The Limping Goose

To look at Johnny Fletcher, sprawled on the bed, with his hands under his head, you would have thought that he was doing a spot of plain ordinary loafing. But no, Johnny was really working. He was Thinking.

In the bathroom, Sam Cragg splashed away as he washed out their socks and underwear. His stomach was growling, but he was reasonably happy. They'd missed breakfast and dinner the night before, but there'd be something to eat today. Johnny was thinking. He'd come up with something; he always did.

And then the man banged on the door.

Sam came out of the bathroom, holding a pair of dripping socks. He looked at Johnny, whose face was screwed up in thought as he stared at the dingy ceiling.

"Somebody's at the door, Johnny," he announced. "Shall I see who it is?"

"Yes," replied Johnny vacantly.

Sam stepped to the door and opened it a few inches. A large, truculent-looking man pushed the door all the way open. "I'm looking for Sam Cragg," he announced.

"You don't have to go lookin' no more," Sam replied cheerfully. "That's me."

"Good for me," the large man said. He took a card from his pocket and glanced at it. "Three years ago you bought a mandolin from the Ajax Mandolin Company."

"That's right," conceded Sam. "An' I got a beef against that Ajax Mandolin Company. They said a child could learn to play their music maker in two weeks. Well, I'm smarter than any child and I banged away at that dingus every day for three months and I couldn't get nothing but noise out of it."

"The hell with that crap," the large, truculent man snapped. "The point is, you paid three dollars down on that mandolin and you were supposed to pay fifty cents a week on it. Only you didn't. So you owe forty-six fifty, plus interest, or a grand total of sixty-seven seventy-five. That's all I want from you, brother, sixty-seven seventy-five."

Johnny Fletcher exclaimed petulantly, "For the love of Mike, Sam, can't you entertain your friends a little more quietly? I'm trying to think."

Sam tossed the wet socks into the bathroom and wiped his lands on his trousers. "This ain't no friend, Johnny. He's tryin' to collect on that mandolin "

"What mandolin?"

"The one I bought three years ago, Johnny. You know— we hocked it in Duluth "

"So!" roared the bill collector. "You pawned an article that you did not legally own. Mister, that's a penitentiary offense. Yes sir, you certainly made a mistake that time!"

Johnny Fletcher sprang to his feet. "What the hell is this ill about?" He stabbed a lean forefinger at the man in the ioorway. "Don't tell me you're a bill collector?"

"That's all I am, brother, just a plain ordinary bill collector. From the Acme Adjustment Agency, A.A.A., that's who. And, brother, have I got you fellows over a barrel. You just confessed that you committed a crime. So pay up—or go up!"

Johnny rubbed his hands together. A smile played over his lips, but his eyes gleamed metallically. "Brother, a bill collector, lying to collect money from Johnny Fletcher. Ha ha ha!"

"Ha ha to you. Funny, ain't it?"

"No funnier'n a little woolly lamb trying to take away a nean wolf's dinner. Brother, as you say, you'd have better luck squeezing milk out of stones than you'll have trying to collect noney from Johnny Fletcher."

The big bill collector leaned against the wall and showed ?ig teeth. "Well, now, you talk mighty pretty. Johnny Fletcher, tiuh? Supposed to be somebody, huh? Well, meet J. J. Kilkenny, i meaner man than a barrel of cats by that name. Kilkenny, he Killer, they call me. Just the roughest, toughest bill col-ector in the business, that's all. When I find them, they pay."

"Now you're talkin' in my department," Sam Cragg declared. "Okay, Johnny? Or do you want to make some more chitchat first?"

"Oh, let's not be hasty, Sam. The man just made a mistake, hat's all. We'll talk to him a little and we'll listen to him a Little."

"The talkin'll be short and the listen'll be shorter," said J. J. Kilkenny. "In fact, it's over." He straightened, hitched up his rousers belt and took a step forward. "Sixty-seven seventy-Live or the party gets rough."

He reached out a big hand. Sam took the hand lightly in

lis own. Kilkenny smiled pleasantly, whisked his hand out of

5am's, grabbed Sam's wrist and stepping quickly around behind

Sam, attempted to pull the hand and arm around with him,

to clamp on a hammerlock. That was what he intended to do. But Sam's hand and arm didn't follow Kilkenny. Instead, Sam stiffened his arm, gave a slight forward jerk and broke Kilkenny's hold. Then he turned, grabbed two handsful of Kilkenny's coat and shook the big bill collector.

Kilkenny's hands flailed out, found Sam's head. Muscular arms went around Sam and tightened in a headlock. Sam turned easily in the headlock, reached over his left shoulder with both hands and, catching hold of Kilkenny's head, stooped suddenly.

Kilkenny sailed smoothly over Sam's shoulders and hit the floor on his back, with a crash that probably broke a few electric light bulbs in the room below.

When Kilkenny climbed shakily to his feet, Sam was leaning easily against the wall. "You want to make it two falls out of three?"

Kilkenny shook his head groggily. "Let me think it over a minute. You're a ten-dollar skip. That's okay, I can exert myself for ten bucks. On the other hand, I might tear my suit throwing you and it might cost ten bucks to get it sewed up. There wouldn't be any profit left, would there?"

"There wouldn't," interposed Johnny. "And there might even be a loss, if you had to have a doctor patch up a broken leg or two."

"No chance of that. I can throw him, all right. That snap mare was just luck, because I wasn't expectin' it."

"I've got news for you," said Johnny. "Sam can throw you all day long. And two more guys like you. Sure, you're big and tough. But not tough enough for Sam. He's the strongest man in the world."

"Huh?"

"Sam Cragg, alias Young Samson, the strongest man in the world. He breaks iron chains merely by expanding his chest. If we had a chain here, Sam would tie it around his chest and when I'd give him the word he'd draw a deep breath and slowly let it out and his chest would swell and swell until the chain would snap as if it were mere twine. And me, if I had any copies of Every Man a Samson, I'd be passing 'em out to the crowd and collecting two dollars and ninety-five cents for each and every copy."

Johnny paused, sighed heavily. "That's what we'd do if we had a chain and if we had any books. But we ain't got a chain and we ain't got any books. That's why we're holed up at the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel until I can figure out an angle for making some dough, without any investment. And then you—a bill collector—come in here and try to collect money from us!"

The bill collector nodded thoughtfully. "So you're broke. That's fine. You can't count it against me if the customer really ain't got the dough."

"No," said Johnny, "but even if we had the money you couldn't get it from us. You're not a good enough man."

"The hell I ain't. If you had the money I'd get it out of you."

"Uh-uh," said Johnny cheerfully. "Even if Sam wasn't here you wouldn't get the money. I'd talk you out of it. Oh, I suppose you're all right as bill collectors go, but no bill collector could outtalk Johnny Fletcher."

Kilkenny glowered at Johnny. "You think you're pretty good? You could take a bunch of cards like this every Monday morning—ten-dollar skips, brother, not the easy five-dollar ones—you could take ten-twelve cards like this every Monday, run down the skips and get the money, huh?"

"I most certainly could."

"Talk's cheap."

"All right," said Johnny. "Look over your cards, pick one out at random, or pick one you've failed to locate. Give it to me and by this time tomorrow I'll have the money."

"For how much?"

"For ten bucks. How's that?"

"Brother," said Kilkenny, "you've just got yourself a little bet." He skimmed quickly through his little bunch of cards, extracted one. "Here's a nice little number. 'Alice Cummings, Chesterton Hotel.' She bought a fur coat from the Arctic Fur Company for sixty-nine ninety-five. She paid two dollars a week for twelve weeks, then skipped, owing forty-nine ninety-five. That was four years ago, come next November, so there's a little matter of thirty-four dollars interest, call it seventy-four dollars. You have the money here tomorrow at this time and you win yourself a nice ten-dollar bill. Fail and you pay me ten bucks—and I'm bringing the brass knucks with me, to collect. How's that?"

"You got yourself a little deal, Mister," said Johnny.

"You're the witness," Kilkenny said to Sam Cragg. "And no hard feelings, huh?"

"Practice some holds," Sam said, "maybe we can go another fall tomorrow, huh?"

Kilkenny scowled and went out. But the door did not close. Mr. Peabody, the manager of the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, pushed it open.

"See here, Mr. Fletcher!" he bleated. "I've just had a complaint from the occupants of the room below this one. What are you doing up here, jumping exercises? You knocked the plaster off the ceiling down below ..." 4

Johnny made a vague gesture of dismissal. "Not now, Pea-body, not now."

"What do you mean, not now?" demanded the hotel manager. Then he saw the wet socks on the bathroom floor. An expression of horror came over his face. "Washing again! How many times have I told you that we do not permit the guests to wash their clothing in the bathrooms?"

"Oh, go 'way," cried Johnny. "Can't you see I'm trying to think? You're bothering me."

"Very well," said Mr. Peabody sternly. "Think about paying your bill. Your three weeks are up tomorrow. You know the rules—three weeks' credit and out you go. So, think, think how you're going to get the thirty-six dollars you will owe me tomorrow."

"That's what I'm working on," said Johnny.

"Ah, so you don't have the money! I thought so. Perhaps I shouldn't even wait until tomorrow "

"You'll get your money, don't worry. You've always gotten it, haven't you?"

"No! I've had to lock you out of this room before."

"Yeah," said Sam Cragg, "but you let us in again."

"When you paid up. But one of these days I'll lock you out and you'll stay locked out. And that'll be a happy day for me."

"Peabody," said Johnny, "I like you, too. But I've got work to do, so will you go and lock out some other people and let me alone ...?"

"Until tomorrow," Peabody said darkly and went out.

Sam closed the door on the hotel manager. He came back into the room and looked hopefully at Johnny. "You got an idea yet, Johnny?"

"I think so."

"Is it about food? A thick steak and French fries, maybe? And a big hunk of apple pie and three cups of coffee?"

"Food? Haven't we eaten today?"

"Uh-uh. No, Johnny. We didn't eat today and we didn't eat last night."

"We've got to watch that. It isn't good for a man to miss his meals like that."

"That's what I been telling you, Johnny. I keep telling you all the time, I don't feel good when I don't eat three squares a day. But we ain't got any money. Not even a dime between us."

"A man doesn't need money to eat. Not when he's really hungry. Come on, let's eat."

"How? Where? You know Peabody won't let us charge in the hotel dining room."

Johnny held up the card he had received from the skip tracer. "The Chesterton Hotel has a nice dining room. Why don't we eat there?"

"Anything you say, Johnny. I'm hungry enough to wash dishes—after I eat."

Johnny got his coat out of the closet, and the two left the hotel. They walked to Sixth Avenue, excuse please, Avenue of the Americas, and turned left. On Forty-Eighth Street they turned left again and halfway up the block entered the Chesterton Hotel, which was slightly larger than the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, but also slightly dingier.

The Chesterton catered to the same kind of clientele as the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, rack-track touts, chorus girls, would-be actors and actresses and the usual miscellany of Broadway characters and sharpshooters. Plus a few out-of-town people who came to New York now and then and sought cheap accommodations.

There were eight or ten people in the lobby, but Johnny found a couple of vacant chairs. He sat down in one and gestured to Sam to take the other chair.

"Why don't we go in the dining room and eat?" Sam asked anxiously. "I'm so hungry I could put salt on these leather chairs and eat them."

"In a minute, Sam, in a minute. Ah ..."

A bellboy turned away from the desk, glanced at a slip of paper in his hand and called out, "Paging Mr. Malkin. Mr. Paul Malkin, please."

Mr. Malkin did not respond and the bellboy entered the adjoining dining room and called out a couple of times, then he returned and delivered the slip to the desk, where it was put into Mr. Malkin's key slot.

"Now let's eat," said Johnny.

Sam sprang to his feet and they entered the dining room.

They had a nice lunch of soup, salad, New York cut steak, coffee and pie. Then the waiter brought the check. Johnny took the pencil and scribbled on it: Paul Malkin.

"Your room number too, please," said the waiter.

"Of course." Johnny wrote down 821, then reached into a pocket. He fished around for a moment, smiled and shook his head. "Don't seem to have any change. Here"— He picked up the pencil again and wrote on the check—"Tip, $1.00." 6

"Thank you, sir," said the waiter. "I hope you enjoyed your lunch."

"It was delicious!"

"You said it," exclaimed Sam, smacking his lips.

As they walked out of the dining room, Sam whispered nervously, "Let's get out of here fast!"

"Why? Mr. Malkin's out of the hotel at the moment. And he isn't a regular here, or the bellboy wouldn't have had to page him. He'd have known him by sight. Relax, we've had a nice lunch, so now we get to work."

He took the skip tracer's card from his pocket. "Miss Alice Cummings. Nice name. Well, let's see."

He stepped up to the desk and accosted the clerk. "I'm from the Hotel Credit Bureau," he said. "I want to ask you about a guest who stayed here, mm, four years ago."

"That's a long time ago," said the clerk. "What's the name?"

"Miss Alice Cummings."

A gleam came into the clerk's eyes, but he shook his head. "I don't remember her, but I'll see . . ." He went to the rear of his compartment and took down a ledger. Blowing dust off it, he returned and opened it on the desk.

"Alice Cummings, eh? Let's see, now." He ran his finger down a page. "Ah, yes, Room seven fifteen. She lived here quite a while. Ah-hah, I thought so. The name did seem a little familiar "

"You knew her personally?" Johnny asked.

"Vaguely. A blonde, I believe. Or possibly a brunette."

"Or maybe even a redhead?"

"Could be. What hotel has she swindled now?"

"She owed money here?"

"Forty-six dollars, it says here."

"At how much a week?"

"Oh, her room was only ten dollars, but she ran up six dollars' worth of extras."

"You mean you let her stay four weeks without getting any money from her?"

"That's what it looks like. Of course, I don't remember the details now. In fact, I scarcely remember the young lady."

"You know she was young."

"All our female guests are young. Ha ha!"

"But Miss Cummings was young?"

"I seem to recall that, yes. I scarcely remember her, but I do somehow recall that she was, yes, quite young. In her early twenties. Some people might even call her attractive."

"She didn't leave a forwarding address?"

"Don't be ridic. I just told you she skipped without paying her bill."

"How long had she stayed here altogether?"

"Oh, quite a while. Four, no, almost five months. She paid for a while, then began to fall behind. She paid up, then finally got into us for forty-six, and that's the last we saw of her."

"You held her luggage?"

"What luggage?"

"Trunk—bags?"

The clerk grimaced. "A trunk worth two dollars. Full of newspapers."

"What about her fur coat?"

"Fur coat? What—how do you know she had a fur coat?"

"It says so here on this card. She bought a fur coat from the Arctic Fur Company, on which she still owes a little tab of seventy-four dollars."

The clerk looked sharply at Johnny. "How would you know that? You said you were with the Hotel Credit Bureau."

"Me? Naw, what I said was that you were probably a member of the Hotel Credit Bureau. Me, I'm just a little old skip tracer."

"A skip tracer! You've got a nerve trying to pump me for information."

"Ain't I, though?" chuckled Johnny. He winked at the clerk and strode away.

Sam trotted beside him. "This is fun," Johnny said.

"Fun?" exclaimed Sam. "I couldn't hardly eat I was so nervous." He looked nervously over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

"Just a minute."

Johnny accosted a bellboy near the door. "Nice hotel you've got here, laddie."

"What's nice about it?" asked the bellboy sourly.

"Been working here long?"

"Just a few months. Why?"

"I'm making a survey on how long hotel employees keep their jobs. Who, besides the clerk, for instance, do you know that's been here for, say, four years or more?"

"The doorman. He's got a sweet racket and he can take the guff."

"Thank you, laddie. He's the man I want to talk to."

The doorman stood outside the hotel, sneaking a quiet smoke. He would take a quick puff or two, then palm the cigarette as he held it behind his back.

Johnny stepped up to him. "Mister," he said, "I've come to New York from Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, to find my sister 8

who ran away from home five years ago, come Candlemas Day."

"I'll bet," said the doorman cynically.

"Her name," Johnny went on, "was Alice Cummings and this was the last address we had of her."

"Alice Cummings," mused the doorman. "Yeah, sure, I remember her. A good-looking babe "

"Naturally. You wouldn't have remembered her if she hadn't been."

"Oh, I remember her, all right. She had a little hard luck, I hear, and couldn't pay her room rent. Although you'd have never known it."

"Poor Alice," sighed Johnny. "Alone in the great city, no money, only a cheap mink-dyed alley-cat fur coat to keep her warm."

"She was wearing a real mink the last time I saw her," retorted the doorman.

"When was that?"

"The last time? Only a month ago."

"You've seen her more than this once?"

"Oh, sure. Standing out here, you're bound to see everyone you ever knew. I see this babe two-three-four times a year. Doin' all right, too, I guess. She was with young Carmichael six-eight months ago. Come out of the theatre there and it was rainin' so cabs was scarce and they came over here to grab one. I helped her in."

