reasonable to me to suppose that when Mrs. Renault left him she took the gun away. She took it away because she was frightened. She thought he might use it. So it was very easy for you to get it."
He lit a cigarette.
"I never really suspected you and Frayling," he said, "until you telephoned me to tell me that your sister's body had been found in the empty house. You suggested that Rentaul had telephoned her saying he was Frayling, had suggested that she met him at the empty house.
"It seemed to me," Callaghan continued, "that you were building up the case against Rentaul on the lines you wanted me to adopt." He inhaled a mouthful of cigarette smoke, exhaled it slowly through one nostril. "You see, Miss Everard," he said, "there was only one way for me to handle this job. Rentaul was quite right when he suggested to me that this was the ideal time for a murder, with the streets in darkness, the police occupied and every one indoors. I realised it was impossible to watch all the parties in this case successfully. You knew that too. There was only one thing I could do and I did it."
She said hoarsely, "What did you do?"
Callaghan grinned. He said:
"I've got a very clever assistant, Miss Everard. He knows a bit about everything. I knew whatever Rentaul did would concern Frayling, his wife and yourself; that he'd make the first move on the telephone, so I had Rentaul's telephone wire cut, and kept a watch on his flat. The call didn't come from him. Who else could it come from—you or Frayling?
"It is all quite simple," Callaghan went on. "Frayling telephoned Mrs. Rentaul. She met him at a spot selected by him. He killed her. And then as luck would have it just down the road the Germans conveniently bombed an empty house. He carried her along there in the darkness, put her inside amongst the debris."
She began to laugh. She said:
"You'll find it difficult to prove, Mr. Callaghan."
"Not at all," said Callaghan. "The police found the gun in Frayling's flat half an hour ago. He hadn't had time to get rid of it."
CALLAGHAN was busy lighting a cigarette when MacOliver put down his teacup and said:
"There's a sight for tired eyes. If you paid me enough money to get married on, that's the sort of woman I'd get hitched up with."
Callaghan looked at the woman who had entered the tea room. She was tall and walked with an easy grace. Her clothes were expensive and she knew how to wear them. Every thing about her showed that indefinable quality so difficult to put into words.
He thought that she looked tired and worried. He said to MacOliver:
"You'd never be able to afford a wife like that, no matter how much money you were making."
He stopped speaking as the woman turned and came towards their table.
"Mr. Callaghan?" she said. She sat down quickly in the vacant chair. "I've got to speak to you," she went on, "I'm sorry I couldn't see you in your office, but I was afraid of being I followed. My business is terribly urgent."
Callaghan was thinking that her voice matched the rest of her. He thought she was taking trouble to control it.
MacOliver said, "I'll be getting back to the office."
He went off.
Callaghan signalled the waitress and ordered more tea. He smiled amiably at the woman.
"Nothing's so bad that it couldn't be worse," he said. He offered her a cigarette. "What's worrying you and who are you afraid of?"
He lit the cigarette for her and noticed that her fingers were trembling.
"I'll start at the beginning, Mr. Callaghan," she said. "Please don't think that I am the type of woman who gets frightened easily. I'm not."
Callaghan grinned.
"I didn't think you were," he said. He poured out a cup of tea for her.
"My name is Czarvas. I met my husband last year while I was travelling abroad. He is a foreigner. I was and still am very fond of him."
"And you've discovered that he is unfaithful to you?" queried Callaghan. "Is that it?"
"It's worse than that," she said miserably. "I've discovered that he is a spy!"
Callaghan raised his eyebrows. He was beginning to be interested.
"I haven't known what to do," she continued. "Then I remembered a friend talking about you some months ago. I decided to come and talk to you. If you can help me I'm ready to pay any fee you ask."
Callaghan nodded absently.
"Start at the beginning, madame, and—if I can give you some advice now—let it be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the complete truth. Otherwise we are merely wasting each other's time!"
"I will tell you the complete truth," she said. "It was six months ago that I noticed a difference in my husband's behaviour. He became morose and unhappy. He neglected his business. He is a Slovak, and usually of a light-hearted disposition.
"At night he used to go out on mysterious errands which intrigued me. One night a few weeks before the war began I followed him. He went to a small club in the West End and met another foreigner there. This man is in the pay of a foreign country.
"Naturally I became terribly worried. I did not know what to do."
"And then something else happened?" asked Callaghan.
"Yes," she said grimly. "Something else happened. Possibly you will remember reading in the newspapers last week that some very important documents had been stolen from a car in Regent Street—documents of the greatest national importance. Two nights ago I found them. They were in a document case hidden behind a book-shelf in my husband's room.
"I was appalled. I suddenly realised that he was a spy, that the meetings he had been having with this strange man, that the reasons for his peculiar behaviour were all due to that fact."
Callaghan lit a cigarette. He said:
"And what did you do then?"
"That evening I spoke to him," she answered. "I said nothing about the documents. I asked him who his peculiar friend was—and what they were doing. I demanded that be should be frank with me. I threatened to go to the police."
"And what did he say?" asked Callaghan. "Did he say anything about the documents?"
"Not a word," she answered, "But his attitude was strange. He seemed terribly unhappy. Suddenly I got the idea that he had somehow been forced into assisting this other man; that someone had a hold on him. He said that it would be better for me not to try and find out what he was doing. That I must mind my own business.
"That night he left the flat, taking the document case with him. He has not returned since. But the day after I received this note from him."
She handed the sheet of notepaper to Callaghan. On it was written:
It will be best if you do not go to the police as you threatened. If you do I shall take the only step possible.—
Franz.
Callaghan put the note in his pocket.
"And what do you imagine is 'the only step possible'?" he asked.
"Suicide," she said miserably. "I believe that he will kill himself." She stubbed out her cigarette end. "This morning when I came out of the flat," she went on, "I realised that he was following me. I imagine he wanted to see if I were going to the police. I thought it might be a good opportunity for me to discover where he was staying. I went into a shop and came out by a side entrance. Then I got into a taxi and drove round to the front. He was waiting for me to come out. After a while he realised that I had evaded him. He took a cab and I followed him. He went to an empty house in St. John's Wood, opened the door with a key and went in."
"Very interesting," said Callaghan pleasantly. He sent a thin stream of tobacco smoke out of one nostril. "And what do you want me to do, Mrs. Czarvas?"
She leaned across the table. Callaghan became aware of an attractive perfume. She said:
"Mr. Callaghan, I want you to go to that house. I believe those plans are hidden there. I want you to find them and return them to the Government department to which they belong. I am certain that the documents are in that house, and I believe that when they are returned to their rightful owners it will be possible for you to talk to my husband, to get him away from this associate who had forced him into this business."
She stopped talking suddenly. Callaghan saw that there were tears in her eyes. Then she fumbled with her handbag, produced an envelope, handed it to Callaghan.
"There are two hundred and fifty pounds in notes in that envelope," she said. "That is your fee in advance. The address of the house in St. John's Wood is also there."
She closed her handbag and looked at Callaghan. All the pathos in the world was in her eyes. "Will you help me?" she asked.
Callaghan put the envelope into his pocket. He smiled at her.
"All right," he said. "I'm working for you."
IT was seven o'clock when Callaghan, having picked his way very carefully through a very dark "black-out," arrived back at his office. He hung up his hat, lit a cigarette and sat down at his desk. He was thinking about Mrs. Czarvas. MacOliver had been right when he had said that she was a sight for tired eyes.
He looked up as his secretary came into the office.
"There's a gentleman to see you," she said. "He's rather odd-looking. His name's Mr. Czarvas, and he says his business is important."
"Show him in," said Callaghan.
Czarvas came into the office. He stood on the other side of the desk looking at Callaghan. He was a weird-looking person. Muffled in a thick overcoat and scarf which made his short figure look even stumpier than it was, his large, tousled head seemed too big for his body. His eyes, decorated with horn-rimmed spectacles with the thickest possible lenses, peered uncertainly at the private detective.
Callaghan grinned cheerfully.
"Well, Mr. Czarvas," he said, "And what can I do for you?"
Czarvas stuck his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. His large, square-toed shoes were planted firmly on the ground.
Callaghan thought that Czarvas could be very tough if the occasion demanded it.
"Meester Callaghan," said Czarvas, "Thees afternoon I watch my wife. I see her meet with you in the tea-room. Then I come here after you." He paused for a moment. "You are a police officer?" he queried.
Callaghan shook his head.
"I'm a private detective," he said. "And I'm not in the habit of answering questions, Mr. Czarvas. Suppose you tell me what you want?"
Czarvas said, "I tell you what I wan', Meester Callaghan. You mind your own business. You leave me alone. You tell my wife that, also. You tell her that eef she don't, I do what I told her I would do. You understand?"
"I understand," said Callaghan. "Is that all?"
"That ees all, Meester Callaghan," said Czarvas. He grinned feebly, "Excep' I theenk you are a big fool," he said, not unpleasantly, as he turned to go.
"That's fine," said Callaghan, "Well, I think you're one, too. You're not worthy of such a good-looking wife, either."
He rang the bell.
"Show this gentleman out," he said when Effie Thompson appeared. "You'd better telephone for a taxi for him. I doubt if he'll be able to find his way home in this black-out, especially if he requires such very thick spectacle lenses!"
Czarvas said amiably, "Thank you, Meester Callaghan, but I have a taxicab that waits outside."
He stumped out of the office.
Callaghan waited until he heard the outer office door close. Then he grabbed his desk telephone and got through to MacOliver's room.
"There's a fellow just going down the stairs, Mac," he said, "A short stumpy fellow with thick glasses. He's got a cab waiting outside. Dash down the other staircase and get the number of the cab. I want to know where that bird goes to."
"O.K.," said MacOliver.
Callaghan put his feet on the desk and lit a cigarette. Three minutes later MacOliver came in.
"It was no good," he said. "There wasn't any cab waiting outside. And he must have hurried down, because when I got to the street he was a good twenty yards away. He stopped a passing cab and got into it. I couldn't get the number, it was too far away and too dark."
Callaghan nodded.
"Then how did you know it was a cab?" he asked. MacOliver grinned.
"It had an illuminated sign—'Taxi'—on the front," he said. "The driver switched it off when your fellow got it."
"All right," said Callaghan. "It doesn't matter a lot."
He lit another cigarette and began to blow smoke-rings.
It was seven-thirty. Callaghan took his feet off the desk, took his notebook out of his pocket, looked up Mrs. Czarvas's telephone number, rang through to her.
Alter a minute she came on the line.
"You were right about being followed, Mrs. Czarvas," said Callaghan. "Your husband's just been up here. He doesn't seem very happy. He suggests that you and I might find it better to mind our own business."
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
Callaghan said, "I think we've got to move quickly. It's obvious that he's going to do something now. He'll probably make a getaway. I'll tell you what I propose to do. I'm coming round now to pick you up. We'll both go to the house in St. John's Wood. We'll have a showdown. I'll be with you in ten minutes. Will you be ready?"
"Yes," she answered. "I'll be waiting for you."
Callaghan hung up. Then he rang the bell for MacOliver.
He gave him his instructions.
IT was eight o'clock when Callaghan stopped the car outside the house in St. John's Wood. He got out. It was so dark he could hardly see a foot in front of him.
"Nice weather for spies, Mrs. Czarvas," he said.
When she spoke her voice trembled.
"I'm frightened," she said. "I feel something awful has happened."
She put her fingers on Callaghan's arm.
He shrugged his shoulders in the darkness; then produced a torch from his pocket and led the way up the short garden path that led to the front door of the house. The place seemed deserted, and a "To Let" sign showed bleakly before the door.
Callaghan took a bunch of skeleton keys from his pocket and in two minutes the front door was open. He stepped into the ball, waited for the woman to follow him, then closed the door. He flashed his torch round the dusty hallway. On the left a few feet from where they stood was a half-open door. Through it a light flickered.
Callaghan walked through the doorway, switched on the electric light. The room was furnished and warm. A truckle bed stood in the corner.
Mrs. Czarvas cried out sharply.
Lying in front of the gas fire, on a white bearskin rug that was stained with his blood, lay Czarvas. An automatic pistol was clutched in his hand.
Callaghan looked at Mrs. Czarvas. She was leaning against the wall, her hands before her face.
"How fearful," she sobbed, "He's killed himself." Her shoulders shook, "My poor husband—"
Callaghan said, "It's tough luck, Mrs Czarvas. But maybe it's the best way out. If they'd got him, he'd have been shot, anyway."
"What are we going to do?" she murmured hoarsely.
"The best thing for you to do," said Callaghan, "is to sit down and relax. I want to see if those plans are here."
He began to search the room. He went over it systematically. Underneath the mattress on the truckle bed he found a document case. He opened it. It was filled with papers. He threw the case on the table.
"Well, there they are," he said. "And now—what do you think we ought to do, Mrs. Czarvas?"
She shrugged her shoulders miserably.
"There is only one thing, we must return the plans and tell them the truth."
Callaghan stood in front of the fireplace looking down at the dead man. He lit a cigarette. Outside from the hall came the sound of footsteps. MacOliver came in.
Callaghan said, "Did you get him?"
"Yes," said MacOliver. "They're taking him to the Yard now."
Mrs. Czarvas sat bolt upright in the chair. Her eyes were wide.
"Mr. Callaghan, what is this? I don't understand!"
Callaghan grinned.
"Oh, yes, you do, Mrs. Czarvas," he said, "and I'd like to congratulate you. You're one of the best actresses I've ever met. And, incidentally, your scheme was a good one. It nearly came off. It was a very clever idea of yours to reverse the actual process of what had happened about those plans. You and your friend—the gentleman who is now on his way to the Yard—were the spies. You and your associate stole those plans and your unfortunate husband discovered the fact. He told you that you must either return them or he would go to the police.
"Then you had a rather clever idea. You knew your husband loved you. You knew that it would be almost impossible for him to give information against you. You told him that if he attempted to do so you would accuse him of having stolen the plans. You told him that he was an alien—a foreigner, that no one would take his word against yours.
"You went so far as to tell him that you would go and see me, tell me of the situation and ask my advice. It was quite true when you said that Czarvas had been following you. You knew he was following you!
"You waited outside my office and followed me to the tearooms. You knew that if you saw me in my office he'd come in, too. He might have persuaded me that his version of the story was true. So you waited until I went to the tea-rooms. You knew he wouldn't make a scene there. You knew he'd come and see me afterwards and that I would disbelieve anything he might say. You were right, I did.
"And you were able to support your story by showing me his note saying that if you went to the police he would take the one step possible. You cleverly suggested to me that by that he meant he would commit suicide. In reality he meant that he would prove that you stole those plans.
"You knew that when Czarvas had seen you with me he would come to my office. He would want to know what you had told me. He would want to protect himself. You knew that he was very short-sighted, that owing to the black-out he would keep a cab waiting outside my office. Whilst he was with me you sent that cab away. You told the driver he wasn't wanted.
"When Czarvas left my office and went down into the street, his taxi was gone. He looked about for another one. It was perhaps an extraordinary coincidence that one happened to be coming along the street. Naturally Czarvas took it. He saw the illuminated 'Taxi' sign. And when he was inside the driver turned the sign off.
"You were in that cab, Mrs. Czarvas, and your friend was driving it. You shot Czarvas in the cab. Then you got out and went home. You expected me to go to the house in St. John's Wood, find your husband's body, conclude that he had shot himself and telephone you at home.
"Then I should find the plans here. I should return them to Scotland Yard, and every one would know that Czarvas had stolen the plans and committed suicide because you gave him away to me.
"Nobody would worry any more. The Government would have their plans back again, and you and your foreign gentleman friend would be safe."
She smiled. She was quite cool.
"There is one flaw in your rather amazing theory, Mr. Callaghan," she said coldly. "If I did all this to get those plans, why should I leave them here to be returned to their rightful owners?"
Callaghan grinned. "Don't be silly, Mrs. Czarvas," he said.
He turned to MacOliver, "I suppose you found photographic copies of those plans on her boy friend, didn't you, Mac?" he asked.
MacOliver nodded.
"Correct," he said.
Mrs. Czarvas got up. She shrugged her shoulders.
"You win, Mr. Callaghan," she said. She sighed. "But I should have liked to have seen my friend before they took him away."
Callaghan grinned.
"You will," he said, "All that stuff that MacOliver has just told us was bluff. We're going round to your flat to collect your friend and the photographic copies now."
IT was nine o'clock. MacOliver squirted soda-water into his whisky.
"A very nice job, Slim," he said, "But I don't understand how you worked out that business about the taxicab."
"Why don't you read police war regulations, MacOliver?" said Callaghan. "Don't you know that taxicabs aren't allowed to have illuminated 'Taxi' signs?
"Didn't you tell me that the taxi that picked up Czarvas had one showing, that the driver switched it off when he got into the cab. That sign was on so that Czarvas could see the cab. It's a pity he didn't look inside before he got in."
CALLAGHAN came out of Maningdon Railway Station and stood, his hands in his raincoat pockets, his black hat slightly over one eye, looking at the place where a taxi might have stood.
The dusk was falling; dark clouds passed across the sky; a breeze came up. Callaghan sighed and began to walk towards the group of cottages that stood between Maningdon Station and the Runton road.
He stopped outside the last place. It was a small village store, with its shop window already blacked out and one chink of light showing beneath.
He pushed the door open and went in. There was no one in the shop. Callaghan walked to the glass door at the end and knocked. An old woman appeared. She peered at Callaghan through thick-lensed spectacles.
Callaghan said, "I want to get to Raildon Manor. Can I get a taxi or anything? Or do I have to walk?"
"You'll have to walk," she said. "There ain't no cabs or cars 'ere since the war. An' it'll stretch your legs. It's nigh on five miles."
Callaghan nodded.
"Is it a straight road?" he asked.
"That it ain't," said the old woman. "Come in an' take a look at the map on the wall. That'll tell you better'n I could."
Callaghan took off his hat. He stepped into the little parlour in and looked at the map that hung on the wall. As he concentrated on his route he heard the shop door open. The woman went away.
After a minute she came back. She said: "'Ave you got change for sixpence, sir?"
Callaghan, still looking at the map, felt in his pocket. He produced six coppers. She gave him the sixpence and went back into the shop.
Two minutes afterwards he followed her. He said: "Thanks for letting me use your map. I keep straight on until I come to the telephone-box at the cross-roads. Then I take the rlght fork and go across country by the bridle path. Is that right?"
"That's right, sir," she said.
She fumbled at the parlour door catch, trying to find it with shaky fingers. Callaghan opened it for her, said good-night and went out. He walked back to the station, picked up his suitcase, came back down the main road.
At the cross-roads he stopped to light a cigarette. A wind had come up and the flame of his lighter blew out. Callaghan cursed softly to himself and walked over to the telephone booth. He went inside and lit his cigarette.
On the floor of the booth was a piece of pasteboard, an inch square. Callaghan saw it as his cigarette-lighter flickered out, casually kicked it into a corner as he left the booth.
Outside, he picked up his suitcase and looked at his wrist-watch. It was twenty to eight.
THERE was a policeman standing on the steps that led to the Manor porch. His bicycle was propped against a tree on the edge of the carriage drive. He looked carefully at Callaghan and said:
"What might you be wantin', sir? An' if you don't mind I'd like to know who you are."
Callaghan said, "My name's Callaghan. I'm Investigator to the Sphere & International Insurance Company. I've come here by appointment to see Mr. Lanyard."
"You'll be unlucky, sir," said the policeman, "Nobody won't see Mr. Lanyard any more. 'E's dead."
Callaghan felt in his pocket for a cigarette. He said:
"I see. So he's dead, is he? What sort of dead?"
The policeman shrugged.
"Maybe suicide... maybe somethin' else." He pushed back his helmet. "I can't give you no information," he said, "My inspector's down at the Acorn with the gentleman from the Yard. I reckon you'd better see them. An' the Acorn's ten minutes' walk down towards Runton."
Callaghan nodded. He knocked the ash off his cigarette and began to walk to the Acorn Inn.
CALLAGHAN pushed open the door of the bar parlour, moved the black-out curtain aside, and went in. He stood just inside the door grinning at Detective-Inspector Gringall, who, seated at a table in the corner with a police inspector, smiled back amiably.
Gringall said, "This is a surprise. Come over and meet Inspector Clove of the County Constabulary."
Callaghan went over and shook hands. He sat down and put his hat on the table. He produced a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He said:
"I came down here for the Sphere & International. Lanyard had £100,000 worth of insurance with them. Four days ago the premiums were three weeks overdue. That wasn't like Lanyard. The Company rung him up and he sent them a cheque for the premiums—about £5,000. That cheque came back this morning marked 'R.D.'—although Lanyard is one of the richest men in the country. So they thought I'd better come down and see what it was all about. When I got to the Manor a constable told me he was dead."
He smiled pleasantly at Gringall.
"I've said my piece," he said, "And now what about you, Gringall? Are you down here for your health?"
"Not quite, Slim," said the detective-inspector. "I'm down here because yesterday Mrs. Lanyard—who has been living over at Chelverton, twenty miles away—received a letter threatening her husband—the usual typewritten thing. She got windy and I came down here by car to see if he'd like to talk about it. I didn't let him know I was coming. When I got here I met Inspector Clove, who'd just been called in—that was over an hour or so ago. Somebody had cut Lanyard's throat very neatly. We found him at his desk as dead as mutton and not even as good-looking." Gringall sighed. "It's an interesting world, he said. Callaghan nodded.
"Does everybody drink whisky?" he asked.
He went to the door of the bar parlour and gave the order. When he came back he said: "It couldn't have been suicide, could it?"
The detective-inspector began to fill his pipe. He said to Clove:
"You don't mind my talking to Callaghan, do you? I've found him very useful in the past...."
He lit his pipe. Then:
"I'll give you the set-up. Lanyard has been living at The Manor for the past two months by himself. Apparently he and his wife—she's a remarkably good-looking woman, by the way—had agreed to disagree. Mrs. Lanyard—I saw her just before I came down here with Clove—says that the trouble was due to the fact that Lanyard was too fond of getting about with other women for her peace of mind.
"So she took a cottage in Chelverton, where she's been living i'v herself with her maid. Yesterday morning she received the typewritten letter saying that someone was going to get even with Lanyard, and she telephoned the Yard. I told her I'd come and see Lanyard some time to-night, probably about eight o'clock, and ask him what he thought about it.
"All this afternoon Lanyard has been at work in his study—clearing up papers or something. The study's on the ground floor at the back of the house. It has french windows situated behind Lanyard's desk that lead out on to the back lawn.
"At four o'clock this afternoon Lanyard rang for his secretary—a young fellow named Grassey—and told him to take some papers over to Mrs. Lanyard at Chelverton. He also told him that he needn't come back; that he, Lanyard, proposed to give the butler, the cook and the housemaid notice to quit this evening and that he himself was leaving and would let them know where he was to be found later. I must say it seems that he was a bit scared of something or other.
"Lanyard also told Grassey that he might be going out but that he'd be back at the Manor about seven-thirty and he'd like Mrs. Lanyard to telephone him about a private matter.
"Grassey left the Manor soon after four. On his way out he told the butler to take some tea to Lanyard in his study. The butler did so at five-fifteen, and Lanyard was still at work on his papers. Grassey walked to Maningdon Station and caught the five ten for Chelverton. He went straight to Mrs. Lanyard's cottage on arrival, gave her the papers—property leases or something—and the message. She kept him there talking until seven-thirty when she rang through to the Manor House. She spoke to the butler, who put her through to Lanyard. Lanyard didn't reply so she hung up, rang the butler again on the main telephone line and asked him to find out if Mr. Lanyard was in.
"The butler went to the study and found Lanyard sitting at the desk with his throat cut.
"After he'd pulled himself together he went back to the main phone in the hall and told Mrs. Lanyard. She said she would come over, and instructed him to get through to the local police at once. The butler then telephoned through to Inspector Clove here, and he went over. He arrived almost simultaneously with Mrs. Lanyard and Grassey, whom she brought back with her in her car. That's the story."
Callaghan nodded.
"Any suspects?" he queried.
Gringall shrugged his shoulders.
"None that I know of," he said. "Lanyard was alive at five-thirty when the housemaid went in for the tea-tray. The butler, the cook and the housemaid were together in the servants' hall downstairs from that time until Mrs. Lanyard telephoned. The french windows behind Lanyard's desk were open. But they usually were. There were no fingerprints."
Callaghan said, "I see. So it looks as if the writer of the threatening letter got in first. He probably hung about somewhere in the grounds, got through the french window and cut Lanyard's throat from behind. Rather a continental type of murder. I'm wondering..."
Gringall grinned across the table.
"What are you wondering, Slim?" he asked.
"I'm wondering why Lanyard first of all didn't pay those premiums as usual, and secondly ordered that cheque to be returned to the insurance company marked 'R.D.' when he had ample money in the bank to pay it. That's what I'm wondering about."
"There may be a connection and there may not," said Gringall. "Personally, I've got a very open mind on this job. It's anybody's murder so far as I can see. There's no evidence of any sort."
Callaghan said, "Can I go up to the Manor and look around? Can I have a little talk to Mrs. Lanyard? Can I wander about the place a bit and ask people things?"
Gringall looked at Clove. Clove nodded.
"That's all right," said Gringall, grinning, "I suppose you think you're going to pull a fast one on us. You'll have all your work cut out. I'm staying here to-night and possibly to-morrow. If you want me telephone through and I'll come up to the Manor. And don't start third degree on the servants. They're scared stiff as it is."
Callaghan grinned. He got up.
"I wouldn't do a thing like that," he said.
"Like hell you wouldn't," said Gringall.
Callaghan went out.
CALLAGHAN stood in the middle of the study at the Manor and looked at what remained of Lanyard. The body, covered with a white sheet, lay in front of the desk awaiting the divisional lurgeon.
Callaghan stood there for quite three minutes; then he went over to the french windows, opened them, stepped out on to the lawn beyond. It was very dark outside. In the distance a searchlight stabbed the sky. Callaghan began to walk away from the house, towards the fringe of trees whose tops showed against tne skyline on the far edge of the lawn.
On the other side of the lawn he bumped into something hard. He swore softly and produced a darkened torch. The something was a tool-shed. Callaghan walked round it, searching for the door. When he found it he opened it and disappeared inside.
He was in the shed for nearly fifteen minutes.
He spent most of that time sitting on the edge of the lawn-mower, thinking. Then he got up quickly and began to run back across the lawn, round the house towards the front entrance.
The policeman's bicycle was still there. Callaghan grabbed it and pedalled furiously down the drive.
IT was twenty minutes to eleven when he arrived back at the Manor. He propped the constable's bicycle against the tree where he had found it and rang the bell.
When the butler appeared Callaghan asked:
"Is Mrs. Lanyard still here? If she is I want to talk to her."
"She's packing some things, sir," said the butler, "She wouldn't stay here to-night, of course. She's going back to Chelverton."
"Has Mr. Grassey gone?" asked Callaghan.
"No, sir," said the butler. "He's in the drawing-room. Mrs. Lanyard asked him to drive her back. I think she's feeling rather upset."
Callaghan said, "I don't wonder. Ask her to come down, please. I'll wait for her in the library. When you've done that, telephone through to Detective-Inspector Gringall. He's at the Acorn Inn. Ask him to come up here as soon as possible. When he arrives show him into the library."
The butler went off. Callaghan wandered into the library, on the right of the hall, and stood looking at the backs of the volumes that covered the walls. He was grinning. His face was almost satanic. After a moment he went over to the mantelpiece and stubbed out his cigarette-end in the ash-tray. He was in the act of lighting another when he heard the door open, and turned towards it.
Mrs. Lanyard came in. She moved a few steps into the room and stood, her hands hanging down by her sides, looking at Callaghan.
She was very beautiful, very slim, very poised. She wore a black coat and skirt and a white blouse with a ruffle at the neck, Her hair was jet black, and Callaghan, who had an eye for incongruities, saw that her eyes were green. He thought that the effect of Mrs. Lanyard could only be described as breath-taking.
He said, "I am very sorry to worry you at a time like this, Mrs. Lanyard, but I'd like to ask you a question. Do yon mind?"
She smiled. She said indifferently:
"I don't mind a bit. I hope I can answer it."
Callagahan said, "I'm an investigator from the Sphere & International Insurance Company. Four days ago the premiums of your husband's policies were unpaid. They were three weeks overdue. The company telephoned him. He sent a cheque, but this morning that cheque was returned marked 'R.D.' That was done by his orders. He had lots of money in the bank. Do you know why he did it?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I haven't concerned myself for a considerable time as to why my husband did or did not do anything," she said, "His actions didn't interest me."
