"But that hat? And his tallness and cross-eyes?"
"Any man that would smoke a cigar like that would wear about a number 5 hat. As for the tallness and cross-eyes I will explain later."
Just then there came a tap at the door. The Colonel opened it and an old man entered. He wore large green glasses, was a great deal stooped and had white hair and a long white beard.
"You are the famous detective?" he addressed Hawkshaw. "I believe I have a clew to this theft. I passed along the opposite side of the street about the time the robbery was supposed to have taken place. A man jumped out of the palace window and walked rapidly up the street."
"Umhum," remarked Hawkshaw, "what kind of man was this?"
"He was about five feet tall and weighed perhaps three hundred lbs.," was the reply.
"Umhum," commented Hawkshaw, "would you mind listening to my theory?"
"I would be delighted," answered the old man as he seated himself in the best chair.
"Well, then!" began Hawkshaw, rising and walking to the middle of the room so that he could gesture without knocking the table over. "At the time of robbery was committed a man was returning home from a fishing trip on the Thames. He carried a fishing pole on his shoulder and as he walked along he looked into the windows of houses he had passed while seemingly gazing straight ahead for he was very cross-eyed." (Here the visitor started.) Hawkshaw went on, "The gentleman at last arrived in Windsor and passing the palace saw the necklace lying on the mahogany table. The window was open and though it was high off the ground he saw a way to get it. He was (and is) a very tall man and he had a long rod and line. Standing on tiptoes he made a cast through the window as if casting for trout. He hooked the necklace at the first throw and fled, dropping his cigar in his flight. He also stepped on the cigar. He eluded the police easily and thought to elude me by coming to me in disguise and seeking to divert suspicion in another direction."
And with that Hawkshaw leaped upon the old man and gripped him by the beard and gave a terrific jerk. The old man gave a yell as he was jerked erect and yanked across the floor. Hawkshaw turned pale. He had made a mistake in identity? He placed a foot against the old gentleman's face and grasping the beard firmly in both hands gave another jerk. Something gave way and Hawkshaw and his victim sprawled on the floor, Hawkshaw holding in his hands the false beard and wig. While the impostor was trying to rise, encumbered by his long coat the detective sprang nimbly up and with great dexterity kicked the huge green glasses from his face.
The "old man" was revealed as a tall, gangling man with huge feet and cross-eyes!
As he rose Hawkshaw advanced toward him with a pair of handcuffs.
"You are under arrest," he said.
The man stepped back and drew a glittering butter knife from his pocket.
"I am a desperate man! Beware!" he said fiercely.
At that moment the Colonel recovered from his amazement enough to push the muzzle of a howitzer against the villain and he was soon handcuffed.
"Call the police, Colonel," directed Hawkshaw, taking the necklace out of the fellow's pocket.
"Curses!" hissed the villain, "tricked, foiled, baffled! Curses!"
"But, Hawkshaw," asked the Colonel a few hours later, after they had collected the enormous reward that had been offered for the recovery of the necklace. "But Hawkshaw, how did you know that was the man?"
"My dear Colonel," answered Hawkshaw as with a smile he lighted a stogy, "I smelt the fish on his hands."
* * *
Contents
HALT! WHO GOES THERE?
by Robert E. Howard
Prologue
A blazing sun blazed out of a blazing sky and blazed down blazingly on a blazing expanse of blazing, barren sand, in a blazing desert.
Naught was to be except sand dunes. And yet, aha! A long caravan of camels emerged from behind a sand dune and meandered along the ancient desert trail which was ancient before the memory of man. Aye, it was even said that the trail had been made before William Jennings Bryan began to run for president.
The Taureg chieftain looked about him with a sneer on his handsome face. With contempt he gazed at the sand dunes. Somehow he felt superior to them. Presently the caravan stopped by an ancient city, half-hidden beneath the sands of the desert. It was almost ruins. A very ancient city; it had been deserted long before Congress began to discuss the immigration problem, even.
The Taureg dismounted from his camel and entered his tent. A slave girl offered him a chaw of Beech-nut from her own private plug. He kicked her with a harsh tone of voice.