"Carmichael," said Johnny, "that wouldn't be Billy Carmichael, would it?"

"Naw. Young Jess—you know, son of old Jess Carmichael who made a potful in the grocery business."

"Oh, him. Well, well! Sis is doing all right. Thanks a million."

"Not a million. A buck'd be all right."

"If I had a buck, which I haven't," retorted Johnny, "I'd invest it in the Carmichael Grocery Stores."

"Yah!" said the doorman disgustedly.

"Yah to you."

Johnny signaled to Sam and they walked toward Seventh Avenue. "I'm glad to know the kid ain't starvin'," Sam said. "Wouldn't it be swell if she'd marry a fellow like this rich Mr. Carmichael?"

"It would help to distribute the wealth," said Johnny, "but it seems to me I've seen this Carmichael lad's name in the gossip columns. He gets around. Mmm, let's take a little walk to settle our lunch."

At Forty-eighth they turned right and walked to Fifty-second, then cut across to Fifth Avenue. Just beyond was the

Beau Jester Club where you could get a nice hamburger steak luncheon for two for around $18.50

The velvet rope was up at the door. "Sorry, sir," a head-waiter told Johnny, "we won't have any tables until around three o'clock."

"Jess Carmichael said he'd meet us here today for lunch."

"Mr. Carmichael? There must be some mistake. He nevei eats here on Tuesdays."

"This is the Beau Jester Club, isn't it?"

"Of course, sir, but on Tuesdays Mr. Carmichael always has lunch at the Harover Club."

"He must have meant me to come over to the Harover Club, then. Let's see, that's on Thirty-eighth, isn't it?"

"Oh, no, Forty-sixth, just east of Fifth Avenue."

"Well, thank you."

They walked back to Fifth Avenue and turned south. A few minutes later they entered the grimy building that hac housed the Harover Club since the turn of the century.

Inside, an assistant doorman who kept the record of the club members who were in the building at the time faced them "Yes, gentlemen?"

"Mr. Jess Carmichael. He's expecting us."

"Your names?"

"Fletcher and Cragg. But it's all right, we're having luncl with him. We'll look for him in the dining room."

"Sorry, sir, but it's against the club rules. Mr. Carmichae will have to pass you. I'll have him paged for you." H( scribbled on a pad, banged a bell and called out, "Front!"

A bellboy came forward smartly and the attendant handec him a slip of paper. "Page Mr. Carmichael."

The bellboy went off and was gone a good five minutes while Johnny and Sam waited in front of the assistant door man's desk. Finally, the boy came back, accompanied by i red-faced, dissipated-looking man of about thirty. The bellboj indicated Johnny and Sam, and Jess Carmichael regardec them vaguely.

"Do I know you chaps?"

"Not yet," said Johnny. "My name's Fletcher and this L my partner, Sam Cragg."

Carmichael nodded briefly. He did not offer to shake hands

"If you're selling insurance "

"We're not," said Johnny. "In fact, we're not selling a thing I came to see you for one reason only. To tell you how gratefu lam."

"For what?" asked Carmichael, still suspicious.

"My sister. You've been awfully good to her." 10

Carmichael winced. "Fletcher, you said? Uh, I, ah, don't believe I know "

"Oh, she doesn't use our name any more. When she ran away from home she changed it." Johnny paused for effect. "To Alice Cummings."

And now Carmichael really winced. "Uh, ah, Alice, uh, Cummings."

"No, no, just Alice Cummings. Not uh, ah, or mm. She's told you about me, hasn't she?"

"No!" exploded young Carmichael. "She never mentioned a brother. And I don't believe you are her brother."

Johnny made a clucking sound with his tongue. He appealed to Sam. "Tell the man, Sam, am I, or am I not, little Alice's brother?"

"Yeah, sure," said Sam. "She's our sister—I mean, your sister ..."

"Blackmail!" exclaimed Carmichael. "You're trying to blackmail me."

"I've got nothing against blackmail," Johnny said. "A man does something he hadn't ought to do, he ought to pay for it. Shall we talk about it?"

"H-how much?" gulped Carmichael.

"Shall we go in and talk about it?"

"No! Tell me how much, that's all I want to know."

"I'll make a deal with you. A better deal than you deserve. I'll let you go your crummy way, on just one little condition. Alice's address. Right now—fast."

"That's all you want? You're sure?"

"That's all. Nothing more. Absolutely."

"Chateau Pelham—Fifth Avenue."

"Mr. Carmichael," Johnny said, "you're a scholar and a gentleman. I thank you."

He started to turn away. A .shudder ran through Jess Carmichael and he suddenly reached out and grabbed Johnny's arm. "I—I don't get it."

"You will," said Johnny and walked out of the club.

Outside, Sam Cragg let out a roar. "Holy smoke, Johnny. That was raw!"

"I didn't do a thing. I didn't say anything I couldn't repeat in a court. It's his conscience. He read a different meaning into everything. That's what a guilty conscience does to a man."

"Where we going now?"

"The Chateau Pelham, where else? And I hope she's in. I'm getting tired of walking. We'll ride back."

ohnny said to the switchboard operator in the Chateau Pel-Lam, "Tell her Mr. Carmichael sent me."

The operator repeated the information into the phone, then Lodded to Johnny. "Four-D."

They rode up in the automatic elevator to the fourth floor, "our doors opened onto the corridor, one for each of the partments on the floor. Johnny pressed the door buzzer of "our-D.

The door was opened by Alice Cummings, and Johnny mew why the hotel clerk at the Hotel Chesterton still remembered her. She was that kind of a girl. Blonde, tall. Her figure, lowever, wasn't much. Too much like Marilyn Monroe's.

"Do 1 know you boys?" she asked in a voice that soothed, ike molten lava. Behind Johnny, Sam Cragg whistled softly.

"We just left Jess at the club," Johnny said.

"Sober?" Without waiting for a reply, she opened the door md Johnny and Sam went into the apartment.

It was nice. It was worth around two hundred a month and wobably cost three fifty.

"Can I get you a drink?" cooed Alice Cummings.

"To cut a long story short," Johnny said, "four years ago rou bought a fur coat from the Arctic Fur Company . . ."

The love and kisses faded from Alice's face. "What?" she cried shrilly.

"Seventy-four dollars. That's what you owe. Y6u can give t to me in small bills."

"Why, you lousy—" began Alice Cummings. Then she :aught herself. "What is this, a gag?"

"The Acme Adjustment Agency does not jest, madam," laid Johnny severely. "I'm a skip tracer. You skipped with the pelts and I skip-traced you. This is payday for A.A.A. Seventy-four dollars, lady. Cash. Checks not accepted."

"Ha ha," said Alice humorlessly. "I laughed. The gag's a lowl. Now scram, boys, I've got a date."

"With the cops," said Johnny. "You skipped with the coat md that's against the law."

"It sure is, lady," chimed in Sam Cragg. "When you buy . mandolin you got to pay for it. You ain't allowed to hock t in Duluth."

Alice Cummings whipped open the door. "Out, bums!"

Johnny put his hand against the door and pushed it shut. The money—or the coat." 12

"What coat? That rabbitskin wore out ages ago. I paid more for that junk than it was worth."

"The Acme Adjustment Agency says uh-uh. And when Acme Adjustment says uh-uh, it means uh-uh. We're bloodhounds. We get the money from you or it gives blood. I mean it, sister. Seventy-four dollars on the line or I'll blow the whistle."

"I haven't got seventy-four dollars. And even if I had it I wouldn't—"

"Yes, you would. And it's still seventy-four dollars."

"Now, wait a minute," the girl said, suddenly desperate. "You gave the name of Jess Carmichael so you'd get in. How —how did you know about him?"

"We saw him, lady," cried Sam. "We talked to him at the Harover Club. He thought we was try in' to—"

"Shut up, Sam," exclaimed Johnny. "But he's right, baby, it was old Jess himself who gave us your address."

"Jess," whispered Alice. "So it's come to this."

"Seventy-four," said Johnny remorselessly.

She suddenly whirled and strode into the bedroom. She came out immediately, carrying a purse. "All right," she said angrily, "take your money. And I hope you choke on it!"

She tore open the bag, brought out a wallet and skimmed out a sheaf of bills, all that were in the wallet. Johnny counted the money. He shook his head.

"There's only fifty-seven dollars here, madam. Seventeen short."

"That's all the money I've got in the place. I'll send you a check for the balance."

"You weren't listening, lady. I said no checks."

"Come back tomorrow, then!"

The phone whirred and Alice scooped it up. "Yes?" She listened a moment, then her face showed sudden fright. "Mr. Carmichael. Y-yes, tell him to come up."

She slammed down the receiver. "Get out of here. Right away."

"Seventeen dollars, baby ..."

"I told you I haven't got the money."

"Maybe Mr. Carmichael can lend it to you."

"No!" she cried. "He mustn't see you here. Go— now .. . !" In panic she whirled and looked wildly around the room. Her eyes focused on what looked like a table decoration, a bronze figure of a swan or goose, about four inches tall. She rushed to the table, scooped it up and came back. "Here, take this. It's got more than seventeen dollars in it. Take it and get out."

Johnny took the statue and shook it. There was a slot on the back of the figure's neck in which coins could be in-

rted. The figure was heavy and Johnny heard the cheerful ink of coins inside.

"A piggy bank," he said.

"A goose bank!" exclaimed Sam.

"Get out now—please . . ." Alice started to push Johnny

ward the door.

"All right," he said. "I can take a hint."

He opened the door and stepped out. Sam crowded his heels. l the corridor, Johnny pushed the button for the elevator.

"Jeez," said Sam. "I feel sorry for the babe."

"Don't. She's tough."

The elevator door opened and Jess Carmichael stepped out. Johnny stepped in. Carmichael whirled.

"Here, you! What are you ... ?"

"Good-bye, now," said Johnny, pushing the "down" button, he door swung shut in Carmichael's face.

Sam said, "A guy shouldn't be that rough to any babe."

"Necessity," Johnny said. "Remember our three weeks are ? tomorrow. You know Peabody'd throw us out on the street, nd remember, you're feeling differently now since you've had big fat lunch. Think back how hungry you were."

"I can eat again."

They reached the lobby and stepped out of the elevator, he switchboard operator regarded them suspiciously and allowed them out with her eyes.

'hen they reached their room at the Forty-Fifth Street otel, Johnny took off his coat and sat down on the bed. He tended the bronze goose bank and shook it. Nothing hap-med and he examined the slot by which the coins were put ito the bank.

"Looks like they made this one-way," he observed. "But if te money went in, it's got to come out."

"I used to be pretty good with a piggy bank when I was a id," said Sam Cragg.

"So was I, but I'm out of practice." Johnny shook the bank ightily and a coin fell to the bedspread. He picked it up. \n Indian head penny!"

"Hey, I ain't seen one of those in a long time," exclaimed lm.

"Nineteen hundred and seven," said Johnny, looking at the ite on the coin. "I thought maybe it might be rare, but I less this isn't old enough." He shook the bank for another 14

moment or two and a dime fell out. A 1912 Barber head dime.

"Her grandmother must have saved these coins," said Johnny. He continued shaking the bank and a third coin fell out. This, too, was a penny, dated 1902.

"Why'd they have to make this thing out of bronze?" complained Johnny. "It's going to be more trouble than it's worth to get all the money out."

"I can flatten it," offered Sam.

"That might make the slot even narrower," Johnny sighed. "I guess the hard way's the only way with these banks."

"I'm hungry again," complained Sam. "All that walking."

Johnny picked up a five-dollar bill from the money given to him by Alice Cummings. "Here, go and get yourself another steak. You need it—you haven't been eating regularly lately."

"Aren't you coming along?"

"No, I've had enough to eat for a while. I'll keep at this."

Sam hesitated, but his stomach won. "I'll be back in an hour," he said and went out.

Johnny continued with the bank and extracted another dime and a penny, in the next few minutes. Both were fairly old coins, although not worn much.

He got up to stretch a moment and the door was opened and Mr. Kilkenny, the skip tracer, entered. He was grinning wickedly.

"Don't you knock?" Johnny asked angrily.

"A skip tracer never knocks," Kilkenny said cheerfully. "Nobody loves a skip tracer and nobody lets him in anywhere, if they can keep him out." His eyes went to the roll of bills on the bed. "Well, well, Fletcher, you made a score, I see. Not from Miss Alice Cummings, though?"

"Why not? I said I'd find her and collect, and I did."

"Great," enthused Kilkenny. "I got to hand it to you. I wasn't going to drop by until tomorrow, but I happened to be across the street and saw your partner going by. The big moose!"

"He'll be back in a minute," Johnny said uneasily.

"Sure, but let's finish our business first. Seventy-four dollars, eh?"

He reached past Johnny and scooped up the bills. He flipped through them quickly. "Hey, there's only fifty-two dollars here."

"She didn't have enough."

"Well, fifty-two is close enough. You got to knock off a little once in a while."

"True," said Johnny, "and, like you said earlier, it don't really count if the client hasn't got the money. But this one did have most of it and I collected. So you owe me ten dollars."

"Mmm," said Kilkenny. He pursed up his lips. "Okay, you won the bet. I'll give you ten credit "

"Credit?"

"Sure, on the bill you owe."

"Now, wait a minute," said Johnny angrily. "I don't owe you any money."

"Your partner does. Same thing. You helped spend the money, I'll bet, when you hocked the mandolin."

"You're not going to get away with this," snapped Johnny. "I worked hard to collect that bill and I want my money."

'Try and get it," said Kilkenny nastily. "Talk me out of it. You said you could outtalk me. Go ahead. I'm listening."

Johnny advanced upon the skip tracer. "There's a time for talking and a time for "

"For action?" cried Kilkenny and slammed Johnny a savage blow with his fist. The punch caught Johnny on the cheekbone and knocked him backward over the bed.

Kilkenny stood over him. "Too bad the gorilla ain't here. You want more?"

Johnny hesitated. The big man outweighed him by at least forty pounds. He was too much for Johnny. He said, "Stick around until Sam comes back."

"It ain't worth it," sneered Kilkenny. "But you'll be seeing me again. As soon as you get some more dough. . .."

He went out, slamming the door.

Johnny touched his cheek, found that it was already swelling and went into the bathroom. He doused cold water over his face, soaked a towel and, holding it against his face, returned to the bed. He picked up the bank and began to shake it with renewed zest. He would need these pennies and dimes and quarters now.

When Sam Cragg returned, Johnny was just getting the last coin out of the goose bank. A penny.

"I think we got gypped," he said. "There isn't seventeen dollars here."

"It's all pennies and dimes and quarters."

"And most of them old ones." Johnny scooped up the heap of dimes and quarters. "Here, count these."

While Sam was counting the dimes and quarters, Johnny himself counted the pennies. After a few moments he said, "I make it ninety-eight pennies ..."

"And twenty-four dimes and twelve quarters," said Sam. 16

'Two forty, plus ninety-eight cents, plus three dollars—six dollars and thirty-eight cents."

"The bank ought to be worth something," suggested Sam.

"Sure, about forty cents." Johnny picked up the goose bank. It was quite heavy. He studied it a moment. "Nice-looking bird," he said, "but one of the feet is smaller than the other."

"Do you suppose that means something?"

Johnny shrugged. "It looks more like an imperfection in the casting. These things were made to retail for about forty-nine cents."

Sam took the goose from Johnny's hand and set it on the dresser. It was somewhat wobbly on its feet and Sam wiggled it back and forth. "Look, it limps."

Johnny tried the goose bank himself. "A limping goose." He studied the bank closely, finally took a nail file from his pocket and scratched at the bronze. He finally shook his head. "It's bronze, all right. I hoped for a minute that it might turn out to be gold."

"That'd been something." Sam's eyes went to the two heaps of coins on.the bed. "What about those dimes and pennies? They're pretty old-fashioned. You said something about you thought they might be rare."

"I don't know enough about coins," Johnny said. "I wish I did. It won't hurt to find out, but I have a feeling that all of these are too new. The oldest one's only about eighteen sixty." He was thoughtful for a moment. "I remember seeing a book on rare coins down at the Times Square newsstand. It sold for about a dollar. I wish I had a dollar."

"You've got a dollar," reminded Sam.

"I haven't," Johnny corrected, turning his face squarely to Sam for the first time since the latter had entered the room.

Sam exclaimed, "What happened? You bumped yourself?"

"Yes, I bumped myself. Against Mr. Kilkenny's fist. He was here right after you left—"

"He bopped you?" cried Sam. "Why, I'll tear the guy to pieces."

"If he comes back." Johnny exhaled heavily. "He took the money—fifty-two dollars ..."

"What about the ten he promised if you collected the bill?"