"I see," said Callaghan.
He moved away from the mantelpiece, walked past her, opened the library door. From the doorway he could see Grassey, Lanyard's secretary, coming down the stairs. Callaghan beckoned to him. Then he walked back to the mantelpiece.
Grassey came into the room. He was a good-looking, broad-shouldered, young man of twenty-eight. He looked inquiringly at Mrs. Lanyard. She was still smiling. She presented a picture of utter indifference. Callaghan threw his cigarette into the fire-place. Mrs. Lanyard said: "Is this interview at an end? I rather wanted to get away from here. I don't like this place."
As she spoke Gringall came in. He said:
"Hallo, Slim. What's wrong?"
Callaghan grinned.
"Nothing very much," he said. "I think you ought to sit down, Mrs. Lanyard. And you, too, Mr. Grassey."
The woman moved over to the chair on the right of the fire-place. She sank into it. Callaghan thought she was very graceful. He said:
"You two have had very hard luck. It's an odd thing, but except for one or two coincidences you'd have got away with this."
Gringall cocked one eyebrow inquiringly.
Grassey said, "What the devil do you mean?"
"I mean this," said Callaghan. "The reason why Lanyard didn't pay his insurance premiums was because he'd made up his mind to get out. He was going to let those policies lapse, and he was going to do that because the beneficiary—the person who would have received the money in the event of his death was Mrs. Lanyard. He preferred to let the policies lapse rather than that she should have it. He had plenty of money anyway if he didn't die. But I think he had an idea in his head that he might die. He had found out about you two. I think he was a little bit afraid of you both."
Mrs. Lanyard laughed softly. She looked at Callaghan. Almost casually he went on:
"At four o'clock this afternoon you saw Lanyard. He gave you some papers to take to Mrs. Lanyard at Chelverton. He had made up his mind to get out. He almost made up his mind that he could do without you, Grassey. He also probably told you that he was going to do something about you and Mrs. Lanyard—divorce, I imagine. He told you that he was going to close this place down, get rid of the butler, the cook and the maid. Then he told you to get out.
"You had to do some quick thinking, hadn't you, Grassey? You did it. You went out of the Manor House, over to Manindon Railway Station. You bought a ticket to Chelverton, but you didn't use it. There was only a ticket clerk and one porter on duty there this afternoon. It was quite easy for you slip across the line, to come back to the Manor House, to get into the grounds and to hide—I imagine in the tool-shed. You knew that Lanyard was going to be working in his study. At half past six you went through the french windows behind him. You cut his throat.
"Now all you had to do was to arrange your alibi. You had to telephone Mrs. Lanyard at Chelverton, ask her to ring through to the Manor House, ask to speak to Lanyard. When the butler put the call through to his study and there was no reply she would send the butler in to find out why. The butler would then discover that Lanyard was dead, and would tell her.
"She was then to tell him that she was coming over immediately to get into touch with the local police, and that she was bringing you over with her.
"You used the telephone-box at the cross-roads not far from Maningdon Station. You had to use that box. It was the only one. You were in the box just about the time I arrived at the railway station, and then you had a bit of hard luck. You found you hadn't got the twopence for the telephone. Whilst you were fumbling for change in your pocket you dropped the railway ticket for Chelverton on the floor of the telephone booth. I saw it there this evening. I kicked it into a corner. Later I went back and picked it up.
"But you had to have that twopence for the phone. Every thing depended on that call. You had an idea. You remembered the old woman who kept the general store at the end of Maningdon village. She's half-blind. She'd never even seen your face. You went in there and asked her for change for sixpence. She gave it to you. Then you went back and telephoned. All you had to do then was to wait by the side of the road somewhere until Mrs. Lanyard picked you up.
"When you arrived at the Manor you told the police the story you'd both arranged—a story which gave you an excellent alibi.
"Incidentally, you'd known for some time that you intended to kill Lanyard. That's why Mrs. Lanyard phoned through to the Yard with that cock-and-bull story about that threatening letter to her husband—she probably typed it herself. She was planting the idea that somebody else was out to kill Lanyard. That was clever too."
Grassey laughed harshly. He said:
"Nonsense. Do you think you've a chance of convicting me because you found a railway ticket in a telephone-box?"
Callaghan said, "No. You'll be convicted on something else. I happened to be in that general store in the back parlour looking at a map to find where this place was when you came in for that change. It is that fact that's going to hang you, Grassey."
Grassey got up. He shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Mrs. Lanyard. He said:
"Well, what's the use? I tried it. It nearly came off, but it didn't. It was just hard luck that somebody was in the back parlour of that shop when I went in for the change."
Callaghan felt in his pocket for a cigarette. He said to Gringall:
"This is your job from now on, Gringall."
At the sideboard in his sitting-room at the Acorn Inn, Gringall was busy mixing two whiskies and sodas. Callaghan stood in front of the mantelpiece smoking a cigarette. Gringall said: "It was a damn funny coincidence you being in that shop and seeing Grassey when he came in for that change."
Callaghan said, "I didn't see him. I was in the back parlour looking at the map."
Gringall said, "Good God! You didn't see him?"
"No," said Callaghan, "It was just a guess and the guess came off."
SOMEWHERE a clock struck ten. A gust of rain swept against the office window with a staccato patter. Callaghan, apparently immersed in the business of lighting a cigarette, swept a quick look over the woman who sat on the other side of his desk, noted the tear in her eyes, saw, in the oblique slant of light from his tilted desk-lamp, that her hands were trembling.
"Take it easy," he said with a reassuring grin. "Nothing's going to happen to you in here. We don't allow murder in the office."
He blew a smoke-ring.
She laughed a little harshly. Callaghan pushed his cigarette-case towards her, lit her cigarette. She drew a breath of smoke down into her lungs.
"She'll get me," she said. "If I don't do something quick, she'll get me. What's the good of my pretendin' I'm not scared? I'm scared stiff. You've got to look after me, Mr. Callaghan. We've got to get her first, otherwise "—she shrugged—"well, it's curtains for me."
Callaghan said:
"How long has this been going on? You must be pretty tired of it."
She smiled cynically.
"Tired! Don't make me laugh. I'm so tired of it that I've thought of jumpin' in the river before now just to get a rest."
She stubbed out her cigarette, leaned towards him. A breath of the expensive perfume she used came to his nostrils.
"It was a year ago," she said. "The district attorney in Kansas City had me picked up by the Homicide Squad one night when I was goin' home from a dance. He told me they'd pinched Floyd Merrin that afternoon, that I was the girl who could send him to the electric chair if I talked. The D.A. said he'd hold me as a material witness for six months if necessary until I came across. Well—I was the mug. I went on to the witness stand. I said my piece and they sent Floyd to the death-house. Two days before they gave him the hot squat he wrote me a little note. Here it is."
She fumbled with her handbag, produced a piece of typed notepaper, pushed it across the desk. Callaghan read:
Jenny will look after you, sweetheart. And I've told her to take her time. She'll be seeing you. So long, squealer.—
Floyd.
"Was I scared?" the woman went on. "Plenty scared. If you knew anything about Floyd Merrin's wife—Jenny the Blonde, they call her—you'd understand. She's poison. I though I'd get away from her, that if I got about enough I'd shake her off. I flew down to Oklahoma. Within two days she telephoned me at the roomin' house where I was stayin' and told me sort of casually that one day when she'd time she'd get around to me and shoot some of the good looks off my face. She told me that she an' Floyd had had a meetin' about me in the death-house in the Kansas City jail the day before they burned him. That they'd arranged that after he was electrocuted she'd tail along after me for quite a bit until I was good an' frightened, an' then, then—when I couldn't stand any more of it—she'd get me. She can shoot, too—Floyd taught her."
Callaghan lit another cigarette.
"Go on," he said.
"From Oklahoma I doubled back to Greensburg in Kansas. She came after me. I had a note from her there. I went down to New Mexico an' she telephoned me there. Then I went to Chicago, then on to New York. But although I'd dyed my hair black, she was still with me. I got a letter in Chicago, and a note with some lilies, tied with black ribbon, in New York. By this time I wasn't feelin' so good. I made up my mind to come over here. I checked in here two days ago. I'm stayin' at the Maybury Apartments off Baker Street under the name of Mary Elvaston. Only one person knew where I was goin' to stay in London. An old pal of mine—a man I trust—Parelli. I got a cable from him this morning. Read it."
She brought a cable from out of her handbag, pushed it across to Callaghan. She moved nervously as another gust of rain swept against the window.
Callaghan read the cable:
MISS DALE MONTANA, CARE OF AMERICA EXPRESS CO., HAYMARKET LONDON ENGLAND.
JENNY IS WISE. SHE HAD SOMEBODY ON THE BOAT TAILING YOU. SHE HAS LEFT FOR ENGLAND. SAYS SHE'S GOING TO FINISH THE JOB THERE. GRAPEVINE SAYS SHE IS GOING TO STAY AT THE CARDROSS HOTEL, LONDON. WATCH YOUR STEP KID FOR THE LOVE OF PETE.
JAKE.
Callaghan folded the cable and put it in his waistcoat pocket. He tilted the lamp a little so that the light fell fairly on her face. He looked at her. He was thinking that she was too beautiful to be scared to death. Her eyes were restless. She poised herself nervously on the edge of the chair. Her beautifully cut suit, tailored hat, smart coiffure, could not hide the stark fear that showed in her face.
He said:
"We can go to the police. They're pretty good over here. They don't like gun-girls running around shooting at a pretty lady just because her evidence sent a husband to the death-house—"
She gave a short, sarcastic laugh.
"Don't be funny," she said, "Supposin' we go to these English cops. Well, what happens? They give me police protection, don't they? They put some guy on to keep an eye on me, and another to keep an eye on her. She'll soon find that out. An' she'll lay off. She just won't do a thing. She'll wait. She knows I can't stay here for ever."
She leaned towards him.
"I heard about you," she said softly. "I heard you were the smartest private dick in this country. That you'd got something, said there was nothin' you couldn't do if you wanted to. They said you were smart."
She fumbled in her bag, produced a thick packet of notes—ten pound notes. She put them on the desk.
"That's for you, Mr. Callaghan," she said, "You get me out of this. There's two thousand in your money says you can do it. Well—?"
Callaghan grinned. The grin illuminated his face, showing his white, strong teeth.
"Have you got an idea?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "My idea is to have the showdown. Give me a cigarette."
He gave her a cigarette, lit it. She inhaled two or three lungfuls of smoke. Then:
"The law here says that a person can shoot in self-defence, doesn't it? There's only one way out of this. We've got to have a showdown."
Callaghan grinned again. He liked nerve.
"You mean," he said slowly, "that you'd let her bring this vendetta to a head, let her have a shot at you and then—?"
"And then you get her," she said softly. "You or one of your boys. But they'd have to be good—an' quick. She's a crack shot with a hand-gun."
Callaghan leaned back in his chair. He smoked silently for a while, then he said:
"What does she look like?"
She said, "She's of medium height, she's got a good figure. She's got platinum blonde hair an' it's always snappily done, with lots of curls an' bits. She never wears a hat. She wears glasses with blonde tortoise-shell rims. She always dresses in black ever since they electrocuted Floyd. She carries a .32 Colt automatic an' she's poison with it."
He grinned at her.
"You couldn't help recognising a woman like that if you saw her," he said. "Have you got a gun?"
She shook her head.
"No," she said. "I had one an' your clever Customs guys took it off me at Southampton. So I haven't a chance if she gets at me."
Callaghan stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. All the time she was watching him, waiting for his reply. After a bit he put out his hand and swept the pile of bank-notes toward him. He counted them, put them in his breast pocket. Then he said:
"All right, Miss Montana, I'm working for you. Here's the way we've got to do it. I'm having my secretary take a statement from you now. You'll tell her exactly what you've told me. You'll sign the statement and we'll file it. Understand?"
She nodded. She was beginning to relax. His grim smile seemed to give her courage.
"That statement is for Scotland Yard to read after the show's over. It's to cover me. My duty is to go to the Yard now and advise them of what you've told me. My excuse for not doing that is that if I did do it she'd probably find a way of getting behind police protection or else wait until you were on your way back to America and then kill you.
"We're being paid to protect you and if somebody tries to shoot our client we say we're entitled to shoot first. Scotland Yard may not like it but what can they do—afterwards?"
She nodded. A little smile began to play about her mouth.
"Your friend, Parelli, says Jenny the Blonde is going to stay at the Cardross Hotel. I'm going to put one of my best men on there. Directly we know that she's arrived there, I'll take him off. We won't give her a chance to suspect that we know she here. Then I'm going to put some first-class men on observation at the Maybury Apartments. The Maybury is directly opposite the Glenfurze Private Hotel. We'll take a room on the first floor and check everybody who goes into the Maybury. I'll take an apartment at the Maybury and put another operative inside. If Jenny the Blonde wants gun-play we'll give her as good as she gives."
She said, "You're pretty swell. I'm beginning to be able to breathe easily for the first time for months."
Callaghan pressed his bell-button. Effie Thompson, cool, efficient and pretty, came in, notebook and pencil in hand.
"Get through to MacOliver," said Callaghan. "Tell him to get down to the Cardross Hotel and report directly a woman of medium height, good figure, blonde tortoise-shell rimmed glasses, platinum blonde hair, probably wearing no hat, arrives there. She may register in the name of Mrs. Floyd Merrin, or Mrs. Merrin. Jonas can relieve MacOliver every four hours. Directly that woman arrives I'm to be telephoned either here or at my flat. Understand?"
Effie Thompson nodded.
"When you've done that come back and take a statement from Miss Montana here. She'll dictate it and sign it. Put it in the safe. When that's done get through to O'Brien, Kells, Harvey, Watson and Vining. Tell O'Brien to get along to the Glenfurze Hotel in Hailham Street, off Baker Street, and take a double suite on the first or second floors, opposite the Maybury apartments. O'Brien and Kells are to live there until further notice. I'll give them their instructions personally. Harvey, Watson and Vining are to stand by. Have you got that?"
Effie Thompson said she'd got it, and went back to her own office.
Dale Montana said:
"You don't waste any time—Slim—"
Callaghan grinned and lit another cigarette. After a while Effie Thompson came in and said:
"MacOliver's on his way to the Cardross now by cab. I've told O'Brien what to do. He's ringing the others."
She flipped open her notebook.
"Right," said Callaghan. "Now we'll take that statement."
IT was midnight. Callaghan, smoking cigarettes at his desk, grabbed the receiver off the hook as the telephone jangled. It was MacOliver.
"She's just checked in at the Cardross," he said. "She's come from Southampton. She was wearing a black fur coat, hat and horn-rims. She's a platinum blonde all right. She's registered as Mrs. Jenny Merrin. What do I do?"
"Get into a cab and go straight to the Maybury Apartments in Hailham Street, Baker Street," said Callaghan. "I've taken a suite for you on the floor underneath Miss Montana's suite. You'll find Harvey there already. One of you is to keep an eye on the Montana staircase all the time. I don't suppose Jenny will try anything to-night. But keep your eyes skinned."
He hung up the receiver, walked to the window, stood looklng out into the dark street beneath. Fifteen minutes afterwards the telephone jangled again. Over the line came the panic-stricken voice of Dale Montana.
"Listen," she said hoarsely. "I've just seen her. Ten minutes ago I went out for a breath of air. I walked round the block. I was just turning back into Hailham Street when she came out of a doorway. She took me by the shoulders and she said, 'You mug—don't think you can ditch me. I'm going to get you within the next day or two. Go home and think about it—' Then she slapped me across the face."
Callaghan said, "Take it easy. Don't start jittering. It won't get you anywhere. I've got people in the Maybury who'll look after you. Just stay indoors. I'm coming round now."
"Please come right away," she said. "And for the love of Pete bring me a gun. I can't stand this. I'm goin' mad—please bring me a gun—I'll feel safer."
"All right," said Callaghan. "I'll bring a gun. And don't worry. You'll be all right."
He snapped the receiver back on its hook, unlocked a drawer, took out a Luger automatic and put it in his pocket. Five minutes later his cab stopped before the Maybury Apartment.
Callaghan stood in front of the fireplace looking down at Dale Montana. She was huddled up in her arm-chair. She looked like a trapped rabbit.
"I can't stand it—" she muttered, "I can't stand any more of this. She was awful—she looked like a fiend. Her fingers felt like steel. She'll find a way to get in here and get me."
Callaghan said, "No, she won't. We'll look after her. Take your coat off and relax."
She got up unsteadily. Callaghan helped her take off her coat. On one sleeve were two long, platinum blonde hairs. He stood holding them in his fingers, his face grim. She saw them and shuddered.
"They must have come off on my coat when I was trying to get away from her," she said, "I'll never wear that coat again."
"Don't be silly," said Callaghan, twisting the blonde hairs round his finger. "You're being childish. Turn in and have good night's rest. Don't go out to-morrow. She can't get at you. I've three men on the floor below. They're watching thi stairs. The lift won't work any more to-night. I've seen to that. Nobody can get up to this floor without our seeing them. Take it easy."
She pulled herself together.
"All right," she said, "But leave me a gun. I'll feel better." He shrugged his shoulders, took his Luger automatic out of his pocket and put it on the mantelpiece.
"II that'll help you to feel better you keep it," he said. "Good-night. Go to bed and don't worry. You're quite safe. And lock the door after me."
She tried to smile.
"You bet" she said.
She walked with him to the door. He waited until he heard turn the key in the lock. Then he walked, along the passage, twisting and untwisting the long platinum blonde hairs in his fingers.
Under the electric light at the end of the corridor he drew them out to their full length admiring their sheen. Then he sat down on the stairs and called softly to O'Brien, who was watching in the corridor below.
IT was three o'clock.
Callaghan stood in the dark corridor, waiting. He heard the click as Dale Montana's door opened. His fingers went up to the electric light switch. He snapped it on, stepped in front of her as she moved out of the room into the passage. She saw the pistol in his hand.
"It's no good, Jenny," he said. "The game's up. You won't get Dale Montana—the real Dale Montana—to-night or any other night. I've two men outside the door of her room down the corridor. And you can hand over those guns. You won't need them."
She leaned against the wall, her eyes glittering evilly. He put out his hand for the pistols.
"It was a nice scheme," said Callaghan evenly, "a scheme worthy of Mrs. Floyd Merrin. You've been after Dale Montana to for a long time. You swore to kill her because her evidence sent your husband to the chair. She's been running away from you for months.
"You knew she was arriving here to-night, that she'd taken rooms here. You came to my office and told me that you were Montana, showed me that faked note and cable so that I could be the stooge who was going to prove you'd shot her in self-defence.
"You told me she was arriving at the Cardross to-night. Just before twelve o'clock you put on that platinum-blonde wig, the horn-rimmed spectacles and registered in the Cardross as Mrs. Jenny Merrin so that my operative would check the arrival of the killer. Then you took off your wig and horn-rims and came back here.
"You telephoned me that story about having met her just so that I'd think she was in the neighbourhood waiting to strike. You got me to bring that gun round so that you could have two guns.
"One that you were going to put in her hand after you'd fired a shot out of it after you'd killed her, and the other—my gun that you were going to shoot her with. Everybody in the apartments would have heard the two shots. Then you would have taken her passport and left your own in its place. The description almost tallies—you were blonde yourself originally. And that statement at my office and my evidence would have got you off. It would have been self-defence."
She began to laugh softly—horribly.
"How did you get wise to me?" she said hoarsely.
"The two platinum-blonde hairs I took off your coat to-night," said Callaghan evenly. "They felt rather funny when I fingered them. I looked at them carefully after I left you. They weren't human hair. They were artificial. They came out of a wig. Then I got suspicious. I checked through the list of people staying here. I found that Miss Dale Montana—the real one arrived here to-night at eight o'clook. Then I got it."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"They were right," she said. "You are smart. Well —what are we waiting for?"
"The police," said Callaghan. "They'll be here in a minute."
NOBODY ever knows what a blonde is goin' to do on any given occasion—not even the blonde herself.
I learnt more about that when I get around to a dump on Park Avenue where I have gotta see a millionaire called Hartbury Guttleberger, who has got a lot of other troubles besides his name.
Because it looks like some mobsters have bust inta this Guttleberger's house an' helped themselves plenty to no less than thirty-five thousand bucks worth of United States Dollar Bonds, which is a matter that seems to be causin' this Hartbury whole lotta discomfort.
I see this bozo in his study, an' after we have talked around this Dollar Bond pinch, he takes me by the arm an' shows me a picture of a dame on the wall that makes me gasp like a goldfish.
Boy, I have seen dames before but this one was the answer. Has this dame got sex-appeal or has she? I look at this picture and I say that I do not believe it because no dame ever looked like that without startin' something in a big way.
He looks at me sorta sad.
"Mr. Caution," he says, "you are right. That is my daughter an' she has started plenty. I have given her everything in the world. I have lavished gifts and jewels upon her. I have given her everything an' what does she do to me?"
"Well, Mr. Guttleberger," I tell him, "so what does she do?"
"She falls in love with a gangster, Mr. Caution," he says. "With a crook, a low-down thug, a miserable double-crossing racketeer by the name of Bugs Grissel, an' not only that but she says she is goin'to marry him."
"That is not so good, Mr. Guttleberger," I say to him. "But," I go on, "what has all this got to do with me?"
"Mr. Caution," he says, "if you can fix this Bugs Grissel so that he will lay off my daughter, I will be very grateful to you."
This Bugs Grissel, who is as nasty a bit of work as ever took a shot at a copper, is a guy who usta call himself Willie Delear, an' this Willie Delear usta specialise in pinchin' bonds.
So I tell this Guttleberger that I will probably have a word with this Bugs Grissel an' also with his daughter, an' maybe we can straighten things out.
That evenin' I get around to the Carmine Club on Forty-street, an' I see this Bugs Grissel sittin' in the corner with a dame an' my eyes nearly pop.
Because she is Meraline Guttleberger, an' boy, I'm tellin' you that the picture I saw didn't even flatter this dame. She is the fifteenth wonder of the world.
I go to work without wastin' any time.
"Look, Grissel," I tell him, "I do not wanta waste any time with you but I think that you are not very wise to get around with this young lady. Such blondes are not for you, bozo, because you are an ugly thug with a police record as long as a Chinese laundry bill, an' if I have any come-back stuff outa you I am goin' to bust you one on the beezer that will make you think you are in Hollywood there will be so many stars kickin' around."
He looks at me.
"I know you, Mr. Caution," he says. "An' you have gotta great reputation as a fly cop. But the Declaration of Independence together with the Constitution of the United States agree that a guy is entitled to the pursuit of happiness. An' if runnin after Meraline here ain't the pursuit of happiness, you're telling me!"
I am about to speak when she starts in. Boy, has that dame got a way with her? She has gotta voice that woulda brought an Eskimo out of his igloo in a snow-storm just to see what the time was, an' when she smiles she gets you goin' all goofy.
"Mr. Caution," she says, "I have heard of you an' I admire you. Had I met you before Bugs here, things might have been different. I have never loved a 'G' man yet owing to not having had the time, but this is to inform you that I intend to marry Bugs and no power on earth shall stop me doing so."
"Lady," I tell her, "you are wrong. Meraline Guttleberger sounds not so good, but Meraline Grissel is just shockin'. Think again, lady, because this guy Bugs is so stained with crime that he would make the Oklahoma Penitentiary look like an afternoon school for juvenile delinquents."
"No," she says, settin' her little white teeth, "I will not give up Bugs. I must have my Bugs."
"That is O.K. by me," I tell her, "but before he is through with you, you will wish that you had had tarantulas instead. Well, so long, lady."
I go straight away an' buy myself a cab an' get around to Arminetta Street where I find One-Eye Dells leanin' up against a bar tryin' to solve the problem of perpetual motion with his elbow an' a rye bottle.
"Listen, One-Eye," I tell him, "you are goin' to do something for me, otherwise I am goin' to pull you in here an' now on about fifty different charges includin' parkin' on a fire-plug. Do we deal?"
He says we do. I then tell him that I am goin' to arrange with old man Hartbury Guttleberger that he will leave his safe door in the library open next evening. I tell him that his business is to contact Bugs Grissel an' get Bugs to fix that One-Eye an' him ease around to the house, get in an' snatch whatever is in the safe an' see that Bugs leaves lots of prints about.
I tell him that my idea is that I shall be able to pinch Bugs Grissel an' show this dame Meraline that he is bad medicine an' no good to a sweet dame like her.
He says leave this to him an' he will fix everything like I said.
At three o'clock the followin' mornin' after a police radio I get around to the Guttleberger dump where there has been this robbery.
When I get there I get a sweet surprise. Because not only has the stuff we left in the safe been snatched, but also all Ma Guttleberger's jewellery an' a lot of other stuff that we didn't reckon would be missin'.
I get round to the dump where Bugs Grissel is livin' an' I find in bed readin' a book about the duties of a bridegroom. He is very surprised when I tell him that I am goin' to pull him in for breakin' an' enterin' an' robbery under arms an' a lotta other stuff at the Guttleberger mansion.
He says hooey, that he ain't been near the dump, an' that he is readin' this book all the evenin' tryin' to find somethin' new to think about. I tell him that he is a big so-an'-so because it is a well-known fact that he cannot even read, an' that as there no pictures in this book he is just wastin' his time arguin' an' his alibi is off.
I then take him around to the Precinct an' charge him with plenty.
Next mornin' I get some more surprises because it turns out that as well as the other snatches some guy has also cleaned out Hartbury Guttleberger's safe deposit an' grabbed off so much dough that, even if they was to live to be four thousand years of age, they would not be able to spend it even if they had two blondes who was fond of 'em.
I am ponderin' very deeply over this business when Bugs is brought up inta court an'charged.
An' he is just goin' to be sentenced when there is a sensation in court an' in comes Meraline lookin' like a combination close-up of the Metro-Goldwyn beauty chorus.
She gets up an' she says that Bugs didn't steal the stuff at all. She took it because she reckoned that old Hartbury needed a lesson for leavin' the safe door open, an' that she has cleaned the safe deposit just for the same reason. So they spring him.
I then get around to the Guttleberger mansion an' I am about to go lookin' for Hartbury when I see Meraline appearin' in the distance.
She rushes up to me an' she throws her arms around my neck an' she says that she understands what I have been tryin' to do for her, but that I am quite wrong about stoppin' the marriage. She then gives me a kiss that is so intense that it is minutes before I become really myself again.
I now do some very heavy thinkin' an' I see Harlbury an tell him that I think he oughta let Meraline marry Bugs an' after I have told him why he says it is O.K. with him.
So they get married an' believe me it was a swell wedding. Bugs brought his pals along, includin' the guy who threw a bomb through the window of the City Bank at Oklahoma last year.
Three weeks afterwards I am sittin' in my office at Headquarters when they tell me that Bugs wishes to speak to me very urgent.
He comes in an' confesses to two hundred an' fourteen different crimes which he says he has done during the past eighty years an' says that he hopes they will put him in a very strong penitentiary so that Meraline cannot get at him. Because bein' in prison would just be happiness compared to livin' with this dame Meraline.
So you guys will see that sometimes my psychology is pretty hot.
So Meraline goes back home to old Hartbury an' eventually marries a foreign count who is so tongue-tied that he cannot answer back, an' everybody is happy except Bugs, who has got sentences amountin' to about a hundred years for crimes that was committed before he was born.
All of which will show you guys that dames can be very dangerous things who should be treated seriously but not too often.
You're tellin' me!
AIN'T dames wonderful? They got rhythm. They got technique, an' not only have they got 'em but do they know howta use 'em or do they?
Me—I am feelin' sorta spiritual. I am feelin' like you feel when you are listenin' to some dinge choir singin' some old nigger song. I am resting my arm on the bar of Sam Slipner's Excelsior Cocktail Counter disposin' of a double shot of rye whisky an' thinkin' that, if I was not a "G" man, I would likely marry some dame with swell ankles an' buy myself a chicken farm in in Wisconsin an' go to bed early nights.
Maybe—an' maybe not.
I am just in the act of orderin' myself another rye in order to kill any germs that may be lurkin' around when I look over at the doorway an' I see a dame comin' in, an' this dame is such a heavy-looker that it almost takes my breath away.
Boy, is this dame marvellous? Has she got everything an' is she a lady? An' when I say that she is a lady that is just what I mean. I mean that she is not one of these second-rate gangsters' frails that sometimes hang around Sam Slipner's joint—the sorta molls who always look like just what they are never mind how much dough was paid for their clothes.