Seating himself on an expensive divan from Bokhara, he reflected meditatively.
"Durn it," he soliloquized.
Chapter I—"Awhaw"
"One million dollars," mused the Colonel.
"Exactly, my dear Colonel," returned Hawkshaw, the great detective, wittily.
"But what details of the crime?"
"As follows," Hawkshaw replied. "The night watchman of the Stacksuhkale bank, London, was knocked unconscious and a million dollars in American thrift-stamps as well as one million pounds of sterling and a box of fine cigars were taken."
"The villain!" exclaimed the Colonel indignantly. "And cigars as expensive as they are.
"How are you going to go about finding the guilty person?" asked the Colonel.
"In the following manner," answered Hawkshaw. "Let us first begin by deduction. Let us say, for example, that three persons have robbed the bank. You, I, or the Khedive of Egypt. Now it is impossible that you could commit the robbery because at the time the robbery was committed you were playing a foursome of tiddledy winks with the duke of Buckingham."
"That’s true but how did you now?" exclaimed the Colonel.
"My dear Colonel," answered Hawkshaw, "I saw the crumbs on your opera hat. Now, as for myself, I could not have done the robbery because I was in a theatre in Drury Lane. I almost distinctly remember the play even. It was called ‘The Store-keeper of Venice’ and was written by a fellow named Shooksbeer or something, who is a native of Algeria.
"Then, consider the Khedive of Egypt, he could not have committed the robbery because he was on his sugar-moon, I mean his molasses-moon, with his 999999999999999999th wife, hunting social lions, lounge-lizards, zebras and other big game, in the wilds of Schenectady, New Tork. And, having eliminated myself, you and the Khedive, do you see what this points to?"
"No," the Colonel answered.
"It indicates that the robbery was done by someone else!" said Hawkshaw, dramatically.
"Indeed!" exclaimed the Colonel in admiration. "Awhaw! Wonderful!"
"I shal now," Hawkshaw continued, "go into the street and arrest everyone I meet. To each I shall put the auestion: ‘Did you rob the Stacksuhkale bank or did you not?’ and I shall be governed by their answers."
Chapter II—The Anarchist.
"Curses!" hissed Alexichsky Grooglegoofgiveimoffaswiftskykickovitchinsky-therearovitchsky.
"Curses!" Alexichsky, etc., hissed again even more hissier thatn before. "This nation of England shall fall or my name is not A’sky Majlmp." (Giving the correct pronunciation of the name Alexichsky, etc.)
The anarchist, with great stealth, then placed a bomb under a girls’ school.
"There," he hissed, "that be a defeat to the accursed burgwassol!"
After going several blocks he stopped with an enraged look in his coat pocket.
"Ten billion imprecations!" he hissed, "I forgot to light the fuse."
He walked on through London.
Presently the anarchist came to a palatial mansion in the slums which was the clubhouse of all the anarchists in London.
He walked up to the door and rang the old fashioned doorknocker.
"Giff der pass-vord," hissed a voice from within.
"The wages of sin are a mansion on Riverside Drive," answered the anarchist. The door swung open and he entered. There were several members of the Anarchist club in the club room, engaged in anarchist
past times, such as swinging ginger-ale, playing marbles for keeps, growing whiskers and cussing the bourgeoisie.
Feeling in a reckless mood, Alexichsky spent a nickel for ginger-ale and offered to bet three cetns either way on the next Olympic games. One of the club members, Heinie Von Shtoofe, then made a speech.
"Vass iss?" he began eloquently. "Vot iss der nation goming do evn der cost of hog-iron, I mean pig-iron iss gone up two cents on der vard, alretty yet? Und vot for iss so may Irisher loafers getting chobs ven vhite men like me cant, yet? I haf meet a Irisher on der street und I say, ‘Get oudt of mine way, you no-good bumf!’ Und look at der black eye vot he giffs me. Dey say dot Irishers is such goot fighters, Bah! Dot makes me tired feel. Vhy, over to Gretchen’s vedding, dot drunken O’Hooligan come in und tried to raise it a rough-house und me und my cousin, Abie, und Ludvig und Hands und four or five others, vhy ve pretty threw dot Irishman right oudt of der house! I vont never go to Ireland."