Johnny shook his head. "He's applying it on the mandolin bill."

"Why, the dirty ..." swore Sam.

"You said it. So we're broke again. Except for these pennies and dimes and quarters and . . ." Johnny's eyes lit up. "How much have you got left from that fiver I gave you?"

Sam winced. "I was pretty hungry."

"You had a big lunch. How much . . ." Johnny held out hand.

Abashed, Sam brought out a crumpled dollar bill and soi loose change. "A dollar forty-five."

Johnny groaned. "You ate three dollars and fifty-five cei worth of food on top of what you had for lunch!"

"The bill was only three five, but I left a half-buck tip."

Johnny howled. "We're about to be thrown out of our he room and you go leaving fifty-cent tips."

"Well, you gave the fellow at the Chesterton Hotel a buc

"I didn't give him anything," cried Johnny. "I just wrote on the check. You don't think Malkin, or whatever the gu name is, is going to pay that, do you?"

"How was I to know?" Sam growled defensively. "I always about six laps behind you on these stunts of yot Anyway, we got a dollar forty-five and these dimes and penn and quarters."

"That's not enough to keep Peabody from throwing us on the street. And I don't know about these pennies. Theyl might be more valuable than I think. I'd hate to give th to Peabody and then find out they were worth about ten thousand dollars."

"Ten thousand?" cried Sam. "You think they might... ?"

"I'm going to find out. And right now's as good a time any. Come on."

He put on his coat and they left the hotel. They crossed Fifth Avenue, then turned south to Forty-second, where tl entered the huge New York Public Library.

In the card-file room, Johnny looked up books on rare co and a few minutes later a book was presented to him in i big reading room. With Sam trailing, he carried it to one of I tables and rapidly turned the pages to Indian head pennies.

"Ha!" he exclaimed. "Eighteen fifty-six, Flying Eagle ce worth one hundred dollars and up—"

"Jeez!" cried Sam. "We got one of those?"

"No, our oldest coin is eighteen sixty, I believe. We'll lc those up in a minute. Here—eighteen sixty-one, cent, wo fifty cents to a dollar ..."

"That's all right."

"Not bad, but say, look at this—eighteen sixty-four, up thirty dollars."

"For a penny?"

"That's what the book says. And here's another, eighte seventy-one, and here's the best of all, eighteen seventy-sevi up to fifty dollars."

"Wow!" cried Sam.

Across the table an elderly man put his forefinger to his ps and whispered sibilantly, "Shhh!"

Johnny skimmed over a few pages. "Here're the dimes, hmmm, they seem to run about the same, maybe a little less. Oh-oh, here's an exception, eighteen ninety-four-O—up twenty-four hundred dollars." 

"We got one of those, Johnny?"

"I don't know. I hardly think so. It says here that only yenty-four were made."

"Take a look, I'm all goose pimples," Sam blinked, then luckled. "Goose pimples—from a goose bank."

Across the table the elderly reader exploded. "Please, it is forbidden to talk in the library. Shut up, please!"

"Okay," said Sam loudly.

"Here," said Johnny, "we'll copy all this down about the imes and the pennies. You got a pencil?"

"You know I never carry one. I haven't got anybody to write to."

Johnny looked across the table. "Excuse me, but do you have pencil I could borrow?"

"If it'll keep you quiet, here's a fountain pen," exclaimed le elderly reader.

"Thank you. You don't happen to have a couple of sheets f paper on you, do you?"

The reader groaned. "Here—here's a notebook, tear out some pages. Now, write please, and keep quiet awhile."

Johnny scribbled furiously for fifteen or twenty minutes, ten returned the fountain pen and gathered up his sheets, rhis'll do it. Good-bye, sir, and thank you for the use of the en and the paper ..."

Two chairs away, a heavy-set man with thick glasses ammed back his chair. 'There's too damn much noise around ere!"

Johnny put his finger to his lips. "Shhh! It's against the rules yell in the library."

He chuckled and started out of the reading room. Sam folded.

They walked down Forty-second Street and started to cross le street. Passing the newsstand, Johnny's eyes went to the apers. A headline caught his eye and he whirled back. A roan was forced from him.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Johnny folded the paper and handed the news vendor a ickel. He crossed the street. Then he opened the paper and sposed the headline to Sam.

It read:

PLAYBOY FOUND DEAD IN LOVE NEST

JESS CARMICHAEL III FOUND SLAIN IN

FIFTH AVENUE APARTMENT

OF BROADWAY SHOWGIRL

"Holy cow!" gasped Sam Cragg. "That's the joint we wei at this afternoon."

Johnny continued to read the article. His breathing becani heavier as he went on. Finally he lowered the paper. "Sonu thing tells me that we're going to be in trouble."

"We didn't do it," cried Sam.

"We know we didn't, but will the police know? Look, says here: 'The beautiful former showgirl gave police ti names of two men who called on her a short time previous! and threatened her with bodily injury.' That's us, Sam."

"I didn't threaten her with nothing," complained Sam. "I wouldn't hurt a girl." He scowled. "You ask me, that gal coulda done the job herself."

"Don't worry," said Johnny, "she's suspect Number ONE He studied the paper again, then read, "Miss Cummings admitted that she and young Carmichael had a quarrel and thi she left the apartment in anger. But Carmichael was aliv she insisted, when she left him. When she returned an hot later, his body was found just within the door leading to tl corridor . . ."

"How was he knocked off?"

"Shot, it says here, but the police didn't find the gun. Ar they can't find anyone in the building who heard the sh either."

Sam groaned. "Something tells me we're going to get : trouble over this. We went all around town asking for your Carmichael—"

"I know," Johnny said.

"There's the subway," Sam said, "we got those dimes. We can be over in New Jersey in a half hour."

"It's no good."

"All right, I don't like New Jersey, either. But we can tal the subway to Yonkers and from there we can head nortl Canada's up north, ain't it?"

"If the police want us badly enough, they'll get us i Canada."

"Johnny," cried Sam in sudden panic, "you ain't going i play detective again, are you?"

"Who, me?" asked Johnny innocently. 20

Mr. Peabody was in the lobby of the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, near the elevators. "Ah, Mr. Fletcher," he said, "and Mr. Cragg, how are you?"

"Lousy," said Johnny sourly.

"Hey," said Sam, as they stepped into the elevator, "how come he's so friendly all of a sudden?"

"Because he's thinking about tomorrow, when he gets to throw us out."

They reached the eighth floor and crossed to Room 821. Johnny took out his key to unlock the door, but before he could insert the key into the lock, the door was opened from inside and Lieutenant Madigan of Homicide said pleasantly, "Fletcher, old man, how are you?"

"The cops!" cried Sam.

"Damn that Peabody," snapped Johnny. "He let you in, didn't he?"

"How could he keep me out?" Lieutenant Madigan asked cheerfully. He sized up Sam. "You lost some weight."

"I been off my feed."

"You want to watch that," Madigan said. "Well, shall we sit down and talk?"

There were only two chairs in the room, but Madigan made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed. Johnny, going to the big Morris chair by the window, saw that the drawers of the single dresser in the room had been pulled out.

"You been goin' through our things?" he accused.

"Naturally."

Madigan was a big man, around forty. He was an efficient policeman, thoroughly honest and fair—but he was a policeman. He had known Johnny and Sam for years, but Johnny knew that that acquaintance meant nothing to the detective when he was investigating a case.

Madigan pointed to the folded newspaper in Johnny's hand. "You've been reading about it, I see."

"We shoulda grabbed the subway," Sam said bitterly.

"Miss Cummings told you we'd called on her," Johnny said bluntly. "Did she tell you why?"

"Yes, and it wasn't very nice. I'm surprised at you, Fletcher."

"A buck is a buck," Johnny said. "Nobody likes a bill collector, but I needed the money and the lady could afford to pay."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the reason we called on Miss Cummings. You said she told you."

"She said you tried to blackmail her."

"Whoa!" cried Johnny. "Blackmail! That's a dirty word—"

"Murder's a dirtier word. Blackmail sometimes leads tc murder."

"Let's back up about four sentences," Johnny said. "I called on the little lady for one reason and for one reason only—tc collect a bill she owed for a fur coat she bought four years age and didn't pay for."

Lieutenant Madigan looked skeptically at Johnny. "Johnnj Fletcher, a bill collector?"

"Why not?" retorted Johnny. "Who knows better than i deadbeat how to collect from another deadbeat?"

The homicide lieutenant chuckled. "You called yourself i deadbeat!"

"I've cut a few corners in my time. I'm leveling with you You've known me for a long time. We're broke—flat. Pea body's going to throw us out tomorrow. So then this fellov from the A.A.A. came around "

"A.A.A.?"

"Acme Adjustment Agency."

"On account of the mandolin," Sam Cragg cut in. "The} said that a child could play it and—" His eyes went to Johnny'! scowling face and he broke off.

"A mandolin that a child could play," the lieutenan prodded.

"That's beside the point," Johnny said irritably. "The poini is this skip tracer and I had a—a discussion "

"After I bounced him with a snap mare," chimed in Sam

"One word led to another," Johnny went on,"and I made i bet with him. Ten bucks that I could trace and collect any skip he had in his pocket. He handed me this . . ." Johnny broughl the A.A.A. card on Alice Cummings from his pocket.

The lieutenant grabbed it from his hand. He studied ii thoughtfully for a moment. "A fur coat for sixty-nine ninety-five. She's got a mink now."

"But she never paid for the rabbit fur until today."

"She paid?"

"She paid. That's what I'm telling you. We went up there to collect. She got sore, but I wouldn't go without the dough.'

Madigan snapped a finger at the card. "This gives her address %s the Chesterton Hotel. How'd you know she was ai the Fifth Avenue place?"

"I traced her. Like any good skip tracer would. The doorman at the Chesterton said he'd seen her getting into a cab 22

with young Carmichael a while ago. Carmichael was easier to trace than Alice, so I switched over to him. 1 ran him down at the Harover Club and tricked him into telling me her address."

"You tricked him?" Madigan pounced on that.

"Fast talk, that's all. So then we called on the little lady. She didn't want to pay and I might have had a tough time collecting, but then the phone rang. It was the desk down in the lobby announcing Carmichael. She couldn't get us out fast enough—and she paid. We ran into Carmichael as we left the apartment. He was alive."

Madigan frowned as he tapped the A.A.A. card. "Your story checks, all right—I mean as far as leaving the apartment just about the time Carmichael went up. About the blackmail stuff, it's your word against Alice Cummings's."

"That card in your fist backs up the bill collecting."

"Yeah, but it doesn't say that you didn't put the squeeze on her to collect."

"What squeeze could I put on her?"

"You could threaten to tell Carmichael about her past."

"There's something to tell?"

"How do I know?" Madigan asked irritably. "She's a showgirl, she's been around."

"So has Carmichael the third or fourth. Besides, he wasn't marrying the doll. Or was he?"

"Mmm, the little lady says so. They were engaged."

"Carmichael's old man know about it?"

Lieutenant Madigan hesitated, then shrugged. "Mr. Carmichael isn't an easy man to reach. I, uh, the deputy commissioner has an appointment to talk to him."

"I see. You don't carry enough rank to talk to a big man."

Madigan scowled. "In the Police Department, we follow protocol."

"Yeah, sure," said Johnny.

"What's proto-protocol?" Sam asked.

There was a discreet knock on the door. Johnny strode to the door and whipped it open. Mr. Peabody took a hesitant step into the room, his eyes going to Lieutenant Madigan.

"I was wondering if you, er, ah—"

"No," said Johnny bluntly.

"I wasn't talking to you," Peabody flared up.

"You were about to ask if I was pinched."

"Well? Since you're vacating this room tomorrow morning

"Who says we are?"

"I say so," Mr. Peabody said firmly. "There's a small matter of the rent."

"Do you have to bring that up in front of my guest?" Johnny demanded.

Lieutenant Madigan chuckled. "It's like that again, eh?"

"Isn't it always?" Mr. Peabody asked sarcastically.

Madigan got up and headed for the door. "Don't leave town, Fletcher. And if you do move, let me know your new address."

"The New York subway, no doubt," Peabody declared.

"The Forty-Fifth Street Hotel," Johnny cried, "tomorrow and the next day and next week."

"Good luck," Madigan said and went out.

Mr. Peabody glared at Johnny. "Fletcher, you know there's no chance of you raising thirty-six dollars between now and tomorrow. Why don't you give up and—"

"Tomorrow," Johnny said coldly.

Peabody hesitated, then suddenly shrugged. "Tomorrow— positively!" He went out.

Johnny closed the door and turned to Sam. The latter's face showed concern. "We gonna sell these coins, Johnny?"

Johnny whipped the door open, looked out to see if Peabody had really gone, then closed the door. "No, Sam," he said. "We're not selling these coins until we can make a good deal on them."

"But how're we going to raise thirty-six dollars?"

Johnny's lips pursed up in thought. "It's about time someone taught Peabody a lesson."

Sam brightened. "You got an idea, Johnny? Ain't nothin' I'd like better than to see you put one over on him."

"Thirty-six dollars," mused Johnny. He walked up to Sam and took the lapel of his coat between his thumb and forefinger.

"No!" cried Sam. "You ain't going' to hock my suit. You did that once and I had to stay in here all day while you—"

"Don't worry, Sam," Johnny said, "they wouldn't give me over seven or eight dollars for this suit. But did you ever notice the kind of suits Peabody wears? Real nice material— must cost him a hundred and fifty dollars a suit, maybe two hundred."

"Yeah, he's quite a dude," admitted Sam. Then he reacted sharply. "You ain't thinkin' of—"

"Burglary? No. You know, I wouldn't really steal—not even from a ghoul like Peabody. But borrowing isn't stealing, is it?"

"Peabody wouldn't lend you the sleeves out of his vest."

"Oh, I don't think he's that bad. Deep down in his heart, he's a human being. He has compassion for his fellow man and when he is compelled to lock a guest out of his room it is only the exigencies of our modern business system that forces him to do it."

"What're you talking about, Johnny?"

"Peabody. I'm trying to point out that he would like nothing more than to help us out—if he could. I think it's our duty therefore to help him to help us. In other words, I want you to go down into the lobby and watch Peabody. As long as he stays behind the desk fine, but the moment he comes out and heads for the elevator I want you to grab the house phone and call Peabody's room—"

"What for? He'll still be in the elevator, won't he?"

"He'll be in the elevator, but I won't. I'll be in Peabody's room."

"You ain't going' to rob him?" Sam cried.

"Of course not. I just got through telling you that I'm going to help Peabody help us. He can't do it himself, so I've got to help him—well, never mind, just do what I tell you."

"But how're you going to get into his room without a key?"

"The passkey, how else?" Johnny drew a key from his pocket and exhibited it. "I've had this for a long time—just in case . . ."

Sam rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. "I don't know what this is all about, but I'll do it. If he heads for the elevator I grab the phone. Is that it?"

"That's it."

They left the room together and Sam waited for the elevator to take him down to the lobby. Johnny took the stairs, climbing up to the sixteenth floor, where the hotel manager occupied a suite. He stepped cautiously to the door, listened a moment, then knocked discreetly. There was no response and after waiting another moment, Johnny put the passkey into the lock and turned it. He opened the door quickly and entered.

Peabody's suite consisted of two rooms, a sitting room and a bedroom. The rooms were large and nicely furnished, much better than the regular rooms in the hotel.

Johnny sent a quick look around the room and headed for the clothes closet. The hotel manager had at least a half-dozen finely tailored suits in the closet, in addition to several sport jackets and slacks. Johnny ran over the suits and picked out a blue serge with a white pin stripe. It was the newest-looking of the suits, having probably been worn only once or twice.

He grinned crookedly as he moved to the door, but panic whipped through him as the phone suddenly shrilled. He jerked open the hall door and bounded out into the corridor.

Fortunately the stairs were not too far away and he took them quickly down to the eighth floor. On the eighth floor he stopped to catch his breath, then walked casually to the elevators and pushed the "down" button.

A few minutes later he stepped out into the lobby. Sam Cragg, near the house phones, came over briskly.

"He catch you?" Sam asked. "I hardly got down than he headed for the elevator. Hey"— He noted the suit over Johnny's arm—"where'd you get that?"

"Where do you think? Peabody loaned it to me."

"How could he when he was downstairs in the lobby while you were up "

"Never mind, Sam, I'll draw you a picture of it."

Outside, they walked briskly to Eighth Avenue. They passed Uncle Ben's Loan Shop, but went on to Uncle Charlie's Friendly Loans.

Uncle Charlie was a redheaded man with ulcers, which is an occupational disease with pawnbrokers. He regarded Johnny and Sam sourly.

"Uncle Charlie," Johnny said brightly, "it's certainly a pleasure to see you again."

"The pleasure's all yours," Uncle Charlie retorted.