But this dame is different. Her clothes are Park Avenue an' nice an' quiet. She moves like the Queen of Sheba doin' a movie test for Sam Goldwyn by special request, an' she has gotta face that is so happy that it looks like a coupla angels who have just backed the winner of the Chatanooga Handicap.
She walks straight over to me.
"Are you Mr. Caution, the 'G' man?" she says, an' when I say that she is right first pop she puts her little gloved hand out an' takes mine an' boy, do I thrill?
"I have heard of you, Mr. Caution," she says. "I have heard that you are a big, human man with a heart of gold; that you are as tough as nails but that underneath all that you are as gentle as a woman."
"Lady," I tell her, "whoever gave you that description of me was talkin' right to you. Me, I am just like that. I would not even hurta fly."
She sits on the high stool beside me, an' I ask her if she would like a little drink. She says yes she would like some lemonade. I give this order to Sam Slipner, who nearly has a fit at some dame drinkin' soft drinks around his dump. Then I ask her what I can do for her.
"Mr. Caution," she says, "I'm goin' to marry Screwy McGonnigle, the bank-robber. My family say that I should not do this. They say that even my influence will be unable to keep Screwy on the straight path. I believe you know Screwy and I want your advice."
I sorta gasp for air. Here is a lovely with everything, considering tying herself up with a cheap, double-crossin', chisellin' son-of-she-goat's sister like Screwy McGonnigle. This guy has done everythin'. He has robbed banks, killed watchmen, shot a coiupla policemen, been married fourteen times, an' generally is such a bad hat that there have been occasions when he don't even want to know himself.
"Lady," I tell her, "listen to me. Do not attempt to marry this guy Screwy or you will get plenty grief. If you are looking' for excitement get around an' throw yourself down a pit with six snakes tied round your neck, an' a coupla man-eatin' tigers who have not eat anythin' for seventy-two years sittin' waitin' for you at the bottom. That will not be so good, but it will be better than marryin' Screwy McGonnigle. That guy is pure poison!"
She gives a big sigh.
"That has decided me," she says, "I shall marry Screwy because if he is that bad he needs me."
She turns to me with such an uplifting kinda smile that it nearly rouses me to the roof, an' holds out her little hand.
"Mr. Caution," she says, "I shall make a new man of Screwy. I shall make him a good citizen. Good-night, an' bless you."
An' with this she sorta floats away.
I buy myself another double rye. I reckon I need it.
FIVE days later I am sittin' at Headquarters when she calls through on the telephone.
"Mr. Caution," she says, "I married Screwy the day before yesterday, an' I am havin' a little bit of trouble with him. Of course, you will realise that it is impossible for me to reform him all at once, but I am doing very well, except that Screwy has got a very great urge to rob a bank somewhere. He says he gets like that periodically.
"So just in case of accidents and in case the temptation gets too great for my dear husband, I think I should tell you that the bank he has in mind is the Associated Farmers and National on Twenty-third Street, and I believe he is aiming to do it to-morrow night. I thought that you might like to have some of your officers around so that Screwy should not commit any more crime until I have had time to influence him some more."
I give a big sigh an' I tell her thanks a lot an' that I will have a close watch kept on this bank. After a lot of talk I also promld her that for givin' in this information we will not pinch Screwy or throw any pineapple bombs at him or hit him with any iron bars like we woulda done normally, but we will return him to her all in one piece.
Which shows you that I can be a big soft-hearted guy like she said.
The next night I have fourteen men posted around the In-Associated Farmers and National Bank all night, an' nothin' at all happens so I reckon that she has been usin' some of that influence of hers on Screwy, but I find I was wrong.
At five o'clock in the mornin' the news breaks that somebody has bust wide open the Third Merchants Banking an' Trust Corporation on Second Avenue.
This guy does this job by firin' twenty-two shots at the night watchman, hittin' a bank-cleaner over the head with a twenty-four-pound weight, blowin' off the strong-room door with a treble charge of nitro-glycerine, an' throwin' poison-gas bombs at a copper who tries to take a hand in the game.
This bein' the sorta job that looks to me like the technique of Screwy McGonnigle, I am beginnin' to think that his wife's influence is not yet workin' very well.
At three o'clock that afternoon I am stickin' around waitin' to see if anybody is goin' to pick up Screwy.
We have got all the railway depots watched an' the airports, an' every route outa the city has got a coupla police cruisers stickin' around an' tryin' to get their hooks on this thug.
I am also worryin' very much about this dame of his because I reckon that if Screwy has got so outa hand that he has done all this in spite of her influence that maybe he has bumped her off too just to sorta even things up, because this bozo never does anythin' by halves.
I am therefore very relieved when at six o'clock in the afternoon this dame calls through again an' asks for me.
"Mr. Caution," she says, "I am a very disappointed woman but I have not yet given up. As you probably know, Screwy told me a falsehood when he said that he was going to rob the Associated Farmers Bank. He knew that I would probably try to stop him, so he changed his plans at the last moment and decided to rob the Third Merchants Corporation instead.
"He was very pleased with his work. He came home with four hundred thousand dollars' worth of bearer bonds in certificates of one hundred thousand each and twenty-five thousand in five-hundred and thousand bills.
"But I have been working on him, Mr. Caution. I have used every bit of influence that I have got and he has seen the light and agreed that I shall return all the bearer certificates and bills to you, and I am going to do it.
"But if I do this I want you to promise that you will not arrest my dear Screwy. He says that he is very sorry about shooting at the watchman, but that he got carried away and that it was practically asking too much of him not to throw bombs at a policeman any time.
"It seems by the papers that there are hundreds of police and Federal officers looking for Screwy. I thought that if I promised to come around and bring all the certificates and the bills to you at Headquarters you might be very kind and human and call off the officers so that I can take my dear husband away to some place where he will be a very long way from any bank whatsoever."
I give another very big sigh, but I think this matter over an' I come to the conclusion that anyhow if we try to pinch Screwy he will shoot about fourteen cops first an' that anyhow if I do what she wants we shall get all the dough back, so I say O.K. an' I fix to meet her at Sam Slipner's Cocktail Counter an' that she wiil hand over the dough to me there.
So I call off the cruisers an' the watch on the airports an' depots, an' at seven o'clock, like we arranged, I ease along to Sam Slipner's an' I am drinking a small shot of rye when she comes in with an attaché-case. Boy, is she lovely!
She opens up the case an' shows me the bills an' certificates an' then she puts her hands on my shoulders an' she gives me a big kiss.
"I think you are a very great an' human man," she says, "an if I had not married Screwy I think that I would have liked to marry you."
She presses my hand, an' I can see the tears in her eyes as she walks out.
I give another big sigh an' I grab a yellow cab an' ease hack to Headquarters. When I get there I throw the bag over to Brendy an' tell him that I reckon I done a good job to get all the dough back like this without any' shootin'. I also say that maybe I am glad that I also gave this sweet dame a real chance to start in reformin' Screwy, an' that I reckon that before she is through she will do same.
While I have been talkin' he has been lookin' over the bills an' certificates in the case, an' he takes one over to the electric lamp an' gets out a magnifyin' glass. He then proceeds to tell me that the whole durn lot is counterfeit an' very nice work too.
I do not say one word. I get it.
I get it that a very fly guy like me can be taken for a ride by a dame with a swell shape an' a face like a coupla angels. I get it that this dame got me watchin' one bank while Screwy bust another one open, an' that she has got me to take the cops off whiles these two make a sweet getaway with the real dough.
I sit down an' light myself a cigarette an' sigh.
Can I take it or can I?
I AM walkin' along Twelfth Street, right close by Sam Slipner's place, when I see a police car pull up outside the Chester Apartment Buildin'.
The hall porter tells me that Police Captain Brendy is upstairs because somebody has shot Jimmy Spigla, an' he is so dead that he does not even care. I find Brendy an' the boys in Jimmy Spigla's flat on the fourth floor. Jimmy is lyin' in the middle of the floor, shot through the chest.
Brendy ain't worryin' any, because the two dames on the telephone exchange in the downstairs hall know that nobody's been up to see Jimmy except his girl, Lillah. The medical examiner reckons that Jimmy has been dead for about twenty minutes, which would make it at about twelve o'clock. At about that time Lillah blows in, an' goes up in the lift to see Jimmy, an' she comes down lookin' all sorta steamed up at about five past.
Brendy don't waste any time. He sends a car out to pinch Lillah.
I am very interested in this job, because I was aimin' to have words with Jimmy Spigla myself about a Federal Bank hold-up, an' I am sorta disappointed that he has been ironed out before I could get round to him.
Well, Brendy pulls in Lillah at three o'clock in the afternoon, an' I go round to headquarters. But this baby is not givin' anythin' away. She says she went up to see Spigla at about two minutes to twelve. She opened the door of his apartment with the key she's got, an' he was lyin' out on the floor dead, like Brendy found him.
She says she was sorta het up about all this, an' felt faint, an' that she went inta the bathroom an' gave herself a glass of water, after which she scrammed outa it.
Brendy says that that story ain't goin' to get her no place at all, because she was the only one to go up that mornin' to see Spigla, an' that, as the shot was too far away for him to have done it himself, she can consider herself as good as sittin' in the electric chair.
I look at this dame. She looks the usual sorta gangster's frail to me. I reckon to myself that maybe she had heard that I was after Spigla over the bank job, an' that Spigla was aimin' to blow town an' ditch her, an' she just didn't sorta like it, so she gave him the heat outa sheer bad temper.
"Have you gotta lawyer?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she says. "Willie Frik—Spigla's mouthpiece—will look after me. I reckon I'm entitled to that after what I been to Jimmy. I never killed that bozo, but you guys will frame me, anyway!"
I go outside an' get myself a cab, an' get round to the Chester apartments. I ease along to the telephone desk on the ground floor an' start a heavy conversation with the blonde workin' the switchboard. This dame is just a gift, she talks so much.
I ask her if anybody except Lillah went up to see Jimmy at all all durin' the mornin'.
"Not a soul, Mr. Caution," she says, "Me—I am sittin' here all the time with my girl friend, Mayola, who works with me here. Even when the fire alarm went off in the block at the back I never even went to have a look. Mayola went, but I stuck around. I seen fires before. I'm tellin' you not anybody went up except that dame of his, an' she done it all right, because when she comes down she looked like she had done a murder. She was as white as my neck."
"That's right," says Mayola. "I scrammed out to see what was happenin' at the fire, but Marigold here never moved. She just stuck here like she was gummed."
I say thanks a lot, an' I scram.
I walk around the block, an' I go inta the block behind, just to see what has been happenin' around here. It looks like then was a false alarm for a fire in this block, which looks out against the back of the Chester Arms. Some guy rings the fire-bell an' scrams, an' I wonder whether this was a set-up to get the two telephone girls in the Chester Arms building to leave their switchboard an' come round an' look, thereby leavin' the coast clear for somebody to slip up to Spigla's apartment without bein' seen. If so, they musta been disappointed that Marigold wasn't feelin' curious.
Then I ease around to the office of this guy, Willie Frik, who was Spigla's attorney, an' who will be defendin' Lillah.
This Frik guy is the real stuff. He has got a swell office, with ornaments an' pictures all over the place. He is a good-lookin' palooka, an' it looks like he spends his time tryin' to be a sportsman when he ain't fakin' in the courts for some gangsters. There is silver cups for swimmin' an' fishin' an' shootin' all round the overmantel, an' there are two bags of golf-sticks stuck around in the corners of his office.
"Look, Frik," I tell him. "As you have probably heard Jimmy Spigla has been shot by that dame of his, Lillah, a fact which perturbs me very much, because I was aimin' to go round there to-day an' question this guy about that Federal Bank stick up in Queens County.
"This Lillah baby says that you will be defendin' her, an' I'm here to tell you that you have gotta very tough job in fronl of you. I reckon this killin' was a set-up. This dame Lillah scram inta the Castle Building—the next buildin' on the block, the back of which looks outa Spigla's apartment. She pulls the fire alarm, an' then dashes round inta the Chester Arms, hopin that the two dames on the switchboard woulda run off to take a look at the fire; but, unluckily for her, one of 'em don't. The one who don't—Marigold—sees Lillah go up an' come down about twelve minutes afterwards. Nobody else went up or come down, an' that sews the case up.
"If you gotta defence I reckon it's gotta be a good one, an' what about that Federal Bank stick-up, anyway."
He grins.
"There's ain't much use in talkin' about that, Mr. Caution," he says. "Spigla bein' dead, you ain't interested in whether he was concerned in that or not. You can't pinch a dead guy for bank robbery! An' with reference to the other thing, I reckon it ain't up to me to discuss a case when I am defendin' the dame who is pinched."
He sorta thinks for a minute.
"I reckon these two things are sorta tied up," he says. "Maybe Spigla did rob this bank like you think, an' maybe he was aimin' to blow town with the dough, because I have gotta idea he knew you was after him.
"Well, it mighta been that there was some trouble between him an' Lillah about his goin' an' takin' all the dough with him, because he was a selfish sorta cuss, an' she got all steamed up."
He gets up.
"But that ain't my case," he says. "My case is that she shot him in sell defence. I reckon that is our story."
I scram.
I get around to headquarters, an' I go down to the cells an' see Lillah. This dame don't look so good to me.
I give her a cigarette.
"Look, honeypot," I tell her, "I know that I am a dick, an' that you have probably been told not to talk to me at all, but there is one little question that I would like to ask you, an' it won't put you in bad to answer it. You tell me this. What didya want to go round to the Chester Arms for this mornin' to see Spigla? Did he send for ya?"
"No, he didn't," she says. "Here's the way it was. At eleven-thirty, somebody calls through to me an' tells me that Jimmy is aimin' to give me the air an' blow outa town with some dough he pinched from a bank, because he reckons the Feds are after him. I was pretty burned up at bein' ditched like that, so I reckoned I would get around there an' sorta argue about it. Well, when I got there he was lyin' on the floor all ironed out."
"An' just what did you do then?" I ask her.
She shrugs her shoulders.
"I feel lousy," she says, "because, believe it or not, I was nuts about that guy. I went over to the window an' leaned out for some air, an' then I went inta the bathroom an' got some water. I stuck around for a bit wonderin' what the hell was' goin' to happen. Then I scrammed, an' they pinched me."
"O.K., sister," I tell her. "I'll be seein' you."
I ease around to Sam Slipner's, an' I buy myself a drink with a kick, an' I do some very heavy considerin'. I sorta start puttin' two an' two together.
After which I ease inta a pay-box an' call through to Willn Frik, an' ask him to come round to headquarters because Lilian wants ta make a confession about this murder.
Brendy an' me are sittin' smokin' when Willie comes in.
"So what?" he says, "Lillah says she don't wanta make no confession."
"O.K. by me," I tell him. "You make it. I'm arrestin' you for the murder of Jimmy Spigla, an' I'll tell you how you done it.
"You was the guy who telephoned through to Lillah, an' told her that Jimmy was takin' a run-out powder on her, an' you knew she would run round there to raise heil.
"So you get around to the Castle Buildin' an' you go up to the fourth floor, an' you do a very clever thing. You pull the fire alarm. Everybody rushes for the lifts, an' down the stairs leavin' you on your own; but that ain't the main thing.
"The main thing is that Jimmy Spigla, who is a curious sorta guy, goes to his window an' opens it to see what all the palooka is about. You then pull a rifle outa your golf-bag an' shoot him while he is standin' at the window. It is only about twenty-five yards, an' you got cups for shootin'. I saw 'em.
"The bullet gets him in the chest, an' he falls backwards on the floor. After which you go off an' play some golf."
Willie Frik grins.
"A sweet story," he says, "An' how're you goin' to prove that?"
"Easy," I tell him. "Just before this happened I called through to Spigla on the telephone. I told him that I was comin,' round to talk to him about that Queens County bank sticl I told him he'd better get his lawyer round there. He said he couldn't do it because he's just seen you go inta the Castle Building with your golf clubs. So there you are, big boy. How do ya like that? I reckon we'll find the rifle in your golf-bag."
He shrugs.
"It looks like you got me, Caution," he says.
When they spring Lillah out, I take this dame an' buy her a cup of coffee at Sam Slipner's.
She looks at me sorta admirin'.
"You're a pretty swell dick," she says. "But it was lucky for me that you put that call through to Jimmy, that he told you he'd seen Willie Frik goin' into the Castle Buildin' with them golf clubs."
"Hooey," I tell her, "I never put no call through to Spigla. I just put two an' two together, an' for once they added up to four."
SADIE DE LA BIRACCO—Sadie Kellins of Marpella Street to you—is the star strip-tease baby in Gettzler's Burlesque Show on East Clark Street at Walnut. She has got the swellest legs in Chicago an' when she does her act at the theatre hard-boiled guys rush off home an' beat up their wives just outa sheer nervous energy.
She has got big turquoise eyes and curly blonde hair. She has also got sex appeal plus but no brains. I'm tellin' you that this honey is the dumbest jane that ever swung a mean hip at the guy with the diamond ring in the second row of the stalls.
From the neck up she is as dead as a piece of frozen Eskimo. Above the ears she is just sponge cake. This dame is so dumb that even a lunatic would think she is nuts.
IT is six-thirty when John Sikalski—Lieutenant in charge of the homicide Squad—rings me up that he has found Parvey Pagaros dead in an empty first-floor apartment at the Chiltern Arms.
I go there pronto. I find John lookin' at Parvey who is sittin' up in a chair shot clean through the pump. Whoever has shot this guy has held the gun pretty close. He has been for an hour.
"Look, Lemmy," says Sikalski. "I know who done this. Kingo done it. Kingo has been promisin' to rub out Pagaros months. I'm goin' to pull that guy in."
"Wait a minute, John," I tell him. "Use your nut. This is the Chiltern Arms, ain't it? An' you oughta know that Sadie Biracco who is Kingo's girl, has got an apartment on the third floor. O.K. Well, whenever there has been a shootin' an' Kigo is suspected that dame always alibi's him. She always says he was with her.
"All right. Well here's where we pull a fast one on him. You want that guy for about six killin's an' I want him for two kidnappin's. O.K. Ease upstairs to the Biracco joint an' see if that coloured maid of Sadie's is there. Don't let anybody know that you found Parvey here. Find out from the janitor downstairs what time Sadie went out to the show, an' let me know."
He goes off.
He is back in ten minutes an' he tells me that Sadie's apartment is empty; that the dinge maid has been out for some time, an' that Sadie left for the show at six o'clock.
"O.K." I tell him. "Well, get this. When you go to pull in Kingo he's goin' to say that he was with Sadie, ain't he? Sadie is goin' to swear that's right. She's learnt that piece off by heart. So what do we do? Why, we just move this body upstairs an' when Kingo an' Sadie says they was up there they hang the shootin' on Kingo, don't they? Because we say we found Parvey's body in Sadie's apartment."
John Sikalski looks at me an' grins.
"Lemmy," he says, "you sure got brains."
We send the janitor out on a phoney message. Then we stick Parvey in the lift an' we run him up to Sadie's apartment. We open up the door with a little master key I got on my key-ring an' we park Parvey on the floor.
We go right around to Sadie's dressin'-room at Gettzler's. I don't waste any time.
"Hey, Sadie," I tell her. "You're in a spot. We found Parvey Pagaros' body this afternoon. He was shot up. We know that Kingo done it. So what?"
She looks surprised for a minute an' then she starts sayin' her piece.
"It's a dirty lie," she says, "Kingo couldn'ta done it. Why, he was with me all afternoon. He was with me up in my apartment till I left to come around here."
"That's what I thought, baby," I tell her. "I forgot to tellya we found Parvey in your apartment. Lyin' on the bathroom floor as dead as a hamburger."
She don't say nothin'. She just faints.
We scram.
We pick up Kingo at Winer's Bar. We tell him that Parvey has been shot an' he starts in with the old story that he was with Sadie. We say thank you very much an' pinch him. When he hears that Parvey was found in Sadie's apartment he tries to change his tale an' says that he was down at Schribner's Skittle Alley. We say punk, because Sadie has said he was with her.
When the case comes on for trial Kingo knows that we have got him all set. Just before the case is called his lawyer tells the District Attorney that Kingo is prepared to plead guilty to shootin' Parvey up in Sadie's apartment if the D.A. will accept a self-defence plea an' reduce the charge to homicide. The D.A. who has already smelt somethin' fishy about this business, an bein' very pleased to get Kingo to plead guilty to anythin' at all, says O.K.
So the Court accepts Kingo's plea an' he tells how he met up with Parvey Pagaros in Sadie's apartment an' how Parvey pulled a gun an' how Kingo shot him in self-defence. The judge he will accept the evidence, but owin' to Kingo's bad record as a gangster he will give him four years for homicide.
Back of the Court me an' John Sikalski are laughin' our heads off because we have since found out that at the time of the shootin' Kingo was down in Schribner's Skittle Alley. In fact we are wonderin' who did shoot Parvey, but we are tickled silly that Kingo who is a bad guy is goin' to be safely in the pen for four years an' that Parvey Pagaros who is also a pain in the neck to the police around here is not with us any more.
About three weeks afterwards I ease along to Gettzler's theatre to see Sadie. She is sittin' drinkin' iced gin through a straw.
"Hey, Mr. Caution," she says. "I'm glad you stopped by. Me—I'm worried. I'm so worried I can't think."
"Honeybunch, you couldn't think even if you wasn't worried," I tell her. "But what's on your mind. Maybe you're missin' your Kingo, hey?"
"It ain't that, Mr. Caution," she says. "But I had a letter to give to Kingo the afternoon that Parvey got hisself shot an' I forgot to give it over to him. I reckon that if I send it along to the Big House Kingo will be all steamed up about not gettin' it before. D'ya think I'd be wise not to say anything about it?"
She points to a letter that is stuck in the frame of the mirror.
"Forget it, baby," I tell her. "Kingo won't want to be worried with letters where he is. He's too busy breakin' stones."
Just then the call-boy calls her for the stage. She blows me a kiss an' she scrams off to do her big undressin' act.
Directly she is gone I grab the letter from the mirror frame. I wet the back under the tap an' hold it over her grease paint candle. In a minute I have got it open. I read it. It is addressed to Kingo an' it says:
Dear Kingo—
I am givin' Sadie this letter to give to you to tell you that you won't get me no time, because I am sick of the rackets an' all washed up an' I am goin' to bump myself off this afternoon as soon as I have given this letter to Sadie.
Bad luck to you.
Parvey Pagaros.
Here's a sweet set-up. If this dumb Sadie had delivered that letter to Kingo it woulda got him off. It woulda proved that Parvey committed suicide. But if he committed suicide where was he gun he done it with? We didn't find no gun!
I stick the letter back in the envelope an' stick the flap down again.
TEN minutes afterwards Sadie comes back.
"Mr. Caution," she says, "don'tya think I got swell legs? I just asked that big punk Gettzler for a raise an' he says I'm goin' bow-legged. I reckon he's a lousy liar. What do you think?"
"Sure he is, Sadie," I tell her. "Say," I go on, "I been thinkin' that perhaps you better burn that letter you forgot to give to Kingo. He wouldn't want it sorta floatin' about, would he?"
She says no. She takes the letter an' holds it in the grease paint candle flame an' burns it. I give a big sigh of relief. Then I say to her:
"Say listen, Sadie. Who was it give you that letter to give to Kingo that afternoon?"
"Why, it was Parvey, Mr. Caution," she says. "He come around to my apartment at about a quarter to five, an' he gave me the letter an' asked me to give it to Kingo. When he done that he asked me to go out an' get a packet of Camels that the bell-boy had got for him downstairs. So I went out an' got 'em."
I start thinkin'.
"O.K., Sadie," I go on, "an' when you come back where was Parvey? He was gone, I suppose." She tosses her head.
"No, he hadn't," she says. "That dirty so-an'-so had shot hisself right in the middle of my sittin'-room. I tellya Mr. Caution I was mad at that Parvey for doin' a thing like that. Still he never had any thought for anybody except hisself. Don't you think so, Mr. Caution?"
"Sure, honey," I tell her. "But go on. After you found Parvey on the sittin'-room carpet what didya do then?"
"Well," she says, "I thought it out an' I reckoned I didn't want him messin' up the place. So I called Araminta—she's my maid—an' we got the lift up by ourselves an' we stuck him in the lift an' we dumped him in an empty apartment on the first floor. I reckon the cops musta found him there."
"Swell," I tell her. "Now listen carefully, Sadie. If you took Parvey's body down to the first-floor apartment why didn't you say anything about that when I toldya that we found Parvey in your apartment?"
She starts flxin' her hair.
"Well, Mr. Caution," she says, "I didn't see that it mattered much where you found Parvey. You'd found him an' that wai that. Ain't that so, Mr. Caution?"
"All right," I tell her. "But why in the name of Jake did you say that Kingo was with you in your apartment when you knew durn well that Parvey was up there at that time shootin' himself?"
She turns around.
"Listen, Mr. Caution," she says, "Kingo's been good to me, an' I reckon that I got a duty by that guy. I reckon that I got to put his interests first, ain't I? Well Kingo told me that if ever any charges brought against him by anybody I was to say that never done it because he was with me at the time.
"So, I said he was with me. I done my duty to Kingo. Me, I got brains. I ain't a jane who lets her sweetie down."
I get up. I am gaspin' for air.
"Listen, Sadie," I tell her. "You ain't dumb. You're just plain nuts. Do you mean to tell me that you never told Kingo all the time he was waitin' to go to trial that Parvey had shot himself, that he had committed suicide?"
"Hey, listen, Mr. Caution," she says. "Me—I wouldn't do a thing like that. Supposin' that Kingo had got the electric chair. Supposin' they'd fried him. Well, how would you like to know that you was bein' fried for somethin' that the other guy done himself?
"Only a dumb cluck woulda told a man a thing like that."
LIFE can be funny. I am sittin' in Bartolie's Cocktail Rendezvous on Maple at Birrel Street, waitin' for a break when who should come in but Karen Dalda.
Take a look at Karen! Is she a swell eyeful? This girl has got brains to spare an' a personality that woulda made Madame Pompadour look like the girl who feeds the chickens down in Three Trees, Pa. She was born right here in New York; her father was a Norwegian an' her mother was Spanish. So you can work that out.
Karen has a figure that would give a guy a crick in the neck through lookin' backwards to see if he wasn't dreamin'. She has big blue eyes an' a skin like cream. She has natural ash blonde hair, a voice like a cooin' bird an' a seven-inch Swedish sailor's knife stuck in the top of her stockin' just in case some don't see eye to eye with her over somethin' or other.
In fact she is just the sorta dame that I woulda married if I'd wanted to be found dead in bed with a happy smile on my face an' my throat cut.
Also, she is Benny Wagda's girl, an' Benny is seen in the best bad circles. He has been in the rackets ever since they was invented. Just at this time I am very interested in Benny owin' to a little matter of four diamond ear-drops valued at half a million bucks that have disappeared outa the State of Pennsylvania an' that was brought inta New York by Benny's friend Wally Margolez.
So now you know why I register a smilin' welcome when Karen, swingin' a mean hip, wiggles through the tables an' makes a bee-line for me.
I call a waiter an' order a double rye for her with no chaser. That baby always takes it straight.
She parks herself an' throws off a smoked fox fur that musta set Benny back a thousand smackers. Then she throws me a little smile an' gives me a free exhibition of the best set of teeth this side of the Mason-Dixon line.
"Look, Lemmy," she says, "you get this straight. You're a Federal dick an' I hate coppers like poison. I don't say you ain't got a certain appeal, but I still don't like you. All I want from you is advice."
"Baby," I tell her, "you can have anythin' you want from me. Karen, you are the cherry on the ice-cream. I could go for you like a steam truck because you are the best-lookin' dame that I have ever seen all in one piece. With me you are the top sergeant!"
"Oh, yeah," she says, "Wise guy, hey? You pinch yourself, Lemmy Caution, because if you an' me had been the original inmates of the Garden of Eden you would still be munchin' apples an' doin' nothin' else. I'm comin' to you because I gotta do somethin'. I'm in a spot an' even if you are a big-time copper maybe you will help a girl."
"Shoot, honey," I tell her, "I am like the elephant. I am all ears."
She pulls up her chair an' sinks the drink.
"Look, Lemmy," she says, "I'm worried about Benny. You know I'm stuck on him an' I'd do anything for that guy, but when he starts crossin' me up with another dame I could just tear him wide open. Here's the set-up: Benny and Wally Margolez have fallen out after bein' pals for ten years. You know how it is with Benny. If another guy has something good he wants it, an' Margolez has got a girl he met about four weeks ago that has certainly got something. She is one of them brunettes with a sorta come-on beauty that makes a man wonder and wander. O.K. Benny has taken this dame an' given her a job in that office he's got. He's made her his secretary although the only time he ever wrote a letter it looked like a Chinese laundry bill written with a piece of spaghetti, an' he sits up there all day playin' Mah-Jong with her—well, that's what he tells me he's doin'.