The anarchists applauded and then Alexichsky proposed a toast, "Down with everything!" Long live Lendnine and Lopesky and hurrah for Russia!"
Chapter III—"Brittania Rules the Waves."
As Alexichsky the anarchist walked down Piccadilly Circus, he glanced about hoping to see a bank that he could rob.
As he came into another street, to men accosted him, one a tall thin man, and the other a short, stocky man.
"Aha!" said Hawkshaw, for it was he, "Methinks yon unshaven Russian with the cannibalistic face has the guilty look of a first-class criminal."
The detective stopped Alexichsky, "Wait a moment, my friend, pause while I gaze on you un-handsome visage and ask you a question or three or four."
"What do you want?" asked Alexichsky, having swiftly selected a fiendish sneer from his extensive collection of mocking smiles, derisive leers, glares, dirty looks, unholy mirth, chuckles, diabolical stares, etc.
"Did you rob the Stacksuhkale bank?" asked Hawkshaw.
"No," answered Alexichsky.
"Dern it," said the Colonel, "Baffled again."
"Hold on," said Hawkshaw, "My Russian friend, you are under arrest."
The Russian was seized by policemen and Scotland Yard detectives.
"Brittania rules the waves," said Mr. Hawkshaw, "another triumph for Scotland Yard."
He addressed Alexichsky, "I knew you were telling a falsehood because when you denied robbing the bank, you raised an eyebrow and wiggled your toes. Also, I had suspicions of you when you asked the inspector of Scotland Yard if they found a set of burglar’s tools in the Stacksuhkale bank. You said they were yours and if they were found to deliver them to the Anarchist’s Clubhouse. I delivered them myself, disguised as a rear admiral of the Swiss army. Then when I saw the million dollar notes and thrift-stamps in your vest pocket, I took a chance and arrested you."
"Curses," cussed Alexichsky.
"The way you robbed the bank was in the following manner," said Hawkshaw. "You came to the bank, disguised as a king of the South Sea islands. You climbed up the fire escape and down one of the marble pillars of the bank front. Then, having taken an impression of the keyhole with wax, you filed out a key to fit, from a cigar made in Dusseldorf, Germany. Then you entered and robbed the bank. Is that correct?"
"No, the watchman had left the door open and I went up the back steps and walked in," answered the Russian.
Epilogue
The Eskimo floundered through the deep snow and kicked an iceberg out of his way. Reaching his igloo, he unharnessed his team of whales from his sled and entered the igloo.
Snow covered the land, yards deep. Here and there mighty icebergs reared up toward the sky.
For it was mid-summer in northern Alaska.
* * *
Contents
UNHAND ME, VILLAIN!
by Robert Ervin Howard
"Be mine, my love!" pleaded young Reginald Adjernon Lancelot Montmorency to the beautiful Gwinivere de Readycash, the lovely and accomplished heiress, daughter of old Readycash, the multi-millionaire.
"Alas," she sighed; "It cannot be. My father does not like you. Only today he mentioned you and made some remarks about you in a language I took to be Greek for I could not understand it. And there is the duke de Blooey from Montenegro. He is courting me and father likes him because he can play checkers."
"I will call the scoundrel out," whooped Reginald passionately; "he shall fight a duel with me!"
"No, no!" begged Gwinivere, clinging to her lover's necktie; "you must not! I beg you!"
"Very well, my love!" replied Reggie, with great relief; "I knew you would say so or I would not have—I mean it is a good thing for the duke that I love you too much to disobey your command. I will not force himm into a duel."
He was silent for a few minutes, then "But what are we to do?"
She chewed a cud of gum meditatively for several seconds. "Why not ask father for me?" she suggested.
"I will," he exclaimed. "This very hour! I will be masterful with him! I shall say, 'Sir, I am your new son-in-law. No arguments now!'"
"But don't harm him, Reggie!" she begged; "remember he is my father."
"I will not touch him," he promised magnanimously; "I will quell him with the power of my eye."
