"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.
"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.
The limping goose Page 3