"Wally Margolez is gettin' sore an' so am I. You know as well as I do that I know enough about Benny to put him in the pen for about nineteen thousand years an' to be fried when he comes out. I wanta know how I can get that guy away from that dame. If I don't there will be shootin', an' I shall be the dame squeezin' the gun."
She looks at me sorta pathetic.
"If I could only get him put away for a month or so," she says.
I do a spot of heavy thinkin'.
"You said it, kid," I tell her. "Now look. I got this all taped out. Here's the way you play it. To-morrow night get Benny to take you down to Balzi's for dinner, see? O.K. Just as you are comin' out I will get the Precinct Captain to fix that a detective is waitin' outside an' that just as you come out this guy knocks inta you. You step back an' holler an' then Benny will slug the dick, who will then proceed to pinch him.
"When Benny comes up for trial I will fix it that he gets two months for sluggin' a Precinct detective an' while he's inside you can slip Margolez the wink to take his brunette friend off some place. Anyhow, she's goin' to get tired of waitin' for Benny to come out. Well, how's that?"
She squeezes my hand.
"You're a good sport, Lemmy," she says. "You're a pal."
She gets up.
"Maybe I can do something for you one day," she says.
"Maybe, angel," I tell her, "But I'm only doin' this to prevent somebody gettin' shot, an' don't you forget it."
I EASE around to the place that Benny calls his office on Broadway. Inside sittin' at a typewriter is a brunette that is so swell that she woulda made the Queen of Sheba look like an Indian squaw after she had won a smack on the kisser from Great Leapin' Moose. She is wearin' a happy smile an' five-inch Louis heels an' manicurin' her little finger.
"Sister," I tell her, "where is Benny? I wanta talk to him.'
"He's inside," she says.
I walk right in. Benny has got his feet up on the desk, readin' the sports page.
"Look, Benny," I tell him, "why don't you save yourself a lotta trouble an' come clean over them diamond ear-drops that Margolez brought inta New York for you. I know you was behind that job."
"It's a lie, Caution," he says, "Maybe Margolez is puttin' that stuff about because I pinched his jane—the one outside—but it ain't true. If he pinched them ear-drops he's still got 'em. Me, I don't know anything about it. Another thing, I don't like your face so scram outa here, willya? This is a private office."
I scram.
Outside I tip the brunette a swell wink an' she calls me a rude name.
I go along to the Precinct an' I arrange the set-up for that evenin' outside Balzi's, just like I fixed it with Karen.
BENNY gets two months for sluggin' the dick. At the end of a fortnight the prison warden who knows what is on my mind wises me up that Benny has asked permission for the brunette to come an' see him on fortnightly visitin' day, an' that he has also asked special permission for her to bring him his Mah-Jong set, so he can while away the weary hours.
I say it's O.K. by me.
I stick around for a week an' then one afternoon I get along to Karen's apartment an' say how's things.
Karen says she is pleased to see me an' that I am a swell guy for fixin' to get Benny the two months.
"Take a look at this, Lemmy," she says, "Everything is goin' to be fine."
She shows me a letter that she has just got from Benny. He says in this letter that he reckons he was a mug to pinch the Margolez dame, an' that she is all washed up anyhow an' that she ain't even got any brains because when she went to see him she brought along the Mah-Jong set with two pieces short. He says he's through with her an' that he's asked for Karen to go to see him on the next visitin' day, an' will she take him along a new Mah-Jong set.
I tell you it was a treat to see how happy this dame is about all this. When I am goin' she says I am a sweet copper an' she throws her arms around my neck an' gives me a kiss that woulda made Mae West feel she was slippin'.
WHEN Karen comes outa the pen after seem' Benny I am waitin' for her by the side of her roadster.
"Hey, Lemmy," she says, "how's it goin'?"
"Swell, Karen," I tell her, "I'm pinchin' you for bein' an accessory to receivin' four diamond ear-drops that Margolez pinched outa Pennsylvania for Benny, an' I'll trouble you to hand over the Mah-Jong set—the one that was two pieces short, the one that Margolez's girl took in to Benny a fortnight ago, that you just checked outa the receivin' office in the pen after you handed the new one in for Benny."
Her face drops.
"Well, I'll be sugared an' iced," she says, "Say, how did you know, Lemmy? I always thought you had more brains than beauty."
"It was easy," I tell her, "I knew durn well that if Benny had laid you off for that dame he pinched off Margolez you wouldn'a come to me for advice. You'd have just pulled her hair out. So I knew there was a frame-up somewhere.
"Then I got it. It was like this. Margolez pinches the eardrops an' brings 'em inta New York, but he won't hand 'em over to Benny. So Benny does a big sex-appeal act with Margolez's girl an' gets her to pinch the ear-drops from Margolez an' bring 'em along to Benny.
"But you two know that Margolez is goin' to get after Benny with a gun, so you want him in some safe place where Margolez can't get at him while you get the ear-drops turned inta cash, so you get me to get him pinched.
"In the meantime Benny has stuck the four ear-drops inside some of the Mah-Jong pieces that the brunette takes inta the prison to him. Havin' got her to do what he wanted he gives her the air an' sends for you to visit him an' bring a new Mah-Jong set. You leave it an' check out the old one with the diamonds in it, which you got in your muff right now.
"Come on, baby, let's go places."
I ease along to Benny's office on Broadway. There ain't anybody there except the brunette.
I go right over to her where she is still manicurin' her little finger an' I give her a big kiss.
"You played it swell, baby," I tell her, "I knew you could make Margolez fall for you, an' it was great the way you got him to tell you where the ear-drops was so that you could pretend to cross him an' go over to Benny. This way we pinch the whole durn lot of 'em an' get the diamonds back."
She looks at me sorta suspicious.
"You're pretty clever, Lemmy," she says, "You made a mug outa this Karen dame. Maybe she fell for you?"
"Hooey," I tell her, "she told me that if she'd been in the Garden of Eden with me I'd still be munchin' apples."
She looks at me old-fashioned.
"You're tellin' me?" she says.
IF I hadn't got sorta tired an' turned into Moksie's speakeasy on Pell one night at ten o'clock, two of the lousiest killers that ever squeezed a gun would still be walkin' about New York bumpin' guys off instead of lyin' nice an' quiet under a coupla tombstones that was subscribed for by their admirin' janes Lottie Frisch an' Pearl McGonnigle.
I am sittin' there smokin' an' watchin' two thugs in tuxedos who are drinkin' at a table on the other side of the room. These two guys are Rudy Zix and Willie Spigla an' I don't like either of 'em—not one little bit. You'll see why.
I turn my head just as some dame comes down into the bar. She is dressed in black an' she looks haywire to me. There are red circles under her eyes like she has been cryin' for ten years an' I can see that she is right on the point of goin' hysterical on herself.
She looks around the bar until she sees Zix an' Spigla. Then her eyes start blazin'. I see that she has got an open handbag under her left arm an' just as she is passin' my table she sticks her right hand inside it an' pulls out a thirty-two automatic. So what!
I stick out my left hand an' grab her around the wrist. There is a lot of smoke an' laughin' goin' on in the bar an' nobody has noticed the gun.
"Can it, sister," I tell her, "Say, what do you think you're goin' to do with that cannon? Ain't you got enough trouble? Take it easy an' sit down here for a minute nice an' quiet an' have a little drink, because what good is it goin' to do you even if you do shoot them two heels over there?"
I pull her down into the chair next to mine an' I stick the gun in my pocket. She throws her hand in. She puts her head down an' starts cryin' like a kid. Nobody takes any notice. I reckon they have seen dames cryin' down in Moksie's before.
I call Moksie over an' tell him to bring me a double shot of good rye an' I make her drink it. Then I give her a cigarette. She sits there lookin' at me with her hands tremblin'.
I'm sorry for this dame.
"Take a little drink an' relax, Mrs. Anton," I tell her, "I know all about it an' it's plenty tough. Last night your husband who is night clerk down at the Feratza store is shot. He is shot because he won't give the combination of the safe to a coupla thugs who are holdin' guns on him. So they bump him like they said they would if he didn't come across. An' there they are sittin' there, wearin' tuxedos an' drinkin' Scotch.
"So what? I know them two guys Zix an' Spigla rubbed him out. So does Centre Street an' so do you. But we can't prove nothin'. They both got cast-iron alibis. They can put fifteen witnesses in the box to prove they was somewhere else. It's a sweet racket an' right now they're on top."
She is sobbin' like a kid.
"There isn't any justice any more," she says, "Gangsters can kill kind honest men like my Ferdie and get away with it."
She tries to pull herself together.
"Who are you?" she says.
"My name's Lemmy Caution," I tell her, "an' you ain't got that justice stuff quite right, sister. Justice is blind all right, but she sobers up now an' then an' starts plenty fireworks. Now listen," I go on, "you go home an' stop carryin' artillery around. Make yourself a cup of tea an' relax, but get outa here because you're holdin' up the traffic."
She don't say anything. She just gets up an' goes.
I FINISH my drink an' I get up an' ease over to where Zix an' Spigla are sittin'. I look down at them. They are both grinnin'.
"How're you goin', Caution?" says Zix.
"Swell," I tell him, "Say, I just wanted to tell you guys something. You reckon you're doin' well, don'tya? You reckon you got this Anton killin' nicely tied up with ribbons, hey? Well, let me tell you something. One of these days, as sure as shootin', one of you guys is goin' to squeal on the other just to save his own lousy skin, an' then somebody is goin' to fry for Ferdie Anton. Well ... so long, heroes. I'll be seein' you."
I scram.
I take a walk an' go into a pay-box on Mott. I call Brendy at Centre Street.
"Hey, copper," I tell him, "Can you tell me why Rudy Zix an' Willie Spigla are all dressed up wearin' tuxedos?"
"Yah, Lemmy," he says, "Luke Schriller is throwin' a big party at his place to-night, an' every classy mobster will be there with bells on. I suppose they're celebratin' because we couldn't hold those two thugs after they sprung that phoney alibi on us."
"O.K., buddy," I tell him an' hang up.
I buy myself a cab an' I go around to the dump where Hinty Fazza lives. Hinty is a dope who hangs on the edge of the rackets an' runs cocaine as a side-line.
He looks plenty frightened when I walk in. He also looks as if he has been hittin' the hop good an' plenty. His eyes are bright an' his hands tremblin'.
"Look, Hinty," I tell him. "If I was to pinch you now an' take you along an' get you four years for havin' cocaine an' opium around here you wouldn't feel so good, wouldya? You'd miss your little, daily dose, hey, sweetheart?"
He starts wailin'.
"For the love of Mike, Mr. Caution," he says. "Lay off me. Give me a break. I ain't..."
"Listen, dope," I tell him, "If you wanta keep outa the can you're goin' to do a little job for me. Get me? You're goin' to put on a dinner suit an' you're goin' round to Luke Schriller's party. An' when you get there this is what you do. Now get your ears open wide, an' get this stuff right—or else..."
"O.K., Mr. Caution," he whimpers. "Anything you say.... Anything you say...."
IT is eleven o'clock next mornin' an' I am sittin' in Brendy's room at Headquarters smokin' a cigarette when Grelt who is a lieutenant in the Homicide Squad busts in like he was nuts. He is grinnin' all over his face.
"Listen to this, you two," he hollers. "Get an earful of this. Oh boy!"
He leans over the desk.
"This mornin' at ten-thirty," he says, "that louse Rudy Zix it sittin' down in Mulligan's bar with his hands in his pockets. Five minutes afterwards Willie Spigla comes in. Before anybody can even sneeze Zix pulls a gun an' opens fire on Spigla. Spigla is hit but he pulls out his own cannon an' puts five shots inta Zix. They're both as dead as last week's cold cuts. Can you beat it? An' here is us been tryin' to get these two hellions on thirty murder charges for the last two years. Say, what do you know about that, Lemmy?"
I get up.
"Me ... I don't know nothin' about anything," I crack, "Maybe they was just play in'."
I scram.
I GET the Anton dame's telephone number from the record office an' I ease down to the pay-box on Centre Street an' ring through to her.
"Hey, Mrs. Anton," I tell her. "It looks like the two guys who shot your husband has shot each other to pieces this mornin' an' there's a lot of widows like you will be feelin' much better to-day."
I hear her gasp.
"Oh, Mr. Caution," she says, "an' only last night I was saying that there wasn't any justice. This is the hand of fate."
"You're tellin' me," I say. "It looks like these two killers went to a party last night an' just before they went some guy sorta suggests to them that one of these days one of 'em might give the other one away over shootin' your husband. This idea sorta sticks in their heads, see?
"Well, when they are at the party some friend of theirs by the name of Hinty Fazza comes in an' starts givin' 'em plenty to drink. When they are good an' high he gets 'em arguin' as to who is the best pistol shot, an' then challenges 'em to have a shootin' match at six-inch targets at twenty-five yards down at Mulligan's bar, ten-thirty next mornin' an' that he will put up a hundred-dollar bill as a prize. These two guys will do anything for a hundred so they say O.K.
"Then he gives 'em a lot more to drink an' they are so high that they haveta take 'em home unconscious.
"O.K. Well, about nine o'clock this mornin' some guy who nobody don't know rings up Zix's girl Lottie Frisch an' tells her that this shootin' competition is just a frame-up. He says that Spigla believes that Zix is goin' to croak over the Anton shootin' to save his own skin an' that he's goin' to get him down to Mulligan's bar an' bump him off. Lottie says O.K. she will wise up Rudy an' if there's goin' to be any shootin' he will shoot first an' it will be self-defence so he will get away with it.
"But what she don't know is that this unknown guy has already rung up Pearl McGonnigle—Spigla's girl—an' told her exactly the same story.
"The result is that these two guys go down there an' directly they see each other they start a big bombardment that woulda made the Civil War look like a meetin' of the Riverview Young Ladies' Annual Bun Festival, so it looks as if justice has pulled one outa the bag this time. Well ... so long, Mrs. Anton."
I take a cab an' I go around an' see Lottie Frisch. She is already planning a big headstone for Rudy Zix's grave. She is aimin' to have written on it: "He only passed this way once. Let us remember him."
This is a good one because believe it or not any time this Zix guy passed any place once they usta ring for the ambulance.
Pearl goes one better. She is piannin' to put up a fancy monument on Spigla's grave with a cupid on the top shootin' a bow an' arrow an' the words, "Good-bye—I hope you will miss me"—which is just what Spigla must have thought when Rudy Zix started shootin'!
I commiserate with these dames, after which I ease along to Headquarters an' smoke another cigarette with Brendy.
"You know, Lemmy," he says, "This shootin' is a funny business. I got the low-down on it. I would like to know," he goes on, "who the guy was who telephoned through to the Frisch an' McGonnigle dames and handed them the phoney story that made these two guys shoot each other. I would like to give that guy a medal!"
I didn't say a word. What do I want with medals?
THE "G" Office has tipped me off that it is a row of beans to a hamburger that I will find the bunch I am lookin' for at Schritzel's speakeasy any time after dark.
I go there at nine an' there they are. Fin Zucca, the Big Shot, is sittin' at a table down at the end drinkin' beer with some jane with red hair an' a hey-hey look in her eye. Away across the other side of the big room, at a table under a side light, is Cracker's girl, talking to that cheap mouthpiece Skraut. He looks like the chisellin' two-timin' lawyer that he is.
I go over.
"Hey, Skraut," I tell him, "I wanta talk to Fran here. Scram."
He gets up an' stands there grinnin'.
"Run away, sourpuss," I tell him.
He gives me a nasty sorta look an' scrams.
I sit down.
Fran puts her head back an' takes a look at me. She is easy to look at, even if there are a lotta lines under her eyes. She smiles at me sorta sarcastic, an' I can see her little white teeth glistenin'. I told you she was an eyeful.
"Well," she says, "an' what does the big 'G' man, Lemmy Caution, want? I didn't know you had any use for me since you got Crackers sent up. So get it over with an' get outa here. I don't like your personality!"
I grin back at her.
"You're tellin' me, baby," I crack. "Listen Fran," I go on, "I got some news for you. But before I spill it I wanta ask you a coupla questions, an' there ain't any strings on 'em either.
"Just tell me this, honeybunch: When Crackers was pulled in for bustin' open that safe, shootin' a cop an' gettin' away with twenty thousand dollars, who was it paid Skraut to defend him, because I reckon that bum mouthpiece don't work for nothin'. Was it Zucca?"
"Sure it was Zucca," she says. "Zucca's a good guy. He paid Skraut to get Crackers off, and Skraut fell down on it because he hadn't got a chance to win. Crackers hadta take the rap. Why, they picked him up with the gun that shot the cop on him. If it wasn't for Zucca stakin' me now I'd be on my ear—flat."
I nod.
"Maybe," I tell her. "But listen, baby, why don't Crackers come across with where he hid that dough? Maybe he'd still get a year or two remission if he'd spill the beans. Why wouldn't he talk?" She laughs.
"He'd get a year or two off, would he?" she says, "Hear me laugh! What's a year or two off twenty? Be your age! An' listen, Lemmy, you get outa here. I don't sorta like 'G' men."
"O.K. lady," I say, "but there's a little thing I thought I'd like to tell you. I thought you might like to know that Crackers bust jail to-day. He's out an' if I know anything about him he's pinched a car an' he's headin' this way." She sits up as if she's been shot.
"Crackers out," she whispers. She shrugs her shoulders. "Oh, so what?" she goes on, "They'll get him all right. They'll pick him up."
"Sure they will," I tell her. "But we wanta know where that twenty thousand bucks is, an' so we're goin' to give Crackers a run. Figure it out for yourself, girlie," I tell her. "This is the way I reckon he's goin' to play it:
"First he pinches a car an' drives like a lick for New York. He'll be expectin' a radio alarm but there won't be one. We're too smart for that. We just ain't told anybody—not even a reporter. O.K. He gets inta New York an' then what does he do? Well, the first thing he does is to try an' contact you, sweetheart, don't he? An' after that he's goin' to the place where he salted that dough down an' pick it up so's he can make a getaway.
"Now, I'll make a deal with you, Fran. I figure that Crackers will contact you an' he'll go after that dough to-night. He's too smart to chance bein' seen on the streets by day. O.K. All you haveta do is to get outa him where the dough is an' when he goes out after it you telephone through to me. Then we pick him up an'the dough too. Well...?"
She laughs.
"So I'm to be a squealer, am I?" she says. "I'm to be a snout for the big 'G' man, Mr. Lemmy Caution. An' supposin' I say no—what then?"
"That'll be just too bad, Fran," I tell her. "I reckon if you don't come across that Crackers is goin' to get his. Because when we do pick him up we'll shoot that baby like a dog an' then you'll have a stiff for a sweetheart. An' how d'you like that?"
She gets up an' she picks up her glass. She throws the bourbon right in my face.
"That's how I like it," she says an' walks out.
I wipe my face. Over in the corner Zucca, Skraut and the girl are lookin' at me laughin'.
I reckon they thought it was funny.
IT is ten-thirty. I have picked up Litzel of the Homicide Squad, because I reckon he has got a voice as near like Crackers as I can get. We go into the telephone pay box on 27th and Broadway. Litzel puts the call through to Fran an' winks at me when he hears her answer. Then he puts on the act like we arranged.
"Listen, Fran," he says. "This is Crackers speakin'. Now keep your ears open an' your trap shut. I bust outa the big house this mornin' an' I got here in a car I grabbed. I'm comin' over right away. I gotta have some food an' a sleep."
"Lay off for the love of Mike," she says. "Listen, honey. You're as hot as a coal. They're after you. Caution tried to make a deal with me to shop you. Don't come near this dump because they're watchin' it an' me. Play it some other way."
"O.K." says Litzel, gulpin' like he was disappointed. "Looky, Fran, baby, I'm goin' to pick up that dough I pinched—the twenty thousand. It's my only chance. It's on the top floor at Fagar's factory—the empty one—over on Schriller's wharf, under the floorboards.
"Get through to Zucca. Tell him to meet me there in an hour—at eleven-thirty. Tell him to have a car around at the back for me to make a getaway, a suit, a hat, an' a gun. Tell him I'll split the twenty grand with him. You got that?"
"I got it, sweetheart," says Fran. "Zucca'Il be there if I have to take him myself."
Litzel hangs up. We look at each other an' grin.
At eleven-twenty I am standin' in the corner behind an old packin' case on the top floor at Fagar's factory. I am keepin' plenty quiet. After a bit I hear a car pull up at the back. I ease over to the window an' look out. Zucca is gettin' out of the car an' Fran is sittin' in the back. I go back behind the packin' case.
After a minute or so Zucca comes in. He stands around away from the doorway an' he has got a gun in his hand. There is just enough light from the moon to see by.
Three minutes afterwards somebody starts comin' up the stairs.
I get my gun out an' stand waitin'. I reckon I have gotta do a sweet shot if I am goin' to keep this case nice an' clean.
A few steps from the top Litzel—still pretendin' to be Crackers—starts talkin'.
"Are you there, Zucca?" he calls out. "Are you there, you lousy rat. I'm goin' to get you for framin' me, Zucca. I broke jail to get you, you cheap double-crossin' dog."
I see Zucca put the gun up. I take aim.
"Be your age, Crackers boy," says Zucca. "Don't get all burned up now. Let's talk this thing over quiet like."
Just then Litzel gets to the top of the stairs an' turns into the doorway. When he gets there he drops flat on his face. Zucca shoots an' I shoot at the same time. Zucca's shot goes inta the woodwork where Litzel was standin' a second before ah' my shot gets Zucca where I meant it to, right clean through the pump.
He drops as dead as a doornail.
Litzel gets up an' I go over to Zucca an' search him. In his pocket I find the dough. Litzel grins.
"Sweet work, Lemmy," he says.
OUTSIDE around at the back I find Fran waitin' by the car. It looks like she has heard the shots. When she sees me her shoulders sorta droop.
"So you got him, Lemmy?" she says. "So you shot Crackers like you said?"
I grin.
"Take it easy, sweetheart," I tell her. "I shot Zucca. All that stuff I handed you out about Crackers breakin' jail was just a lotta baloney. That call on the telephone from Crackers was another fake. We put that up so's you'd get Zucca to come over to meet Crackers.
"I knew durn well that Zucca would go. First of all he was the guy who shot that cop and pinched the twenty grand, an' he passed the gun onta Crackers an' used Skraut to throw the case down an' get Crackers railroaded. He reckoned that Crackers had broke out of jail just to bump him off an' he was goin' to get the first shot in. I got Litzel from Centre Street to put up an act in the dark—to make out he was Crackers—an' Zucca fell for it like a sack of cement.
"In Zucca's pocket was the twenty thousand. He hadn't been able to change that dough because we had the serial numbers of the bills plastered all over the country. He was goin' to plant it on Crackers' body after he'd shot him. Then he was goin' to put a call through to headquarters, tell 'em he'd bumped off Crackers in self-defence an' ask for a two grand reward for pullin' in an escaped convict an' recoverin' twenty thousand dollars of stolen money. Well, it just didn't come off."
I take a peek at her. Her eyes are shinin'.
"Then they'll spring Crackers," she says. "Lemmy, will they...?"
"You bet," I tell her. "I'm goin' back to headquarters now. I reckon the Chief will phone through to the pen. Crackers'll be out to-morrow."
She comes up to me.
"An' I thought you was playin' me for a stool pigeon," she says. "I thought you was tryin' to get me to throw Crackers down. I thought..."
"Impossible, honeybunch," I tell her. "You wasn't built for thinkin'."
She looks up at me.
"Lemmy," she says, "have a piece of this."
She puts her arms around my neck an' kisses me, an' I'm tellin' you that when it comes to kissin' that dame knows her groceries all right. I break outa the clinch just as Litzel comes outa the warehouse.
"Listen, girlie," I tell her. "You scram home. I'll give you a call about Crackers in the mornin'. An' the next time you throw a glass of bourbon at me just throw it in my mouth, will you. It tastes better that way!"
ANYBODY who says that Karen was not an eyeful can go fry an egg... any male guy I mean. Females never did like Karen an' was they right?
Me I like the baby. Yeah... now that she is nicely tucked away in a nice little five feet ten box I don't mind her one little bit.
She was the sorta babe I would like to have married if I had wanted to find myself runnin' round in circles tryin' to find who had cut my ears off while I was snoozin' after a big meal. She was like that.
I want you to meet Karen. An' I would also like you to contact a smart guy named Scraut If you're interested come this way...!
KAREN DALDA threw a hot look at Scraut—just one. Then the dinge orchestra burst into her second chorus, and the girls—the finest leg show in San Francisco—lined up behind her as Karen proceeded to give the customers their money's worth.
Even the guy who had swallowed a bottle of cut liquor that Rocca gave his customers after they were too far gone to care, managed to get his head up and take one last look at Karen's twinkling, black silk-tight-clad legs before he went right out under the table.
Scraut wondered. He was never quite certain about Karen. She'd looked at him that way before.
He was forty. His eyes were small and sharp. He was expensively dressed—only the best custom built clothes for Nicky Scraut. He fed too well, drank too much and even the exercises he did when he thought of it could not keep down the paunch that was beginning to show.
He was the wise guy. The cutest lawyer in town with the cutest clientele. His customers were tops in their rackets. He was the alibi king, the expert in the delayed trial, the producer of the fake witness, the fixer for the guys who had enough dough to buy good fixing.
Now and again, through the smoke-laden atmosphere of the Two Moons, a whispered remark would trickle over to his ears.
"That's Nicky Scraut," somebody would say. "Oh boy, what a lawyer! He's Rocca's mouthpiece. If you got him workin' for you what can't you get away with!"
He ordered more rye and watched Karen with envious sullen eyes.
He wished she was anybody's dame but Steve Rocca's.
The dinge orchestra crashed into a heavy "chord off." In a burst of applause and wisecracks, Karen shook a farewell leg at the customers and disappeared through the velvet curtains.
The waiter, a heavy-eyed wop, touched Scraut on the shoulder.
"Rocca wants you," he said
Scraut stubbed out his cigarette, got up, drank his rye standing, and walked around the side of the club balcony to the pass door at the end. Down the passage he got into the lift, pressed the button and went up to the third floor, the one where in the "social rooms" fly croupiers and the come-on girls took the suckers for everything they had at dice, chemie, roulette, and what-have-you-got.
At the end of the red and gold passage Scraut pushed open the door and went in.
Rocca was sitting behind his big walnut desk, smoking a big cigar, wise-cracking with Karen, who had thrown a fox-collared, velvet wrap over her show frock. Rocca was big, hearty, open-faced, square-chinned. His eyes were blue and icy cold—killer's eyes. He was a born racketeer, a swell money-spinner, a calculating leader of men and a swell despoiler of women. Rocca was tops all the way.
Karen shot another quick, warm look at Scraut.
"Hey, Nicky," she said, "An' howdya like my new number?"
He grinned and took a chair.
"The customers seemed to like it," he said, "Honey, has any one ever whispered in your ear that you got something that makes a 'strip-tease' act look like Sunday afternoon on the farm? Swell work, Kid."
He looked at Rocca.
"So what, Steve?" he asked.
Karen got up to go. Rocca stopped her.
"Stick around, babe," he said, "You're in on this."
He pushed the gold cigar box over to Scraut's side of the desk, got up and stood looking at them both with smiling cold eyes.
"Listen, Nicky," he said, "I'm in a little bit of a spot. I gotta get quick action. I gotta straighten out one or two little things. Here's the way it is:
"To-night I get the low-down on Salky, see? The dirty rat reckons he's going to blow outa town to-morrow. He figures to do this after I told him to stick around. He's gettin' nervous or somethin', an' I hear some Federal dick was seen comin' outa his place early this mornin'. O.K. I got the tip off that Salky figures to draw his dough outa the safe deposit to-morrow evenin' an' then take the night plane for New York. It looks to me as if that baby thinks he is goin' to do some talkin'... Well, he ain't... see?"
Scraut nodded. He was listening hard.
"All right," Rocca went on, "Well, here's the way I'm going to play it. You been pretty good at fixin' things for me, Nicky, an' you been well paid for it too. You oughta be in the red, even if you have been droppin' plenty on the stock market lately like I hear.
"Well, I reckon I ain't takin' any chances on this set-up, Nicky. I ain't goin' to do this job an' get you to fix the alibi afterwards. No, sir, I'm fixin' the alibi now, an' it's goin' to be you... see?"
