The limping goose

by Gruber, Frank, 1904-1969

  Five miles. Perhaps six. He could wait for the next train and try the same routine and advance himself another five or six miles. In seven or eight tries, he would be in New York. But it was the slack time of the day and the trains did not

  a too frequently. Sam waited on the platform for fifteen inutes, then left it—suddenly.

  A policeman had appeared out of nowhere. There were vays policemen around railroad stations. Sam gave up the idea of riding into Manhattan by train, j walked through a little village and found himself upon a nding macadam road. A grocery delivery truck came along id Sam gave it the old thumb. The truck stopped. "What's the matter?" the driver asked. "I want a ride."

  The man grinned. "Okay, I'll give you a lift—as far as I go." Sam got in and the grocery truck drove all of a hundred rds and stopped before a house. "This is as far as I go. I liver these groceries, then go back to the store." Sam got out of the truck. "Thanks," he said curtly and irted walking again. He walked a mile. The road wound to e right, to the left, went up a small hill and down into a lall valley. It was a back road.

  Ahead, there was a crossing. Sam quickened his steps when saw the road markers. When he came up, he read: Peeks-11, 3 Miles."

  He cried out in chagrin. The winding road had led him back ward Peekskill. Almost half of the distance he had made on e train was lost. He sought the sign on the cross road and und a marker: "White Plains, 22 Miles." That was no good, e had been in White Plains before and if he remembered rrectly, White Plains was at least twenty miles from Man-ittan.

  Reluctantly he retraced his steps, reached the railroad depot d crossed by the road. There he found a marker that told m New York was only thirty-one miles. He started resolutely down the road.

  He walked. He walked a mile. A single car whizzed past m without even slackening speed. He walked another mile id an ancient car came chugging along. Sam stepped out as r into the road as he dared and waved violently. Brakes squealed and the car stopped. "For the love of Pete, ister," Sam cried, "give me a lift. My dogs are killin g me." The driver of the ancient jalopy was a white-haired man owding seventy. He said, "Get in!"

  Wearily, Sam got into the old car. "Where you going, ister?" the driver asked. "God's country, New York."

  The elderly man smiled slightly. "First time I ever heard ew York called that. You don't like the country?" Sam shuddered. "Not me. Gimme New York, just let me 106

  see it once more and I'll never leave it again. The things that have happened to me I"

  "Nothing much ever happens out in the country," the driver went on. "In the city there's all sorts of trouble, all the time. I had the radio on just a minute ago and they were telling about some fella back in Peekskill who broke out of jail. A real desperado, shoot-'em-up type." Sam wished that he could shrink to half his size. "Yep," the old man went on, "a real killer, they say. The police are setting up roadblocks all around."

  "Roadblocks!" exclaimed Sam in consternation. "You mean —they'll stop all the cars?"

  The driver pointed ahead. "Wouldn't be a bit surprised if that was one up there."

  A New York State highway patrol car was slewed across the road, blocking most of it. The driver began braking his ancient car. A State Trooper waved him down.

  Sam made a complete mental surrender. He knew he was going back to Peekskill—and this time he would remain there. He was gone, finished, done.

  "What's the trouble, Carl?" the old man was saying to the Trooper.

  "Usual stuff, Judge," the Trooper replied courteously. "Jail-break. Some two-gun man they picked up shot his way out of the Peekskill jail."

  "Oh, they'll get him, all right," said the man beside Sam.

  "I'm sure they will," replied the State Trooper. He scarcely looked at Sam as he waved the old driver to continue on past the police car.

  For a full half mile Sam could not say a word, then he asked weakly, "You're a judge, mister?"

  "A justice of the peace, that's all," was the cheerful reply. "I've lived up here in the country all my life and the neighbors wanted me to have a little income in my old age, I guess, so they voted me in for an easy job. Nice chap, that Trooper. Most of 'em are good boys."

  "Sure," said Sam, "they sure are."

  He was silent again and the little car ate up the winding back road miles. After a while the car turned into a parkway and picked up some speed. But finally, as they were nearing Yonkers, the justice of the peace said, "I guess I ought to tell you, neighbor, the police don't approve of hitchhikers out here and they've been arresting a lot of people. But Yonkers is as far as I go. If you're in a hurry to get home, I think you'd better take the subway at Yonkers. I'll drive you to it. Uh, could you use a quarter?"