"I just passed Uncle Ben's place," Johnny went on unheeding. "Sam wanted me to go in, but I said no, Uncle Charlie's been awfully good to us in the past and it's up to us to repay him "

"Mister," interrupted Uncle Charlie, "I remember you now. Do me a favor, will you?"

"That's why I'm here."

"All right, go to Uncle Ben, will you?"

"Why, Uncle Charlie!" exclaimed Johnny. "I just got through telling you, I owe you a favor "

"All right, all right," howled Uncle Charlie. "That's what I'm telling you—go to Uncle Ben. Do me that favor. I got ulcers "

"So has Uncle Ben." Johnny held up Mr. Peabody's blue pin-striped suit. "Brand-new, never been worn. Real English wool, styled and tailored by Quintino and you know what that means—the best!"

"A suit's a suit," groaned Uncle Charlie. "I'm telling you, my ulcers are acting up. I ain't in the mood. If it was hemstitched in gold thread and there was purple lining mixed with Egyptian cobwebs, I couldn't go over fif "

"Not fifty!" cried Johnny. "I couldn't possibly let you have it for less than seventy-five!" 26

"Fifty, who said fifty? Fifteen dollars, and not a nickel more."

"Sixty bucks and you got yourself a deal," cut in Sam.

Johnny gave Sam an anguished look. "Sam, please stay out of this, will you? Uncle Charlie and I understand each other. We know the value of merchandise."

"I ain't feeling good," moaned Uncle Charlie. "I told you I wasn't up to this. But now that we've started, all right, all right, take twenty dollars."

"Forty-seven fifty," said Johnny. "And Quintino will hate me for it. Two hundred and twenty-five dollars he's charging for such a suit now. If he heard that I was thinking of letting this brand-new suit go for forty-seven..."

"Brand-new in a pig's eye," snorted Uncle Charlie. "That suit's two years old."

"I just took it out of the box. Here—feel. The nap isn't even lying down yet...."

Uncle Charlie took the lapel of the suit between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed it, rubbed it and then caressed it. "Six months it's been worn. Twenty-five, mister!"

"I hear you," Johnny said. "Not good, but I hear you. Forty-five and it's a loan, that's all. Not an outright sale."

"I should hope so. I couldn't sell this suit nohow. Twenty-seven fifty. I'll make out the ticket."

"Make it out for forty."

"My last offer. Take it or leave it. Twenty-nine seventy-five."

"Look, Uncle Charlie," Johnny said, giving it everything, "I've done business with you in the past. You've made money off me—a lot of money. I don't mind that. A man's got to live. That's my motto, five and let live. It's a good motto, too, but some people don't think so. The manager of our hotel, for instance. We owe him a measly little thirty-six dollars "

"No, no, not thirty-six dollars. I couldn't make it. You'd let me keep the suit and I'd be stuck."

"My personal guarantee. Three days, that's all you'll keep it. You'll have your money back in three days."

"Yah! I hear that a hundred times a day."

"Look," said Johnny. "You had my friend's suit here a while ago. One day. A single day, that's all. I hardly got the money out of here, than I was back with it—with interest. I've got a check coming in the mail tomorrow..."

"Thirty-two dollars, positively and finally. Thirty-two dollars, no more, no less."

"Thirty-six," said Johnny. "Not a penny less."

"Good-bye. Go to Uncle Ben's. He wouldn't give you over

twenty-two fifty. I'm an easy mark, that's why you come to me. Thirty-two dollars, that's all. Positively and final. Goodbye."

"All right, Uncle Charlie, if it's come to this . . . goodbye."

Johnny started for the door. Sam, startled, had to jump to keep up with him.

Johnny got the door open, was stepping through reluctantly when Uncle Charlie called out, "Thirty-four dollars."

Johnny turned back. "All right, Uncle Charlie, you've got yourself a deal. Make out the ticket. Thirty-six dollars."

"I said thirty-four."

"Thirty-six. You called me back. I need thirty-six and thirty-six it's got to be. T-h-i-r-t-y six. . . ."

Uncle Charlie clapped his hand to his forehead, and began writing out the ticket. "The name, please."

"Why, you remember me," Johnny said, "uh, James T. Mad-igan "

"Madigan?" Uncle Charlie turned out the inside breast pocket. "It says here Wilbur Peabody."

"My stage name. All right, use that name. Most everyone knows me by it, anyway. Yeah, put down Wilbur Peabody, Forty-Fifth Street Hotel."

"Wilbur Peabody, Forty-Fifth Street Hotel," said the pawnbroker, writing. He got thirty-six dollars from the cash register. Johnny counted the money. "Thank you, Uncle Charlie. I'll be back in a day or two to pick up the suit."

"Do me a last favor," Uncle Charlie said. "Forget that you ever heard of Uncle Charlie, the easy mark. Give your future business to my competitor up the street, Uncle Ben."

Johnny made a clucking sound with his tongue, winked at Uncle Charlie and strode to the door. Outside, Sam Cragg heaved a great sigh of relief.

"I never thought you'd get him up to thirty-six dollars."

'I should have held out for forty," Johnny said. "I think he'd have given it."

They crossed Eighth Avenue and were about to turn into Forty-Fifth Street, when Johnny caught sight of the lettering on a small store front: Universal Stamp & Coin Sales.

"Now we'll see what these old coins are really worth "

They entered the store and a heavyset, bald man of about iorty looked up from a stamp catalog he was studying.

"You buy rare coins?" Johnny asked.

"Depends what you've got," was the reply. "I'd certainly never refuse an eighteen twenty-two half eagle."

"I sold the one I had last week," retorted Johnny. He brought out a handful of coins from his pocket. The dealer 28

wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Indian head pennies! A drug on the market."

"Some of these are pretty rare," Johnny said, "and I've got some Barber head dimes here, too."

The dealer made an impatient gesture. "Everybody's got Barber head dimes."

"Not eighteen ninety-four-O's!"

"You got one?"

"Well, not exactly. But here, take a look at them."

"I don't have to look. How many dimes and quarters you got? How many pennies?"

"There's twelve quarters, ninety-eight pennies and twenty-four dimes."

The dealer nodded. "Two dollars and forty cents' worth of dimes, twelve quarters and ninety-eight pennies, that's six dollars and thirty-eight cents. All right, I'll pay you two for one for the lot... Mmm, twelve dollars and seventy-six cents."

"Are you kidding?" cried Johnny. "Some of these coins are rare. The catalog says that an eighteen seventy-two Indian head is worth thirty bucks."

"Uncirculated," replied the dealer. "These are worn, some of them pretty thin." He shrugged. "That's the way I buy— two cents for the pennies, twenty cents for the dimes, and fifty cents for the quarters."

"According to the catalog prices "

"Catalog prices!" cried the dealer. "Don't talk to me about catalogs. Those prices don't mean a thing."

"Look," said Johnny, pointing to a display in the showcase, "you have some Indian head pennies right there. How much would you charge me for an eighteen sixty-four-L . . .?"

"Oh, you want to buy? That's different." The dealer reached into the showcase and brought out a card of Indian head pennies. "I just happen to have a very nice eighteen sixty-four-L penny that I can let you have for, uh, eighteen dollars."

"Two cents," said Johnny. "That's what you said it was worth."

"I did nothing of the kind. I said I'd give you a straight two cents apiece for the lot. I take a chance. Maybe they're all eighteen nineties, nineteen hundreds."

"They aren't."

"And what about my time?" pursued the dealer. "I got to go over them."

"I'll do it for you," Johnny offered.

"Look, mister," said the dealer, "you got your business and I got mine. Two cents apiece for the pennies, twenty cents for the dimes and fifty cents for the quarters. Take it or leave it."

"Good-bye," said Johnny, heading for the door.

The coin dealer waited until Johnny had the door open. Then he said, "Three cents!"

Johnny did not even look back. Outside, he said, "The cheap chiseler!"

"I dunno," Sam said, "three cents for a cent don't seem so bad to me."

"We can always come back to that, but I've got a hunch that these coins are lucky pieces."

"They wasn't lucky for the doll," retorted Sam.

"She's wearing a mink coat. That's luck, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but she lost her boy friend."

"That might have been a lucky thing for her. For that matter, we don't know that she didn't help it along. You know, sort of nudged him a little."

"How can you nudge a guy with a bullet?"

"I dunno," said Johnny, "but I think I'll try to find out." He made the remark casually and they had gone several steps down Forty-Fifth Street before Sam Cragg suddenly stopped. "No, Johnny!" he howled. "You're not going to be a detective again."

"Do you know any other way of making any money?"

"We can sell books like we always did."

"We could sell books if we had books to sell," said Johnny, "but you know very well that we can't get any books from Mort Murray until he's raised enough money to pay his back rent, and get his stock of books out of hock."

"Aren't there some other books we can sell?"

"You name them."

"You know I can't, Johnny. That's in your department. Only —you know what happens every time you play detective. We wind up behind the eight-ball and I get a punch in the nose."

"What's a punch in the nose to a guy like you, Sam?"

"Nothin'. It ain't the punch in the nose so much, it's the —well, you know...."

"What?"

"The—the things I suffer. Somebody trying to kill you 01 me. The cops ..."

"The cops are breathing down our necks right now. You haven't seen the last of Lieutenant Madigan. I've been thinking it over, Sam. We're on the warm spot. We're liable to wind up in a nice little cell built for two."

Sam winced. "Don't joke about that, Johnny. You know how I always hate to be in jail."

"You don't hate it any more than I do. So let's get busy and keep out."

Sam groaned in surrender. "All right, what do we do?" 30

"I think a little visit to old Jess Carmichael ought to start

the ball rolling."

"Ain't Carmichael the guy that owns all the grocery stores?" "That's him. And there's one of his little old stores right

there."

8

They crossed the street and approached a wide store front which was almost completely covered with the name of the store and various sales slogans. On the glass door was the notation, in quite modest lettering:

Carmichael Store # 1144

They entered the store. Although it was early evening the place was well patronized. They approached one of the checkers.

"The manager," John said easily.

The checker pressed a buzzer and a clarion call went up all over the store. After a moment a man wearing a tan jacket approached the checker.

The latter indicated Johnny. "He wants to see you."

"No-no," said Johnny to the manager. "I want to see Mr. Carmichael."

The manager looked at Johnny puzzled. "Who?"

"Jess Carmichael. The boss."

The store manager's eyes suddenly narrowed. "What's the idea?"

"No idea. I want to talk to Old Jess. This is his store, isn't it?"

"Yes," said the grocery manager. "It's his store, all right. Store Number eleven forty-four."

Sam tugged at Johnny's sleeve. "Hey, does he mean Car-michael's got eleven hundred and forty-four stores?"

"Twenty-one hundred and fifty-nine," said the store manager, "unless he's opened a couple of dozen today that I don't know about."

Johnny nodded. "Old Jess must be rolling in it. Well, that's fine, just fine. Now if you'll tell him that I'd like to see him."

"You must be crazy!" the store manager finally exploded. "You expect him to be here—selling groceries, maybe?"

"Why not?"

The man tried hard to compose himself. "Look, mister, a joke's a joke, but I'm a busy man. Will you go and bother somebody else?"

"Is it too much bother for Mr. Carmichael to talk to a

customer?" demanded Johnny. "I've spent a lot of money ir Carmichael stores and I think the least Carmichael can dc

"Go away!" cried the store manager. "I'm busy. So's Mr Carmichael."

"So am I," snapped Johnny. "So let's cut it short. Do I see the boss, or don't I?"

"I've never seen him," gritted the groceryman. "I wouldn'i know him if I did see him. He's a name, that's all. He's nevei been in this store and he'll probably never come in."

"That's a funny way to run a business," growled Johnny "Man owns so many stores he can't even get around to lool at them. All right, if he isn't here, where can I find him?"

"His office, his home. How should I know?"

"That sounds silly," Johnny proceeded. "You're the manage] of this store, ain't you? Suppose something happens? Who do you call?"

"The district manager."

"Does he know Carmichael?"

"I doubt it. I doubt if he's ever seen him. He reports tc somebody higher up."

"And the somebody higher up?"

"How do I know?"

"Somebody's got to know. Somebody's got to be able to ge to Carmichael."

"Sure, sure. There's somebody 'way, 'way up, who probabb even knows where he lives "

"He lives in Manhasset," suddenly said the checker, besidi the store manager. "I read it in a magazine once."

"Thanks," Johnny said to the checker. "You're a bright aler worker. Some day you'll be manager of this store and he"— nodding to the manager—"will be holding down your job."

He turned and went out of the store, followed by Sam Outside Sam said, "Manhasset?"

"Yep. Mmm, that's out on Long Island. Twenty-some miles Probably cost us more than a buck apiece, round trip on tb Long Island Railroad. We've only got a dollar forty-five, thank to that appetite of yours."

"We got the pennies and dimes "

"I'm not going to spend those. Not unless I really have to and we can't spend the rent money."

Sam brightened. "Then we can't go out to Manhasset."

"Oh yes, we can. There are ways of traveling withou money."

"Not walking, Johnny!"

"Are you kidding? 1 don't like to walk any more than yoi 32

do. I was thinking of riding out there. In a nice, shiny limousine. A Cadillac."

"What's the matter with a taxi?"

"You've got to pay for a taxi—cash."

"But you'd have to pay for a limousine, too."

"We didn't pay for our lunch today, did we?"

Sam groaned. "Again?"

"Necessity, my boy, necessity. And don't feel bad about it. Anybody who can afford to buy Cadillacs and rent them out can afford to, uh, take a little chance."

They continued on down Forty-Fifth to Park Avenue and turned north to the Barbizon-Waldorf Hotel. In the vast lobby, Johnny found the bell captain's desk.

"I say, old man," Johnny said, "I'd like to rent a car for the evening."

"Yes, sir," said the bell captain. "With or without a driver?"

"Oh, with a driver, I suppose. This city traffic, you know

"Yes, sir, I know. Let's see, will you want it by the mile or by the hour?"

"What's the difference?"

"It's thirty cents by the mile. Six dollars per hour."

"I think I'd better take it by the hour, then. I want to take a drive out to Long Island and visit awhile."

"What is the number of your room, sir?"

"Eight twenty-one," replied Johnny truthfully, although he neglected to say that this was the number of his room at the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel.

"Thank you, sir," said the bell captain. "I believe there's a car at the service entrance now. I'll just phone and make sure."

A few minutes later, Johnny and Sam climbed into the ton-neau of a Fleetwood Cadillac. A uniformed chauffeur turned in his seat and touched the visor of his cap. "Where to, sir?"

"Manhasset."

"Yes, sir."

"Jess Carmichael's place; do you know where it is?"

"I believe it's near the Whitney estate, sir."

Johnny winked at Sam. "So.it is."

The car rolled smoothly out of the hotel garage, turned toward the East River Drive and purred along to the Tribo-rough Bridge. A half hour later they left the parkway and sped along a winding drive. A few minutes more and they approached a wrought-iron gate.

A guard stepped out of a small stone house and moved up to the limousine. He touched his cap.

"I'm calling on Mr. Carmichael," Johnny said easily.

"Is he expecting you, sir?"

Johnny shrugged. "More or less, I imagine."

"Could I have your name, sir?"

"Fletcher, Johnny Fletcher."

"Now comes the trouble," said Sam under his breath.

The guard stepped back into his little house and picked up the phone. A moment later he returned to the limousine. "Wilkins, the butler, says he doesn't have your name down. What is it about?"

"Does it have to be about anything?" Johnny asked tartly. "Tell this Wilkins or whatever his name is, that I'm a customer of Mr. Carmichael's. That's all, don't add another word."

The guard frowned but went back into his house. He talked again into the phone, then came out and pressed a button that swung open the gates.

The limousine rolled up a curved drive and stopped before a pile of dressed stone that was worth roughly half a million, give or take a hundred thousand.

"May be a while," Johnny said to the chauffeur of the hired car.

"That's all right, sir," the man said. "I've a book to read."

They got out of the Cadillac and walked up to the front door. Johnny leaned on the door button. The chimes were still bonging inside when a liveried butler opened the door.

"Mr. Fletcher?"

"That's right, Wilkins. I just stopped in to offer my condolences to Jess."

"It's a very sad thing, sir," said the butler. "Mr. Carmichael is taking it very badly."

"That's only natural."

The butler consulted a leather booklet in his hand. "I'm afraid I don't have your name here, sir."

Johnny looked at him blankly. "Are you supposed to have it?"

"Yes, sir, you see, there are so many people who try to call on Mr. Carmichael that he found it necessary to make up a list of his friends to whom he is in."

"And my name isn't in the book? Well, what do you know about that?"

"If you could tell me the nature of your business. Joseph, at the gate, said that—that you were a customer, but I didn't understand "

"Then why'd you let me through the gate?"

