Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 24, No. 9 — January, 1942)

About to be blasted by Hymie the Gunsel, Joey was deeply touched by Sackler’s passionate plea that his assistant be spared. Then he remembered he was worth ten grand on the hoof to his nickel-nursing boss—

Chapter One Check and Double Check

Sackler came into the office, his face as long as a hundred years and his shoulders bowed beneath several tons of invisible sorrow. He ignored my greeting. He hung up a hat which still bore the marks of rain that had fallen at Hoover’s inauguration and sat down with a sigh dragged from the very roots of his being. He was the spirit of gloom.

I watched him with a critical eye and diagnosed the melancholy with facile accuracy.

“Well,” I said pleasantly, “who took you?”

He lifted his dark thin face. He regarded me with suffering black eyes. He ran his long white fingers through his ebony hair. He said inquiringly: “Who took me, Joey?”

I nodded. “A natural question,” I told him. “Of the several million troubles in this world only one ever bothers you. That’s money. When I see you come into the office looking rather like a sentimental collie dog might be expected to look on the day Albert Payson Terhune feels blue, it occurs to me that someone has dealt you a savage blow in the pocketbook.”

He looked at me distastefully as if I were a bad egg he had been served for breakfast. He sighed again and said: “Money? What’s money?”

Considering the fact that money was his life’s blood, his God, his mistress and something for which he would eagerly barter his right eye, I dismissed this question as rhetoric. Sackler withdrew a small sack of tobacco from his pocket, then spying the deck of cigarettes on my desk thought better of it and put the sack away again. He snatched one of my cigarettes before I could move the package out of the danger zone.

“Joey,” he said, “you’re so ethically deficient it’s impossible for you to understand what principle means.”

“Usually,” I said, “it means that someone’s squawking about a buck and pretending they have a much more noble motive.”

“That is cheap and cynical, Joey. I am disturbed this morning over a matter of principle purely. The amount of money involved is negligible. As a matter of fact, two cents. Can you conceive of my worrying over two cents?”

“With no effort whatever,” I told him. “If someone has chiseled you out of two cents it was doubtless done at the point of a howitzer.”

“Very funny,” said Sackler in a tone which indicated it wasn’t. “As I stood on the subway station platform this morning, I dropped a penny into a chewing gum machine. No gum came out. I tried another machine with the same result. The point is that I have been swindled by a large corporation. As a matter of sheer principle, I am annoyed.”

I grinned at him. Sackler prating of principle where money was involved sounded like a press release from the Wilhelmstrasse concerning the nobility of Hitler’s battle to save civilization. Sackler sat on every nickel he made like a hen sitting on its eggs.

His money was not trusted to banks. That, for Sackler, was a trifle too risky. He scattered his earnings about in Postal Savings accounts all over the country. Revolution alone was going to rob him. He rolled his own cigarettes when he wasn’t grubbing mine in order to evade the state tax and he wore a suit of clothes until the threads literally parted.

But now, I thought, he’d reached the apogee of it all. He was actually beating his breast because he was out two cents. His misery brought cheer into my heart.

“Write them a letter,” I suggested. “A stiff letter. They’ll undoubtedly give you a refund.”

He smiled the sad bitter smile of a man resigned philosophically to his fate.

“I thought of that,” he said. “But do you realize it costs two cents for the stamp alone, not to mention the stationery? Moreover it would cost a nickel to telephone them. No matter how I handle it, I don’t break even.” My laughter rocked the room. “I thought it was a matter of principle,” I said. “Purely principle. I notice, however, that you’ve figured out the cost of your protest very neatly.”

“You have a moron’s mind,” said Sackler. “I’m damned if I know why I put up with it.”

He took the makings from his pocket once more. He glanced over at my desk but this time I was too fast for him. I had the deck of cigarettes in the drawer before he could get out of the chair.

We sat in silence for a half-hour. Sackler, apparently, was so upset about his losing struggle with the slot machine that he failed to suggest some form of gambling. It was his custom to leave no effort unexpended in order to win back from me during the week the meager salary he paid me each Wednesday. Usually, he was quite successful, too.

We looked up simultaneously as the outer office door slammed shut. There was a gleam in Sackler’s eye. A polite professional smile spread itself over his face. His nostrils distended as if he were trying to smell the amount of the fee his potential client could afford.

The door of the inner office opened and Sackler’s smile fell from his face. His eyes lost their glitter. A uniformed police officer stood on the threshold, a gold badge gleaming bravely on his broad chest.

Sackler said glumly: “Hello, Wooley. What do you want?”

Inspector Wooley sat down. He greeted Sackler cordially, which was odd. He disliked Sackler only a trifle less than Sackler disliked him. Wooley envied Sackler’s income and his success in a score of cases where Wooley and his men had failed. There was something suspicious about his attitude this morning.

“Well,” he said with all the sincerity of an Axis diplomat signing a nonaggression pact, “and how’s the boy, Rex? How’s business? How’s everything?”

