"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 co
urse 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?"
The limping goose Page 7