  He tendered the coin to Sam. The latter took it. "Judge,' he said, with deep emotion, "you're the first honest-to-gost human being I've met in a year of Sundays. You—you almosi make up for what I went through today."

  22

  When Johnny re-entered the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, the policemen were still on duty in the lobby. And Lieutenan Madigan was still sitting glumly in a far corner. Johnny wavec to him and went up to his room.

  Entering, he went into the bathroom and retrieved the socl weighted with the dimes and pennies he had taken from Jes! Carmichael the Third's limping goose bank.

  "It's here," he muttered. "It's got to be here."

  He dumped the coins on the bed and began to examine then: individually. He wished he had a magnifying glass, but his eyes were good and he studied the coins with elaborate care. Mosi of them were worn; a scratch or mark would have shown up readily on them. There was none. He counted the feather; in the Indian's headpiece on the pennies. They all matched He studied the milling around the edges. There was nothing out of place. He turned the coins over and studied them.

  He separated the dimes from the pennies, studied each ir turn. A half hour went by and he was no nearer the solution

  "It's here," he exclaimed aloud. "Jess Carmichael was nc smarter than I am."

  He had the coins lined up according to their age. The oldest he discovered, was an 1860 penny. The oldest dime was ar 1862. The next dime was dated 1865.

  Idly, he pushed the two rows of coins together, the oldesi dime, the penny, then—a thought struck him and he movec swiftly, lining up the coins according to the dates, regardless of their value. The coins' dates now ran continuously 1860 through to 1939. "That's it!" he cried. "That's it!"

  He raked the coins together, scooped them up and dumpec them into his pocket. He started for the door, but wheelec back and picked up the phone.

  "Give me the Barbizon-Waldorf!" he exclaimed. A moment later he said, "Mr. James Sutton, please."

  Sutton came on the wire. "I'm sorry," Johnny said. "I've been delayed. If it's all right I'll come over now."

  "I was wondering what happened to you," Sutton said

  "I'll see you in fifteen minutes." Johnny hung up, then picked up the telephone book and called another number. "I want tc 108

  talk to Mr. Jess Carmichael. That's right. . . . No, no, don't give me that. Tell his secretary that this is Johnny Flecher talking. If she'll pass that on to him he'll talk to me." He waited a full two minutes, then a woman's voice said:

  "This is Mr. Carmichael's secretary speaking. Mr. Carmichael is not in at the moment."

  "This is Johnny Fletcher," Johnny persisted. "I'm investigating the—the murder of his son. Mr. Carmichael himself engaged me this morning. Personally. I have something very, very important to tell him."

  "Mr. Carmichael still isn't in." the secretary said, unperturbed. "He was in, but he left about a half hour ago."

  "Can you tell me where he went?"

  "Mr. Carmichael doesn't take me into his confidence every time he goes out."

  "All right," said Johnny. "Can you tell me just one little thing? The telephone number of Hertha Colston, the late Mr. Carmichael's fiancee?"

  "I'm sorry," was the reply. "I am not permitted to give out telephone numbers."

&
nbsp; Johnny groaned, but knew when he was licked. He replaced the phone on its springs.

  He strode to the door and went out. As he stepped into the elevator the operator gave him a quick look, then averted his eyes. Johnny rode down to the lobby and stepped out of the elevator into a scene of violence.

  Sam Cragg stood at bay. He had a huge leather chair raised over his head and was defying two policemen, Lieutenant Madigan, and Mr. Peabody.

  "Nobody's throwing me in no more clinks!" Sam howled. "I ain't going with you until I talk to—" Then he saw Johnny. "Johnny!" he cried in vast relief. "Johnny, don't let them throw me in the hoosegow. Go ahead, tell them it's a mistake."

  "Fletcher," grated Lieutenant Madigan, "we don't want to hurt him. Will you order him to put down that chair?"

  "Put it down, Sam," Johnny said.

  "Out of my hotel!" bleated Mr. Peabody. "Out of my hoteL This is an outrage. I won't take this another minute."

  Sam lowered the chair to the floor, but still stood at bay. "You ain't goin' to let them pinch me, are you, Johnny?"

  "It'll be all right, Sam."