“Terrible,” I said. “He’s ruined. He dropped a fortune this morning in slot machine speculation.”

Sackler shot me a glance more deadly than malignant virus. Wooley, not realizing it was a gag, shook his head and clucked commiseratingly.

“Too bad, old man,” he said. “Too bad.”

He was laying it on so thick by now that Sackler became suspicious.

“Look, Wooley,” he said. “What do you want? Now that you’ve smeared me up nicely for the past few minutes you may come to the point. Though I’ll tell you in advance if it’s a favor I can’t do it. If it’s money I haven’t got it.”

“Rex,” said Wooley gravely, “you’re a private detective. I’m a public servant. Yet we both work toward the same ends, don’t we?”

“You sound like an editorial in the Sun,” said Sackler, “and it worries me. I don’t like it. What the devil do you want?”

“Look,” said Wooley, “you seen the papers about the Grattan killing, haven’t you?”

“Yes. But you picked up a guy on that. Bellows, wasn’t it?”

“We let him go this morning. Insufficient evidence.”

“Well,” said Sackler, “what do you want from me? You’re talking like a guy who wants something.”

“Even,” I put in, “like a guy who wants it for nothing.”

“Here’s the setup,” said Wooley. “This guy Bellows was engaged to Grattan’s daughter. The old guy didn’t like the idea. He and Bellows had quarreled. Long and often. Morever, the old guy’s dough goes to the girl after his death. She’s nuts about Bellows. With one bullet he can get rid of the old man’s objections to the marriage, and also fix it so that his wife has a pretty dowry. See?”

“What do you mean, insufficient evidence?”

Wooley scratched a head which held very little hair. “Alibi,” he said, “and it’s a screwy one. Bellows has this alibi: It seems someone called him from a downtown poolroom just before the killing. Four guys saw him in that poolroom. Every one of those guys is a bum. The lousiest assistant D. A. we’ve got could discredit their testimony in twelve seconds flat.”

“So,” said Sackler, “what are you worying about? Pick Bellows up again. Discredit the testimony of his witnesses and stop bothering me.”

“Wait,” said Wooley. “Through sheer accident Bellows has one good witness. As he was entering the poolroom General Barker passed him in the street. Now do you get it?”

Well, now it was rather obvious. The alibi testimony of some poolroom punk was one thing. The evidence of General Barker was another. Barker was not only an army officer with a national reputation, he was an upright guy with a tremendous reputation for integrity, probity and all the other virtues emblazoned in the copy-books. An alibi from Barker was as good as a reprieve from the Governor.

Sackler said as much. He added: “What makes you think Bellows is guilty, then? You don’t think Barker’s lying?”

“He may be mistaken. He came forward after seeing Bellows’ picture in the paper. He’d never seen him before. He just recalled bumping into him accidentally the night of the killing. If Barker’s right the time element would have precluded Bellows’ having anything to do with it.”

Sackler shrugged. “All right,” he said, “why not assume Barker is right? Drop the case.”

“The D. A. wants a conviction. The case is spectacular. The papers are playing it big. An election rolls around this fall. The D. A. and the commissioner would like a conviction. And it’s quite possible Barker is mistaken.” Wooley scratched his pate again, and added, a note of wistfulness in his tone: “If Barker hadn’t run into Bellows, we’d have a cold case.”

“Look,” said Sackler suddenly. “By any chance is the police department retaining me?”

“Retaining you? The department can’t retain a private detective, Rex. It’d look awful.”

“All right,” said Sackler, “then go away. I’ve listened to you for twenty minutes free. I have no interest in the case. No one is paying me and if you’re merely unburdening your soul take it to a priest, your wife, or a sympathetic bartender. But go away from here.”

Wooley looked wounded. “Rex,” he said and his voice quivered with hypocrisy, “after all we’re both fighting crime. We must work together.”

“That,” said Sackler, “is a beautiful gossamer thought. What is it you want from me?”

“Well, Rex, this Bellows is going to retain you.”

Sackler’s eyes lit up. He was performing some heart-warming mental arithmetic. One client equals one fee. One fee equals more dough in the bank. More dough in the bank equals three gallons of dreamy gloating happiness. He leaned over his desk and addressed Wooley with more affability than he had yet shown.

“What’s it worth, do you figure? Has the guy any dough? What ought I ask him? What—”

“Wait a minute,” said Wooley. “Let me tell you my angle. We still believe Bellows is guilty. The case is open and shut, save for Barker’s testimony. We figure that if Bellows retains you, you’ll be in a good spot to keep an eye on him. We want you to work with us, to keep in touch with us. You should be able to dig up something on the case. He’ll be freer with you than with us. If you can do it, pin that murder on him. We’ll be grateful, Rex. The D. A.’ll be grateful. It won’t do you any harm.”

Sackler took a deep breath. He looked very much like a man enjoying a moment for which he has waited many years. As a matter of fact, he was.