He rushed from the room. As he strode toward old Readycash's study, he rehearsed the speech he would make. "I will say, 'Sir, I am going to marry your daughter. Be silent, sir! I have decided to do this and I will not be balked by a gouty old father-in-law. I want you to understand that from now on I am the master of this house. You may write out a check for ten thousand dollars for our honeymoon.' If he refuses and talks impudently I may forget he is my future father-in-law and handle him roughly."
He was now at the door of the study. He paused before it. Glancing around, he found several cushions on chairs and sofas. These he placed on the floor in front of the door. Then after several attempts, he put on a bold front and knocked timidly on the door. A deep, gruff voice from within said, "Come in!"
Reginald pushed open the door and entered cautiously. Old man Readycash glared furiously at him.
"Oh, it's you, eh? What the —— do you want?"
"Why," replied Reginald, " I, er, you, er, that is, your girl, I mean my girl, what I meant to say is that I, er she, you, er, that is to say you."
"No doubt," old Readycash answered dryly, "have you anything else to tell me?"
"Sir," said Reginald with dignity, "you have a daughter—a girl."
"Remarkable," exclaimed the old man.
"As I said, sir," continued Reginald, ignoring the interruption, " you have a daughter."
"I have several," was the reply; "also seven old maid sisters. I will introduce them to you, if you like."
Reginald shuddered. "I ccccame ttto aaask yyou ffor your daughter's, your daughter's, your daughter's."
"My daughter's what?" roared old man Readycash.
"Hand!" gasped Reginald.
Old Readycash rose. "Would you just as soon take my foot?" he asked.
Reggie fled. As he neared the door he was struck from behind by a force that lifted him from his feet and propelled him irresistibly through the door which was opened just then by a well-dressed gentleman with a monocle and mustache. Reggie lit on this gentleman and they rolled across the hall, until stopped by the wall.
"Sapristi!" exclaimed the duke de Blooey (for it was he), leaping to his feet. "Caramba! Le diable! Tamale! Asparagus tips! I will have your life for this!"
Just at that moment old Readycash charged out of his room. "You young villain!" he yelled at Reggie, "what do you mean by knocking down my guests?"
Reggie fled toward the stairs. At the top step he felt the same force that had sent him from the presence of Readycash. The young man soared gracefully into the air and floated down the stairs.
"What!" yelled old Readycash; "you still here? Get out of my house! And as for you," turning to the girl, "you shall marry the duke this very day."
"But father," began Gwinivere.
<
br /> "Shut up!" yelled old Readycash, brutally; do you want me to whip you?"
The duke seized her my the wrist. "Aha, me proud beauty," he exclaimed, diabolically; "I have you in my powerr at last!"
"Unhand me, villain!" she cried.
At that moment the door flew open and two men rushed in. One was a tall, thin man and the other a short stocky man.
They rushed upon the duke, knocked him down and handcuffed him.
"Aha," exclaimed the tall man, "a duke now, are you, eh?"
"What does this mean, sir?" asked old Readycash.
"This man is a crook in disguise," the tall man answered. "I have followed him half across the world. You see before you," he continued, kicking off the duke's mustache and monocle, "Booze Bill, the Bowery Bum! One of the slickest crooks on record."
"Curses," hissed the duke. "One thousand curses. Ay, one thousand five hundred curses!"
"As for you, sir," the stranger continued, to old Readycash, "your daughter wants to marry this young man," indicating Reggie, "and you give him your consent and your check for £10,000. Also a check for the same amount to me as a token of your gratitude in preventing you from marrying your daughter to a villain. If you do not I will send you to jail for 2,000 years. I used to drink my beer at Dinty Moore's saloon when you were bartender there and you often shortchanged me." Then to the short man, "Take the prisoner outside and call a cab, Colonel; I will follow presently."
"But, who are you?" asked old Readycash, as he reached for his checkbook and Reggie and Gwinivere fell into each other's arms, "who are you?"
"I?" answered the stranger with a smile; "I am Hawkshaw, the Detective."
The Robert E. Howard Omnibus: 97 Collected Stories Page 143