Wilkins looked at Johnny uneasily. "Well, Joseph said that your car "

". . . was a Cadillac. If I'd come up in anything smaller I suppose I couldn't even have gotten this far?" 

"I didn't mean that, sir. It's only that . . ." The butler again took refuge in his leather book. "Are you a friend of Mr. larmichael's?"

"From the looks of things," Johnny said coldly, "I guess m not." He paused, then added sarcastically, "But if it isn't sking too much of you, I'd appreciate it if you'd just step in nd tell Jess that Johnny Fletcher is here."

"And your business?"

Johnny turned and struck Sam violently on the shoulder. Now, how do you like that?" He turned back to Wilkins. Tell Jess that I'm a customer of his. Tell him that. No more nd no less. And if he still doesn't want to see me, that's that."

The butler walked off, crossing the large wide hall and enter-lg a door which he closed behind him. He was gone four or [ve minutes, then returned.

"Mr. Carmichael will see you in the library."

He led the way through a drawing room, another hall, then pened a pine-paneled room and stood aside. Johnny and Sam went into the library, a room some twenty by thirty feet in size, lined with bookshelves containing mostly leather-bound and other unread books.

Carmichael was seated in a large green leather chair. Across the room, a younger man stood examining the tooling in some of the leather volumes.

Carmichael looked at Johnny, frowning. "Fletcher?"

"That's right, Mr. Carmichael. May I offer my condolences ..?"

Carmichael made an impatient gesture of dismissal. "I lever saw you before in my life."

"Neither have I seen you, sir."

"Why'd you tell Wilkins you were an old friend?"

"I never told him anything of the kind."

Carmichael scowled. "I never forget a name or a face. Fletcher? No, I'm certain. I've never done business with you."

"Oh, yes, you have," Johnny said. "I've been a customer of fours for a good many years."

"Ridiculous! I'm the only man in my entire organization who mows the name of every customer we've got. What stores do fou represent?"

"None, but "

"That's what I thought. You're not with the A & P, or the Safeway Stores, or even the IGA."

"I didn't say I was."

"Then who the devil are you?"

"A customer. I've bought at your stores for twenty yea more or less. Not only in New York, but in other cities."

A strange expression came over Jess Carmichael's face an expression very much like that of a man who has bitl into an apple and discovered therein a half of a fat worm.

"Say that again!" he cried.

"I've bought at your stores for twenty years."

"You're a—a retail customer?"

The young man turned from the bookshelves and stud Johnny Fletcher thoughtfully.

Johnny said, "That's right. And I've always been a boos of the Carmichael Stores. Your prices have been good, yc merchandise has been fine. Up until recently! I think y should know, however, that I'm not satisfied with your corr beef hash. It used to be that there was plenty of good red m in a can, but I bought one last week on Forty-fifth Streel Store Number eleven forty-four, in case you're interested and I had to search for the meat. Potatoes, that's all th was in the can, potatoes and here and there a teentsy-ween bit of the old corned beef...."

Jess Carmichael bounded out of his chair. He took two qu steps toward Johnny, then stopped. There was a wild look his eyes.

"Who—who sent you here?"

"No one. I came on my own. Uh, this is my friend, S Cragg."

"Harya, Mr. Carmichael," said Sam, extending his hand

Carmichael did not even look at Sam. His eyes threatei to bulge from his head. He shook his head and his eyes wi to the young man by the bookshelves. "James, who would p petrate a joke at a time like this?"

"I couldn't say, Uncle," replied the young man. "It's m certainly in bad taste."

He came forward, "I say, old boy, don't you know t Mr. Carmichael's son—my cousin, Jess—was, ah, I me died today?"

"Of course I know it. That's why I'm here."

"Eh?"

Johnny looked past Carmichael and saw a newspaper 01 desk. He crossed to the desk and picked up the newspap "My name's in here," he said. "Ah, yes, here. . . ." He re; " \ . . The two men, John Fletcher, and Sam Cragg, w described by Miss Cummings as—' "

"Cummings!" cried Jess Carmichael, "Don't mention tJ woman's name in this house." He stabbed a well-manicui 36

forefinger at Johnny. "And you—I remember your name now; you're the man the police suspect of killing my son."

"No," said Johnny, "Lieutenant Madigan's already cleared me.

"Who's Lieutenant Madigan?" Carmichael demanded.

"Homicide, in charge of the investigation. A very good man. I've helped him now and then."

"You'we helped him?"

"My hobby," Johnny said modestly. "Crime detection. When the police fail, that's where I come in."

"Oh, say, now," expostulated the young man. "You're spreading it on a bit thick now, aren't you?"

Johnny regarded him sharply. "I don't believe I got your name." x

"I'm James Sutton."

"One of the suspects?"

Sutton showed petulance. "Here, now, I'm Mr. Carmichael's nephew."

"A prime suspect, too," declared Johnny. "The nephew's always the chief suspect and in nine cases out of ten he turns out to be the murderer."

"I think," said Jess Carmichael, "I've had about all of this that I can take. Mr. Fletcher, I've had a difficult day and tomorrow morning I must talk to the deputy police commissioner "

"You mean he hasn't questioned you yet?"

"Why should he? He had the decency to respect a man's privacy at a time like this."

"Mr. Carmichael, I'll put it to you bluntly," Johnny said. "Do you want to, ah, apprehend the murderer of your son?"

"Of course I.do," snapped Carmichael, a glint coming into his eyes, "and I promise you that he will be apprehended—and punished. If it takes every dollar "

"It won't," Johnny said. "It won't cost you much at all. For a modest fee, I'll run him down."

"The police are quite capable of doing that," Carmichael said coldly. "And now I must bid you good evening."

"Very well, sir, but if you should change your mind, I'd like to give you my address ..."

"That won't be necessary. I shall not change my mind."

Johnny hesitated. He looked at Sam Cragg, who was regarding him anxiously.

"Very well, Mr. Carmichael."

"I'll go out with you," James Sutton offered. "Good night, Uncle Jess."

"Good night, Jim, good night."

The butler was hovering about in the hall and led Johi Sam and Sutton to the front door. As they stepped 01 convertible squealed to a stop beside the limousine that brought Johnny and Sam out to Manhasset.

A girl sprang out and came running toward the door. "J she cried, "how is he?"

"Taking it pretty badly," Sutton replied.

"I would have come sooner, but then you know . . ." stopped and looked sharply at Johnny and Sam.

"Fletcher's my name," Johnny offered. "This is my friend Sam Cragg."

"You're from the police?"

"Not exactly, Miss."

Sutton exclaimed, "Don't try exchanging words with Hertha. He'll mix you all up."

"Hertha," grinned Johnny. "That's from Swinburne—-goddess of the nether regions, or something like that."

The girl looked at Johnny, puzzled. "I don't believe I met you."

"That's my loss," Johnny said gallantly. "I'd be glad to on you tomorrow."

"Go in and talk to the old man," Sutton said quickly, needs someone to cheer him up." He took Johnny's ell "D'you mind giving me a lift into town, old boy?"

Johnny minded, but Sutton was using pressure to steer to the limousine. "All right," he said, "as long as you're twi: my arm."

They got into the limousine, with Johnny sitting in middle of the rear seat. "The Barbizon-Waldorf," Johnny to the chauffeur, "unless I can drop you somewhere alonj way."

"The hotel's fine," Sutton said easily.

The car started down the winding driveway. Johnny le back. "Hertha," he said musingly. "Fancy name. Wouldn well with Smith, though, would it?"

"You're fishing again," Sutton accused. "All right, I'll her last name's Colston. She was Jess's fiancee."

"Jess, Junior? I thought a little lady named Alice Cumn

"Miss Cummings," Sutton said firmly, "was not his fiance."

"She thinks she was."

"Oh, I imagine she tried her best to hook him." 

"She hooked him for a mink coat," said Sam. Sutton shrugged. 

"What's a mink coat?" 

"Are you kidding?" cried Sam. "Them mink coats cost three thousand bucks."

"Some cost considerably more." 

"Even two-three thousand is all right for a doll who didn't even pay for her rabbit fur."

"Rabbit fur?"

"Miss Cummings bought a sixty-nine dollar and fifty cent special about four years ago," Johnny explained. "The bill was so small it slipped her mind."

"Well," said James Sutton, "that's interesting. But how do yon know all this about Miss Cummings?"

"That," said Johnny, "is how we got into this. We skip-traced her and collected the dough."

"Is that your business? Skip tracing, I believe you called it."

"I was just helping out a friend."

"A friend?" exclaimed Sam. "Kilkenny ain't no friend of Durs. Not after what he done to you."

"A skip tracer," mused Sutton. "It sounds like an interesting location. Suppose someone moves and doesn't leave a forwarding address—is it possible to find them?"

"Kilkenny found us," exclaimed Sam. "On account of a measly old mandolin that I couldn't play anyway . . ." He .topped as Johnny dug his elbow into his ribs. "What's the matter?"

"Mr. Sutton isn't interested in mandolins, Sam."

"I'm interested in skip tracers," Sutton said. "You were saying about Miss Cummings—how you traced her. Just how did you do it?"

"There are tricks to all trades." Johnny gave Sutton a quick sideward glance. "I imagine the grocery business has its tricks, too."

"I wouldn't know about that."

"Aren't you in the grocery business?"

Sutton smiled. "I own a few shares of Carmichael stock, but I'm not in the firm."

"You like Wall Street better?"

"Tut tut, no more fishing. Let's stick to skip tracing."

"All right," said Johnny, "let's. You want somebody skip-traced?"

"Possibly."

"Then I'm your boy. There isn't a skip tracer in the business who can do a better job."

"Who is this Kilkenny Mr. Cragg mentioned?"

Johnny made a deprecating gesture. "Small stuff. He collects old mandolin accounts. If you're looking for an old mandolin, I guess Kilkenny's as good a man as any. But if it's something important, Johnny Fletcher can do it quicker and better."

"I like the way you got in to see Cousin Jess," Sutton said.

"Mmm, could you locate a man who, let's say, disappeared twelve years ago?"

"You name him and I'll find him."

"What does a skip tracer usually get?"

"Ten bucks," Sam volunteered inadvertently.

Johnny gave him the elbow again. "Finding a missing person isn't skip tracing. It's detective work."

"Same thing, isn't it?" asked Sutton. "A person owes a bill, you've got to find him to collect..

"Skip tracing a man who owes a bill is minor-league stuff But a man who's missing, uh, that takes real detective work And you know what the better detective agencies charge."

"I haven't the slightest," Sutton said. "This is all new to me I'm willing to pay a fair price, though, to find my cousin '

"Your cousin?"

"Lester Smithson."

"What relation is he to Jess Carmichael, senior?"

"Nephew, same as I am. Uncle Jess had two sisters, Dell; and Carrie. Lester was Delia's son. Carrie Carmichael was m} mother."

"Your aunt and your mother are both dead?"

"Yes."

"Mmm," said Johnny thoughtfully. "I catch on. With Jesi the third dead, that leaves you the next of kin."

"Except for Lester."

"Yeah, sure, but if he's dead, you're the heir."

"I don't know. Uncle Jess could leave his money to th Smithsonian Institution, you know."

"Not if you play your cards right. That makes a difference.'

"I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"The fee for finding Lester. Since you're the heir to th Carmichael grocery stores, I'll naturally have to charge you ; larger fee."

James Sutton chuckled. "You're a character, Fletcher. A] right, name your price."

"A hundred dollars a day."

"Isn't that a little stiff?"

"It might be for the ordinary detective agency," Johnny ad mitted, "but when you hire Johnny Fletcher, you're hiring th best."

"Let's say fifty dollars a day."

"For my A Number One work?"

"Your best. Fifty dollars a day. And there's got to be i time limit, of course."

'Ten days?"

"Five. Fifty dollars a day, for five days and a, ah, bonu of two hundred when you succeed." 40

"Seven days and a five hundred dollar bonus?"

"Very well."

"And a retainer of, say, two hundred?"

"I'll send you a check tomorrow."

Johnny frowned. "Couldn't you pay something now—just to ind the agreement?"

"I'm afraid I left my wallet at home."

Johnny's frown became a scowl. "I wasn't able to get to the ink today. Sam, how much money have you got on you?"

"Why, you know, Johnny, a dollar forty-five."

"You, too?" Johnny shook his head. "This is a bit awkward. [ ot even enough to tip the driver." He turned back to Sutton. Haven't you got some small change on you? A tenner or so."

Sutton drew a five-dollar bill from his pocket. Johnny eased

from between his fingers.

"This'U do."

During their talk the rented limousine had crossed the Tri-borough Bridge and was rolling down the East River Drive.

turned west and a few minutes later ran smoothly into the ;rvice entrance of the Barbizon-Waldorf Hotel.

"A very nice drive," Johnny said to the chauffeur. "I may ant you again, tomorrow."

"Very good, sir," replied the chauffeur. "Just ask for Wilbur, et's see, it's just about three hours. That'll be eighteen dollars, r."

"Very reasonable," Johnny said, concealing a little wince. [ made arrangements with the bell captain. Room eight venty-one. Here—here's a little something for you."

He handed the man the five-dollar bill he had just obtained om James Sutton. The man touched his visored cap. "Thank du, sir. Room eight twenty-one."

Johnny, Sam and Sutton walked into the hotel. "I'll leave ou now," Sutton said. "But I'll get in touch with you tomorrow. Room eight twenty-one, I believe you said."

"That's right, eight twenty-one," Johnny said blithely. "But etter give me your number, so I can call you if I get some-ling important."

"I'd rather get in touch with you," Sutton said. "I'm in and ut."

"So am I," retorted Johnny.

"I'll leave a message, then."

"I can leave one for you."

Sutton suddenly grinned. "Look, Fletcher, what's wrong 'ith me phoning you here? You are in Room eight twenty-one, ren't you?"

"Sure," said Johnny. "Room eight twenty-one ... at the 'orty-Fifth Street Hotel."

Sutton exclaimed softly. "But you charged the limousine to . . ." Then he chuckled. "You are a character. All right, th Forty-Fifth Street Hotel."

"Now you might as well give me your address," Johnn said. "I'll find it out anyway, but that takes time and you wan me to concentrate on rinding Lester Smithson, don't you?"

"You've got a point there. Believe it or not, I happen t live here, up in the tower."

Johnny grinned. "Well, one of us lives here, anyway."

"Now, don't go getting any ideas, like charging limousine to me."

"Who, me?"

"That's right. I've lived here quite a while and they knoA me. I just thought I'd mention it."

"Glad you did. Tomorrow, then."

Johnny and Sam left the hotel and started to walk acros town to the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel. Sam walked besid Johnny, his face wearing a heavy scowl.

"All right, Sam, out with it. What's eating you?"

"This detective stuff, Johnny. You know I don't like it.

"Relax, Sam, we've got a paying client. How else could w make eight fifty in a week's time?"

"Sure, we'll make eight fifty. We always make money 01 of these things, but how is it we always wind up broke? And we make all that dough, why is Peabody always about to loc us out of our hotel room?"

"That's one of the things I don't understand, Sam. One c us squanders the money. Which reminds me, how much di that lunch cost you today, the second lunch, I mean? Whe you gave the fifty-cent tip."

Sam winced. "All right, Johnny, I get the idea. I ought 1 keep my trap shut. I know I haven't got a chance arguir against you."

"Don't feel badly about it. Nobody else can outtalk m either." Johnny chuckled. "That Sutton lad tried to talk fancy,

"Yeah, but we haven't got any money from him."

"We got a fiver out of him."

"What kind of dough is that for a guy who lives in th Barbizon-Waldorf Tower? You ask me, he's pretty cozy wit his money."

"We've seen the color of it, we'll get more, don't worry."

Although it was after eleven o'clock when they entered ti Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, Peabody, the manager, was in ti lobby. He smiled wolfishly when he spied Johnny and Sai heading for the elevators.

"Mr. Fletcher," he called. 42

Johnny turned to the desk. "Harya, Peabody, a good night's sleep to you."

"But not to you," retorted Peabody. "I've been thinking things over and I see no reason for letting you stay another night in this hostelry. As long as you're going to take up your abode in the subway, you might as well do it this evening."

"We've had a rough day, Peabody. I need a good night's sleep because I'm going to be busy tomorrow."

"So shall I be. Fumigating your room."

"Good night, Peabody."

Johnny stepped into the elevator, but Peabody came dashing out from behind the desk. "No, Albert, don't take them up!" he cried to the elevator operator.

With a sudden snarl of rage, Sam Cragg sprang out of the elevator and grabbed the hotel manager by the coat front. "You heard Johnny, didn't you? We're tired and we want to go to bed."

"Unhand me, you—you gorilla!" cried Peabody. "This is the last straw. I shall not only lock you out of your room, I shall turn you over to the police."

"On what charge?" snapped Johnny.