Scraut nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he was watching Karen. Her velvet wrap had fallen away from one leg. She saw his glance and smiled sideways at him.
Scraut shot a quick glance at Rocca, but Rocca was busy talking.
"Listen, and get this, Nicky," said Rocca, "To-morrow night Salky is goin' to be around at his apartment alone. He reckons to meet up with a dame. Well, he won't, because I'm goin' to pay him a call, an' I'm goin' up the back way an' nobody but him ain't goin' to see me.
"Salky has got this appointment for eleven o'clock. Well, just before then I am goin' to deal with that mug. I'm goin' to give him a skinful of lead in the place where it hurts an' I'm goin' to take a personal interest in watchin' him die.
"Now this is where you come in. I have fixed up with Meracci a big act that I am selling this place. The sale is a phoney—just a fake to give me an alibi for this Salky rub-out. To-morrow night at a quarter to eleven, Meracci is supposed to be comin' round to your apartment to hand over the dough he's supposed to be paying for this place, an' you're going to have a bill of sale ready for signature. O.K. Well, the story is that I am with you at your place settlin' the business, an' that I was with you from a quarter to till a quarter after eleven—that gets me out. You got that? O.K.
"Well now, here's some more. After I have rubbed out Salky at eleven o'clock I am goin' to slide down the service stairs out on to Grape Street. Karen will be waitin' for me there. I am goin' to slip her the bag with Salky's dough in it, an' she will bring it right round to your apartment. There's a sweet explanation for that money if anybody wants to know. It's the money that Meracci is supposed to pay for this club, see? I've fixed that with him too.
"O.K. Nicky. Well, directly the cops hear about the Salky bump-off, they're goin' to come around an' see me, ain't they? They're goin' to think that it was me rubbed him out. Well, so what? Why you an' Karen can prove I was up in your apartment signing the transfer an' bill of sale over this club an' that's that."
Rocca walked over to the drinks table and poured out three. He handed one to Karen and one to Scraut.
"O.K. Steve," said Scraut, "That looks a sweet set-up to me. The alibi's a natural an' the cops can't pick a hole in it."
Rocca grinned.
"Swell," he said, "Now I got some business to fix here. Nicky, you take Karen off in your car an' drop her at her dump for me, willya?"
He sat down at his desk as the two went out. He was still smiling.
SCRAUT thought that Karen was sitting pretty close up to him in the car, but he didn't do a thing. He wasn't certain and he reckoned that Rocca wouldn't be so kind to a guy who made a play for his moll. But he wondered some more.
"Look, Nicky," she said, "I don't wanna go home. Let's go to Rumpy's place an' have a pair of old-fashioneds. I gotta thirst."
Scraut smiled a little to himself. Maybe she'd got ideas about him after all. He told the chauffeur to drive to Rumpy's.
Sitting at the little table in a quiet corner of the speakeasy she looked at him over the top of her glass. She was smiling wickedly. She was looking at him like she meant something.
"Hey, Nicky," she said at last, "Whatdya think of Steve's big idea? Me, I don't like the idea of this Salky killin'. If anything goes wrong we'll all be on the heap. Steve is gettin' plenty chancy these days, hey?"
He nodded.
Then he shrugged his shoulders.
"Salky's a mug," he said, "He had it comin'."
"Yeah," she grinned, "I wonder what Steve woulda said if he'd been wise to the fact that you been plenty friendly with Salky lately; that Salky's been stakin' you to all the dough you lost playin' the market?"
She put her hand up as he started to speak.
"Don't worry, bozo," she said, "I'm your friend an' I always keep my mouth sewn up. Take it easy!"
She leaned towards him.
"There's somethin' about you I like," she said softly. "You're a cute little mouthpiece, ain't you, Nicky?" He smiled back. So she was for him!
"Just fancy that, honey," he said, "I thought you was nuts about Steve. I didn't think you even got around to thinkin' about another guy."
The smile froze off her face.
"Rocca gives me the big pain," she said. "Me—I reckon he's all washed up. But what's a girl to do? I sometimes wish that the cops would get their hooks on that big boy and fry hell outa him. They woulda done that plenty if it hadn'ta been for you an' your cute lawyer tricks."
Scraut's heart began thumping. It looked easy. The dame was for him an' she was fed up with Rocca. So was he. Rocca was getting too chancy. He'd put 'em all in dutch one day. Now was the time to get out.
He gave her a cigarette and lit it. Across the table her fingers touched his.
"You know, honey," he said. "I was thinkin' comin' along here in the car...." He stopped.
She smiled at him.
"Yeah, Nicky," she said very softly. "You tell me. Just what was you thinkin', big boy?"
He blew out a mouthful of smoke. His little pigs' eyes shining. He leaned closer to her.
"Look, kid," he said. "Here's the sorta thing that could happen that would just about put paid to Rocca an' would put us in the red, that is if we was the sorta people who would pull a fast one on him. Here's the story:
"He shoots Salky to-morrow night just before eleven o'clock, don't he? Then he scrams down the service stairs, an' you're waitin' for him on Grape Street an' he slips you the bag with Salky's dough in it. O.K. You scram around and give me the dough an' Rocca goes home. That's his idea.
"Right, next morning when they find Salky, they pull in Rocca. They'll reckon he done it. When they pinch him he tells 'em how he was with me at my apartment from a quarter to eleven until some time later, settlin' about the club sale, an' I confirm that alibi. So they have to spring him, don't they? They can't hold him after that.
"But supposin' that to-morrow night at eleven o'clock I was with the District Attorney on some business I got with him? Then the D.A. will know durn well that Rocca wasn't with me at that time. When they pinch Rocca an' he says that he was with me at eleven o'clock he'll be convicting himself just as much as if he made a straight confession. An' they'll burn him for it!"
Her eyes were shining.
"Yeah, Nicky," she whispered. "An' we'd have the dough. You an' me. We could go places. Ain't you the brainy guy?" Her hand closed over his on the table.
"That's it, Nicky," she said. "That's the way we play it. It's a helluva idea."
Scraut's heart beat faster. Now things were moving. He looked across the table at her and ran his pink tongue over his thick lips.
"Now listen, sweetheart," he said. "Let's get this straight. We don't want any slip-ups. To-morrow night at five to eleven I'm goin' to get into my car an' drive around to the D.A.'s office, he's working late every night. He'll be there. All right. Now at eleven o'clock Rocca shoots Salky, then he scrams downstairs and passes the dough to you and goes off. Now here's what you do. You jump a cab an' you drive right around to the corner of Walnut Street and Twelfth. You'll find my car there without the chauffeur. All you do is to slip inside and sit down and wait for me.
"Over the way I'll be with the D.A. That'll be just around eleven o'clock. I'll mention in course of talking to him that I've just been settling the sale of Rocca's club to Meracci; that I've come straight around from Meracci's place and that you've been with me an' that you're downstairs in the car, waitin' for me to take the dough that Meracci paid me for the club to Rocca.
"That keeps you in the clear. It means that Rocca can't call you as a witness when they try him, because the D.A. will know you was with me at the time of the killin'. He'll think you been with me all evening. Got it?"
"I got it, Nicky," she said. "What a sweet set-up. Will Meracci play along?"
He grinned.
"He'll play along all right. He'll say what I tell him. I'll talk to him in the morning."
She got up.
"I gotta go, Nicky," she said, "I better get back. Steve might telephone through an' wonder where I'd got to."
He dropped her off at her apartment. As she turned to go in she threw him another hot look.
"This time to-morrow, Nicky," she said, "you an' me will be goin' places."
As the car drove off Scraut lit himself a cigarette and relaxed. There were only three things he wanted. One was to get away from Rocca, the second was Karen Dalda, and the third was dough.
He reckoned he was going to get the lot.
UP in her apartments Karen threw the black velvet wrap over the bed. Then she wriggled out of her show frock, admired her filmy underthings in the eight foot mirror and gave herself a cigarette.
The clock on her dressing table said it was a minute to half-past three. She blew a cloud of smoke from her nostrils and walked over to the telephone. She rang Rocca's number. Her voice was caressing.
"Hey, Stevie," she said. "Was you right, baby? It was just like you said. The dirty rat put up a sweet scheme for dutchin' you an' makin' me an' the dough. He's brainy, ain't he?"
She heard him laugh.
"Get around here in the morning," he said. "I'll get Meracci along an' we'll fix that mouthpiece. Nice work, baby!"
SCRAUT parked his car in the dark alleyway that lay between Walnut and Twelfth Streets. He looked at his watch. It was just eleven o'clock.
He got out of the car, lit a cigarette and sauntered across the wide street towards the Hall of Justice building.
Inside he nodded to the janitor.
"I'm going up to see the D.A.," he said.
He looked at his watch.
"Two minutes past eleven," he said to the man. "Too bad that the D.A. has to work so late."
He walked down the passage to the lift.
On the second floor he got out of the lift, and as it began to descend, sauntered along the corridor. But he did not stop at the D.A.'s door. He walked casually to the end of the corridor and looked out through the window towards the corner of Walnut and Twelfth. He grinned. He saw Karen—the bag in her hand—slip into the car. So that was O.K.
He sauntered back to the D.A.'s door and knocked. Then he went in.
Graltz, the District Attorney, was sitting at his desk. On one side of him was Nickol, a lieutenant in the Homicide Squad, and on the other was Fayner, the Assistant DA.
"I'm glad you came in, Scraut," said Graltz. "I was just going to send Nickol here to pick you up."
Scraut's skin stiffened.
"Pick me up," he said, "What for? I came in here to see you about..."
"Never mind that," said the DA. "Listen to this: At ten-fifteen to-night somebody rings through here that Salky has got shot up in his apartment. This guy don't give any name, but he sort of suggests that Steve Rocca is the guy who has done the shootin.'
"O.K. I send Nickol here around to the Two Moons Club, and Rocca is there. Rocca says he's got a cast-iron alibi. He says that from ten o'clock until ten-thirty he was with Meracci settling up some business about selling his club. He says Meracci bought the place.
"He also says some more. He says that you've been playing the markets lately and doing pretty badly. He says that Salky's been lending you money and that he reckons you are the guy who would like to see Salky out of the way. Well, Salky's girl Lillah says that it's a fact that Salky's been staking you to plenty of dough lately. What have you got to say about it, Scraut?"
Scraut thought quickly. He was in a spot and he knew it. For some reason or other Rocca had bumped Salky at ten o'clock and somebody had got wise, telephoned through to the D.A. and told him. Rocca, when questioned, had pulled a fake alibi with Meracci, an alibi that he, Scraut, had got to break down.
And he could do it. Karen could do it too. It was easy! He smiled casually.
"Listen, Graltz," he said. "Rocca's lyin' an' I can prove it easy. Last night I had a show-down with that guy. I told him that I didn't want to handle his business any more and that after I had completed this club sale for him to-night I was through. That's why he's tryin' to pin this thing on me.
"O.K. Well, at ten o'clock I was with Meracci settling this business, and not only was I with him, but Karen Dalda, Rocca's girl, was there with us. She came around here with me. She's outside in the car now, an' she's got the money that Meracci paid for the club with her."
He lit a cigarette.
"It's like that dirty heel Rocca to try an' make trouble for me just because I was givin' him the air," he said.
The D.A. nodded.
"O.K., Scraut," he said. "I reckon that if we can check on what you say, that puts you in the clear."
He turned to Nickol.
"Go downstairs and bring the Karen Dalda dame up here," he said. "Let's hear what she's got to say."
They waited. Three minutes later Nickol returned. He grinned at the D.A.
"There wasn't no dame in the car," he said. "All there was in the car was this."
He held up a leather bag.
The D.A. looked across at Scraut.
"That don't look so good for your story, does it, Scraut?" he said. "Maybe you'll tell us what's in this bag?"
Scraut passed his tongue across his lips. It was plain to him that Karen had walked out on him. Maybe she was scared. But she'd left the money behind. That was the thing he couldn't figure out.
He was still casual, still smiling.
"I expect the dame got tired of waiting," he said. "But it was durn silly of her to leave that purchase money behind in the car like that."
Graltz nodded. He took up a pen knife from the desk and cut the brass lock off the leather bag. Then he tipped the bag up. A gun fell out. Nothing else.
The D.A. picked it up. Slipped out the clip. He smiled at Scraut.
"Salky was shot with a .38 Colt," he said. "This is a .38 Colt. There were two bullets in him and there are two bullets missing from this gun."
He sat back in his chair.
"It don't look so good for you, Scraut," he said, "and I'm going to charge you with being an accessory to this killing, and that means the chair for you—you know that.
"If Karen Dalda and you was with Meracci to-night like you said, how is it that you've got this gun with you—the gun that killed Salky? If she wasn't with you, how did she know that your car was going to be waiting outside here so that she could drop the gun into it and scram. And you were plenty surprised to see that gun. You thought there was money in that bag, didn't you—Salky's money?"
Scraut began to sweat.
"Hooey!" he said, but his voice had a crack in it. He talked quickly.
"I'm standing on my alibi with Meracci. Meracci is goin' to prove that I was with him at ten o'clock to-night and that after I left him I came right away around here with the dough he paid for Rocca's club. Can I help it if the dame goes off with the dough and somebody plants a murder gun in my car?"
"Sure, you can't," said Graltz, with a grin. "But you see, Scraut, there's a tough thing in this case—a thing that is goin to send you an' Karen Dalda an' Rocca to the chair!"
He paused for a moment.
"You've all got fine stories that maybe would get you outa this," he went on, "if it wasn't for that little thing."
He stubbed his cigarette out.
"Meracci was knocked down by a truck on 22nd btreet at three o'clock this afternoon," he said quietly. "He died at four."
CALLAGHAN peered ahead into the darkness. The rain, dashing against the windscreen, sounded like hailstones. An occasional flash of lightning illuminated the deserted country road, showing the detective the cross road just ahead of him.
He cursed softly and comprehensively, pulled the car to the side of the road, stopped, took out his map and consulted it by the light of a pocket torch. The left fork, just ahead of him, would lead to the sea. Half a mile down the right fork there should be an inn. Mentally consigning jealous husbands to a place where—at that moment—he believed they belonged, Callaghan restarted the car.
Five minutes afterwards he sat in the cosy bar parlour drinking a double whisky and soda. When he had re-read the letter in his pocket he walked over to the service hatch and asked for the landlord. He looked at his watch. It was half-past ten.
In a minute or two the landlord appeared. Callaghan said:
"I wonder if you can help me. I'm looking for someone by the name of Ferdinand—not a very easy job on a night like this in an area like this."
"You're right," said the landlord. "But it ain't so difficult an' you know the place, see? Which on 'em was it you was lookin' fer. Was it 'er or would it be 'im you was after?"
Callaghan did not answer the question. He grinned amiably and asked:
"What sort of a person is she? Does she live about here?"
"She lives a quarter of a mile or thereabouts from 'ere," said the landlord. "An' she's a lady. I dunno 'ow she came to take up an' marry with a man like 'im. 'E's no good to man or beast. 'E's treated 'er rotten bad. Every one knows it round these parts. If it's 'er you're wantin', keep straight on up this fork of the road an' turn left at the spinney through the wood. You'll see the cottage. But if it was 'im you was wantin' I reckon you'd be too late. It's all around that he was clearin' out to-day, goin' to London, an' a good riddance says I."
Callaghan raised his eyebrows.
"I see," he said. "So he's cleared out to-day. Who told you that?"
"I don't rightly know," said the landlord. "It was one of the things I 'ear in the bar. People come in 'ere an' talk, an' they talk about 'im plenty too. I must say I've never 'eard anybody say anything good for 'im."
Callaghan nodded.
"So he's gone to London," he said. "That's interesting."
He finished his whisky and soda.
"So you think he's a bad lot," he queried. "And I suppose if he's given her a bad time he wouldn't be above trying to do her a bad turn?'"
"I reckon 'e'd do anythin'," said the landlord. "'E 'ates 'er like the devil an' she's the nicest thing in the county. The last six months or so 'e's been a different man. I never did see a man change so."
Callaghan nodded again.
"I wonder what made him change," he asked.
The landlord grinned.
"That's easy," he said. "'E changed when she walked out on 'im an' I don't blame 'er. I suppose 'e liked 'avin' 'er around to bully an' make a fool out of. Ever since she went off an' lived in the cottage by 'erself 'e's been going from bad to worse. I wouldn't put anything above 'im."
Callaghan grinned. He said:
"I see. The neighbourhood's decided that it likes her but it doesn't like him. Is that it?"
"That's right," said the landlord.
Callaghan put on his hat. He said:
"I'll leave Ihe car here and walk. I'll come back for it."
CALLAGHAN stood, the rain dripping from the brim of his black soft hat, looking at the woman who stood framed in the doorway of the cottage. He was thinking that she was one of the most beautiful persons he had ever seen. He began to wonder about Ferdinand....
He said: "My name's Callaghan. I'm a private detective, I'd like to talk to you about your husband."
She hesitated for a moment. Then:
"Come in, please," she said. "And you'd better take off your wet things."
Her voice was very soft, very attractive. Callaghan hung his hat and raincoat in the hall, followed her along the passage into a charmingly furnished sitting room. A tall good-looking man was seated in an armchair reading. He looked up as they entered.
She said to him: "Pierre... this is Mr. Callaghan. He wants to talk to me about Rupert." She turned to Callaghan. "This is my friend Pierre Duvenin," she said. She smiled suddenly. "I expect Rupert has had something to say about him?"
She motioned Callaghan to a chair. Then she went to a side table and produced cigarettes. She moved very slowly, very gracefully. She gave Callaghan and Duvenin cigarettes. Then she sat down, looking at the detective with pleasant, curious eyes.
Duvenin said nothing. He was watching her. He was obviously head over heels in love with her, thought Callaghan. Ferdinand had probably been right about that. Callaghan smiled at her. He said:
"I won't waste too much of your time and I'll state my business as quickly as I can.
"I received a letter from your husband, Rupert Ferdinand, this morning," said Callaghan. "He said he lived in this part of the world but omitted to put his address on the letter. I suppose he was worried or something. He enclosed two cheques, payable to bearer, in the letter. The first dated to-day was for fifty pounds; the second dated two weeks ahead was for two hundred and fifty. I presented the first cheque this morning, and it was paid.
"I've never met your husband but he'd heard of me from some friends of his that I once worked for. He said, in his letter, that he knew that you had been carrying on an affaire with this gentleman, Mr. Pierre Duvenin, for some months. He said it was driving him mad and that he wanted to divorce you but that you wouldn't agree. He said I was to come and see you immediately and ask you to agree to a divorce, and that if I could arrange this successfully I was to cash the second cheque in a fortnight's time as my fee. The first cheque was enclosed as evidence of good faith. He explained that it would be impossible for me to see him because he was leaving here this afternoon, but that I could write to him Poste Restante at Bristol and he would get in touch with me later. He instructed me to tell you that if you would agree to a divorce he would be prepared to make a settlement on you."
She had listened to the detective with her hands folded in her lap. Now she looked at Duvenin and smiled. She was still smiling when she turned her eyes back to Callaghan. She said very quietly:
"Mr. Callaghan, the individual who was responsible for the proverb which says that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, omitted to mention that there are some men who can also be furious. There is not and never has been anything between Mr. Duvenin and myself. We are merely good friends, that is all. The suggestion that we are indulging in an affaire is merely an attempt to discredit us both, to endeavour to show a malicious motive for the accusation that we are forced to make against my husband, the proofs of which have been supplied by Mr. Duvenin —which is the reason that my husband has selected him for the role of my lover."
Callaghan nodded. He said nothing.
"Mr. Duvenin," she went on, "has made it plain to me that my husband is a Fifth Columnist. We have kept observation on him. We have seen him signalling to enemy planes at night. As you know this part of the country is an important area, and enemy raids are, more or less, frequent.
"Very foolishly, although I had not seen or spoken to my husband for some months, I went to see him and warned him that I should inform the authorities of his activities. This is his reply. He has selected you to be the person to substantiate his suggestion that our accusation is worthless because it is merely spite as a result of his discovery of my infidelity and insisting on a divorce."
Callaghan said: "I see. I must say he doesn't sound a very nice person—this husband of yours."
Her lip curled. She said almost casually:
"I expect you'll discover just what sort of a person he is when you meet him."
Callaghan grinned.
"It looks as if I'm not going to meet him," he said. "And I want to. I feel I want to talk to this mysterious client of mine. I'm not too keen on this case now that I've met you, Mrs. Ferdinand."
She said: "It's kind of you to say that. But I think you can meet him if you want to. Both Mr. Duvenin and I know that he is still here—at his house. We saw flashlights there not half an hour ago."
Callaghan got up.
"I think I'll go and have a talk with him," he said. "It might be interesting!"
Duvenin spoke. His voice was pleasant and well-modulated. He said:
"I'll tell you the way. When you get outside the cottage you must follow the lane to the left, over the hill, and through the little wood. You'll see Ferdinand's house in the valley. But you won't be able to get in. There's a high wall and he keeps the iron gates locked. There's no bell. My advice to you is to telephone and say you're coming."
"I'll do that," said Callaghan. "May I use the 'phone?"
Mrs. Ferdinand said: "I'm sorry I haven't a telephone. But when you get through the wood, if you will walk along the right-hand path at the cross roads you'll find a telephone box a few minutes' walk down the road. I'll give you the telephone number."
Callaghan wrote down the number in his book—Millbury 07842. He said:
"I'll come back and see you when I've had my talk with him. You might be interested."
She flashed him a smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Callaghan," she said. "That would be kind. Perhaps he's planning some more devilment for my benefit."
CALLAGHAN walked up the winding lane that led over the hill. He listened to the mud squelching under his wet shoes, concluded that he preferred the city. He began to think about Ferdinand and his wife. He pondered on the hatred a man could develop for a woman who leaves him. Callaghan was beginning to take a great personal interest in this client whom he had never seen, but although the detective was not inclined to believe everything that was told him, for some reason which he could not understand he found himself accepting the story which Mrs. Ferdinand had recounted. Callaghan felt that even if it were against his own interests he was inclined to be on her side.
The rain stopped suddenly. The moon came out from behind a cloud. Standing in the clearing on the other side of the wood, with the cross roads a few yards in front of him Callaghan could see quite plainly down in the valley, Ferdinand's house. He was about to turn and walk down the right-hand fork to find the telephone box when from the roof of the house below him he saw the flashes. There was no doubt about it—someone was signalling from the roof.
Callaghan lit a cigarette and began to walk down the right fork. After he had walked a little way he stood peering ahead trying to see the telephone box. He could not see it. He concluded it must be some way down the road. He stood for a moment, his hands in his pockets, undecided, thinking. Then he retraced his steps to the cross roads and began to walk down the path that led into the valley towards Ferdinand's house.
THE place was surrounded by a high wall. The tall iron gates were locked, as Duvenin had said. There was no bell. Callaghan began to walk round the wall until he found a place where a nearby tree gave him a foothold. A minute later he was over the wall and walking through the thick shrubbery towards the house. The place was dark and silent. Callaghan walked round to the back of the house. He found a kitchen door and tried the handle. The door opened easily. He produced his flashlight, walked through the kitchen along the long dusty passage into the hall. He searched the rooms on the ground floor, but found nothing.
Callaghan began to grin sardonically. Ferdinand, he thought, seemed to be one of his most evasive clients. Walking up the stairs, he began to think of the other strange clients who had used the services of Callaghan Investigations.
At the top of the stairs he found himself in another passage. Half-way along he saw a light coming through a half-open doorway. Callaghan put his torch in his pocket, pushed the door open and went in.
The room was well-furnished, the windows heavily curtained. In one corner of the room was a desk. Slumped across it was the figure of a man. This, thought Callaghan, would oe Ferdinand. He walked over to the desk. The man was dead. An automatic pistol was clasped in his right hand. Callaghan could see the hole behind the right temple where the bullet had gone in, and the thin stream of blood on the blotter on the other side showed where it had come out.
He looked round the room for a telephone but there was none. Then, with a final glance at the figure that lay over the desk, he closed the door behind him as he went out.
Callaghan stood at the cross roads on the top of the hill. He stood looking back at the house, smoking a cigarette, wondering. He had begun to walk towards the path through the wood on his way back to the cottage when he stopped. He began to grin sardonically. He turned abruptly on his heel, went back to the cross roads, began to walk down the right-hand fork. Some way down the road he found the telephone box. He went inside. He took from his pocket his notebook and rang the number that Mrs. Ferdinand had given him. Callaghan could hear the ringing tone; then the receiver was lifted.
A gruff voice said: "Hullo!"
Callaghan said: "Are you Ferdinand?"
The voice said: "Yes."
Callaghan said: "I'm Callaghan—the detective. I got your letter this morning I came down as you asked me. I've seen your wife, and Duvenin, who was with her. You'd better listen to me carefully.
"They both say you're a liar. They say you're a Fifth Columnist. They say they've got all the evidence they want against you. More than that they say that this accusation of infidelity against your wife with Duvenin is merely an attempt on your part to discredit the charge that they've made."
Ferdinand said: "I see. So it's like that. Well, that's that, there is only one way out of this." There was a metallic laugh. Then: "Anyhow, Callaghan, you've had your fifty pounds. I hope you get the other two-fifty."
Callaghan heard the click as the receiver was hung up. He waited a minute or two. Then he opened the telephone book. Five minutes afterwards he came out of the booth. He walked slowly back to the cottage.
MRS. FERDINAND opened the door. She said: "Well, did you see him? Come in."
She was composed. The little smile was still about her mouth. Callaghan thought she was very beautiful. He followed her into the sitting-room. Duvenin was still in the armchair, smoking. Callaghan put down his hat. He did not sit down. He said:
"I spoke to Ferdinand. I told him what you said. He didn't seem to like it. He said there was only one way out. He said that anyhow I'd got the first cheque cashed." He grinned ruefully. "He didn't seem to think I'd get the rest," he said.
She looked at him. Her eyes were wide. Then she looked at Duvenin.
"What do you think he'll do?" she asked. Duvenin shrugged his shoulders.
"If he's a wise man, he'll kill himself," he said. "I should think after that conversation he had with Mr. Callaghan, he knew the game was up."
Callaghan looked at them. His eyes were very cold. He said:
"There's just one thing I omitted to tell you—that I had the telephone conversation after I went to the house. When I was on my way there I saw somebody flashing signals from the roof of the house.
"That was you, Duvenin."
Duvenin started to get up. Callaghan put his hand into the right-hand pocket of his raincoat. He produced a short black automatic. He said:
"Keep still, both of you." He was smiling. "It was quite a nice little scheme," he went on. He looked at the woman. "You and your friend here were the Fifth Columnists," said Callaghan, "I imagine that a few days ago, Duvenin went up to town and opened that banking account in the name of Ferdinand, your husband, who suspected you both. Then he came back here and wrote me that letter, purporting to come from Ferdinand, telling me to come down here immediately to see you. You knew that after I'd heard your story I should want to see Ferdinand. You told me he was still here, which of course he was. You told me where I should find the house, but you were very careful to give me the longest route to it. You carefully arranged that I should go to a telephone box and call before I arrived. You were kind enough to give me the telephone number, but that wasn't his number. That was your number, Duvenin. When I spoke to that number, I was speaking to you.
"You started off from this cottage immediately after I left. You took the short cut to Ferdinand's place. You killed him and put the pistol in his hand. Then you got on the roof and did a little work with a flashlamp for my benefit. Then you dashed back to your own place, which is somewhere near his, and waited for my phone call. You thought that I'd phone before I went to the house. That call supplied you with an excellent alibi. It was intended to prove to me that Ferdinand was alive then, and had killed himself as a result of his conversation with me, between the time I spoke to him on the telephone and the time I arrived at his house. I would have supplied the evidence which would have proved that Ferdinand committed suicide.
"Unfortunately for you I went to the house first. I found Ferdinand dead. It was only on my way back that I saw down a side road not far from his house another telephone box. I wondered why you had sent me out of my way to go to the telephone box down the right fork of the cross roads on the hill. I was curious, and the idea occurred to me that you had deliberately sent me out of my way in order to give yourself time to do something. It was then I conceived the idea of trying the phone call to see what happened. You were waiting for it. You probably thought I'd lost my way and that's why my call was so late. After I'd spoken to you I looked up Ferdinand's number in the telephone book. As I thought, it was quite different. Then I looked up your number, Duvenin—that clinched it."
Duvenin looked at the woman.
Callaghan said: "I've been through to the police. They'll be here in a minute."
He produced his cigarette case.
"Maybe," he said, "you'd like a cigarette while we're waiting."