“For years,” he said, “I have been harassed by an incompetent police department. For years their envy of my ability and my financial success has caused them to frustrate me at every opportunity. Now, in the person of Inspector Wooley, that department comes crawling to me on its stomach to help them solve a case they can’t handle themselves. I laugh, uproariously.”

He got out of his chair, took two paces toward me and snatched one of my tailor-made cigarettes before I could stop him. He lit it, smiling. Then turned again to Wooley.

“Moreover,” he said, “you’re damned insulting. I am a professional man of integrity. My client’s interest is my own. Your implication that I would betray my client merely because the D. A. is worried about an election is outrageous. After such a suggestion I cannot countenance your presence in my office.”

He drew himself up like a Victorian parent ordering the poverty-stricken lover from his daughter’s drawing-room. Wooley, all his phoney beneficence gone, glared at him and stood up.

“All right,” he said. “Ride me. But you’ll regret it, Rex. You’re only figuring how much dough you can take Bellows for. If I offered you more you’d sell him down the river like Uncle Tom.”

“That,” said Sackler, “is a foul lie. I serve my clients all the way whether they pay or not. Don’t I, Joey?”

I searched my conscience very carefully before I answered. Then I looked him squarely in the eye and said, “No.”

Wooley, still glaring at Sackler, marched from the room. Sackler didn’t even bother to become annoyed at me. He sat down at his desk, leaned back, grinned happily and waited for the advent of William Bellows with his fee.

He didn’t have long to wait. Wooley had been gone less than half an hour when the outer office door opened. I sprang up, went to the anteroom and admitted two men. Bellows, I recognized, from the picture which had appeared in all the tabloids at the time of the murder. He was rather tall and in his early thirties. He was good-looking in an ordinary sort of way. His face was thin and closely shaven. His eyes were alert and, at the moment, shadowed with worry.

His companion was short, middle-aged and well-dressed. He wore a pair of tortoise shell glasses through which two shrewd blue eyes peered and questioned. I led the pair of them into Sackler’s presence. He bowed suavely like an undertaker silently estimating what price to put upon the funeral.

Bellows introduced himself. He indicated the short man and said: “This is Elmer Justis. He was Mr. Grattan’s lawyer. He is now advising me.”

Sackler unleashed his oiliest smile and I dragged up a couple of chairs for the company. Bellows drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He spoke jerkily.

“You of course know, Mr. Sackler, that I’ve been questioned in the Grattan murder. Luckily for me General Barker came forward and told the D. A. he’d seen me on the night of the killing. However, the thing still hangs over my head. I want to feel that I’m completely in the clear. I want you to find Grattan’s murderer. Alice Grattan, my fiancée, agrees with me on this move.”

“Of course,” said Sackler. “I appreciate your feeling. I offer you all the facilities of our office.”

The lawyer lit a cigar. “The procedure seems ridiculous to me,” he said. “The police have released Bellows. As long as they know the defense will call Barker, they won’t dare prosecute even though they’re satisfied they have a cold motive. To retain a private operative under the circumstances seems unnecessary and a waste of money.”

Sackler paled. This was heretical talk, indeed. He took swift, drastic measures to prevent the fee from slipping away before he had even held it in his grasping hand.

“A man’s reputation,” he said sententiously, “is his greatest asset. I think it essential Bellows’ name be cleared before the bar of public opinion.”

Bellows nodded. “That’s what we think. I mean Alice and myself. Besides, we should expend all effort to discover the actual murderer. Justis and I disagree on this. We’ve already argued about it. But my mind is definitely made up.”

He reached inside his breast pocket and withdrew his wallet. The ethereal expression on Sackler’s face shone with a holy light. He handed Sackler a blue oblong piece of paper. He said, a shade of anxiety in his tone: “Will fifteen hundred be all right?”

Sackler looked at the check with the eye of Romeo regarding Juliet.

“Payable to me,” he murmured. “But the signature?”

“Miss Grattan’s,” said Bellows. “She’s helping me finance the investigation into her father’s death. She wrote out the check.”

“Quite satisfactory,” said Sackler. “I shall undertake the investigation. I shall probably want to interview Miss Grattan and both of you gentlemen at my leisure. I shall get in touch with you if you’ll leave your addresses with my assistant.”

I took their addresses and they left. I brooded at my desk. It seemed to me that money fell into Sackler’s lap like manna from heaven. And in this specific case there had been no stipulation made that he must solve the case. The fee was his no matter what. And since the police had been able to unearth no suspect beyond Bellows, it apparently wasn’t going to be easy.

After about ten minutes Sackler got up and reached for his hat. I didn’t bother to ask him where he was going. I knew. Rex Sackler kept no checking account. Moreover, he wasted no time in turning a check into immediate cash ready for deposit in one of his several Postal Savings accounts.

Now, I knew, he was heading posthaste to Alice Grattan’s bank to exchange the blue paper in his pocket for green bills. It would be utterly impossible for him to put his mind on the case until that detail had been taken care of.

He walked to the door, said over his shoulder, “Back in a few minutes, Joey,” then stopped dead on the threshold.

