"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. Wh
en 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."
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