WINDEMERE NIKOLLS—Callaghan's Canadian assistant—a little out of breath, came down into the basement restaurant and stood looking about him. After a moment he saw Callaghan sitting in the corner eating pancakes. He went over.
He said: "Well, I've seen this dame, an' she's sweet. She's about forty, but I might be five years wrong either way. She's got somethin' though. She's got that sort of stuff you'd go for —allure they call it, don't they?"
Callaghan bisected another pancake. He said:
"What do you think of her?"
Nikolls shook his head.
"I don't like it, Slim," he said. "It's a case, an' the dough's all right, but one of these fine days one of those hot mommas is goin' to get you into plenty trouble."
"I'll chance that," said Callaghan. "When am I going to see her?"
Nikolls lit a cigarette.
"She'll be down here in five minutes," he said. "She said she'd rather tell you the whole story. She said she felt you'd sort of understand." He looked round. "There she is," he said.
Callaghan took a long look at the woman who was approaching the table. She was tall; possessed a slim and seductive figure. Callaghan thought she did not look a bit like forty years old, but then you never knew with that type of woman. Her hair was auburn; her face oval, the features exquisitely cut. Callaghan got up, placed a chair for her. He said: "I'm afraid it is very hot down here. All these basement cafes are hot. I'd take your furs off if I were you, Mrs. Eames."
She sat down, threw back her fox fur. She said: "I expect Mr. Nikolls has told you that I'm terribly worried, Mr. Callaghan. It's an awful position for a mother to be in. I expect he's told you about it...."
Callaghan said: "No, he hasn't. He's just outlined the story. I'd like to hear the whole thing."
She sighed.
"It is hot down here, isn't it?" she said.
She removed the white kid glove from her right hand. Callaghan saw that her fingers were long and beautiful, the rings on them valuable. She stopped in the middle of removing her other glove and looked at Callaghan hopelessly. He saw the tears in her eyes.
"Take it easy, Mrs. Eames. There's nothing so bad that it couldn't be worse, you know."
She smiled gratefully.
"It's nice of you to say that, Mr. Callaghan," she said, "but I don't think anything could be worse than what has happened to me. I was always so proud of Leslie...."
Callaghan said: "Supposing you start at the beginning."
She said: "I'll tell you the whole thing. It was about six months ago, that I realised that my son was a thief. He's always been an odd sort of boy; charming and very popular with everybody, especially women. He had quite a good allowance from me. It was only when I realised that he was spending a great deal of money and yet not getting into debt, that I knew that he must be getting money from somewhere. I need not say that I never for one moment suspected that my son could be a crook." Callaghan said: "How old is he?"
"He'll be twenty-two next March," she said, "But he looks and behaves as if he was live or six years older."
The detective nodded. "Go on, Mrs. Eames," he said.
"One night, after a party given by some friends of ours," the woman continued, "our hostess missed a valuable bracelet. A week after that, rummaging through the drawers in my son's rooms, trying to find an old photograph of him when he was a boy, I found the bracelet, hidden away under a pile of underclothes. I was so shocked that I didn't know what to do. I didn't do anything."
Callaghan said: "You don't mean to say you didn't tackle him about it?"
She shrugged her shoulders hopelessly.
"I was afraid to," she said, "I thought if I said anything he'd go away. I thought that if he did that the worst might happen to him. He might become just an ordinary common or garden crook."
"What did you do?" asked Callaghan.
"I pinched and scraped every penny I could," she said, "and six months afterwards I bought my friend another similar bracelet. I gave it to her as a present. That anyhow was a salve to my conscience. I hoped too that Leslie might wonder why I had done it, might guess that I'd suspected him, might want to turn over a new leaf.
"I don't know what he's done since then," she went on, "but I do know that other people—usually rich people with whom he's struck up the sudden friendships that he makes so easily—have missed things, usually articles of jewellery. But no one has ever suspected him. He's the sort of person you just couldn't suspect—he's too charming. He looks the sort of boy who could never tell you a lie."
Nikolls said: "That's what you think."
Callaghan raised his eyebrows.
"A mother's opinion is always prejudiced, Windy," he said. "But I understand what Mrs. Eames means."
She said: "Believe me, I'm not prejudiced about him, but now I'm terribly frightened. This last thing is too much."
Callaghan produced his cigarette case. He offered her a cigarette which she took. As he lit the cigarette he noticed that her eyes were still filled with tears.
"And what's the last thing?" asked Callaghan.
She sighed. Then she said miserably:
"I must tell you something about Leslie, so that you'll understand. He has very definite ideas about women. He's always had them. One of his ideas is that he can't stand blondes. Even as a little boy he disliked fair women. You will imagine then how amazed I was when three months ago he told me he had fallen deeply in love with a girl, that he wanted to be engaged to her. She was charming and delightful. I couldn't have picked a better wife for my son. There was one thing I couldn't understand—she was blonde. Her hair is the colour of corn. That intrigued me. I spoke to him about it and he laughed and said that peopie change their opinions.
"Eight or nine weeks ago I discovered that my son's fiancee —Miss Garston—had inherited some very valuable jewellery. Then I noticed that although she was a girl who disliked wearing jewellery, Leslie persuaded her to wear it on every possible occasion. I suddenly got a terrible idea in my head. I got the idea that Leslie wasn't in love with this girl at all, that he'd arranged the whole thing simply so that he might be able to steal that jewellery.
"I tried to dismiss the idea from my head, but it persisted in spite of everything. It's almost driven me mad. Now things have come to a crisis."
"I see," said Callaghan. "Tell me about the crisis." Then he said quickly: "Be careful of that cigarette. It's going to burn your glove in a minute."
She looked down at her gloved hand. She had smoked her cigarette rapidly, nervously. The stub held between her thumb and forefinger had already burned a brown patch on the fingertip of her white glove. She stubbed the cigarette out, looked at the burn mark at her finger-tip and made a little grimace. Then her face changed.
"The crisis is this, Mr. Callaghan," she said sadly, "Two days ago my son's fiancee decided to join some friend in Scotland. She's been living with one or two servants at her parents' house just outside London. They have already gone to Scotland. I learnt from her yesterday that Leslie, who had arranged to join them in a week or two's time in Edinburgh, had persuaded her to take her jewellery with her. He had persuaded her to remove the jewellery from the bank vaults where it's stored and keep it in the house—near Maidenhead—for one or two nights, and then to take it with her when she went."
Nikolls whistled softly between his teeth. Callaghan raised his eyebrows a bit.
"I see," he said. "And you think..."
"I think," said the woman, "that to-morrow night Leslie is going to steal that jewellery."
Callaghan said: "I see. But why to-morrow night? Why not to-night?"
She said: "I arranged it so that he couldn't. I insisted that to-night he should come round and dine with me. I said that there were some papers we must go over. I did that because I had heard about you, and I had decided that whatever happened I was going to come to you and tell you the whole story, to entreat you to help me."
Callaghan nodded.
"That was a good idea," he said. "That narrows his time for possible operations down to to-morrow night. But tell me something, Mrs. Eames. Why don't you tell him just what's in your mind?"
"For the same reason that I told you before," she said. "I believe if I told him that I knew he was a thief, that I knew what he was planning to do to this unfortunate girl, he'd go away. I should never see him again, and you see, whatever he may be, Mr. Callaghan, he's my son."
Callaghan said: "You are sure in your mind, Mrs. Eames, that he's going to steal this jewellery?"
She nodded.
"I'm absolutely certain," she said, "And I'll tell you why I'm certain."
She opened her handbag, took out a piece of paper. "This morning," she said, "I waited until I knew Leslie would have gone out. Then I went round to his flat. I said I'd wait until he came back. I knew he wouldn't be back under an hour and a half. I took the opportunity of looking round the place, of seeing if I could find anything that would confirm my suspicion. I found it. I found a piece of paper, and this is a copy of what was on it."
She handed a piece of notepaper to Callaghan. On one side of the paper was a plan, on the other some figures. Nikolls, leaning forward to see, whistled through his teeth again.
"Gee," he said. "The kid's got brains, hey? A plan of the house and the safe combination. What a sweet little feller!"
Callaghan said: "Shut up, Windy." He looked at the woman and smiled. "It looks as if Nikolls is right," he said.
She nodded. Callaghan thought he'd never seen any one look so miserable.
"Directly I found this, I knew what it was," she said. "He made this plan and somehow he got possession of the combination of the safe. He'll go down there to-morrow night. He'll steal that jewellery. Then he'll turn up the next day prepared to see Miss Garston off to Edinburgh. The robbery will be discovered, but of course he'll never be suspected."
Callaghan said: "It looks as if you're right, Mrs. Eames. And what do you want me to do?"
She said: "It's quite simple, Mr. Callaghan." She laid an envelope on the table. "In that envelope are two hundred and fifty pounds. I want you to go to that house to-night. I want you to open that safe, remove the jewellery, bring it back to me. I shall go to Edinburgh. I shall hand that jewellery back to Miss Garston's parents. I shall tell them the truth about it. At least I can stop that unfortunate girl from marrying a crook."
Callaghan said: "What's he going to do when he finds out?"
"He won't find out," she said. "I'll make them promise not to tell him. They'll owe me something anyway. The only conclusion he can come to is that someone got there first. He must be working in league with other people," she said, "someone to whom he sells this jewellery that he steals. Someone must know of his plans. Possibly he'll come to the conclusion that they've stolen the jewellery."
Callaghan said: "You might be right, Mrs. Eames."
He lit a cigarette. The woman looked at him eagerly.
"Mr. Callaghan," she said, "will you do this for me?"
Callaghan inhaled a gulp of cigarette smoke. He exhaled it slowly through one nostril.
"Why not?" he said. "Life hasn't been very interesting of late."
He picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside were five new fifty-pound notes. He grinned and put them in his pocket.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Eames," he said. "The motto of Callaghan Investigations is: 'We get there somehow and who the hell cares how.' We'll turn ourselves into burglars in a good cause."
She gave a sigh of relief.
"Mr. Callaghan," she said, "I can never thank you enough."
"Don't try," said Callaghan. "I'll come and see you or telephone you to-morrow. I'll bring you that jewellery. You can return it to Miss Garston's parents. I think playing it this way, we might even give your son a lesson."
She held out her hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Callaghan," she said.
Callaghan watched her as she walked gracefully towards the entrance. He said:
"It's not often you see a figure like that, Windy." Nikolls grunted.
"You don't have to do house-breaking just because you like a woman's figure," he said. "Personally speaking, I think you're nuts."
IT was just after midnight when Callaghan stopped his car on the grass verge of a lonely road behind Gable Manor. The night was pitch black and he found his way across the fields that led to the back wall of the house with difficulty. Once arrived, it was easy. It took him exactly three minutes to open the frenph windows that led into the houses from the back lawn. The excellent black-out precluded any possibility of his flashiamp being seen from outside.
In another four minutes Callaghan was in the back library where the safe was kept, and ten minutes after that he had opened the leather cases containing the jewellery and was examining it. He whistled softly to himself as he examined a set of diamond necklets and bracelets that were worth a small fortune. Then he shut and locked the cases up, put them under his arm and left as quietly as he had entered.
THE next day, Callaghan got up at twelve, went out, gave himself an excellent lunch. It was three o'clock when he arrived at his office. He took out his notebook and looked up Mrs. Eames' telephone number. He rang through. When she came on the line, Callaghan said:
"All your troubles are over, Mrs. Eames. I've got the jewellery, but I'm afraid I shall be too busy to hand it over to you to-day. I'm going to suggest that you catch the eleven-five for Edinburgh to-morrow. I'll meet you at King's Cross and hand the jewellery over to you then."
She said: "I'm eternally grateful to you, Mr. Callaghan. I don't know how to thank you enough."
"You don't have to thank me," said Callaghan. "I'm getting paid for this. I'll be seeing you to-morrow," he concluded, "Good-bye."
He hung up.
WHEN Callaghan arrived on the platform it was already one minute after departure time. Down towards the front part of the train Callaghan could see Nikolls standing on the platform talking to Mrs. Eames, who was leaning out of the compartment window. Her face brightened as Callaghan appeared.
"Good-morning," said Callaghan. "You've got a lovely day for your journey."
The guard blew his whistle. The train was just about to move out. Callaghan handed up a leather attaché case to Mrs. Eames. As he did so he opened it. Inside she could see the jewellery cases.
"There's the jewellery," said Callaghan, "I hope you have a good journey. Good-bye. Good luck to you."
The train steamed out.
AT four o'clock that afternoon Callaghan was sitting in his office, his feet on his desk, blowing smoke rings. He looked up as Nikolls came into the office. Nikolls was grinning, "I suppose you haven't seen the paper, Slim?" he said.
Callaghan said: "No, why?"
Nikolls' grin became broader than ever. He held the newspaper out towards Callaghan.
"If you read on the front page," he said, "you'll see that last night thieves broke in at Gable Manor at Maidenhead and pinched £40,000 worth of jewellery." He sighed. "I knew there was something screwy about this deal from the first, Slim," he said. "They've taken you for a ride. They knew that jewellery was going to be there; they got a plan of the place and they cooked that job up between them. I've been ferreting round," Nikolls went on, "and who do you think your precious mother and son are?"
"You tell me," said Callaghan.
Nikolls said: "They're Adela and Jim Crotti—brother and sister—two of the slickest jewellery thieves in Europe. And you were the fall guy. You were the guy who did the burglary for them."
Callaghan grinned. "Don't you believe it, Windy," he said. "Come round here."
He opened the bottom drawer in the right tier of his desk. Looking down, Nikolls, his eyes almost popping from his head, saw that the drawer was almost filled with jewellery.
"I waited till the last moment this morning," said Callaghan, "so that Mrs. Eames wouldn't have time to open the jewellery cases and see that they had nothing inside them except some pebbles. I expect she'll find that out on the way up."
Nikolls whistled.
"For crying out loud!" he said. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. "What gave you the idea that this business was screwy, Slim?" he asked.
Callaghan said: "The trouble with you, Windy, is that you're so fond of talking you don't use your eyes. Didn't you notice that when I first met Mrs. Eames down in the restaurant, she only took one glove off. She stopped while she was taking her left hand glove off. Even when she burned the glove with a cigarette stub, she still did not take it off."
Nikolls scratched his head.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"She'd remembered," said Callaghan, "that she was supposed to be the mother of Leslie, and that she'd forgotten to put a wedding ring on. So she had to keep that glove on. When I saw her walking out of that restaurant I thought she looked much too young, too graceful, to have a son of twenty-two. The rest was easy."
Nikolls nodded.
"What do we do now, Slim?" he asked.
Callaghan said: "Find out which company insured that jewellery. Get through to them. Tell 'em we've got it and will hand it over to 'em." He grinned. "I expect thereil be a reward," he said. "Anyway 'Mrs. Eames' paid us two hundred and fifty."
Nikolls grinned. He said:
"I bet she'll be charming when she opens those cases and finds the pebbles inside."
Callaghan said: "Yes, they both have great charm. It runs in the family."
CALLAGHAN, without moving his feet off the mantelpiece growled, "Come in." Effie Thompson, most trim, efficient and shapely of secretaries, came in.
"You ought to take your feet off the mantelpiece," she said. "Because we've got the county on the telephone—and I mean county!
"She's miss Eardley ffosbrough-ffosbrough—with two small 'f's and a hyphen. Not only that, but she's got a voice like a bad-tempered buzz-saw. In addition, she does not wish to be kept waiting. Also she will only speak to Mr. Slim Callaghan himself. Finally, she is speaking from the Manor House at Wilminton and she's asked for the charge for the call to be reversed."
"You don't say," said Callaghan.
He began to grin wickedly. With what appeared to be a simultaneous movement, he took his feet off the mantelpiece, the cigarette out of his mouth and the telephone receiver off its hook. Effie waited expectantly.
Callaghan said sweetly:
"Hello. Am I speaking to Miss Eardley ffosbrough-ffosbrough? Good. This is Slim Callaghan of Callaghan Investigations-Investigations. The Service that Never Sleeps-Sleeps-Sleeps." He winked at Effie.
"Mr. Callaghan," said the voice acidly, "I have reason to believe that my nephew—Rupert Eardley ffosbrough-ffosbrough, will be calling on you shortly. I believe he has gone to town for that purpose. I wish you to understand definitely that you will not interest yourself in any business that he may put before you. Any investigation that he may request you to undertake will be entirely out of order. Furthermore, I wish to inform you——"
"Just one moment, madame," interrupted Cailaghan pleasantly. "Will you please answer one question? Just how old is your nephew?"
"My nephew is twenty-three," replied the voice coldly, "But I do not see what business that is of yours. You will not——"
"Rubbish, Miss ffosbrough," snapped Callaghan "It is my business. Your nephew appears to be free, white and over twenty-one. If he wants me to undertake an investigation, and he's got the money to pay for it, Callaghan Investigations are the boys for him. Good-afternoon, madame."
A sound indicative of great spleen came over the wire.
"How dare you!" said the voice. "Do you realise to whom you are speaking?"
"I'm not," said Callaghan, "I'm hanging up."
He suited the action to the word.
"Effie," he said. "When this ffosbrough bird appears, show him in. I'll do anything to annoy a woman with a voice like that."
Rupert Eardley ffosbrough-ffosbrough, wearing a light grey suit, a carnation, a monocle, an expression of grave concern and a black eye, gazed seriously over the desk at the private detective.
"I want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," said Callaghan briskly. "You don't have to tell me that you're in trouble. I know it. Did your aunt give you that black eye?"
"She did not," said Rupert, "Marella gave me that, but I don't think she knew how hard she was hitting, it was an en-thusiastic slap, that's all. You see I'd been in the summerhouse with Texas and——"
"Begin at the beginning," said Callaghan, putting his feet back on the mantelpiece.
Rupert sighed. "Very well," he said.
He drew a deep breath and began to talk.
When the door closed behind Rupert, Callaghan lit a cigarette and rang for Effie Thompson.
"Tell Nikolas to come in here," he ordered.
Nikolas came in. He was a medium-sized individual, of drab appearance, no apparent redeeming feature and a despondent expression.
Cailaghan said:
"Sit down and listen, Nikolas. Last night, Miss Eardley ffosbrough-ffosbrough, an eccentric and bad-tempered lady of mature years, threw a party at the Manor House at Wilminton. There were a lot of people there.
"Miss ffosbrough-ffosbrough is trustee for her nephew, Rupert—our client. She has to hand the estate over to him on his twenty-fifth birthday or on the day on which he gets married—whichever comes first.
"One of the guests last night was an American girl named Texas McCormick. She's a beauty, an heiress, and is keen on Rupert. She was wearing a diamond and ruby bracelet that's worth fifteen thousand pounds. At ten o'clock, Miss Eardley ffosbrough-ffosbrough was talking to Texas in the hall and noticed that the clasp of the bracelet was broken. So Texas put the bracelet in her evening bag so that she shouldn't lose it.
"At ten-thirty-five Texas walked down to the summerhouse at the end of the front lawn to keep an appointment with Rupert, who doesn't seem to be overburdened with brains. She had the handbag with her. She met Rupert and they sat down on deck chairs in the summerhouse and talked. While they were talking Texas put her evening bag on the floor beside her. She had the idea in her head that Rupert was going to propose to her.
"He didn't. He told her that he wanted to marry Marella Jones—also a good-looker—who is Miss Eardley ffosbrough's secretary. He said that his aunt wouldn't come across with any money for them to get married with, that she did not approve of the match and would do everything in her power to stop it.
"He said that once he actually was married, his aunt would have to hand over the estate. He suggested to Texas that she loaned him her diamond and ruby bracelet to raise money on in order to get married to Marella.
"Texas said she'd see him pickled in vinegar before she did anything to help him to marry any one but herself. They left the summerhouse quarrelling and walked back to the house.
"When they got back, Texas remembered that she'd left her evening bag with the bracelet in it in that summerhouse. She was just about to go and get it when Marella Jones appeared with the handbag. Texas accused Marella of spying. Marella said that she hadn't spied on anybody, that she'd gone into the summerhouse, seen the bag on the floor, recognised it and brought it straight back.
"Texas opened the bag and found that the bracelet was gone. Then Rupert's aunt appeared and there was a first-class schemozzle. Have you got all that?"
Nikolas said he had.
"The position is now as follows," said Callaghan, with a grin. "Texas accused Rupert of having opened the bag—it was on the floor between her chair and his—in the darkness of the summerhouse after she'd refused to give it to him to pawn. Rupert denies this.
"The aunt—the ffosbrough-ffosbrough woman—accused Marella of having taken the bracelet and returning the bag hoping that Texas wouldn't open it and discover her loss. The aunt had given Marella notice to quit earlier in the day, havin' discovered that Rupert was keen on her.
"Rupert says that Texas took the bracelet out of the bag during the scene between the two of them in the summerhouse and dropped it somewhere, so that she could accuse him of having taken it, because she was furious at him preferring Marella.
"Miss Eardley ffosbrough-ffosbrough says that Marella, furious at being given notice to go, took the bracelet so that she and Rupert could get married. Have you got all that?"
Nikolas said he had.
"Has anybody looked for this bracelet?" he asked glumly. "Or were they too busy accusing each other?"
"The whole place has been searched from top to bottom," said Callaghan. "The aunt didn't want Rupert to come to me because she says that unless Marella returns the bracelet within two days she's going to call in the police. Texas says that if the bracelet isn't back within two days she's going to call in the police."
"Where do I go from there?" asked Nikolas.
"Take the car and get down to Wilminton," said Callaghan. "It's a village in Berkshire. Rupert says that the servants from the Manor House go out for an hour in the evening in relays. Hang around. Listen to what they have to say.
"Try and contact the butler and stand him a drink or two at the local inn. Get anything you can. You ought to be down there by seven o'clock. Telephone me through here to-night at ten."
"All right," said Nikolas. He got up lugubriously.
"It's just my luck," he muttered. "I always have to go out on jobs where I have to drink beer with people in pubs—and I don't like beer."
He went out despondently.
Ten minutes elapsed. Callaghan, his feet back on the mantelpiece, was engaged blowing smoke rings when Effie Thompson put her head round the door.
"Miss Marella Jones is here," she said.
Callaghan sighed and removed his feet. Effie held the door open for Marella.
Marella was a honey. She was the right height, had the right figure, the right hair and a pair of direct and lovely blue eyes. She wasted no time.
"Mr. Callaghan," she asked, "has Rupert been here?"
"He has," said Callaghan, "I know all about it. What would you like to tell me?"
"I want you to represent me," she said. "Rupert's a dear, but he isn't frightfully good at standing up to his aunt—the fearful ffosbrough. Will you do it?"
"Certainly," said Callaghan. "Consider yourself represented and take a chair. Tell me exactly what happened to you yesterday—everything since, say, immediately after lunch."
He lit a fresh cigarette.
"Immediately after lunch," said Marella Jones, "Miss ffosbrough sent for me. She accused me of setting my cap at Rupert. She said that I'd simply taken the job as her secretary in order to get Rupert to marry me. She was quite appalling. You see she wanted Rupert to marry Texas McCormick. Then she gave me a week's notice."
"And then?" queried Callaghan.
"She dictated some letters and an advertisement to go in tne wanted column of The Daily Sentinel. She did it deliberately to annoy me. She dictated an advertisement for a new secretary. She said I was to type it out and see that it caught the afternoon post.
"Nothing much happened until last night at the party. I was unhappy because Rupert was dancing and talking with Texas most of the time. I was jealous. Just before eleven o'clock I went for a walk in the grounds. I took the path behind the summerhouse. I decided to smoke a cigarette there.
"As I went in I saw Texas and Rupert walking towards the house. Her bag was on the floor. I picked it up and went straight after them. When she opened it in the hall, the bracelet was gone. She said Rupert had taken it and Miss ffosbrough said I'd stolen it. I think Texas dropped it deliberately in order to accuse Rupert.
"I sneaked out this afternoon and came up on the fast train to see you. Miss ffosbrough says that if the bracelet doesn't turn up by to-morrow night she's going to call in the police and accuse me of stealing it.
"She's been fearful to me this morning. She wouldn't even let me put the letters in the post box in the hall. She said they might be missing too. Texas says that if the bracelet isn't found by to-morrow night she's going to telephone Scotland Yard and accuse Rupert. Isn't it terrible?"
"I don't think so," said Callaghan. "When are you comin up to town again?"
"To-morrow afternoon," said Marella. "I've got to come up and collect the replies to the advertisement from the newspaper office. Miss ffosbrough says I'm to bring my portable typewriter with me and type replies to any likely-looking answers to the advertisement in the train on the return journey.
"She says she's going to make me earn my salary during my last week. How I loathe that woman."
Callaghan got up.
"All right, Miss Jones," he said. "Just go back and behave as if nothing had happened. I'll probably see you sometime."
"Do you think you can help?" asked Marella. "I must say you sound a bit vague."
Callaghan grinned.
"All the best detectives are vague," he saidl "Look at Sherlock Holmes. Whenever he wanted to evolve a case he used to take a shot of morphine and play the fiddle."
"Too bad," said Marella. "Do you play the fiddle?"
"No," said Callaghan. "Somebody stole it out of the office while I was asleep. By the way, you didn't steal Texas's bracelet did you?"
"I did not," said Marella with a toss of her head.
"That's all right," said Callaghan, still grinning. "Good afternoon, Miss Jones."
When she'd gone he put his feet back on the mantelpiece and went to sleep.
At ten o'clock the telephone jangled. It was Nikolas. Callaghan woke up.
"Well?" he queried.
Nikolas said: "I don't know a thing. Nobody knows anything. I've drunk four pints of old-and-mild with the gardener, three pints with the chauffeur and five pints with the butler. I feel awful.
"The butler says that nobody at the Manor House is speaking to anybody, that old Miss ffosbrough was shut up in the library all the morning with the family lawyer trying to work out how she can get out of handing over Rupert's money if he insists on marrying Marella Jones. Texas McCormick has been sulking in her room all day.
"Nobody came down for lunch and nobody's been out except Marella Jones, who sneaked out this afternoon and returned just before dinner, and Miss ffosbrough, who went out, posted some letters and went back immediately afterwards."
"I see," said Callaghan. "Have you got anything else?"
"No," said Nikolas, "only indigestion through drinking beer. What do I do now?"
"Take some bismuth and come straight back," said Callaghan. "You're the best worst investigator I ever met."
He hung up, put on his hat and went out to supper.
At seven o'clock next evening, Callaghan stopped his car before the imposing gates of the Manor House, walked up the drive and asked to see Miss Eardiey ffosbrough-ffosbrough.
She received him in the library.
"Well," she said icily, "and what do you want? If you want to talk about that bracelet business I refuse to discuss it with you. In five minutes' time a police officer will arrive and we shall go to the railway station to meet my secretary—if she returns.
"I am going to insist that she be charged with stealing the bracelet. I supose Rupert employed you to try and find some get-out for her. Well—what do you want?"
Callaghan grinned insolently.
"I want a cheque for five hundred pounds from you, madame," he said. "You'll pay it and you'll like it. Your nephew and Marella Jones are going to be married as soon as he's got the licence. She's not coming back here."
He sat down and lit a cigarette.
"I met her at Euston when she came up to town this afternoon," he went on, "and relieved her of the box number slip that you received from The Daily Sentinel. I went round and collected the replies to your advertisement in that paper for a secretary to take her place."
Miss ffosbrough-ffosbrough gasped a little. She could not speak.
"Quite a neat little scheme," said Callaghan. "You sent that advertisement off by the afternoon post on the day the bracelet was missing—two days ago. That night, at the party, you were watching Rupert and Texas in the summerhouse. You hoped he Would propose to her.
"You wanted him to marry an heiress because you've probably been playing ducks and drakes with his money. You heard ihem having a row. When they'd gone, you wandered in there, saw her bag and grabbed the bracelet. At all costs you weren't going to let Rupert marry Marella."
Miss ffosbrough-ffosbrough gasped again. She looked like a deflated barrage balloon.
"Next day," said Callaghan, "you had a bright idea for proving that Marella had stolen the bracelet. You wrote out half a dozen replies to your own advertisement and addressed them to your box number at The Daily Sentinel.
"You put a bit of the bracelet in each one. You had already arranged to send Marella up to town to collect the replies and you'd asked her to take her typewriter and answer any likely ones on the way back in the train. Nice work."
He blew a smoke ring airily.
"You intended to meet her at the railway station with a police officer," he continued. "And you'd have found the bracelet on her. Who on earth would have believed her when she said she'd found the stones in the replies addressed to The Daily Sentinel?"
He got up and stubbed out his cigarette.