A burly figure moved in from the anteroom. The door closed behind it. The burly figure fixed Sackler with a pair of cold black eyes. Two thick lips moved and a strong Brooklyn accent said: “You’re Sackler, ain’t you?”

Sackler nodded. The stranger came farther into the room forcing Sackler back with him. He was flashily dressed in a light brown suit with pockets looking as if they’d been slashed in the fabric with a sword. His tie was bright yellow and the red scar that rippled down his cheek from temple to chin added no beauty to his appearance.

He thrust, suddenly, a heavy hand into the right pocket of his coat. He withdrew it again, gripping an automatic. Its muzzle aimed at a spot of space directly between Sackler and myself.

“All right, you guys,” he said. “Give me your dough.”

Sackler stared at him as if fate had slammed him over the head with an invisible baseball bat. Stunned amazement was in his eyes. It was bad enough for him to face the threat of having money removed from his person. But a stickup in the office of a private detective was only slightly better than a heist in the Second Precinct House.

Our holdup man’s eyes flickered with impatience. “Youse guys will empty your wallets on the top of the desk,” he announced. “If there’s enough dough there, I won’t bother with the rest of the joint. Now get started.”

Sackler glanced at the automatic. Then he turned his gaze on me. “O. K., Joey,” he said as if he were a German general telling the boys to knock off Switzerland, “take him.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Take him?”

“It’s your department,” said Sackler. “I furnish the brains and the financial backing. You’re the strong man.”

I removed my gaze from Sackler and studied the muzzle of our visitor’s automatic. I estimated roughly it would take him all of four-fifths of a second to pump me full of lead. Conservatively, it would take me three seconds longer to open my desk drawer, grab my own gun and start shooting.

I moved my left hand slowly toward the inside breast pocket of my coat. To remove any possible misunderstanding, I announced clearly: “I am reaching for my wallet.”

I emptied the wallet on the desk. I tendered the sum of nine dollars to the stickup guy. I said, “That’s the roll,” folded my arms and let Sackler play out the rest of the hand.

Sackler looked at me like a child who has discovered that his mother’s morals are not what he supposed. He opened his mouth preparatory to casting bitter reflection on my physical courage, but before he could articulate the words, the thug spoke impatiently.

“All right, you. Hand over the dough. We ain’t got all day.”

Sackler took his wallet from his pocket with all the enthusiasm of a debutante picking up a rattlesnake. He put its contents on his desk. Rather to my disappointment the cash totaled only six dollars besides, of course, the Bellows check.

Our holdup man, maneuvering his gun, moved carefully across the room and picked it up. Sackler, a catch in his voice, said: “You don’t need that check. It’s made out to me. You can’t cash it.”

The scar-faced man sighed wearily as he picked up the check and the money.

“Why don’t you mind your own business,” he asked petulantly, “and leave me mind mine. Now, I’m going. You better stay here for at least five minutes because you don’t know how long I might wait in the hall ready to plug youse guys if you come out.”

He backed to the door and through it, slammed it and disappeared. Sackler fixed me with a halibut’s stare. “After him,” he said. “Go get him.”

“I shall not. He is a professional thug. It is more than possible he will stand outside for a few minutes ready to shoot if I come out.”

He looked at me as if he had nailed me red-handed with a jimmy at the poor-box. He brought up a sigh of resignation from his heels.

“Joey,” he said heavily, as if more hurt than angry, “my opinion of your mentality has never been high. My estimate of your morals has been none too optimistic. However, I never believed that, with all your faults, you were yellow.”

“That,” I said, “we won’t argue. But you might revise your opinion of my mentality. Since that mug could have plugged us both while I was still going for my gun, you might grant that I’m not a complete moron.”

“You sat there,” he said accusingly, “while he rolled me for fifteen hundred and six dollars.”

“He rolled me for nine. He rolled you for six. You can have payment stopped on the check and get yourself another.”

“The money, Joey, is nothing. It is a matter—” He paused. Then as if reaching the conclusion he was wasting valuable time, he snapped: “Get that Grattan woman on the phone. Tell her we were robbed. Have her stop payment at once and mail us another check. Hurry, Joey.”

“Why not,” I suggested, “phone the bank first, and tell them that you want payment stopped on the Grattan check at once?”

Sackler looked pained. “Joey, your ignorance of financial matters, at times, appalls me. A bank will not stop payment on a check except by order of the person who issued it.”

I shrugged and picked up the phone. I reported a moment later that Alice Grattan wasn’t in.

“All right,” said Sackler, “keep ringing her every twenty minutes until you get her. Don’t leave that phone for a minute.”

I called Alice Grattan without success the rest of the day. I resumed calling, on Sackler’s frantic instructions, early Saturday morning. Shortly after noon, I got her and reported to Sackler that another check would be put in the mail immediately. It was only then that Sackler relaxed, sighed, and put his mind to the solution of Grattan case for the first time.