"Defrauding an innkeeper," snarled Peabody, still struggling to get out of Sam's grip. "It's against the law to engage hotel accommodations when you have no means of paying."

'Tet him go, Sam," Johnny said. Then facing Peabody: "Now, see here, I'm getting sick and tired of hearing you harping on that subject. Just how much do you say we owe you?"

"You know very well. It's thirty-six dollars and it might as well be "

"Thirty-six dollars," snapped Johnny. "I've got a good notion to pay you and move out of this crummy joint."

"Oh, you're moving, all right," howled Peabody. "Right now, you're moving."

"On the other hand," Johnny went on, "I think I'll just pay up and stay here."

"You're doing a lot of talking about paying," sneered Peabody.

"Why shouldn't I? I always pay my honest debts. . . ." He reached into his pocket and brought out a sheaf of bills. "Thirty-six dollars, did you say?"

Peabody gulped as he saw the money. "Wh-where did you get that?"

"This small change? I've always got thirty-six dollars."

"Then why didn't you pay your bill when it was due?"

"Because you didn't ask me for it nice."

Peabody skimmed through the bills, counting them. "Very

veil, you made it. But there isn't going to be another time. You'll pay each and every week hereafter, at the end of the veek. I've got a good notion to make you pay in advance."

"Do you make other guests pay in advance?" cried Johnny.

"Other guesls don't do to me what you do."

"I'm not asking any favors," Johnny growled. "All I want ls the same treatment as your other paying guests."

Peabody opened his mouth to complain further, then Jiought better of it and whirling, went back behind his desk. Johnny and Sam rode up to their room on the eighth floor. When the door was closed on them, Johnny said, "I was going :o be decent about it and mail him the pawn ticket for his suit, but I dunno, now after the way he's treated us, I ought to tear it up!"

He didn't, however.

10

Hard knuckles pounded the door of Room 821. Johnny rolled over in bed and looked at the door. The knuckles massaged the door panels once more.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Open up, Fletcher," cried a voice outside the door.

Sam Cragg sat up in bed. "What's the idea, wakin' a man in the middle of the night?"

Johnny threw back the covers and strode to the door. He shot back the bolt and whipped open the door. J.J. Kilkenny, smiling nastily, stepped in. Sam shook his head, let out a roar and started around the bed to get at Kilkenny.

The skip tracer coolly produced a snub-nosed revolver. "I'm not going to skin my knuckles on you, fat boy."

"Fat boy?" roared Sam Cragg. "Put down that dingus and I'll twist you into a pretzel."

"Uh-uh," said Kilkenny. He reached back with his foot and shut the door. "Business before pleasure."

"I've got no more business with you," snapped Johnny.

"Oh yes, you have," sneered Kilkenny. "Remember that money you collected on the skip was twenty-two dollars short."

"You forgot my ten-dollar commission."

"I applied that on your own account." Kilkenny pointed to Sam Cragg with his revolver. "I haven't forgotten that little tab for the ape's mandolin."

"Who you callin' an ape?" demanded Sam.

"You," retorted Kilkenny.

Sam took another quick step forward, but Kilkenny kept the revolver pointed at him. "Come ahead, fatso." 44

"YouVe got no right to carry a gun," Johnny said angrily.

"I got a license, that gives me a right."

"Since when are they giving licenses to bill collectors?"

"People threaten me," smirked Kilkenny. "A man's got a right to defend himself. Like now—I got a claim against you birds and if you make a pass at me, I can shoot you and nothin'll happen to me. I'm only defending myself."

"I ain't sure that pea-shooter'd even hurt me," said Sam Cragg dourly. "Don't crowd your luck."

"I'll make this short and sweet," snapped Kilkenny. "You didn't give me all the money that Miss Cummings gave you. I happen to know that she gave you a piggy bank full of small change. I want it."

Johnny's eyes went involuntarily to the dresser where the limping goose bank had stood the day before. It was gone and for a moment Johnny thought that someone had stolen it. Then he recalled having swept it off the dresser into an open drawer the night before.

"There's only a bunch of pennies in the bank."

"Yeah, about twenty bucks' worth. I want them."

"You're welcome if you can get them out of the bank. I couldn't. The slot's too narrow."

Kilkenny held out his free hand. "Give."

Johnny turned his back on the bill collector and headed for the dresser. As he passed Sam, he winked and said quickly in an undertone, "Ready!"

He reached past Sam, pulled open the dresser drawer and took out the bronze limping goose bank. "Here," he said to Kilkenny, and tossed the bank to him. He threw it to the right of Kilkenny, so the bill collector had to lunge for it with the hand holding the gun. The bank struck the gun and for an instant Kilkenny tried to juggle both the revolver and the limping goose.

That was enough for Sam. He took a headlong plunge at Kilkenny, both hands flailing out. His head hit Kilkenny's midriff, his left hand struck the bill collector's right arm and closed around it. He gripped it savagely, twisting as both he and Kilkenny hit the floor.

Kilkenny cried out hoarsely in pain and the gun clattered to the floor. Johnny scooped it up just as Sam hit Kilkenny a short chopping blow on the chin with his fist.

Both Johnny and Sam stood up. Kilkenny's eyes were closed and he was moaning. Sam prodded him with his bare foot. "Cut out the stalling," he said, "I hardly hit you."

Kilkenny's eyes opened. "Help me up," he groaned.

"Get up yourself."

Kilkenny got painfully to his feet, but the fight was gone

from him. "That was a sneaking trick you pulled," he said to Johnny.

"Just like yours yesterday," Johnny replied cheerfully.

"You want to go another fall?" Sam asked.

"Gimme my gun," said Kilkenny, holding out his hand.

"Ixnay," said Johnny, "that's one of the rules of the game. You pull a gun on a man and he takes it away from you, it's his gun."

"That roscoe cost me twenty-seven fifty second-hand."

"That's twenty-seven fifty you're out."

Kilkenny blinked, drew a great breath and exhaled. "All right, if that's the way you're going to play. I'll remember it. It'll be my turn again next time."

"I'll be carrying his rod," Johnny said darkly. "You try anything on me when Sam isn't around and I'll be defending myself. Remember that."

Kilkenny pointed to the limping goose bank. "At least, can I have that?"

"I just told you—you lost."

"But you still owe me twenty-two bucks on the Cummings skip," protested Kilkenny, "not to mention the sixty-seven on the Ajax mandolin bill. That's eighty-nine bucks, altogether. All right, I promised you ten dollars for locating Cummings. That's seventy-nine bucks. Le'me have the bank and I'll knock off twenty—say, twenty-four—and call it an even fifty-five."

"Call it an even seventy-five," retorted Johnny. "I like it better."

Kilkenny scowled. "Watch yourself, Fletcher. I'm a bloodhound. When you're least expecting me, I'll pop up—and the gorilla won't be around."

"Gorilla!" cried Sam, and made another lunge at Kilkenny. But the star of the Acme Adjustment Agency collection force had had enough. He sprang back, whipped open the hall door and leaped through. Sam, in pajamas, closed the door and whirled back.

"That's what I like before breakfast," he cried cheerfully. "A workout. Gives me an appetite."

"We've got a buck forty-five," said Johnny. "Let's eat!"

A half hour later Johnny and Sam sat in the Automat, with Sam polishing off his second order of corned beef hash. He looked wistfully across at Johnny. "D'you suppose I could have another order, Johnny?"

Johnny shook his head. "We've now got left the sum of twenty cents, Sam."

Sam smacked his lips. "The Automat makes the best corned beef hash in town, maybe in the whole country. Don't you 46

think you could spend a couple of those dimes, the ones that ain't so old?"

"No, you've had enough to eat now. Sometime during the day I'll get that advance from James Sutton, then you can fill up. Right now, I think we'd better start earning that money."

"Where can you start on a deal like that? The guy disappeared twelve years ago."

"From where?"

"How would I know?"

"Sutton isn't going to be much help. He wants information but he doesn't give out any."

"Yeah, like last night. He didn't even want us to know where he lived."

"The man who could probably tell us more about young Smithson than anyone is old Jess Carmichael." Then, as Sam winced: "He'll probably be busy with the police commissioner this morning. I think maybe we'll try it from the back door."

"What back door?"

"Alice Cummings's."

"Oh, no!" cried Sam.

"She hates us," Johnny mused. "She may be mad enough so she'll spill something." He nodded. "Yes, I think we'll run up to her little old apartment."

"You never do things the easy way, do you, Johnny?" groaned Sam. "I ought to have some more corned beef hash if we're gonna face that little lady."

"Later."

The receptionist at the Chateau Pelham tore off her headphone as Johnny and Sam walked past her desk, headed for the elevators.

"Just a moment, please!"

Johnny grimaced, but turned back. "We're just going up to see Miss Qunmings."

"Everyone must be announced."

"She's expecting us."

"Is she? Well, I'll still have to announce you. Let's see, one of you is Mr. ah Fletcher, is it?"

"What a memory!" exclaimed Johnny.

"I remember you both. And I do not think Miss Cummings will want to see you. However ..." The operator made a phone connection, waited a moment, then said, "Miss Cummings, those two men who were here yesterday. . . . Yes, that's right. . . . Fletcher. . . ." She showed surprise, then nodded. "Very well, Miss Cummings," She broke the connection and said disapprovingly to Johnny, "You may go up."

Johnny winked at her. "I told you she was expecting us."

They stepped into the elevator. Sam regarded Johnny, puzzled. "I didn't think she'd let us in."

Johnny shrugged. "Women!"

They stepped out on Alice Cummings's floor and before Johnny could even press the door buzzer, the door was opened by Alice Cummings. She was wearing an expensive dressing gown of a delicate violet color. A smile was on her lips, but none in her eyes.

"Come in, Johnny," she said cordially. "And—Mr. Spragg, is it?"

"Cragg, lady, Sam Cragg."

"Sam," Alice Cummings purred. She regarded Sam fondly. "Strong, aren't you?"

"The strongest man in the world," Sam replied proudly, flexing his muscles as he passed Alice into the apartment.

Alice Cummings closed the door. "I'm glad you came," she said, addressing Johnny. "I was a little short of money yesterday. But I have it now."

"Oh, I didn't come because of that," Johnny said. "We're all squared away, financially."

"But I don't believe I gave you enough. I was several dollars short, wasn't I?"

"We're always glad to take money," Sam said.

Johnny shook his head. "You were a little short, but I said it was all right, so it's settled. You don't owe a thing."

Alice Cummings crossed to a table and picked up a red leather purse. "I always pay my debts. Let's see, the total bill was seventy-four dollars, I believe. And I gave you . . . how much in bills?"

"Fifty-seven. But "

"Then I owe you seventeen dollars." She took out a fat roll of bills and began peeling off notes. "Now, if you'll just give me back the little bank I gave you for security . .."

"I haven't got it with me."

"You can get it." She looked at him sharply. "You haven't had time to spend those coins, have you?"

"No," said Johnny, "but don't bother. I accepted them in full payment."

"I want them back. I've been saving them for a long time."

"They were only pennies and dimes and quarters. About six dollars' worth ..."

"Get them for me, please. I want them."

Johnny hesitated. "I don't know whether I still have them all."

"You had no right to spend them. They—they're rare coins." 48

"That ain't what the coin dealer said," Sam exclaimed. "He offered us two for one, that's all."

"So you've taken them to a coin dealer," said Alice Cum-mings. Her eyes, already hard, became flinty. "You had no right. I gave you that bank just for security "

"Ever hear of a man named Kilkenny?" Johnny suddenly shot at her.

"Kilkenny—" Alice caught herself. "What's he got to do with this?"

"He wanted the bank, too."

"Who is Kilkenny?"

"He's a collector for the A.A.A.—the Acme Adjustment Agency."

"Isn't that the outfit you work for?"

"Not exactly. I don't really work for the A.A.A.—I was just helping out J.J."

"Look, Fletcher," Alice Cummings said bluntly. "I don't give a hoot and a holler for this A.A.A., or J.J. Kilkenny, or you. I've paid you your money and I want what's mine. I want that goose bank and what's in it. And I want it now."

Johnny said, "How long is it since you've seen Lester Smith-son?"

Johnny was not sure whether the name scored or not. Alice was already pretty angry. She exclaimed, "Who the devil is Lester Smithson?"

"Jess Carmichael's cousin."

"I'm not talking to you about Jess Carmichael. All I want from you is that bank and the coins it contained. I want it today—as soon as you can get it."

Johnny held out his hand for the seventeen dollars. "All right, Alice, you'll have it."

Alice drew back. "Not so fast, you'll get this money when I get mine. You'll be back in—an hour?"

"Maybe sooner."- Johnny signaled to Sam and they left the apartment.

In the elevator going down, Sam said, "You got the coins in your pocket, haven't you? You could've given them to her."

"I would have given them to her, but she was too anxious."

"That seventeen bucks wouldn't be bad. That's about all the coins would bring."

"According to the dealer we talked to last night. But there are other dealers."

"The seventeen bucks is sure."

Johnny made no further comment until they had left the building. Then he said, "Hasn't it occurred to you that Kilkenny was awfully anxious to get that bank?"

"That's his job. You know how bill collectors are. He said himself that he was a bloodhound."

"So am I," said Johnny grimly. "At least, I've got the nose for one and I'm beginning to smell a strange odor. I think we'll run back to the hotel."

11

A short while later they re-entered the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel and rode up to the eighth floor. The door of Room 821 was unlocked, which was not too unusual, since the maids were in and out with their cleaning and linens. But when Johnny pushed open the door, he let out a low whistle.

"Jeez!" exclaimed Sam. 'The place looks like a cyclone nil it."

The beds were stripped, the blankets and sheets thrown on the floor. The drawers of the single dresser were open and the contents dumped on the floor. The carpet had even been torn loose from the floor and peeled back around the edges.

"I was half expecting this," Johnny said thoughtfully.

"Burglars, you mean? What've we got worth stealing?"

"The goose bank. Do you see it around?"

"No, I don't, but the doggone thing was empty."

"Search," said Johnny. "See if it's around."

They both got down on their knees and peered under the bed and dresser. They shook out the blankets and sheets, threw them back on the bed. Two minutes' search convinced them that the limping goose bank was not in the room.

Johnny got to his feet. There was a discreet knock on the door.

"Come!" he called.

The door opened and Eddie Miller came into the room Eddie was the bell captain of the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel a sharp little man in his mid-thirties who knew all the answers and had invented many of the questions.

"Termites?" he asked, looking around the littered room.

"Big ones," replied Johnny.

Eddie nodded. "I know you're in the middle of a caper Mr. Fletcher, what with the law coming here last night anc Mr. Peabody prancing and smirking. And things going on."

"Such as what, Eddie?"

"You paid your rent last night," Eddie suggested.

Johnny shook his head. "I had to scramble for it. We're broke."

"Well, that's normal for you. You know I'm on your side Mr. Fletcher. You've always done right by me when you had 50

:. So this is for free. I mean until you get back into the chips, iome people been asking me about you."

"People?"

"First two, then one. The two"—Eddie gestured about the oom—"I guess they're the ones did this. They looked like lugs."

"What did they want to know?"

"Your room number. One of them slipped me fifty cents, ut I told him it was worth my job to give out a guest's room [umber. So the other guy gave me a buck."

"And you gave them the room number?"

"Sure, why not? They could have got it at the desk. For bat, Haskins, the day clerk, would give them a guest's key."

"How much do you charge for a key?"

Eddie grinned. "I held out for five. I didn't think you'd mind, after all, your tux is at the, ah, cleaners, isn't it? Along with our overcoat and your four other suits. They—they didn't wipe anything, did they?"

"A piggy bank, that's all." said Sam Cragg.

Eddie's face fell. "I didn't know you had anything in here worth while."

"Oh, this wasn't worth much, Eddie," said Johnny easily. Just a man's life, that's all."

"You're kidding!"

"Maybe I am. All right, I won't hold it against you. You've ot to make a living, too. What about the other one—the one rho came later?"

"Harry Flanagan. He didn't know that I knew him, but he tayed here a week, four years ago. He's one of the boys, 'bu can probably see him on Broadway and Forty-eighth any fternoon."

"What's he do for a living?"

Eddie grinned. "He hustles. You want a crap game, a good [me, Harry'll fix it for you. You want to buy a diamond ring, larry'll get it for you wholesale. You want to meet the blonde 1 the second row, at Binsky's, Harry knows her. He'll intro-uce you."

"Nice lad."

"I can't figure how come he's interested in you. You're not xactly a farmer from Trufant, Michigan."

"What'd he want to know about me?"

"The usual. How you made a living. He seemed to think ou were a private eye or something."

"How come?"

"He let it out that you were investigating a friend of his."

"He mention the name?"

"Uh-uh, but it's a babe."

"He say so?"