"You see, Miss ffosbrough," said Callaghan. "Marella told me that you wouldn't even let her post your letters in the post box in the hall. Last night an operative of mine telephoned me that you went out in the afternoon merely to post some letters. They were the replies enclosing the bits of bracelet. You daren't post them in the post box in the hall here.
"Just write out that cheque, madame. We'll send you a receipt for professional services rendered. If you don't, I'll take the unopened replies from The Daily Sentinel along to the police station and let the police open them."
Miss ffosbrough-ffosbrough said a very wicked word. Then with a heavy sigh she went to her desk for her cheque book.
THE nurse left and Ferdie Phelps turned slowly over on to his back. His eyes, half dimmed with morphia, regained, for a moment, a suggestion of their old twinkle. His mouth twisted itself into an imitation of a grin.
"Nice of you to come an' see me, Mister Callaghan," he said softly. "I'm glad you come here. I wanted to say 'thank you.' They tell me that you been lookin' after my missus since I 'ad this smash-Up. My number's up an' I know it."
Callaghan looked down the empty hospital ward, dimly lit, the windows carefuly shaded for the black-out.
He said: "You'll be all right, Ferdie. Just keep your chin up. You'll pull through."
"Pull through nothin'," said Ferdie weakly. "This is the end of me. An' I must say I never expected to get myself knocked over in a London street by a blinkin' motor-car. Cuss the bloomin' black-out."
He coughed weakly. Then he went on:
"Get it orf your chest, Mister Callaghan. I bet you didn't come around 'ere to ask after my 'ealth." He grinned again. "Wot are you after? A death-bed confession? Maybe you thought I'd be feelin' like talkin' about somethin', eh?"
Callaghan said: "Ferdie, I thought you might know something about that Amalgamated Jewellers steal. I always had a sneaking idea that Willie the Mug never pulled that job."
Ferdie shifted a little. He was still grinning
"You don't say," he said. "Look, Mister Callaghan, you ain't tryin' to tell me that you're interested in who pulled it or who didn't, are you? I know wot you're interested in. You're interested in where the stuff is. I reckon that insurance company you work for would give somethin' to know where it is. Ain't that it?"
"That's it," Callaghan agreed.
He lit a cigarette slowly.
There was a pause. Then Phelps said:
"Ooever it was christened 'im Willie the Mug knew wot they was talkin' about. 'E was a mug all right, an' 'e's doin' seven years for somethin' 'e didn't do—see? Willie never pinched that stuff. I know'oo done it."
Callaghan said: "I always thought Willie didn't do it. He hasn't enough brains. But I think I know who was behind it. It was Narkat, wasn't it?"
Ferdie looked at the private detective for a moment. Then he said:
"I'll make a deal with you, Mister Callaghan. Maybe I'll feel better if I do a bit of talkin'. But you got to promise me somethin'. You got to promise me that as well as getting that jewellery back you'll do your best for Willie. You got to get Willie out of quod."
Callaghan said: "I give you my word, Ferdie, I'll do my best."
Phelps nodded weakly. Then he muttered:
"Narkat was be'ind the whole thing. Willie the Mug only comes into it becos of that girl of 'is. She was a proper wrong 'un. She was two-timin' 'im with Narkat all the time an' the poor mug never knew it.
"Narkat 'ad fixed to get rid of the stuff after it was pinched an 'e'd arranged for Blooey Stevens to crack the safe. Orlright—well the lay was that Blooey was to get the stuff an' pass it to Miranda—Willie's girl—'oo was to be waitin' for 'im on the corner of the street.
"She was goin' to take the attaché case along to Narkat an' Narkat was goin' to get rid of the stuff abroad.
"Stevens got into the Amalgamated Jewellers' place at twelve. 'E 'ad the job finished at a quarter to one. He passed the attaché case to Miranda on the corner of Green Street an' she started to walk towards Narkat's flat.
"All right. Well, she was nearly there when she sees Viners, a C.I.D. man, 'angin' about outside. She got the wind up proper, I can tell you. She turned about an' streaked through the alley into Long Acre. Viners went after 'er. 'E didn't know a thing, but 'e knew 'er an' 'e thought she was actin' suspicious.
"She went to Willie the Mug's place off Long Acre. Willie come down an' opened the door. She 'anded 'im the attaché case which was locked an' told 'im some phoney story about it. She asked 'im to keep it for 'er until next day. Willie said O.K. an' off she went. She didn't know Viners 'ad been watchin' 'er.
"Directly she'd gone, Viners went over an' rang the bell. 'E was goin' to ask Willie wot was in that attaché case. Willie 'ad a look out of the window an' saw it was Viners. 'E smelt a rat. 'E broke open the case and saw the jewellery inside, an' the only thing the poor mug thought of was lookin' after Miranda.
"So 'e rushed out to the back an' stuck the case out in the yard underneath a loose pavin' stone. Then 'e went an' opened the door for Viners."
Ferdie grinned. "I reckon you know the rest of the story, Mister Callaghan," he said. Callaghan nodded.
"Go on, Ferdie," he said quietly.
"Well, next day," said Ferdie, "they find out about the jewel robbery. Viners remembers seein' Miranda with the case. They pull 'er in an' they pull Willie in. An' all Willie is thinkin' of is lookin' after the skirt 'oo 'e thinks is stuck on 'im—Miranda.
"Just so's to keep 'er in the clear 'e says 'e pinched the jewellery, an' that the case that Viners saw Miranda carryin' was just some laundry she was bringin' round to 'is place.
"When they ask him where the jewellery is 'e won't say. 'E's afraid to. Becos if he tells 'em an' they find the case under the pavin' stone in the back yard 'e knows that Viners will remember it an' they'll pinch Miranda as an accessory.
"O.K. Well, they tell 'im that if 'e says where the jewellery is, 'e'll get off with a short sentence an' if 'e don't he'll get a seven year stretch. But 'e prefers to be a little 'ero an' keep 'is mouth shut, so he gets seven years for somethin' 'e didn't do, an' Narkat, Miranda an' Blooey are laughin' their 'eads off."
Ferdie coughed again.
"There's only one thing that's worryin' 'em," he continued. "An' that is they don't know where the jewellery is. It's still there, in the attaché case under the pavin' stone at the back of Willie's place in Seller's Alley."
Callaghan said: "Thanks, Ferdie. When that jewellery goes back, there'll be a reward. I'll see your missus gets it."
The dying man smiled. "That's O.K.," he said weakly. "But wot about Willie?"
Callaghan got up. He pressed Ferdie's hand.
"Don't worry, Ferdie," he said. "I'll look after him. I'll be seein' you."
"No, you won't," said Ferdie, "I got my ticket this time. I got to hand in my dinner pail. I know. I got second sight." He grinned feebly at his own joke. Callaghan went out as the ward sister came in.
CALLAGHAN switched off the office lights, pulled aside the curtains before the window and stood looking out into the black void beneath him. Streets which usually twinkled with light were absolutely black.
He began to think about Willie the Mug, Narkat, the big boy the man who ran the gang and never took any risks himself—and Miranda. Callaghan thought he didn't like Miranda very much.
He stood there looking out into the darkness, thinking. Then he began to smile. He pulled back the curtains, switched on the light, went to his desk and took up the telephone. He rang his assistant's flat.
"Listen, MacOliver," he said. "I'm getting a line on that Amalgamated Jewellers steal. You remember that feller, Jelks, who used to work for us? Go round to his place and knock him up. Tell him I want him to do a little job for me.
"Tell him to wait for me at the works. Then get around and find out where Blooey Stevens is. He'll be somewhere round the West End. Meet me at Jelks's place at eleven. You can tell me about Stevens then."
BLOOEY STEVENS, thick-set, over-dressed, red-faced, was sitting in the corner of the Blue Horse Club drinking whisky when Callaghan came in. The Blue Horse Club was an underground dive in the region of Shaftesbury Avenue. To-night it was crowded.
Most of the members who, but for the black-out, would have been engaged in their different questionable occupations, were preparing to stay under cover and do a little quiet drinking. They had heard that the police had made very adequate war arrangements about crooks.
It was eleven-thirty. Callaghan threaded his way between the closely set tables. He sat down opposite Stevens and lit a cigarette.
"Good-evening, Blooey," he said. "How are things?"
Stevens looked at Callaghan. His eyes were hard.
"None the better for seeing you," he said. "And I'll be glad if you'll go somewhere else. I don't like private detectives."
Callaghan smiled. "Don't you, Blooey?" he said. "Well, I'd forget that if I were you. I think you're in rather a tough jam."
"Oh, yes!" said Stevens.
His voice was insolent. He blew a cloud of cigarette smoke across the table in Callaghan's face.
"You can't bluff me, Caiiaghan," he said aggressively. "You've got nothing on me."
Caiiaghan smiled amiably.
"Maybe not," he said. "But I've got an idea the police soon will have. Did you read the paper to-night?"
Stevens said: "No, I didn't, and what's it go to do with you?"
Caiiaghan put his hand in his overcoat pocket and produced a copy of the evening paper.
He said: "You know I've been trying to get a line on that stuff that was stolen from the Amalgamated Jewellers. To-night I got the story from Ferdie Phelps. He was knocked down the other day. He's dying. Well—that was that—but the funny thing was that when I got back to the office I read this."
He handed the paper, folded at the stop press news, across the table.
Stevens read:—
"Early this afternoon, taking advantage of the special blackout arrangements in Maidstone Prison, William James Farrell, commonly known as Willie the Mug, made his escape from the prison hospital. The authorities believe he will make for London. Farrell is suffering from chronic bronchitis and will probably be arrested within the next few hours."
Stevens's face was ashy pale. He ran a finger between his collar and his neck.
"I don't think it's going to be so good for you, Blooey," said Caiiaghan amiably. "Willie the Mug's wise to things—how you and Miranda and Narkat let him in for that Amalgamated Jewellery steal. He knows you did it.
"I should think he'd be in London fairly soon. And I hear he's got a gun. I wouldn't like to be any one of you three to-night if Willie finds you," he finished.
Stevens said: "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"No," said Callaghan. "I suppose you'll tell me in a minute that you didn't crack that safe, that you weren't the feller who handed the attaché case to Miranda, who planted it on poor old Willie, who took the rap for that cheap skirt."
He got up. "Well, Blooey," he said, "I expect you'll get what's coming to you. Good-night."
He turned on his heel and walked out of the club. Outside in the darkness, pressed close against the wall, was MacOliver.
Caiiaghan said: "He'll be comin' out in a minute. It'll be for you to tail him. He'll go straight round to Narkat to warn him and Miranda. Don't lose him. Directly he gets there, give me a ring on the telephone. I'll be at the office." Callaghan disappeared in the darkness.
AT twelve o'clock Blooey Stevens, gasping a little, walked up the stairs to Narkat's flat in Charing Cross Road. He put his finger on the doorbell and kept it there. Two minutes afterwards the door opened. Narkat stood in the doorway. He was tall, slim, over-dressed. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw Stevens.
"Well, if it isn't Blooey," he said. "Fancy you out on a night like this. What's the trouble?"
"There's plenty of trouble," said Stevens. "Willie the Mug's wise to that Amalgamated frame-up. He's broken out of Maidstone this afternoon."
They stood looking at each other. After a minute Narkat produced an uneasy grin.
"Come in," he said. "Miranda's inside. We'd better talk this over."
It was one o'clock. Blooey Stevens, fortified with several large whiskies and sodas, was feeling distinctly better. Narkat, his nerve recovered, stood in front of the fireplace. On the other side of the fire, in an armchair, sat Miranda.
"Look," said Narkat, "I don't see what we've got to worry about. If Willie's found out what we've pulled on him, he's not going to be feeling so good. But I don't think he's going as far murder. I don't think he'd take a chance on that. After all seven years is better than a rope. I've got another idea. If he shows up I'll try it on."
"What's the idea, boss?" said Blooey.
"I'll buy that stuff off him," said Narkat with a grin. "Work it out for yourself. He's got out of prison and he's broke. With all this war trouble on, if he's got some money, there's a good chance of him getting away. He knows he's got that jewellery hidden somewhere and he knows we don't know where it is. I'll do a deal with him.
"If he likes to hand it over, I'll give him a thousand. With that money and a bit of luck he might make a getaway."
Stevens said uneasily: "Do you think he'll want to do a deal?"
Narkat shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, what else can we do?" he asked. "We can't go round to the police and ask for protection, not unless we tell 'em the whole story. Anyway, he hasn't appeared yet."
The words were hardly out of his mouth before the telephone rang. Narkat crossed to the instrument. He stiffened as a hoarse voice came over the wire.
"Good-evening, Narkat," said the voice. "How d'you do? This is Willie the Mug. I'd recognise that voice of yours anywhere. Well, what have you got to say?"
Narkat said nothing. He looked at Miranda and Blooey.
"Now you listen to me," the voice went on. "I've got out of stir, and I'm going to stay out, see? And you're going to do what I tell you, Narkat, or I'm going to get the lot of you."
"Look, Willie," said Narkat, "I'm not unreasonable. Why not let bygones be bygones? If I can do anything for you, you know I'll do it."
"Like hell you will," said Willie the Mug. "Well, I'll tell you what you're going to do now. I'm speaking from the call box just opposite your flat. I've got a gun in my pocket. If you don't do what I tell you, I'm coming over there to use it. Have you got any money?"
Narkat winked at Blooey.
"Yes, Willie," he said. "I've got a thousand. I'll tell you what I'll do with you. If you like to let me know where that jewellery is, I'll hand over the thousand and I'll fix a hide-out for you."
"All right," said Willie the Mug. "You get that thousand an' you come downstairs an' walk round to my place in Sellers Alley. The door'll be open. An' remember I'll be just beind you. If you try any funny business I'll let you 'ave it."
He wheezed hoarsely.
"O.K., Willie," said Narkat. "I'll be there." He hung up.
"It's all right," he said to the others. "He'll do a deal. We'll get that stuff and there'll be a sweet profit."
Narkat stumbled along Sellers Alley in the darkness. He found the door of Willie the Mug's place open. He went in and stood in the hallway. The door shut behind him. He could hear Willie the Mug wheezing. Narkat thought he sounded pretty bad.
He felt himself pushed into the room on the right of the hallway. He stood there leaning with his back against the wall.
"I've got the dough, Willie," he said. "Where's the stuff?"
"It's under a pavin' stone at the back," wheezed the other. "I'll get it. But I want to talk to you first. You tell Miranda that one of these fine days I'm goin' to fix 'er. You can tell 'er that!"
Narkat said: "It was tough on you, Willie, but what could she do? When Blooey did the job he handed the stuff to her to bring to me. She saw that flycop Viners, an' got the wind up. So she planted it on you. She never thought that you'd get pinched for it—or that when you did you wouldn't find a way out of it."
Willie said: "Shut up an' hand over the money."
Narkat put his hand out in the darkness with the notes in it. Suddenly a light went on. Narkat found himself looking at Callaghan. On the other side of the room, standing by the windows, which were shielded by blankets, stood two more men—they were Flying Squad men.
Callaghan said: "So you fell for it, Narkat. We've got all we want on you now." Narkat muttered a curse.
"So you got at Stevens," he said. "I'll fix him for this—one day."
"No, we didn't," said Callaghan with a grin. "I got the story from Ferdie Phelps to-night. Then I got in touch with a printer who does odd jobs for me. We got him to print a fake press report in the stop press column of the evening paper.
"Blooey fell for it. I knew he'd come running round to you with the story. Then all I had to do was to telephone through to you and say I was Willie. You fell for that too."
One of the Flying Squad men produced a pair of handcuffs.
"We've got the jewellery," Callaghan went on. "But I promised old Ferdie Phelps that I'd get Willie out. This was the way we did it. By this time they've picked up Miranda and Blooey."
He grinned.
"You three are going to have a nice war," he said. "Inside!"
AS the express stopped at the main line station, Callaghan awoke.
He sat up, yawned, lit a cigarette, picked up his bag and stepped out on to the platform. Over by the refreshment buffet he saw MacOliver. They went into the buffet together.
Callaghan ordered two double whiskies and sodas. He said:
"Well, what do you know?"
MacOliver said: "She's been at home all day. Except for when she went to the hospital early this evening. Harvin's pretty bad. When I was down there this afternoon they didn't think he'll pull through. The bullet went through one lung, then downwards and chipped the spine coming out."
Callaghan drank his whisky.
"She went home after she left the hospital," MacOliver went on. "She didn't look so good to me. She was at home till eight o'clock. Then she went out. She went down to a bar—Gregory's Bar, they call it. It's in the tough part of the city. She's been sitting there ever since looking straight in front of her. She ordered a drink but she hadn't touched it when I left."
Callaghan nodded absently, then looked at his wrist-watch. It was half-past ten.
"What do the police say about it?" he asked.
MacOliver shrugged.
"I spoke to the D.D.I, at the Central Police Station," he said. "They haven't got any ideas at all. They knew that Harvin's had a record. They picked a fellow up this morning—Malinkel, of 22 Castle Street—and took him down for questioning. They had to let him go. He'd got an alibi.
"The police surgeon says that Harvin was shot some time between twelve and twelve-thirty last night. That cleared this fellow. He was dancing at the dance place here until after one o'clock."
Callaghan stubbed out his cigarette and lit another.
"All right," he said. "You take my bag and leave it at the County Hotel. Wait for me there."
Callaghan stood outside the station waiting for a taxi. A thin drizzle of rain had started. He thought that all big provincial cities had the same dreary look on a dark wet night. When the taxi came, he told the driver to take him to Gregory's Bar.
The woman was sitting alone at a table at the end of the long, low-ceilinged bar. The smoke and chatter-filled place was crowded, but there was no one at her table. The reason was obvious. She was sitting staring straight in front of her. She looked like death. By her elbow was an untouched glass of whisky and soda.
Callaghan paused to light another cigarette. Then he walked along to the table. He sat down opposite the woman. She looked at him with blank eyes that seemed to look right through his thin face.
He said:
"Take it easy, Mrs. Harvin. You must be feeling pretty bad, but you'll have to pull yourself together some time, you know. Maybe things aren't going to be so bad. Maybe he'll recover."
She said dully: "He won't recover. I telephoned the hospital five minutes ago. He's dead. And I killed him."
Callaghan's face softened into a sympathetic grin.
"You drink that whisky," he said, "and don't say things like that. You know you didn't kill him."
"Yes, I did," she said. "I killed him because I was the woman who made him go straight. Ever since he's been married to me he's been straight. He was a crook when I met him, and if I hadn't turned him into an honest man he'd be alive now. He was shot because he was straight. So I killed him."
Callaghan picked up the glass of whisky at her elbow and held it in front of her.
"Drink that," he said. "If you were as keen on him as all that you've got to help find the man who murdered him. You won't help by talking nonsense. Drink it."
She drank some of the whisky. He saw a little colour come hack to her face. He took out a cigarette, put it in her fingers, held his lighter in front of her face so that she had to light the cigarette. He saw that she was trying to pull herself together.
"Who are you?" she asked. "And what do you want?"
Callaghan dropped his voice to a soothing note. He said: "My name's Callaghan. I'm investigating the robbery last night for the insurance company concerned. My job is to find that missing jewellery. That part of it doesn't interest you, I know. But this ought to.
"If I can find that jewellery it's a certainty that in the process I'll find the man who's killed your husband. Because I'm a private investigator I can do all sorts of things, take all sorts of chances, that the police daren't take. They're tied by regulations—I'm not."
He leaned across the table.
"Mrs. Harvin," he said. "What about giving me a hand in finding the man who killed Jim."
"What's the good?" she said bitterly. "I know who killed him. I've told them. They won't believe me because he's been clever enough to fix himself a first-class alibi. He's a specialist at alibis. Jim always said that."
"Let's break that alibi down," said Callaghan persuasively. "Let's work this thing out together. Tell me the whole story—even the part the police wouldn't believe. It's not going to hurt you to talk to me."
"All right," she said. "All right."
She pushed the empty glass away. Callaghan saw that her fingers had stopped trembling. He lit a cigarette and listened.
"I married Jim a year ago," she said. "I knew all about him. I knew he's been a crook. I knew he was the best safe cracker in this country. But I knew I could get him to go straight. He did. I got him to come and live here because people knew me in this city.
"Nine months ago, I got him a job as a packer at Cringall store. My father knew Cringall when the store was just a little shop. I told old Cringall all about Jim. He said he'd take a chance on him, and he's never regretted it.
"Four months ago they made Jim night watchman. I'll never forget how pleased he was. He knew they trusted him. We were so happy that I began to feel it couldn't last. I was right. It hasn't."
She swallowed a sob.
"Three weeks ago Jim came home and told me he'd seen Willie Malinkel in the town. That Malinkel had talked to him. Malinkel was Jim's partner in the old days. He's one of the smartest crooks in the country. Jim said he was clever and tricky and wonderful at getting out of tough spots, that he had a way with women and made good—or bad—use of it.
"While Jim was talking, I felt a sort of shudder go through me. I had the feeling that Malinkel had discovered about Jim's new job, that he was going to try to get Jim in on something. Weil, I was right.
"Cringall's Store is a big place. It forms an island of its own at the end of the Market Street. Every night about twelve o'clock I used to go down there and ring the bell at the packing department staff entrance on the Albert Street side.
"Jim used to come down, look through the iron grille in the door to see if it were me. Then he'd open the door and I'd give him his can of hot coffee and a packet of fresh sandwiches. Then we'd talk for a few minutes and I'd go back home.
"Yesterday night, at half-past eleven, somebody telephoned me at home. It was a man. I didn't recognise the voice. He said he was telephoning for Jim, that I wasn't to come down as usual with the coffee and stuff because it was so foggy. He said Jim was working on the other side of the store and couldn't telephone himself.
"That was a lie. The police have questioned everybody at the store and nobody knew anything about that phone call. It was done to stop me going down there. That was the time they'd planned to break in.
"This morning they found Jim lying at the end of the passage leading to the staff entrance door on the Albert Street side. He was dying. He never recovered consciousness. So they learned nothing from him. The main safe in the jewellery department had been opened and cleaned out by an expert. Only the valuable stuff had been taken.
"I told the police about Malinkel. They knew his record. They picked him up this morning. He had a cast-iron alibi. He'd been at the Rosemount Dance Hall and didn't leave there until after one o'clock. They had an extension last night until two.
"The girl, the dance hostess—they have taxi-dancers down there, you know, sixpence a time—who danced with him from eleven forty-five until one fifteen, told the police that, and they let him go. She's a girl of good character. They had to believe her. So they let him go. But I know he did it. I know he did it!"
"What's the girl's name?" asked Callaghan.
"Rosa Tremley," said the woman. "She's a nice girl. But that doesn't mean anything. Jim told me that Malinkel always went for nice girls. They were the sort of girls he liked. He had a way with him and they liked him."
Callaghan nodded. From the bar came a raucous voice: "Time, gentlemen, please!"
He got up.
"This is where you go home," he said. "When you get there make yourself a cup of tea and keep your chin up."
FILBY, the manager of the Rosemount Dance Hall at the end of Rennet Street, looked across his desk at Callaghan.
"The girl's telling the truth, Mr. Callaghan," he said. "I believe her. She's one of the best girls we've ever had here. She's been here four months. Even if this Malinkel has got a police record, that don't make him a murderer, does it? Malinkel came in last night somewhere about half-past eleven. He bought a strip of twenty dance tickets an' danced with Rosa all the time. She'd never met him before, so why should she tell a lie?
"Last night when we closed down at two o'clock, she handed in the twenty tickets—here they are—an' I credited her with the money—ten bob. Malinkel had gone about a quarter past one he hadn't danced with anybody else."
Callaghan said: "You've got a hostesses' room on the main floor. On the Albert Street side. There's a big double window in that room. Malinkel and the girl could have gone in there and he could have got through the window, done the job and come back the same way.
"She could have waited for him and gone back on the dance floor with him. You say the place was crowded last night. They'd never have been missed."
Filby shook his head.
"No," he said. "We've got twenty hostesses—all taxi-dancers here. They're in an' out of that room the whole evenin'. Powderin' their noses and fixin' their make-up. The light used to be on in that room the whole time. That's why I put that notice up that you saw sayin' that any girl who didn't turn it off when she went out of the room would be sacked.
"From this office window I can look at the fanlight of the hostesses' room without movin' from this desk, an' last night it was going on and off the whole time—that was girls going in and out. Malinkel could never have taken a chance of getting out of that window and coming back through it. It's not possible."
Callaghan nodded. He sat smoking silently, twisting the strip of twenty dance tickets that Rosa Tremley had turned in the night before between his fingers. After a while he got up. He threw the tickets on to Filby's desk.
"Thanks, Filby," he said. "Is Rosa Tremley here to-night?"
"Yes," the manager answered. "She'll be here till we close at twelve-thirty. You talk to her if you want to. She's a nice kid."
Callaghan put on his hat. He said: "Is the band playing to-night the same as the one that was playing here last night?"
"No," said Filby. "Last night was an extension night. We had a special band, new decorations, new numbers, the mayor giving prizes away, everything right smack up to date. Last night we had Ferdy Marriner's Band here all evening."
"Thanks," said Callaghan.
He drew in a lungful of smoke and sent it out again slowly through one nostril. Then he put his hands into his overcoat pockets and went out.
Callaghan walked down to Albert Street and stood before the door with the iron grille in it—the packing department staff door. He stood there for quite a while looking at the pavement in front of the door. Then he turned and began to walk back along Albert Street, hoping that he would find a passage somewhere leading from Albert Street to Rennet Street.
He was lucky. He found one. The passage started at the east end of Albert Street and ran through into the south end of Rennet Street. Thirty yards from the end of the dark passage, across the street, not three feet from the ground was the window of the Rosemount Dance Hall hostesses' room. Callaghan stood watching the electric light go on and off periodically as the dancing girls entered and left the room.
After a while he walked to the front entrance of the Rosemount Dance Hall.
Callaghan bought five sixpenny dance tickets at the glass box at the end of the dance floor. Then he walked over to the "pen" where the dancing partners sat.
He said to a fair-haired girl in a neat black frock: "Are you Rosa Tremley?"
She nodded. He handed her the tickets.
She got up smilingly.
Callaghan said: "We'll sit this dance out. Come and have some coffee."
She nodded, still smiling prettily. They went over to one of the wicker tables and sat down. Callaghan ordered the coffee. She said: "D'you do much dancing?"
Callaghan grinned. "Very little; if ever I do I'll get you to teach me."
Then he leaned over the table towards the girl and said quite grimly:
"You listen to me, Rosa. You're being the worst sort of fool. That alibi you're putting up for Malinkel's as false as hell, and you know it!"
She tossed her head.
"What's it got to do with you?" she said. "If my evidence is good enough for the police it's good enough for anybody. You've got your nerve."
"All right," said Callaghan. "If you've been telling the truth you tell me something. There was a new band here last night—Ferdy Marriner's Band." He lied glibly. "I've been talking to Marriner," he went on, "and he tells me that last night between twelve and twelve-thirty he played four new numbers.
"They've never been played here before. They put a card up in the frame on the band platform with the song titles on it. You tell me the names of those four numbers, or any one of them!"
She looked at him quickly. He saw the sag of her jaw before she recovered herself.
"You mind your own damn business," she said, "You leave me alone!"
She walked over to the hostesses' room, slammed the door behind her.
Callaghan grinned. He went to the cloakroom and got his hat and coat. Outside the Rosemount he hailed a taxi. He drove to the County Hotel and picked up MacOliver, then to 22 Castle Street.
Malinkel opened the door. A cigarette was hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He was grinning.
"More coppers?" he queried.
Callaghan pushed the door open and stepped into the passage. Malinkel's sitting-door was open.
"Get inside," said Callaghan. "I want to talk to you."
Malinkel shrugged and stepped into the room. He flopped in an armchair.
"I s'pose you've got a right to be here," he said easily. "Got your warrant cards with you?"
Callaghan said:
"I'm investigator for the Climax and General Insurance. I'm going to take you in for murder. You killed Harvin. And it's no good bluffing, because Rosa Tremley's talked—at last. You forgot something. Marriner put some new dance numbers on it night between twelve and twelve-thirty and she didn't even know it. She saw the game was up and talked. It's all over, Malinkel."
"You don't say!" said Malinkel, leaning back in the chair and sucking at his cigarette stub. "An what did Rosa tell you?" He was still grinning.
Callaghan said: "She told me this: Four months ago you heard that Harvin had been made night watchman at Cringall's Store. So you sent Rosa along to get that job as dance hostess at the Rosemount and get herself a reputation for being a nice girl. That was in case of accidents.