Chapter Two Ten Grand on the Hoof

It wasn’t until Monday, however, that he went into action. Alice Grattan’s second check had arrived in the mail, had been duly cashed and cached. Sackler sat at his desk buried in thought. He sighed, looked up, and glanced at the package of cigarettes on my desk. I snatched them up quickly. Sackler sighed again and took the makings from his pocket. Slowly he rolled a cigarette. He came out with something that looked like a fat wet worm.

“Joey,” he said, “on Sunday night there was a robbery at Grattan’s. A wall safe behind an oil painting in the library was forced and emptied. Miss Grattan did not even know of the safe’s existence until it was broken.”

“So,” I said, “are you arguing that someone knocked off the old man so that they could roll his safe several days later?”

“Joey,” he said, “you are a fool. Grattan, I have ascertained, was a big independent dealer in diamonds. He kept large sums of money on hand and one hell of a lot of valuable ice.”

“I thought you were retained to find out who killed him.”

“That,” said Sackler, “is precisely what I am finding out. And now after weeks of idleness — weeks during which I have still paid your salary — I have a task for you.”

“Which is?”

“See Barker. For some reason Wooley thinks he may have been mistaken in his identification of Bellows. The D. A. would undoubtedly like a conviction and Bellows is a cinch save for Barker’s testimony. See the old guy. Find out whatever you can. And hurry. After that I’ve got a couple more angles for you to work on. In the meantime, I’ll find out what I can from the Grattan girl, from Bellows and that lawyer.”

Nothing loath, I hurried. I had been cooped up for two weeks in the office with Sackler. Adding what he had won from me at rummy, at dice and the cigarettes he had grubbed it hadn’t been a cheap two weeks.

I went downstairs, climbed into the coupe and headed for General Barker’s apartment house.

On the fourteenth story of an upper Park Avenue apartment house, I stood before Barker’s door and stretched my finger forth to push the bell. From within the apartment a voice sounded through the door. It was a cultured voice, a gentle voice, withal there was a note of fear in it.

“Your motive,” it said, “I do not understand. Your punishment I understand quite well. You will be executed for this. You will surely lose your life if I lose mine.”

My finger froze a tenth of an inch from the bell. My right hand reached inside my coat to my shoulder holster. My ear pressed against the panel of the door. I heard a second voice — hard, tough and vaguely familiar. “Buddy, there’s only two people ever going to know who knocked you off. And, from here on in, you don’t count. You don’t count at all.”

Three shots sounded almost simultaneously. The first two came from within the apartment. The third was fired from my own automatic and its bullet blew the lock off Barker’s door. Gun in hand I charged headlong into the apartment.

General Barker lay upon the floor. His head was cushioned on an expensive Axminster, the color of which was changing slowly from a deep blue to a dark red. Standing over him, a thirty-eight in his hand, was Big Joe Angers.

Big Joe turned his head as I raced into the room. He made a movement as if to swing his gun in my direction. He recognized me and didn’t. My automatic already covered him and Big Joe knew me well enough to know I could shoot fast and accurately.

“Drop it,” I said. “I thought I recognized your voice.”

Big Joe dropped the thirty-eight. It fell with a padded thud upon the body of the man he had just killed. I regarded him over the muzzle of my own weapon and wondered just what I’d walked into.

Big Joe watched me with hard and calculating eyes. There was a taut expression on his face. The body at his feet did not disturb him. Big Joe had killed too many men for that. He was the town’s ace killer. And he had at least one thing in common with Rex Sackler. Within the limits of his profession, which was murder, there was nothing he would not do if the price was right.

Now, he cleared his throat. He looked significantly down at the corpse of General Barker. He said hoarsely: “How much, Joey?”

God! How our reputation traveled!

“In a case like this,” I said, “there isn’t any price. I’d be an accessory and liable for the chair myself. I’m taking you in, baby.”

Big Joe’s eyes narrowed. “The cops ain’t ever going to burn me, Joey,” he said. “That’s something I promised myself a long time ago. Let’s make a deal. I got a lot of dough, Joey.”

I sighed. The reputation of Rex Sackler and Company had certainly spread. Big Joe seemed quite convinced that I would risk putting my own body in the death cell if he handed me a certified check.

“No,” I said, “you’re coming in, Joe. You—” Then I committed the gravest error in all my career as an assistant private detective.

I took a pace across the floor toward Big Joe. The Axminster slid along the highly polished floor. I slid with it and lost my balance. As I strove to recover, Big Joe lashed out with his foot and caught me on the end of the spinal column. I fell, without dignity and dangerously, upon my face.

Big Joe sprang at the thirty-eight on the floor. He picked it up as I rolled over on my back and fired twice. I missed exactly the same number of times. Big Joe retreated to the doorway. He blasted at me as I ducked behind a huge armchair. I heard a bullet plow into the overstuffing. Big Joe shot once again, then I heard the door slam. Big Joe was beating a hasty retreat before anyone came to investigate the shots. For that I was profoundly grateful.