"No, but he's a little too well-dressed these days. Either 1 made a big strike lately, or he's got some babe buying him h clothes. A babe with money."

The phone rang. Johnny stepped to bed and scooped up. "Hello!"

The voice of James Sutton said, "Mr. Fletcher? Glad caught you in. I've been thinking over our little deal of la night. I've decided not to go ahead "

"You can't quit now," Johnny cried in sudden desperatio "I've already been working on it and I've got something for you."

"What?" asked Sutton.

"I'll come right over and tell you."

"Tell me now."

"I can't, over the phone. I'll be there in ten minutes."

Johnny slammed down the receiver and whirled on Sa Cragg. "Hold down the fort, Sam."

"What's the matter?"

"Our pigeon's got cold feet. I've got to warm them i again. Stay here, just in case we have some more callers. I see you later, Eddie."

Johnny tore out of the room. Out on the street, he hailed waiting cab and jumped in. Ten minutes later he entered t] Barbizon-Waldorf. He went to a house phone.

"Mr. James Sutton."

After a moment, Sutton answered the phone.

"Johnny Fletcher. I'm downstairs. What's your room nui ber?"

There was a slight hesitation. "Thirty-four twenty-two, b don't come up for ten minutes."

Johnny hung up and walked to the elevators. A car w about to leave and he stepped in. He got out on the thirt fourth floor and a moment later pressed the door buzzer Room 3422.

The door was opened instantly by James Sutton. I scowled. "I said ten minutes."

"My watch is stopped," said Johnny, stepping into the root A quick glance around showed him that Sutton was living we The suite consisted of at least three rooms and at the gou prices of the Barbizon-Waldorf must have cost Sutton at lea a thousand a month.

Sutton closed the door and said, "I still think it was a mi take to engage you, Fletcher, and if you don't mind "

"I do mind," Johnny snapped. "Especially, when I' already on the trail of Lester Smithson."

"I don't see how you've had time "

"I put my mind to it last night, Mr. Sutton," Johnny said noothly. "That's the way I operate. When the ordinary inves-gator is guzzling his beer, or making a night of it, I'm working, work all the time, during the day, at night. I go to sleep with problem and when I wake up during the night I think of it. 's on my mind always. So, last night, about two in the a.m. found that I couldn't sleep so I gave the problem some thought. I said to myself, suppose I was Lester Smithson, the nephew of a man who owns twenty-two hundred grocery ores. Suppose I had a cousin who was the son of the man ho had twenty-two hundred grocery stores; ordinarily he'd i the man who'd inherit the grocery stores. Except that he asn't interested in the grocery business. He was a playboy, instead of selling groceries, he was interested only in buying link coats for chorus girls. Now, there's nothing wrong with aying chorus girls mink coats, you understand. Everybody aows that chorus girls get awfully cold and there's nothing lat keeps a chorus girl so warm as a fine set of pelts. I got nothing against the idea, personally . . . and the son of a man ho owns twenty-two hundred grocery stores can't be expected to be spending his time weighing out sugar and coffee."

"No," said Sutton, "of course not."

"On the other hand," Johnny went on, "if you're only a cousin of a man who owns twenty-two hundred grocery stores, that's a horse of a different feather. Especially, if there's a direct heir in line for the grocery stores. So, now what can this cousin do to attract attention to himself and show his acle what a fine man he is? Especially if said uncle started at in life as a poor grocery clerk?"

"He wasn't a grocery clerk," said Sutton. "He was a telegraph operator."

"Same thing. He was a poor man who started at the bottom id worked his way up." He paused a moment, beaming at Litton. "Begin to catch on?"

"No, I can't say that I do."

"Smithson," Johnny exclaimed. "What could he do to put imself in solid with old man Carmichael? He could learn le grocery business from the ground up."

"This is Lester Smithson you're talking about?"

"Who else? A sharp lad. He wanted some of those grocery :ores, so he went about it the only way a guy in his position an go about it. He got a job in a grocery store—at the bottom!"

Sutton stared at Johnny in fascination. "Where?"

Johnny made a gesture of dismissal. "That's just a matter of detail. We know where he is—we can find him."

"Fletcher," said Sutton, shaking his head in admiration," that's the most fantastic story I've ever heard. There's onl; one thing wrong with it. Lester disappeared a matter of som twelve years ago."

"So?"

"You think he's still, what did you say? weighing out suga and coffee in one of the twenty-two hundred grocery stores?"

"He could be. Maybe he's worked his way up to the mea counter."

Jess Carmichael stepped out of the bedroom. "Fletcher, underestimated you last night."

Johnny smiled pleasantly. "Most people do."

"You've imagination." Carmichael turned to Suttor "What's this deal you made with him to find Lester?"

Sutton shrugged. "It was just one of those things. Spur c the moment, Uncle Jess. I guess I should have minded my ow business. Forget it, please."

"No," said Carmichael. "I've missed Lester." He pausec "He's my nephew, the same as you are." Pain crossed hi features. "Now that Jess is gone, you and Lester are the onl family I have. I—I know that Jess and Lester were never ver friendly. I know, too, that it was probably Jess's fault, but no, that he's dead I don't seem to remember those things. Or attac any importance to them. The memory of Lester these la; few years isn't so—so strong. But I remembered the boy . . . He stopped and swallowed hard. Then he became brisk agaii "Fletcher, hold that vivid imagination of yours in check for moment and tell me, honestly—do you think you can fin Lester?"

"Yes, Mr. Carmichael, I can. That is, I can find him anyone can."

"Weighing sugar?" Johnny knew when to be discreetly siler and Carmichael nodded. "I'm going to let you try. Here. . . . He reached into his breast pocket and drew out a wallet. He skinned out five bills. "Here's five hundred dollars. There'll b a thousand more when you find Lester Smithson. All right?"

Johnny took the bills and looked sharply at Sutton. The latter shrugged. "Thanks, Mr. Carmichael. It's a deal. There just one question I want to ask you. Exactly when and where did you last see Lester?"

Pain again flitted across the grocery magnate's face. "I wis you hadn't asked me that." He looked at Sutton. "Perhap you'd better tell him, James."

"If you wish, Uncle Jess. It was at the Harover Club. We were all having lunch there and—well, I guess we'd all had one drink more than we should have. My cousin Jess and Lester—they had words and Jess threw a cup of black coffee in Lester's face. I'm afraid the coffee was rather hot. Lester walked out and that's the last time any of us saw him."

"This was twelve years ago?"

"Last August."

Johnny stowed away the five hundred-dollar bills. "I'll get busy, Mr. Carmichael."

"I'll expect to hear from you."

Johnny nodded and stepped to the door. Out in the hall, le took the five bills from his pocket. "It's a long time since I've seen any of you boys," he said fervently.

Returning to the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, Johnny entered ttoom 821 and found it empty. He looked in the bathroom, jut Sam was missing. Puzzled, he rode down to the lobby. Eddie Miller came forward.

"What happpened, Mr. Fletcher?" he asked.

"Sam Cragg go out?"

"Yes, that's what I was asking about. He came tearing down aere about ten minutes ago, said he'd just got a call that you'd ousted your leg "

"No!" cried Johnny, "who called him?"

"He didn't say. Just that he'd got word that you'd been u an accident and had your leg broken."

"Did he go to a hospital?"

"Not that I know of. But I saw him getting into a cab outside."

"He didn't have any money to pay for a cab."

"Maybe he forgot that."

"Damn!" said Johnny. He strode to the desk. Mr. Peabody, he manager, turned from a ledger he was studying. Johnny jrew out his his new roll of bills and peeled one off.

"Break this for me."

Peabody inhaled softly, took the bill and held it to the light. He scrutinized both sides, wrinkled the bill and scrutinized it igain. "Where did you get this, Fletcher?"

"Do you ask all the guests where they get their money?" Fohnny snapped. He exhibited the other bills. "I needed some change so I stopped in at my bank."

"Five hundred dollars," Peabody said softly. Then a shudder ran through him. "Yes sir, Mr. Fletcher, how will you have it?"

"Doesn't make any difference—tens, twenties. Better give me some singles, for tipping purposes."

Peabody counted out the bills, took one more look at the hundred-dollar bill and put it into the cash drawer.

Johnny signaled to Eddie Miller and went to the door.

A Sky-Top cab stood at the curb a few yards from the hotel. Johnny strode up to him. "How long've you been waiting here?"

"Long enough," the cabdriver replied. "You want to get in?"

Eddie Miller came up. "Hell, Ben," he said. "I want you to help out Mr. Fletcher."

"Sure thing, Eddie."

"How long have you been waiting here?" Johnny repeated.

"A half hour, more or less. This is a quiet day."

"About fifteen minutes ago," Johnny went on, "a man came dashing out of the hotel—about five-ten, two-twenty "

"Sure," said the cabby, scowling. "I got beat out of a fare. Some guy's double-parked here—I don't think much of it, but then this guy comes out of the hotel and the double-parking guy scoots out in front of me and grabs the fare right under my nose."

"Waht kind of a cab was it?"

The cabdriver shrugged. "I don't know the hackie; he ain't from around Times Square, that I do know. He's driving a beat-up jalopy . . . yeah, a Lucky Clover cab. There ain't many of those around."

"A setup," said Johnny. "I don't suppose you got his number?"

"Naw, he beat it out of here like a bat out of hell before I could even tell him what I thought of him, stealing a fare out from under me. Hey—come to think of it, there was a guy already in the cab. I mean, in back."

"Wait here," said Johnny. "I'll take a ride with you in a minute." He turned and strode into the hotel lobby. He walked directly to the phone booth and looked up a number in the directory.

Eddie Miller hovered over him. "Looks bad, huh?"

"Sam can take care of himself," said Johnny. He turned. "I've got to go out to see a man," he said. "If Sam happens to come back, tell him to sit tight and wait for me. Even if someone calls and tells him I broke my left arm and both legs."

"Sure thing, Mr. Fletcher."

Johnny strode out of the hotel and stepped into Ben's waiting cab. "Forty-ninth and Madison," he said.

The cab went to Seventh Avenue and North, turned east on Forty-sixth Street, scooted across to Madison Avenue and turned north. A few minutes later, Johnny got out and gave the driver a dollar. "Can you wait here?" 56

"If it ain't too long."

"It shouldn't be over ten minutes."

"Then it's okay. You'll find me at the hack stand, or double-parked."

Johnny walked a short distance and entered an office building. He consulted the building directory and rode up to the ninth floor. A moment later he stood before a ground glass door on which was lettered Acme Adjustment Agency.

He entered. There was a small reception room and apparently two private offices. A secretary with incredibly long, pointed nails was idling with a typewriter.

"The boss," Johnny said.

"What's your name? I'll see if he's in."

"Cragg, Sam Cragg."

The girl gave Johnny a searching look and got up. She went to the right-hand ground-glass door and entered, closing the door behind her. She reappeared in a moment.

"What'd you want to see Mr. Hammer about?"

"About a man named Kilkenny," Johnny replied. "He works here."

"Kilkenny? Mmm, I don't know if we have a man here by that name or not..."

"Hey!" cried Johnny. "Cut it out. This outfit isn't that big!"

"What'd you want to see Mr. Kilkenny about?"

"I don't want to see Kilkenny. I want to see Mr. Hammer about Mr. Kilkenny."

"Well, what about him?"

Johnny pointed to the private office. "Hammer, that's who I want to see. In fact—" He suddenly shoved open the wooden gate and strode toward Hammer's private office. The receptionist let out a scream, but Johnny paid no heed. He slammed open Hammer's door and found Mr. Hammer whipping open the right-hand top desk drawer.

Mr. Hammer was a squat, bald man who perspired copiously. He kept his hand in the top drawer. "What do you mean, bustin' in like that?" he snapped.

"You've got a man named Kilkenny working for you."

"Have I?"

"If you haven't, then I've given money to a crook."

Hammer's attitude changed. He actually raised his right hand out of the desk drawer, although he kept it near. "You paid money to Kilkenny? On an account? Your name, please?"

"I told the girl—Sam Cragg."

Hammer went quickly over a file of cards and extracted one. "Sam Cragg, ah yes, Ajax Mandolin Company. You say you paid Mr. Kilkenny on this account? How much?"

"What does it say there?"

"It doesn't say anything. Mr. Kilkenny gave you a receipt, of course?"

"He gave me nothing."

"Then I'm sorry, Mr. Cragg. Our collectors are instructed to give receipts at all times. If you cannot produce one, I'm afraid the account still stands. And since this is long delinquent, I must insist upon prompt payment."

"Go ahead, insist. But I want to talk to J. J. Kilkenny."

"The matter is out of Mr. Kilkenny's hands. I'm handling this and I want payment at once, or else..."

"Or else, what?"

"Or else I shall start immediate suit. Hey—wait a moment, here's a notation from J.J. Ah, yes, this alters things considerably. It seems, Mr. Cragg, that you pawned this instrument." Mr. Hammer beamed happily. "That, sir, is where you made your mistake. Selling property you did not own takes it out of the civil court and puts it into the criminal. Yes, Mr. Cragg, you've overstepped yourself. You will pay this bill—at once, sir—or I shall clap you into jail. What do you think of that?"

"I think it's a lot of hooey," snapped Johnny. "Look, I haven't got time to shilly-shally around with you. I want to see Kilkenny, that's all."

Mr. Hammer made an impatient gesture of dismissal. "Mr. Kilkenny is out of this, Mr. Cragg. It's no concern of his. But you, sir, are in serious trouble. I hope you are prepared to pay."

"I'm not prepared to pay anything!"

"In that case—Miss Trout!" Hammer rose swiftly to his feet. "A policeman ..."

"Cut the comedy," snarled Johnny. "All I want from you is the whereabouts of J. J. Kilkenny."

"And all I want from you is sixty-seven dollars!" Miss Trout appeared in the doorway. "Telephone for a policeman, Miss Trout."

"Yes, Mr. Hammer!" The girl turned and headed for the phone on her desk.

Johnny stepped to the door. "Put down that phone!"

"Oh-ho!" cried Mr. Hammer. He whipped back to the desk drawer and drew out a short snub-nosed revolver. "Violence, Mr. Cragg? All the more reason to call the police. Miss Trout

"Hold it," said Johnny. "Let's talk this over quietly."

"We've talked, Mr. Cragg. Sixty-seven dollars, or the police."

Miss Trout was already dialing. Desperately, Johnny cried, "I'll pay!"

"Just a moment, Miss Trout," called Hammer. "But stand by. Very well, Mr. Cragg, let's see the color of your money." 58

"First of all," said Johnny, "my name isn't Sam Cragg."

"Oh, we're going to try that now, are we? Very well, Miss Trout, you may phone."

Miss Trout began dialing once more.

"I'll pay!" cried Johnny. He brought out a handful of bills.

"Wait, Miss Trout," ordered Mr. Hammer.

Miss Trout waited with her hand on the phone. Johnny counted out sixty-seven dollars and put the rest of the money back in his pocket, carelessly revealing that one packet of bills consisted of hundreds. Mr. Hammer noted it greedily.

"Put the money on the desk, Mr. Cragg."

Johnny held it in his hand. "Here's the money, now let's talk. Your Mr. Kilkenny is involved in the Jess Carmichael murder."

"You're wasting time."

"Alice Cummings," Johnny said, pointing to the file cards. "Look it up—you collected money from her yesterday. Miss Cummings happens to be the little lady in whose apartment Jess Carmichael was murdered. And your Mr. Kilkenny just happens to be in it up to his fat ears."

The collection agent smiled thinly, but there was vague uncertainty in his eyes.

"None of this will do you any good."

"All right," said Johnny grimly. "Look at your cards—I dare you. If Miss Cummings's name isn't on one of them, I'll be willing to give you a hundred dollars."

Hammer hesitated, then reached for the cards. "I'll just prove to you that you're ..." His fingers ran over the cards, stopped. His eyes narrowed and he shot a quick covert look at Johnny. Then he drew out the card.

"Just who are you, Mr. Cragg?" he asked slowly.

"First of all, I'm not Sam Cragg," Johnny said quickly, "and you'll find the card—Miss Cummings paid up in full."

"Fifty-two dollars." Hammer's forehead creased. "It was accepted in full payment. Alice Cummings, mm." Hammer mused thoughtfully. "It is the same name, but there could be two women "

"Uh-uh, there couldn't. How would I have known of her?"

"That's a point. Oh, you could have known about Alice Cummings, all right; her name is in all the papers since yesterday, but you couldn't have known that our Mr. Kilkenny collected money from her yesterday."

The door of the outer office opened and J. J. Kilkenny came in. Johnny's back was turned to the door, however. He said to Mr. Hammer, "Kilkenny's in it up to his ears. The least you can say about him is that he's a crook, but to me it looks like he's worse ..."