"In case Jim Harvin didn't accept your proposition. You came over here and saw him and tried to get him to come in with you on the Cringall Store job. He wouldn't. He was going straight. But he didn't tell his wife about the proposition. He thought it would worry her. Then you thought you'd play it another way.
"Last night you telephoned through to Mrs. Harvin. You said you were an employee at the store speaking for Jim; that she wasn't to go down with his coffee and sandwiches because it was foggy. She fell for that.
"Just before twelve last night you and Rosa slipped into the hostesses' room. You locked yourself in the lavatory while she got the window open and slipped into her street coat. She put the strip of twenty tickets you'd given her into her coat pocket. Then she dropped out of the window.
"You waited your chance and dropped out after her, closing the window behind you.
"You had to have her with you because you knew that Jim Harvin would be expecting his wife at twelve o'clock as usual, and if he saw a woman through the grille—he would only see her indistinctly in the fog—he'd open the door. He'd think it was his wife. That's how you got in.
"Harvin got tough with you and said he'd hand you over, so you shot him.
"Meanwhile Rosa had gone back to the end of the passage into Rennet Street. She waited until you joined her there. Nobody was going to miss either of you. The dance girls were too busy and the place was crowded.
"You both waited at the end of that passage until the mayor arrived to give the prizes, and you knew when that was. That was the time when the light in the hostesses' room went out and stayed out—because all the hostesses would be on the dance floor watching the prize-giving. Then you both got through the window and slipped back on to the dance floor."
Malinkel said nothing.
Callaghan went on.
"It was too bad that when Rosa turned her tickets in last night there was one short. Filby told me to-night that you bought twenty tickets. She only turned in nineteen. He credited her with nine and sixpence instead of ten shillings. She said she'd lost the other ticket.
"And it was too bad that she had to drop that ticket outside the packing staff department door when she was standing there waiting for Jim to look through and think it was his wife in the street. I found the ticket down there to-night, caught in a crevice in the pavement. Here it is."
Callaghan pulled the ticket out of his pocket. He held it so Malinkel could see the date on it. The date of the day before.
"When I showed that ticket to Rosa," said Callaghan with a grin, "that clinched things. She's making a statement to save her own skin. She's at the Central Station now. You'd better put your coat on, Malinkel."
Malinkel shrugged. His face was grey.
"It's a fair cop," he said thickly. "It looks like my number's up, don't it. Oh well, it mighta come off. Come on, let's get goin'. Let's get it over with."
IT was three in the morning and still raining. The London train was just about to leave.
Callaghan leaned out of the carriage window and lit a cigarette. He yawned.
MacOliver, on the platform, said: "That was a hell of a quick job, Slim. It was a bit of luck you finding that dance ticket. He'd never have confessed if you hadn't got that."
Callaghan said.
"I never found it. I tore it off the strip when I was talking to Filby in his office. Good-night!"
MacOliver stood looking after the train as it steamed out.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said.
MRS. GRAFTON—very sinuous, very well-dressed—went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of very dry sherry. Callaghan, watching her, thought that whoever it was had invented the word "allure" must have been thinking of Mrs. Grafton.
He stood in front of the fireplace, smoking a cigarette, thinking that even very clever women like Mrs. Grafton can be wrong sometimes.
She came over to him holding out the glass of sherry. He took it, looked at her over the rim. He said:
"I've got some good news for you. It wasn't your husband after all."
She said: "You don't really mean that. You don't mean to tell me that I—his wife—could be mistaken about Jim."
Callaghan said: "You were wrong. This has been a case of mistaken identity. I congratulate you."
She walked over to the window and looked out. After a while she said:
"You don't know how glad I am. It's the best news I have ever had. You're sure..."
Callaghan said: "I never make a mistake. I never let my clients down, at least not when they pay as much as you do." He blew a smoke ring. "I'm glad you're glad," he said. "You and your husband are much too good a pair to fall out over an idea, especially when the idea was wrong."
She moved away from the window and sat on the settee. She said:
"I suppose you've known things like this before?" Callaghan grinned at her.
"Yes," he said. "Once or twice I've known things like that. I'll tell you a little story about a man I knew. A woman made a mistake about him too.
"I suppose most men spend a great part of their lives thinking about women—desirable women," said Callaghan. "This story concerns a man I knew who had been about the world quite a bit, and, one way and another, I suppose he'd been in as many tough spots as most men, probably rather more. If he had a weakness it was that he was inclined to go a little further in the process of thinking about women—desirable women—than the other fellow. He wanted to do something about them if and when he met them.
"He claimed, therefore, to have the courage of his convictions. He was also rather pleased with the fact that there were (the Saints be praised!) quite a few eminently desirable women knocking about the world who would probably remember him now and again. By these he meant the ladies who had had the courage of his convictions, and he hoped they liked 'em when they got 'em.
"If you would accuse him of being a little tough," went on Callaghan, "I would like to point out that the ordinary charming, rather nice, well-bred woman can be as tough as they make 'em once she has made up her mind. Incidentally, if I may try to put over a spot of psychology—I would like to point out that it takes a devil of a lot to make a man get really tough... but a woman! Well ... a woman can turn into an embryo gangster just because they send round the wrong size in gloves when she's in a hurry.
"Well, this man I'm telling you about liked to feel that he was one of those rather strong, brooding men who can look at a girl and sum her up in one fell swoop, whereas in point of fact he could be taken for a ride just as easily as the next mug.
"He was sitting at a table over in the corner of the low balcony at The Silver Perroquet eating his dinner.
"Coming over on the boat from Cape Town, he'd made up his mind that he would dine there at the first opportunity. He thought he was looking rather good. He had on a new suit of evening tails, with shirt, collar, tie and waistcoat, by Jacques of Jermyn Street, and a nice coating of bronze that a man wins by hanging around South African cocktail bars and kidding himself he's being a frontiersman. When he was drinking his brandy he saw her arrive. She came in with three other people.
"My friend had been around a bit and had seen his share of women who'd 'got something.' But he told me that this one had everything that any woman he'd ever seen had got and then a great deal more. She was tall and willowy with that peculiar suppleness that does something even to grandpa. She was a blonde with deep violet eyes, amazingly chiselled features, character in every line of her face and a mouth that would start a definite restlessness in a stone image. She was dressed very simply—but very expensively—in black, and he added that whoever made that frock had got a lot of ideas about line, and knew just how a frock ought to fit a woman who walked like she did. Do you get me?
"He poured himself another glass of Fine Maison and listened to the rather swell band begin to play 'Wouldn't You Like It Too!' and he thought you're telling me! Then he began to be a bit depressed, wondering just how long the war was going to last: just how long it would be before people began to have some money—real money—to lose at cards.
"Most of the time he was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. This was a process to which he was not usually given. He didn't like to admit—even to himself—that a woman was so attractive that he had to keep on looking at her. After a bit he gave it up. He began to feel gloomy—definitely gloomy—and just at that moment the maître d'hôtel walked round the balcony, came up to his table, leant over in that charming and confidential manner which maîtres d'hôtel acquire, and said:
"'Pardon, m'sieu, but the lady in black—madame who is sitting with her three friends on the other side of the dance floor—asks permission to come to your table. She desires very particularly to speak to you.'
"My friend said certainly. Then he turned on his chair and looked at her. She was smiling at him just as if she'd known him for years. So he smiled back at her just as if he'd known her for years. He thought possibly she'd like it that way. Then he went back to his brandy.
"After a minute or two she came round. The waiter put a chair for her on the other side of his table. While he was getting to his feet he was able to take a really good look at her. I have told you she was a superb woman. He asked her if she'd like some brandy. She said a Benedictine. When it was brought and the waiter had gone, she took a little sip and looked at him over the edge of the glass before she put it down.
"'All this is very mysterious, isn't it?' she said. 'But I won't keep you in doubt for long. May I introduce myself? I am Mrs. Geralda Southwick. You are none other than Mr. Sam Courvoisier. How do you do, Mr. Courvoisier?'
"He looked at her and said:
"'How do you do, Mrs. Southwick? And may I tell you something?'
"She said: 'You may tell me anything you like providing that it is something that a nice woman ought to hear.'
"'It is,' he told her. 'I want to tell you this. When you came into this place I thought you were the most charming, delightful, beautiful and best-dressed woman I'd ever seen in my life, and how do you like that?'
"She said: 'Very much! That's the sort of thing I like to hear. And incidentally, I'm very glad to hear it from you.'
"'Oh, yes?' said my friend. 'Exactly why?'
"He gave her a cigarette and lit it.
"'Because it's going to make my job a little easier, I think,' she said. 'You see, I want to talk business with you. I've told my friends at my table that you're an old acquaintance that I haven't seen for years. They'll be quite prepared for me to spend a little time here. Is it in order for me to talk business?'
"'Perfectly,' he said, 'but first of all I should like to know how you knew that I was Sam Courvoisier?'
"She looked mysterious. As I told you, she had the most glorious eyes.
"'I came back from Cape Town on the Harlech Castle, too,' she said. 'One day I was standing on deck talking to the first officer. Just at that moment two men—taking their constitutional—came up on the boat deck. One of them was tall, slim, good-looking and distinguished, the other rather short and unhappy looking. The first officer saw me looking at them and said: "You may well be interested in that pair, Mrs. Southwick," and when I asked him why, he said:
"'"That's Sam Courvoisier and Hilary Pyke. Courvoisier is the finest card-sharper that the world has ever seen. He's a wonder. We have been trying to catch him at it for years. We've never succeeded, the main reason being that he's not greedy. He works one of the boats on this line just once a year—only once. But he picks his man and he makes a killing. The other man is Hilary Pyke—who's a fool with too much money and a fondness for gambling. When Pyke got on this boat he had £20,000. Now he has only £5,000. Courvoisier took him for the other £15,000 in the smoke room last night over a game of poker with no less than five people watching them. That man is just too amazing with cards. Nobody knows how he does it."'
"My friend heaved a deep sigh and drank a little more brandy.
"'Oh dear,' he said. 'Life is very hard, isn't it?'
"She looked at him. There was a great deal of mischief in her eyes.
"'Is it, Mr. Courvoisier?' she said. 'It seems to me that you find life very easy.'
"'That's as maybe,' he told her, 'but you didn't come over here to tell me just that, did you?'
"'No,' she said. 'I told you that I came over here to talk business—big business.'
"He looked at his wrist-watch, and told a lie.
"'I'd love to, but I can't. I've got an appointment, but what about lunch to-morrow? I'm free then. I'd have lots of time to talk business then. Would you like to lunch?'
"'I'd love to,' she said. 'Where shall we go?'
"He made an appointment. They agreed to meet at the cockctail bar at the Savoy at one o'clock next day. Then they got up, said good-night very pleasantly to each other and smiled, and off she went to her friends.
"My friend sat down, lit another cigarette. He had some more brandy before he went, the idea being that he would drink his own health. I told you he had been feeling rather gloomy—he supposed it must have been the blackout and one or two other things, but he wasn't feeling a bit gloomy now. He was feeling very good. On his way to the cloakroom he took another look at her. He thought she was wonderful."
Callaghan paused. He offered Mrs. Grafton a cigarette, took one himself. After he had lit them, he continued:
"Next day at the Savoy, Mrs. Southwick was there on the dot, and my friend discovered that she was one of those women who look just as good in the day as they do at night. Again she was simply but superbly dressed, smiling, perfectly certain of herself.
"He had arranged a fairly secluded table in the restaurant. They talked about all sorts of things during lunch—South Africa and places there, people and odd things. He didn't ask her to talk about the business she wanted to discuss. He didn't believe in getting people to talk before they wanted to, but when they were having coffee she said:
"'Now, Mr. Courvoisier, let you and I get down to brass tacks. I'm going to say to you what I have to say without any frills at all. You are a card-sharper. You are, I understand, supreme in your class. I need your services. I am prepared to pay for them, and '—she said with a little moue—' I must admit that I'm getting a definite kick out of this adventure into crookery.'
"My friend nodded.
"'This sounds very interesting,' he said. 'Go on.'
"'It's all very simple,' she went on. 'The position is just this. Six months ago I brought an action against my husband—a divorce action. The divorce was granted. The decree will be made absolute in about five months' time. Now I should explain to you that my husband is a rather peculiar man. He's a gambler, he drinks too much, and is generally very stupid. Also at the moment he decides not to like me very much. I suppose that's natural.'
"'I think it's most wnnatural,' said my friend.
"She threw him a little smile for the delicate compliment that he paid her.
"'The point is,' she said, 'that he has quite a lot of my money at the moment—somewhere about £20,000—and he has an idea that he's going to be revenged on me for divorcing him by getting rid of most of it. He knows perfectly well that when the decree is made absolute the Court will make an order for payment of alimony to me, but he has made up his mind that when that decree is made absolute he's going to be quite broke so that there'll be nothing for me. He's getting rid of every penny he can.'
"He didn't say anything.
"She said: 'What are you thinking of?'
"'I was thinking,' he said, 'that you have a very lovely mouth. And I want to call you Geralda. May I?'
"She smiled. The process showed a very swell set of the most exquisite teeth.
"'Do, please!' she said. 'I should rather like it. And I'll call you Sam. Let's be friends, Sam.'
"'All right,' he said. 'So we're friends and I suppose that the next thing you're going to tell me is that I've got to get your husband into a card game and see that he loses plenty?'
"She nodded prettily.
"'That's very nearly right, Sam,' she said. 'But not quite. You won't have to worry about getting Arthur into a game—as you call it—because I can arrange all that myself. And I don't want all the winnings, either. I only want half. After all, the labourer...'
"'...is worthy of his hire.' He finished the saying for her. Then he smoked silently for a few minutes.
"'All right,' he said. 'I'm game. But I think it only fair lo tell you that when I leave you this afternoon I shall check up on you. I shall assure myself that you are Geralda Southwick and that the other trimmings are also correct.'
"'But of course,' she said. 'I expected you to do that. That's only business, isn't it? One must be businesslike about a thing like this, mustn't one, Sam?'
"He signalled the waiter for his bill.
"'There's only one stipulation, Geralda,' he said. 'I'm not going to talk further business here. Let's go somewhere and dance, and then, while we're having tea, we can discuss details. There's only one thing that's worrying me,' he went on, 'and that's a matter of technique. You know, my dear, it's all very well to rig a pack of cards and do a little clever dealing and perhaps a spot of sleight-of-hand aboard ship. It's another matter when you're playing with wise guys who are used to gambling for big money and have their wits about them.'
"She nodded wisely.
"'I know,' she said. 'I've thought about that too. We'll talk about that later. I've got a scheme all prepared.'
"'The devil you have,' he said. 'I think you're a pretty cool customer, Geralda. For a nice woman you seem to be a complete little twister.'
"'Why not?' she asked. 'It's my money, isn't it? And who are you to talk about twisting, Sam? Think of the dozens of people you've done down over the card table in your lifetime. I'm surprised and ashamed at you—you nasty crook. Really, I am!'
"'Like hell you are,' he said. 'You're taking a twist yourself this time. However, we'll let that go. Let's go somewhere and dance until tea-time.'
"'All right,' she said. She looked at him demurely. 'I believe you want to squeeze me,' she went on. 'I bet you're a first-class dancer and that you know just how to hold a woman and just the right sort of sweet nothings to whisper into her ear while you're dancing. Don't you, Sam?'
"'You flatter me,' he said. 'And even if all those things are true they won't get me any place with you. Well—not really. I'm just a poor card-sharper that you've picked up and are employing to do a job of work you want done. When I've done it you'll throw me aside like a broken reed.'
"She threw him a quick, humorous and utterly delightful glance.
"'Hush,' she said softly. 'You mustn't talk to me like that. The King's Proctor might hear you, and besides, a girl has got to be so careful when she goes out with strange men. Hasn't she, Sam?'
"He didn't say anything. But when they were in the taxi, going to Laurillards to dance, he said:
"'You've got your nerve talking to me about a girl having to be careful when she goes out with strange men. What about me? Just remember, if you please, that it was you picked me up. I'm the person who ought to be careful.'
"She said: 'Oh, Sam, do you really think so? You know I rather like you. I think you're sweet. I think that if I was somebody else I might be rather keen on you. I think you've got a very good line and I like the way you talk. I think you're really rather nice, Samuel, even if you are a card-sharper.'
"He put his arm round her and gave her a very long and decided kiss. After it was over she said brightly:
"'That's what comes of trying to do business with crooks. The first time I looked at you I knew that I shouldn't be safe with you.'
"He didn't say anything. He was thinking hard. He was thinking that when it came down to brass tacks he was just as big a fool about women as any one else.
"And why not?
"After tea she unfolded her scheme. My friend told me it sounded almost foolproof to him.
"'Listen, Sam,' she said, 'I told you that I'd arranged everything in my mind. Well, that's quite true. Everything is in our favour.
"'First of all, that man you did down on the boat coming over—Hilary Pyke—is a friend of a friend of my father's. We've never met him but I believe he had a letter of introduction to my papa and he was coming down to spend a week-end with us. Father got a letter from him yesterday, from Southampton, saying that he couldn't manage it. Papa was disappointed because, as you know, Pyke has a reputation for being a big gambler. Papa likes a game of poker too and Arthur, my husband, will do anything to gamble for big money—more especially now that he's playing with my money.
"'All you have to do is to telephone to Mayfield—it's in Kent—to-morrow, and say that you are Hilary Pyke; that you have altered your plans and that you'll be able to go down after all. Next day—Friday—you pack your bag for a long week-end and go down. Arthur is going to be there to have one of his periodical rows with papa who, of course, is fed up with the divorce, and when you arrive there will be the makings of a first-class poker school. You understand, Sam dear?'
"He said he understood.
"She went on: 'Now you were talking about technique. Well, that's going to be fearfully easy. I'm going down to Mayfield to-night to get some clothes because I'm staying with friends in Devonshire over the week-end. When I get down there I'm going to prepare the ground for you. All the playing cards in the house are kept in papa's drawer in the library. I'm going to unseal all the packages very carefully and mark all the cards for you. You'll have to tell me just how you want that done. Then I'll reseal all the packages and when you sit down to play it will be rather like shelling peas, won't it, Sam?'" He looked at her in amazement.
"'What a woman!' he said. 'You're the answer to the card-sharper's prayer. If anything, it ought to be easier than shelling peas.'
"He explained to her at length just how he wanted the cards marked. She absorbed the information easily and quickly.
"'There's just one thing,' she said. 'If you can manage it, don't win too much from papa or any stranger who may be playing. Arthur is your prey. Take him for everything you can.'
"He grinned at her.
"'Don't worry,' he said. 'I'll leave him with his shoelaces and he'll be lucky if he has those.'
"She put her hand on his and gave it a little squeeze.
"'You are a dear, Sam,' she said. 'You really are rather thrilling. No! I've got to go. I've so much to do and so have you.'
"She looked at him very demurely.
"'You've got to make all those inquiries about me,' she said. 'So I'd better give you some details about myself. You, on your part, will please give me the address of your apartment in town and your telephone number so what when I come back from Devonshire I can meet you and collect my half of the swag. Don't you think?'
"He agreed. They exchanged the necessary information. Then he paid the bill and put her into a cab.
"'Au revoir, Sam,' she said. 'I think you're sweet. I do like being partners with you.'
"'I'm glad you're glad,' he said. 'Personally, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm not a bit mad to come into this thing with you. Still my best friends have told me I'm rather a half-wit where women are concerned.'
"'Never mind, dear,' she said as the cab began to move away. 'So long as the other half of your wits work you ought to be fairly safe.'
"Well, to cut a long story short," continued Callaghan, "it came off. And how! Really it was rather like stealing a sleeping child's rattle. My friend told me he hadn't been at Mayfield for half an hour before he realised that every male person in the house was just itching to get his fingers on a pack of cards.
"Arthur—Geralda's husband—a great big, lumbering brute, absolutely devoid of any sense of humour, but exuding a certain bovine bonhomie, began to talk in terms of poker at dinner on Friday night. Old man Vandelyn—Geralda's papa—as she called him, was just as bad, and the two other fellows who were staying in the house were both blessed with this world's goods and itching to get a little more of them.
"And she had marked the cards perfectly. My friend said he had never seen such a swell job. He managed to get away with it without taking too much out of the old boy and the other two. He won three hundred and fifty from the three of them more or less on absolutely honest poker, but (and what a 'but') he took Arthur for twenty-two thousand pounds altogether. The damn fool just didn't know when to stop. Twelve thousand of it was won at cut-throat between the two of them after the others had thrown their hands in. The poor mug hadn't got a chance.
"Naturally my friend was feeling rather bucked when he got back to town. Not so much for himself as for Geralda. He felt an unholy joy at having saved her money for her, and between you and me and the doorpost, was finding himself thinking about her a trifle too much for his peace of mind.
"On the Wednesday morning he got up and mooned about his apartment thinking things out. Then he had an idea. It seemed to him rather a bonny idea. He thought he would give Geralda a surprise—a rather nice surprise.
"So he put his plan into effect and then waited for her to telephone.
"She came through in the afternoon.
"'Hello, Sam dear,' she said. 'I'm so glad to hear your voice. I've just telephoned through to Mayfield and papa's been telling me how you cleaned Arthur out for thousands and that he has been rushing around the county all yesterday morning raising the wind and getting the bank to let him have enough money to settle with you. Papa says Arthur is tearing his hair and swearing that he'll never even look at another playing card. Isn't it marvellous?'
"'I'm so pleased you're pleased,' he said. 'What about dining with me to-night? I've got a rather pleasant little surprise for you.'
"'I'd love to, Sam,' she said. 'I really would. And, my dear, I've got a little surprise for you too! Where shall we dine?'
"He said he thought they ought to meet at the Silver Perroquet at nine-thirty. He said that as that was the place where he'd first met her he thought that they should settle their business and part in the same spot.
"She said: 'Sam, you do sound mournful, don't you? Never mind. Perhaps when we've settled our business deal I'll let you kiss me in the cab again. Would you like that, Sam dear?'
"He said he'd think about it and let her know. She promised to be at the Silver Perroquet at nine-thirty, and she also promised to wear a new and wonderful frock—that she'd bought in anticipation of the share-out—just for him.
"When he hung up the receiver he thought to himself that she certainly had something. Everything about her was quite perfect. Her voice, her figure, her pretended brazen effrontery—everything was right.
"I think that I have already told you that when it comes to women my friend was just as big a fool as any other man.
"He made no secret about the fact that when he went along to the Silver Perroquet he had a decided feeling that he'd got to do something about Geralda. She hypnotised him. There was something about her, some indefinite quality that he couldn't put his finger, that enthralled him. Quite apart from her looks and the way she wore clothes and the lovely timbre of her voice she had that extraordinary thing—allure.
"When they met she gave his hand a little squeeze and as they were walking to their table she said:
"'It's marvellous—isn't it, Sam? It's just wonderful.'
"He said that he was happy if she was.
"They dined. When they'd finished dinner and were drinking their coffee he suddenly realised that she was looking at him in a rather peculiar way. She'd altered somehow. Her eyes—they'd always been rather soft and appealing—were quite hard.
"He said: 'What's the matter, Geralda? Is anything wrong? I particularly hope there isn't. I have a strong reason for hoping that.'
"Her voice was cool.
"'What's your reason?' she asked.
"He passed her his open cigarette case and lit her cigarette.
"'I had a strange idea,' he said. 'I got it this morning. I had an idea that when your divorce is made absolute I'd like to ask you to marry me.'
"She laughed. It was a brittle sort of laugh.
"'Was that the surprise you had in store for me?' she asked. 'If so, it's not so much a surprise as a shock.'
"He looked at her in amazement. Her whole character seemed suddenly to have altered. She looked thoroughly tough.
"'What a damn fool you must be if you expect that I'd even listen to a proposal of marriage from you,' she said incisively. 'Haven't you realised that you are a crook—a card-sharper? A man who is pointed out as being a rather smart swindler who's been clever—or lucky enough not to have been caught.'
"'Oh yes, Geralda,' he said. 'But I gathered that you were quite prepared to make use of the services of a card-sharper when you needed them.'
"'Quite,' she replied. 'Which brings me to the little surprise I have for you.'
"She leaned back and looked squarely at him. There was definite hostility in her eyes.
"'You've got an idea in your head that you are going to retain half the money you won from Arthur,' she said. 'Well—you're not. You're going to hand all of it over to me.'
"'You don't say,' he said cheerfully. 'I'm very interested. Tell me why.'
"She smiled. It was a tight, clever little smile.
"'I've caught you out,' she said. 'This is a case of the biter bit. For a long time you've been going about the world swindling people and making money by playing crooked cards. Well—for once in your life someone has been clever enough to catch you. You're going to hand over all the money to me, and if you want to know why I'll tell you.
"'To-morrow I'm going home to Mayfield. When I get there papa will tell me all about the game. I shall get him to give me a description of you. Then I shall put on an act and tell him that you were only pretending to be Hilary Pyke, that you were pointed out to me on the Harlech Castle. That you are really Sam Courvoisier, the card-sharp, that you probably learned from Hilary Pyke that he had an invitation to go to Mayfield, that he couldn't go, and that you went along and swindled them just as you swindled him on the boat.'
"She gave a shrill little laugh.
"'I should think it would take Arthur exactly two minutes to get on to Scotland Yard after he hears that,' she went on. 'And if you know anything about the Yard you'll know they're really very efficient and they'll have you within a month.'
"She drew in a deep breath of cigarette smoke and sent it out through her finely cut nostrils.
"'That's what's going to happen if you don't hand over all the money,' she said.
"He sighed.
"'What a beastly little crook you are, Geralda,' he told her. 'But supposing when the Yard do catch up with me I tell them the whole story. What then?'
"She smiled.
"'Do you think they'll believe you?' she asked. 'Of course they won't. Your story will sound so absolutely fatuous that it wouldn't even be considered for a moment. And you know it.'
"'Yes...' he agreed. 'Ordinarily you might be right. But, Geralda, you made one fearful mistake to-night. If you'd only listened to my surprise before telling me yours. If you'd only listened to what I had to say, you could have got away with it easily.'
"'I shall get away with it,' she said. 'Still, I'm curious about your surprise. Why ought I to have waited?'" He grinned at her.
"'I was thinking about you this morning,' he said. 'And I came to the conclusion that you were rather marvellous. I wanted to make you very happy. I thought of a rather nice little plan, The other day—when I was making inquiries and checking up on you generally I learned where your bank was. I thought it would be rather a gesture to give you all the money I got from Arthur. I thought it might boost me in your estimation.
"'So this morning I walked round to your bank and I paid in all the money I won from Arthur. Twenty-two thousand pounds were paid into your account this morning, Geralda.'
"She raised her eyebrows.
"'Well—'that makes it very simple, Mr. Card-Sharper,' she said, 'I've got all the money and that's that. That's what I wanted.'
"'Not at all, Geralda, dear,' he said. 'On the contrary you're not going to have any of the money. You're going to get it from the bank and give it all back to me!'
"She laughed.
"'Oh, am I?' she said tritely. 'Why?'
"He permitted himself a big grin.
"'The reason is fearfully simple,' he said. 'When Arthur paid up yesterday, he did so after arranging to get the money from the Mayfield bank. They gave it to him in hundred-pound notes. He handed them over to me. The Mayfield bank will have the numbers of those notes—naturally. Well, Geralda, I paid the same notes into your bank. They'll have a note of the numbers, too. See?
"'You're going round to your bank first thing in the morning,' he said smilingly, 'and you're going to draw that twenty-two thousand out and you're going to hand it to me. If you don't I'm going down to Mayfield and I'm going to tell Arthur the whole story. I'm going to prove it's true by showing him that the identical notes drawn by him from the Mayfield bank were paid into your account here in London. And how do you like that?'
"She didn't say anything for quite a bit. Then she murmured: "'Sam, I've made a fool of myself. You've got me on toast.'
Her voice took on a lovely cooing note. 'Can't we be friends—Sam?'
"'Oh no,' he said. 'I'm cured of you, Geralda. Thank you very much for showing me the real you.'
"She stubbed out her cigarette angrily.
"'What an idiot I've been,' she muttered. 'If I'd only let you talk first...'
"'Quite,' he agreed. 4 If you'd only listened to my two su prises before you opened your blackmailing campaign... "She looked at him.
"'Two surprises,' she said. 'Well—what's the other one?'
"'You jump to conclusions too quickly, Geralda,' he told her, 'When you were on the Harlech Castle and the first officer pointed out Sam Courvoisier and Hilary Pyke to you—you looked at them from the point of view of a swindler and a swindlee. You thought that it must be the good-looking one who was the swindler.
"'You see, my dear, you were wrong from the start. I'm not Sam Courvoisier. I'm Hilary Pyke!'"
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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