I stood up and used a handkerchief to wipe the cold sweat from my brow. There were footsteps at the door and an elevator boy and a copper burst into the room. The policeman looked at the body. He looked at me and of course recognized me.

“Ah, Joey,” he said, not without satisfaction. “A corpse, and you with a gun in your hand. Wooley will be delighted. I’ll be a sergeant in no time.”

“Take it easy,” I said. “I’ve got a tale to tell.”

I told him about Big Joe. He seemed rather unconvinced until I showed him a hole in the wall where a bullet from the thirty-eight had landed. I pointed out that there was another slug somewhere in or about the chair. I drew attention to the fact that my gun was an automatic. Then I asked permission to call Rex Sackler.

Sackler listened to my recital, sighed heavily and said: “Well — it’s too bad, Joey.”

“What’s too bad?”

“My God, you were right on the scene when a murder was committed and we haven’t got any client who wants to know the answer. There’s not a fee in it anywhere.”

“It breaks my heart,” I told him. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Go in with the copper and tell your story to Wooley. If we can’t get a fee we may as well ingratiate ourselves with the department. I don’t think they like us, Joey.”

Which was the understatement of the week.

After I had spent an hour or so at headquarters, it dawned on me that we were being pushed around. Sackler had met me at Wooley’s office, where I had told my story. Later, we waited outside in the anteroom, with a uniformed copper standing over us, while Wooley made a number of private telephone calls.

Finally, he joined us again. He smiled and there was malice in that smile. There was an odd twinkle in his eyes.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re going over to the courthouse.”

“For what?” asked Sackler. “I’m busy on a case, Wooley. You’ve heard Joey’s story. There’s nothing to add to it. What do you want us for?”

“Perkins, the assistant D. A. wants a word with you,” said Wooley. “Come on.”

Puzzled, we went along with him. A few moments later we sat in the chambers of Judge Morrow. The judge, gray and exuding a beneficence which had enabled the machine to elect him several dozen times, sat behind his desk, toying with his watch chain.

Perkins and Wooley held a whispered conference in a corner of the room. Once Perkins looked at Sackler and me over his shoulder. The smirk on his face duplicated the expression on Wooley’s.

My feeling that something screwy was going on strengthened. Sackler looked annoyed.

“Look here,” he said suddenly. “Why are we being held here? It’s sheer malice, Wooley. You don’t like me because I make more money than you. You’re wasting my time merely to annoy me.”

Wooley didn’t answer. Instead he winked at Perkins. Perkins moved over to the judge’s desk, cleared his throat, and spoke like a congressman addressing the electorate.

“Your Honor, a prominent citizen has been murdered. It is an important police case. This man, Joey Graham, was a witness to that murder. The prosecutor’s office needs his testimony to convict. I ask that you hold him in ten thousand dollar bail as a material witness.”

Sackler’s jaw fell open. His eyes gaped open. There was stark horror written on his face.

“Ten thousand dollars!” he exclaimed. “That’s utterly ridiculous. It’s—”

The judge hammered severely on the desk with a pencil. “I shall be the judge of that, Mr. Sackler,” he said. “In cases of this sort I am guided by the advice of the district attorney’s office. I’ll hold this man Graham in ten thousand dollar bail. Where are the papers?”

Perkins, Wooley and the judge grinned widely. Of course, it was a put-up job. It was a cinch I wasn’t going to disappear. But I saw their point quite clearly. Asking Sackler to put up ten thousand dollars was a really beautiful thing. I grinned myself. Then suddenly I asked myself what the hell I was laughing for.

If it were a matter of my languishing in a cell for a few weeks or of Sackler withdrawing ten grand from his various Postal Savings accounts, I was as good as a prisoner right now.

“This,” said Sackler, “is persecution. I’m working on a case now. I’m working on the side of law and order. I need my assistant badly. I should think the police department would want to aid the cause of justice, not hinder it.”

“It shouldn’t work any hardship,” said Wooley. “You’ve got the ten thousand. You get it back later. It doesn’t cost you a nickel.”

That was true enough. But even the idea of withdrawing money from his accounts sent a tremor of horror down Sackler’s spine. The judge wrote something rapidly on a form which Perkins had handed him.

“All right,” he said. “Commit this man.”

Perkins waved the paper. “Well,” he asked, “are you bailing him or not?”

Sackler looked like a man who is offered the choice of hitting either his mother or his wife. He shook his head slowly.

“If only I wasn’t working on a case,” he said. “But I might need you, Joey. I guess I’ll have to spring you. But for God’s sake don’t leave my side. If you get lost or anything I’m out ten thousand dollars.”

“My pal,” I murmured, “my great golden-hearted pal.”

They held me in the detention pen while Sackler scurried around town and returned with the money. As we left the building, he linked his arm through mine. It was a most unusual gesture for him. But I understood it.

A few hours ago I was just Joey Graham, his underpaid, long-suffering assistant. Now I was a valuable property. I was worth ten grand on the hoof. And for once Rex Sackler was going to take very good care of me.