  "It won't be," persisted Lieutenant Madigan. "You know very well that I've got to take him in."

  "No!" roared Sam.

  "Out!" screamed Mr. Peabody.

  "Cragg," said Lieutenant Madigan, "you can come quietly, or you can be dragged out."

  "Who's going to do it?" defied Sam.

  Lieutenant Madigan produced his revolver. "For the last ime, Cragg..."

  Peabody bleated again, "Please—no blood on my carpeting, 'lease . . .!"

  Johnny crooked a finger at Madigan, "I've got something or you, Madigan, something that will "

  "No! I was sent here to get Cragg, that's all."

  "Aren't you still on the Carmichael case?"

  "I am, but first things first."

  "You think you'll be a hero, picking up Sam on a fugitive varrant? Would you rather pinch him and turn him over to he Peekskill police on a silly misdemeanor charge than bring n the murderer of Jess Carmichael the Third?"

  "I'm not going to listen to you. And Sam Cragg isn't facing my misdemeanor charges. It's forgery, grand larceny, jail-leaking and "

  Johnny waved it all away. "I can straighten all that out in wo minutes. But, listen, I've got the murderer of Jess Car-nichael. I can give him to you, all wrapped up and tied with i pink ribbon."

  "You can do one thing," Madigan said bitterly. "You can alk bigger and faster than any sidewalk spieler I ever heard."

  "You were in my room an hour ago, Madigan. Who knocked on the door and came in?"

  "All right, I grant you that. You bamboozled the old man, omehow."

  "I've bamboozled the murderer, too."

  "All right, who is he?"

  "I'll name him for you in just about fifteen minutes. And rou can then put the handcuffs on him."

  "Tell me now, if you want me to believe you."

  "No—I can't prove it now. I can in fifteen minutes."

  "All right," said Madigan grimly. "The boys can take Sam Cragg down to the precinct house and I'll go with you."

  "No dice," said Johnny. "Sam comes along with us."

  "He goes to jail!"

  "No, Johnny!" cried Sam.

  "Sam goes with us," Johnny said stubbornly. "You can bring four policemen along if you want to, but Sam goes with us."

  Madigan hesitated and was lost. "There's no monkey business about this?"

  "I promise you," said Johnny. "I'll hand over the murderer o you or I'll "

  "You'll what?"

  "I'll hand him over. That's all."

  "Fletcher, it's my job to bring in a prisoner as soon as I 110

  arrest him. If I carry Cragg around town with me, I've got to explain the reason to the captain. If it isn't a good reason, I'll be pounding a beat."

  "And if you bring in the person who murdered the son of one of the richest men in the United States?"

  "That's the reason I'm gambling. I know you're a slick, fast-talking sharpshooter "

  "Don't believe him, officer," cried Mr. Peabody. "Don't believe a thing he tells you. I have reason to believe that he—he entered my apartment and stole a suit of my clothes."

  Johnny waggled a forefinger at the hotel manager. "Some day, Peabody, some day ..."

  "Come on," snapped Madigan suddenly.

  He started for the door. Sam fell in beside Johnny and the two uniformed policemen fell in behind them.

  "Oh, the things I went through today, Johnny," moaned Sam.

  "I know, Sam, I know."

  "First I was kidnaped. Then I escaped and—I was so hungry. My backbone was pushing my chest. I—I had to eat or starve, so I"—he gulped, swallowed hard and shuddered—"I—I can't even tell you about it, Johnny. The thing that happened to me."

  "Tell me later."

  The squad car was at the curb. The two policemen got into the front seat and Madigan, Sam and Johnny crowded into the rear. "Where to?" asked Madigan.

  'The Barbizon-Waldorf."

  The driver used the siren until Madigan curtly ordered him to stop.

  Five minutes later the police car pulled up before the Barbizon-Waldorf. A doorman came over, then backed away. "You want to make a scene?" Johnny asked the lieutenant.

  "Damn!" swore Madigan.

  "Sam won't escape. I'll give you my word."

  "Yeah, I promise, too," chimed in Sam.

  "All right, come on," snarled Madigan. He gestured to the policemen. "You boys wait out here."

  "Sure you can handle it alone?" one of the men asked.

  "I can handle it."