Kilkenny crossed the short distance from the outer door to the inner and lunged into the room. His big hands reached out and grabbed Johnny. "What'd you call me, you little pipsqueak?"

He whirled Johnny with his left hand and with the open palm of his right, rocked his head to the left, then to the right. Johnny, gasping in pain, hit the big man in the stomach with his fist and only bruised his knuckles.

Mr. Hammer saved him. He was half Kilkenny's size, but he was Kilkenny's boss. He said coldly, "That'll do, J.J.I"

Kilkenny released Fletcher, but he was not soothed, by any means. "You and me are gonna have this out."

"You lay a hand on me again," Johnny said savagely, "and I'll cut you to pieces."

Kilkenny's big right hand reached automatically for Johnny, but the latter stepped back nimbly.

"Here, now," Mr. Hammer said authoritatively. "Let's get this straightened out. J.J., Mr. Cragg's made some serious charges against you."

"Cragg?" exclaimed Kilkenny. "This ain't Cragg. He's Fletcher, Sam Cragg's keeper."

"Keeper?"

"Cragg's an ape, a muscle-bound gorilla. He can't talk unless this fellow tells him what to say."

"I'll repeat that to Sam," Johnny warned.

"You do. I'm itchin' to go another round with the ape and next time he may not be so lucky."

"I've got news for you," Johnny said. "Sam can throw you all night long."

"Now, wait a minute, you two," interrupted Hammer. "What's this all about? You—you announced yourself as Sam Cragg, now it turns out your name isn't Cragg."

"I never told you my name was Cragg," Johnny retorted. "In fact, I tried to tell you it wasn't "

"You gave your name to Miss Trout as Sam Cragg."

"I told her it was about the Cragg account."

"Which reminds me, that money in your hand you were going to give it to me."

Johnny put the money in his pocket. "At the point of a gun, I was going to give it to you. I came here to find out about the moose"—indicating Kilkenny. "He's in the Carmichael murder case."

"Who says I'm in it?" roared Kilkenny.

"I say so. You came busting into my hotel room this morning with a gun and when I took it away from you "

"Kilkenny!" cried Hammer. "Have you been carrying a gun?"

"That ain't a bunch of violets in your fist," sneered Kilkenny.

Hammer became aware that he was still holding the revolver in his hand and dropped it in the top desk drawer. "I keep that here for protection, that's all. But you know very well how I feel about collectors carrying firearms. You get in a jam and the police find you with a gun and—" He ran his finger across his throat. "Now, what's this about your breaking into this man's room this morning?"

"His partner's Sam Cragg. We got a tab against him for sixty-seven round iron men."

"I have Cragg's card here. He owes the money, all right."

"That's all I was trying to do, collect it. Fletcher's a wise guy. That's why he's here now—trying to get out of paying an honest debt by getting me in trouble."

"You're in trouble, Kilkenny," growled Johnny. "After we left the hotel this morning, you came back and tore the room apart. You stole the limping goose bank "

"What's that?" cried Kilkenny. "The—the bank's gone?"

"You took it, didn't you?"

"No!" howled Kilkenny. "But I want it...!"

"Why?" Johnny asked quickly.

"Because the dame"—Kilkenny caught himself, then finished —"because the Cummings girl was short seventeen dollars and gave you the bank to make up. It's got seventeen dollars in it, money that belongs to me."

"J.J." said Hammer, "just what are you talking about? You collected the money from Alice Cummings."

"Go ahead," Johnny said, "explain that."

Kilkenny tried. He swallowed hard and said, "I told you this bird's a wise guy. I ran down him and his gorilla friend over at the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel without a thin dime to their names."

Johnny took the four hundreds from his pocket, ruffled them so that J. J. Kilkenny could note their denominations. "Go ahead, big boy."

"Yes," said Mr. Hammer, "continue."

Kilkenny went on, "One word led to another and he said he could collect deadbeat skips better than I could. I gave him the Cummings card and said I'd give him ten dollars if he could collect it."

'Ten dollars," Johnny said quietly. "I said I'd run down a girl who skipped four years ago, for a measly ten bucks. Go ahead, big boy. But make it funnier."

"Shut your trap," snarled Kilkenny. "Anyway, we made the deal and then he said the doll paid him only fifty-seven dollars."

"And you didn't believe me and went back to her and found

out she gave me a bank containing seventeen dollars. This was after Jess Carmichael was murdered."

"That's a lie!" howled Kilkenny.

"Is it, J.J.?" asked Mr. Hammer.

"I told you he's just trying to get me into trouble."

"Oh, sure," said Johnny easily. "With hundreds of dollars in my pocket, I made a deal with you to trace a woman who skipped four years ago—for a ten-dollar skip-tracer fee. And then I try to swindle you out of a piggy bank full of pennies. And"—Johnny paused, then suddenly shot at Kilkenny—"just why are you so anxious to get those pennies?"

"Because I got them coming to me."

Mr. Hammer came to a sudden decision. "I think, J.J., you and me have got some talking to do." He looked at Johnny Fletcher. "I don't think we need you any more."

"Then I'll just be running along," said Johnny. "And don't forget, Mr. Hammer, ask old J.J. here why he wanted me to try to collect a little old bill from Miss Alice Cummings—just about the time Jess Carmichael was going to be murdered in her apartment. And ask him "

"Get out of here!" yelled Kilkenny hoarsely, making another lunge at Johnny.

Johnny evaded him and chuckled. He ducked through the office door to the outer room. With his hand on the hall door he called back, "The Times publishes the best want ads, J.J.l"

He went out quickly.

13

Eddie Miller left Room 821 shortly after Johnny Fletcher tore out to see James Sutton at the Barbizon-Waldorf. He left Sam Cragg to try to clean up the mess made by the person or persons who had ransacked it and stolen the limping goose bank.

Sam had the room about straightened out, when the phone rang. He took it off the hook. "Sam Cragg talking," he said.

An excited voice said, "Are you the friend of John Fletcher?"

"Johnny Fletcher, yeah, him and me are buddies."

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you," the voice went on, "your friend's suffered an accident."

"An accident!" cried Sam. "Holy cow—what happened to him?"

"He was dashing across Madison Avenue, against the lights, I might add, when he ran directly in front of my car

"You mean you're the guy who run him down?" howled Sam.

"I'm afraid so, but as I was just telling you, it was really his fault. However, I've taken him to my place and I've sent for a doctor "

"A doctor? How bad is he hurt?"

"It looks like one of his legs is broken and I'm afraid there may be internal injuries."

"Where're you at? I mean, where do you live? I'm comin' right over."

"I think that would be wise. It's, uh, ten hundred one Madison Avenue. Apartment C...."

"Ten hundred one Madison—Apartment C. I'll be right there. Tell Johnny I'm on the way."

Sam slammed the receiver back on the hook and rushed for the door. He tore out, forgetting even to lock the door. Fortunately the elevator was on an upper floor and came down immediately.

In the lobby, Sam encountered Eddie Miller. "I just got a phone call that Johnny's been run down by a car," he told Eddie excitedly. "His leg's busted, or somethin'. I'm going over to see him."

"Gee, I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Cragg," sympathized Eddie. "What hospital...?"

But Sam was already heading for the door.

He tore out of the hotel, signaled to the taxi waiting in the hack stand some yards away. A taxi, doubled-parked nearby, whipped in front of the other taxi and skidded to a stop in the vacant space in front of the hotel. The door flew open.

"Hop in, mister?" said the driver.

Sam sprang into the taxi and it roared away. It was then that Sam discovered there was a man already in the cab. "Oh, excuse me, mister," he said. "I just got word that my best friend was run over and I gotta see him right away . . . It's ten hundred one Madison Avenue."

"Sure," said the man beside Sam. "We'll take you there. Leonard, step on it."

The man beside Sam was almost as heavy as Sam and probably several inches taller. He needed a shave, but the growth of beard did not quite conceal some scars on the heavy features.

"This is doggone decent of you, mister," Sam Cragg said. "Me and Johnny's been pals for sixteen, maybe seventeen years and there ain't nothing we wouldn't do for each other."

"That's the way friends should be."

The cab crossed Seventh Avenue instead of turning and Sam exclaimed again. "Why didn't you go up Seventh?"

"Too much traffic," replied the cabdriver. "Faster this way."

Sam did not protest again. The cab turned north on Twelfth Avenue and after a few blocks took the ramp leading up to the West Side Highway. It roared along the drive.

"How'd your pal get hurt?" asked the man beside Sam Cragg.

"He was crossin' Madison Avenue and got hit by a car. 'Tain't like Johnny. He's pretty quick."

"Maybe somebody ran him down on purpose," the man said suggestively. "Has he got any enemies?"

"Johnny? Naw. Everybody likes him. Except Mr. Peabody, the manager of our hotel."

"He may have an enemy he doesn't know about," the man pursued. "For instance, your friend may be sticking his nose into somebody else's business."

"Then the guy whose business he's sticking his nose into had better watch out," retorted Sam loyally. "Johnny'll make a monkey out of him."

"You're real good friends, you and Fletcher."

"Yeah, sure, like I told you, we been buddies since—" Sam stopped, shooting a sharp glance at the man beside him. "Hey, how'd you know his name was Fletcher?"

"Why, you said so."

"I didn't, I called him Johnny." Sam looked through the window, saw that they were nearing Ninety-sixth Street. "Hey —we're going too far."

"Relax, chum," said the man beside him.

He took a revolver out of his left coat pocket and showed it to Sam. "Just sit nice and still and enjoy the ride."

Sam gasped in astonishment. "Why, you ..."

"Easy!"

Sam groaned. "This is a phony. I'll bet Johnny isn't even hurt."

"He isn't. Now, that's off your mind, sit back and take it easy."

"You're the one telephoned me. Yeah, your cab was nice and handy outside."

"That's right. I phoned you from across the street. Sucker, aren't you?"

"Put away the roscoe, mister, and I'll show you."

"No, thanks. I've heard about you. This is the old equalizer. I'm as big as you are with it."

"You're as big as me without it."

"This makes me a lot bigger."

Sam glowered. "What's the idea? I ain't got a nickel on me."

"Your chum, Fletcher, has something we want." 64

"Hey," exclaimed Sam. "The limping goose bank—that's what you want, ain't it?"

"That's right, fat boy."

"Fat boy!" cried Sam indignantly. He started to twist around, but the man beside bim reached across and stabbed him sharply with the muzzle of the revolver.

"Fat boy, I said. Now, let's just be nice and quiet until we get out to—out where we're going."

Sam slumped back in his seat. Gloomily he stared out of the window. The taxi rolled over the Henry Hudson Bridge, along the Saw Mill River Parkway and some thirty-five or forty minutes later, turned into a narrow dirt road that ran through a heavy growth of young trees. The road was a rutted, bumpy one and Sam bounced about considerably. So did the man beside him, but he never relaxed his vigilance and the gun muzzle was always ready to swing quickly on Sam.

After five minutes along the rutted, winding road, the cab entered a small clearing and pulled up before a rustic lodge built of weathered, peeled logs.

"End of the line," said the man beside Sam cheerfully. "Climb out now."

Sam got out of the taxicab. Leonard, the driver, stayed behind the wheel. "I better go back and get the boss, Sid."

"The boss knows the way out," the man called Sid said.

"Yeah, sure, but he don't want us to call him and I think he ought to know that we got the fat boy."

"We still got to get Fletcher."

"Do we need him?"

"We need what the boss wants and he's got it."

"I don't like the idea of bringing two of them out here."

"I don't like the idea of being here," Sam interrupted. "I been thinking it over. You brought me here against my will. That's kidnaping and I can get the FBI after you."

Sid grinned. "You wouldn't do that, would you, fat boy? I'm scared already. Let's go inside and talk things over. Maybe we can work out a compromise."

Leonard, the cabdriver, did not seem too happy about things, but he got out of the taxi and followed Sam and his fellow thug, Sid, into the log cabin.

The cabin was small, but nicely furnished in rustic style. There were only three rooms, a fairly large living room and a bedroom and kitchen opening off it.

Sid pointed at a couch with his revolver. "Sit down."

Sam seated himself. He saw a telephone on a stand nearby. "Can I make a phone call?" he asked.

'To Johnny Fletcher?"

"Yeah."

"You certainly can call him. In fact, I was going to sugg that very thing myself." Sid signaled to Leonard to watch Si and crossed to the phone. He picked it up.

"New York City," he said. "The Forty-Fifth Street Ho! The number here is eighty-two R three." He covered t mouthpiece. "What's the number of your room at the hotel

"Eight twenty-one."

Sid nodded. He waited a moment, then said pleasant "Room eight twenty-one, please." He waited, then shook 1 head. "No, there's no message." He hung up. "You pal does seem to be very worried about you. He isn't even at the hote

"He's probably out looking for me."

"In New York?" Sid drew a deep breath. "Well, let's t about things, fat boy."

"You're going to call me fat boy once too often," wan Sam Cragg.

Sid made a gesture of dismissal. "About this bank—wl did you call it?—the limping goose bank?"

"One foot's shorter than the other."

"All right, so it limps. Well, that's all we want from Fletch the bank."

Sam grunted. "Ain't you got it?"

"If I had it, would we have gone through all this?"

Sam suddenly chuckled. "You mean you two birds ain't 1 ones who went through our room this morning and swip the bank?"

Alarm showed on Sid's face. "What's that?"

"The bank's gone. We ain't got it any more. It's swiped."

"You're lying!"

"Uh-uh, cross my heart. If you'd've asked me about I bank the first thing, I could've told you and saved you all t trouble."

Sid took a step toward Sam, then thought better of it a backed away. "You almost convinced me for a moment."

"You'd better be convinced. You're wasting your time. I ain't got the bank. If you two didn't swipe it, I don't know who took it."

Sid appealed to Leonard. "What do you think?"

"Search me."

"We could work him over."

"You and who else?" challenged Sam.

Sid bared his teeth. "You think you're really tough? Leona see if you can find a good piece of rope."

Leonard went into the kitchen and returned in a momi with a short length of clothesline. "How's this?" 66

"It'll do very nicely. All right, fat boy, put your hands behind your back."

"What for?"

"Because I said so."

"You ain't going to tie me up!"

"Oh, no?" Sid came closer and pointed his revolver at Sam's left knee. "There isn't a house within a half mile. Nobody'll hear. I'll count to three and if your hands aren't behind your back, bang, right through the knee. Think of it, bone splinters rubbing one another. One ..."

Sam let out a howl and got to his feet. His hands went behind his back. Leonard stepped behind him and twisted a rope end about each wrist, circled both wrists twice, then pulling the rope taut, knotted it securely. Sid put away his revolver then and pushed Sam back on the couch.

"Now I'll ask you quietly, where's the limping goose bank?"

"I told you," snapped Sam, "it was swiped from our hotel room this morning."

Deliberately, Sid clenched his fist and smashed it against Sam's jaw.

"Once more, where's the goose bank?"

"All right," said Sam, "what do you want me to tell you?"

"I want you to tell me where the bank is?"

"It's in my safe deposit box at the Chase Bank, along with my diamond rings and my loose cash, consisting of fifty thousand bucks. I put it there because Mr. Chase is my uncle and he needs the six bucks a year that I pay him for the safety deposit "

Sam couldn't quite get out the last word. Sid hit him a savage blow on the right side of his face, then followed with a blow on the left side. Blood trickled out of Sam's mouth.

Sid said, "What do you think of that, wise guy?"

"It don't get you the goose bank," Sam said.

Sid drew back his fist to hit Sam again, but the taxi driver stepped forward. "Wait a minute, Sid, I think he was telling the truth."

"Maybe he was," snarled Sid, "but unless we get those coins we won't make enough out of this caper to take a blonde and her girl friend to dinner."

"With those pennies and dimes and quarters you can take a babe to the Automat, but that's about ail," Sam said.

Sid looked at Sam sharply. "How do you know there're only pennies and dimes and quarters in the bank?"

Sam realized that he had said too much. He shook his head, his lips taut. Sid looked at Leonard.

"You took the money out of the bank," Sid accused Sam.

"It wasn't easy," Sam admitted. "The slot was pretty narrow."

"Stand up!" Sid rapped at Sam.

Sam got to his feet and Sid went through his pockets, turning them inside out. "Not a penny! Your friend Fletcher's got the money." He nodded savagely. "That's it, the bank was stolen, but it was already empty. Fletcher's got the money."

A few feet away the phone shrilled. Sid whirled and went to it. "Yeah?" He listened carefully, his eyes narrowing. "I just searched him. He hasn't got a dime in his pockets. And he claims the bank was stolen from his room this morning." He listened again, scowling. "I called, but I haven't been able to get him. Yeah, sure, I'll keep trying. What?" He listened some more, then nodded. "Okay, boss, he'll leave right away."

He hung up the phone and turned to Leonard. "The boss says for you to come into town. He's got an angle."