We went uptown again. We walked into the office to find two men sitting there. They were sitting quite calmly with their legs crossed. Each of them held his right hand balanced delicately on his left knee. In each of those hands were guns.

Sackler stood upon the threshold and blinked.

“My God,” he said, “are we going to be held up again? This, Joey, is too much. I can bear no more.”

I looked over his shoulder. One of the thugs I recognized. It was the scar-faced individual who had stuck us up a few days before. He stood up now, held his gun in my direction and spoke to the tall dark man with the Celtic face who was with him.

“Mike,” he said, “there’s two of them. What are we supposed to do?”

Mike got out of his chair. He looked at Sackler for a thoughtful moment. “Hymie,” he said, “we better take them both. Otherwise, this money here” — he indicated Sackler with his gun muzzle — “will start howling copper right away and they might pick up our taxi on the way out.”

Hymie nodded gravely. “O. K. Come along, both of you.”

“Look,” said Sackler, “I’m getting damned tired of having guns stuck in my stomach. Now what the devil’s it all about this time?”

“There’s a pal of mine in this town,” said Hymie, “who ain’t got any intention of burning in the chair. The coppers are looking for him. They’ll probably find him. But if this here guy Joey is put where he can’t talk, it don’t matter whether the cops find my pal or not.”

I felt a sudden emptiness at the pit of my stomach. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. Sackler opened his mouth to speak again but Mike prodded him gently in the stomach with a thirty-eight. Sackler shut up.

“All right,” said Hymie, “come along, you two. Going downstairs we’ll have our rods in our pockets. But we’ll stand so close to you we couldn’t miss anyway. I don’t expect any funny stuff.”

We went along. In the elevator I could feel Mike’s gun pressing into my back. I was, at the moment, one scared assistant shamus. I looked at Sackler. He didn’t resemble any conquering hero himself.

Chapter Three Anything for a Pal

It was a long silent drive across the Manhattan Bridge deep into the heart of Brooklyn. Sackler and I sat in the back seat with Hymie between us. Facing us from the collapsible seat was Mike, his hand in his pocket, through the fabric of which I could see the outline of his gun.

Sackler stared at the back of the hack driver’s neck in brooding silence. He registered deep thought and I hoped to God he was accomplishing it. No one would need to pass a civil service exam for detective-sergeant to figure out the object of this snatch. I was the only living guy whose testimony could send Big Joe Angers to the chair. Without me he was clean.

There was a queasy emptiness at the pit of my stomach, and my pulse beat at least ten strokes above normal. For once I was praying that Sackler would master-mind a way out of the jam we were in. For once I wasn’t hoping that he’d make a humiliating mistake.

The cab drew up at a ramshackle house somewhere in Bay Ridge. Hymie and Mike escorted us up to the porch as the cab drove away. As we entered the house I shot a swift glance at Sackler, asking with my eyes if he’d figured anything. He gave no response. I entered the house with the reluctant step of a man walking the plank.

We sat in a living-room furnished in the early Garfield manner. A flight of stairs ran down into the room from the other story. A small hall led to the rear into, I supposed, a kitchen. Mike held his gun on us while Hymie went through our pockets. He appropriated my automatic and tossed it clatteringly onto the imitation marble mantelpiece. Sackler still stared into space as if he were about to conjure up a legion of angels to rescue us. I licked my dry lips and wondered somewhat hysterically why it was that fear freezes the salivary glands.

I said in a voice that I fought to keep steady: “How about a glass of water?”

Mike nodded at Hymie. “Take him in the kitchen and give him one. If there’s any of that rye left bring me out a slug.”

Hymie tapped me on the shoulder with a thirty-eight. I rose and preceded him into the kitchen. I helped myself to a glass of water at the sink. Hymie picked up a bottle of cheap rye which held about four ounces of whiskey and drained it. Then he drank a glass of water. We marched back into the livingroom.

Hymie met Mike’s eye. “Not a drop,” he said. “The bottle was empty.”

Mike frowned. “That’s damned funny. I—” Then Sackler came to vocal life for the first time since we had left the office, and interrupted him.

“Look,” he said abruptly. “What are you guys going to do with us?”

“Well,” said Mike, “I ain’t got the final orders yet. But I can give you a pretty good idea.”

For that matter, I thought hopelessly, so can I.

“With you,” went on Mike, “I guess we ain’t going to do nothing. We got no orders about you. I just brought you along so you wouldn’t have the coppers on our tail right away. I guess after we’ve done what we’re going to do we’ll just let you go.”

Sackler nodded. His air of preoccupied worry remained with him despite Mike’s information. He said: “What about Joey, here?”

“Well,” said Hymie slowly, “he knows too much. You know how it is in cases like that.”

“I know,” said Sackler, “but just what are your plans?”

“We’ll take him for a little ride,” said Mike. “But he don’t have to worry. Bang, bang. He’ll never know what happened to him, see?”