  The three men climbed out of the rear seat and went into the hotel. They rode up to the floor of Sutton's apartment, then as they neared the room, Johnny stopped. "Let me and Sam go in, Lieutenant. You wait outside until I call you."

  "Don't give me that," snapped Madigan.

  "Play it my way."

  Madigan gritted his teeth. "I'll be right outside this door."

  ohnny pressed the button of the door buzzer. "Come!" ailed the voice of James Sutton.

  Johnny and Sam entered Sutton's suite. Hertha Colston sat a a big chair near the window, a half-emptied glass in her Land.

  "Johnny!" she cried. "It's nice seeing you again."

  "Hello," said Johnny casually. "This is my friend, Sam "ragg."

  "How are you, Sam," Hertha said cordially.

  "You made a conquest this noon," Sutton said, smiling. But I gather you didn't do so well with Don Wheelwright."

  "He's an advertising man," replied Johnny carelessly.

  "That's more than I am," said Sutton wryly. "I've got Scotch ind bourbon. What'll it be?"

  "I'll take a bottle of beer," Sam offered.

  "Beer? I'll have to send down for some."

  "Never mind," Johnny interrupted. "You said you had something important to tell me."

  "I have, but let it wait a few minutes. Uncle's on his way over."

  "You called him? They told me at his office that he was out."

  "He probably was. He called me."

  "Don's on his way over, too," said Hertha.

  "Good," said Johnny. "Suppose I telephone Alice Cummings md ask her over?"

  "That woman!" said Hertha disgustedly.

  Johnny grinned. "I've got four inches of raw shin—and I hink I've got three teeth loose."

  "You had a fight with her?"

  "Not me with her. Her with me."

  "Uncle Jess said something about her trying to blackmail dm," Sutton offered.

  "Blackmail? I thought she was merely trying to sell him omething."

  "The name of Jess's murderer." Sutton smiled thinly. "I juess that's her description of blackmail." He crossed and poured himself a fresh drink.

  "Can I give you a refill?" he asked Hertha.

  "This is a refill. That's my quota." Hertha studied Sam. "Is his the strong man?" 112

  "If I was in a good mood, I'd show you my muscles," Sam volunteered.

 
"Why, aren't you in a good mood?"

  "Things—happened to me today."

  "Sam had a rough day of it. So did I, for that matter." Johnny seated himself in a chair near a table.

  "You've been trying to find Cousin Lester," Sutton said. 'That's what I want to tell you about. I had a call from him."

  "What!"

  "I was as much surprised as you, Fletcher. He said he'd heard it on the radio, about Jess "

  "Where'd he telephone you from?" Johnny asked sharply.

  "Idaho. Place called Lewiston."

  "He's been there all these years?"

  Sutton shrugged. "I asked him. He said he'd tell me about it when he got in. He's taking a train tomorrow and he ought to be here by Sunday."

  The door buzzer whirred. Johnny rose swiftly and went to the door. He opened it and Jess Carmichael, Senior, came in. "I'm glad you're here, Fletcher. Isn't that the ...?"

  "Yes," said Johnny. "You might as well come in now, Lieutenant."

  Madigan came in. Sutton and Hertha Colston looked at him, puzzled.

  "Lieutenant Madigan," Johnny announced, "of Homicide."

  "Homicide!" exclaimed Sutton.

  "Sam's under arrest," Johnny explained. "Madigan wouldn't let Sam come with me unless I brought him, too."

  Carmichael looked sharply at Johnny. "You saw that woman?"

  "I saw her. She's got the bank, all right. And she thinks she's got what was in it."

  "What was in it?" Sutton asked.

  Johnny dug the handful of pennies and dimes from his pocket. "This!' He put the coins on the table beside his chair. "She wanted pennies and dimes so badly, I bought her seven dollars' worth. Pennies are pennies to her, and dimes, dimes."

  "This is what was in Jess's bank?" Sutton asked.

  "Yes."

  Sutton looked at his uncle. "A bunch of old-fashioned Indian head pennies—and dimes and quarters. I thought there'd be "

  "A note?" Johnny asked.

  'The Cummings woman claimed-

  That there was a message in the bank? That's the message." Johnny indicated the heap of coins.

  Sutton looked at the coins, perplexed. "One of your jokes, Fletcher?"