Well, that was just lovely. Bang, bang, and I’d never know what happened to me, see? I felt a strong urge to charge in with both fists flying and at least go out on my feet. I restrained myself. On several occasions I’d seen Sackler pull a miracle out of a hat. I was praying he hadn’t lost his touch.

Sackler bit his lip, knitted his brow. There was an expression on his face approaching anguish.

“Look,” he said, “listen to reason. You can’t knock off Joey. Joey’s a sweet character. He never did anything to you guys. Let’s cook up some sort of a deal on this. I’d do anything rather than have anything happen to Joey.”

Despite the fear which still dripped along my spinal column I looked at him curiously and not without affection. For years we had bickered, fought and haggled vehemently about money. But beneath it all, I realized now, there had always existed a strong bond of friendship.

Hymie made a gesture of futility. “You know better than that, Sackler. You can’t cook up a deal in a case like this. You can’t trust a guy who’s seen a murder committed. How can you guarantee to keep his mouth shut?”

Sackler sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be responsible for him,” he said and the sincerity in his voice moved me. “You can’t kill him. You can’t.”

He spoke with a terrible zealousness. There was the slightest hint of moisture in my eyes. Sackler the tough guy, Sackler the selfish mug who never thought of anything but himself and his fees, pleading with every nerve for my life. It touched me oddly.

“Take it easy,” said Mike. “It’s a job that’s just got to be done. You been around long enough to know that, Sackler.”

Sackler sighed again. He looked utterly miserable. I felt as if I were in the middle of a big dramatic scene. I tried to play up to it.

“Rex,” I said, “it’s O. K. Forget it. I’m just stuck with it, that’s all. I can take it, all right.”

He did not meet my eyes. He turned to Hymie and said: “All right, if you do kill him what are you going to do with the body?”

Hymie shrugged. “Plant it somewhere. Hide it out in Long Island or drop it in the bay. All the better for us if there’s no corpus delicti.”

“No,” said Sackler, a hint of desperation in his voice, “you don’t have to do that. Leave the corpse here. Or anyway tell me where you’re going to leave it.”

“Look,” said Mike, “if the coppers find the body, they’ll tie it up with Big Joe and Barker’s murder right away. There’ll be a stink raised. Why should we stick our necks out?”

“What if I talk?” asked Sackler. “What if I tell the coppers the truth?”

“Your word’ll mean nothing. There’s no legal evidence to tie us up with Big Joe. Besides, without a body nothing you say’ll make any sense. There ain’t no proof of a murder. Anyway, if you’re worried about a decent burial, Hymie and I’ll bury him neatly ourselves.”

“Thanks, anyway, Rex,” I said. “I—”

He didn’t let me finish. He was out of his chair, smashing his left fist into his right palm and roaring at the top of his voice.

“Burial! Who the hell cares about a burial? Do you realize I’m in for ten grand on Joey’s bail? Do you realize I have to produce a live man, a death certificate, or a corpse? Do you realize if I don’t I lose that dough? Ten grand?”

He sank back into his chair, clapping his hand to his brow as if the thought were too much for him. I glared at him with hell’s own fires of hatred in my heart. I felt at that moment as if I were all the Gestapo and he was Jan Valtin. In one hundred years I shall never be as angry again.

“You louse!” I yelled. “All the time I thought you were worrying about me! A hell of a lot you care how many bullets they blast me with. When I’m lying at the bottom of the East River you’ll be beating your yellow breast about your filthy money. Hymie, for God’s sake, grant me a dying wish. Let me take one smack at him before I go.”

Sackler possessed the unmitigated gall to look at me reproachfully. “Now, Joey,” he said, “they’re going to kill you anyway. I can’t do anything about it. Since you’re going to get it, you may as well save me my money. There’s no sense in both of us suffering. Ten grand’s a lot of dough.”

“On Judgment Day,” I said bitterly, “you’ll crawl from your grave and offer the guy who’s keeping the books two and a half bucks to square yourself. You’ll be astounded when he belts you with his halo.”

“Take it easy, fellows,” said Hymie. “We don’t want no trouble.” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s time, Mike. Go upstairs and call. Tell him it’s O. K. We’re ready.”

Mike nodded. He tucked his gun away, rose and climbed the stairs. Hymie, his thirty-eight in his hand, took over the guard duty. Sackler face was gray. There was pain in his eyes. I came to the astounding conclusion that he was sicker about losing his ten grand than I was about losing my life. I found a single consolation. When Mike’s first bullet exploded into my brain it was going to cost Rex Sackler the sum of ten thousand dollars. The grave would be warmer for that thought.

Hymie leaned back in his chair smiling. Our argument, apparently, had amused him. His right hand rested on his knee and his gun dangled carelessly from it. I glared over at Sackler again. He winked with his left eye and jerked his head in my direction. Then I looked around and realized what he was driving at.

My automatic still lay on the mantelpiece where Hymie had tossed it. From where I sat it was a reach of about eight feet. Hymie, still smiling, was not, at the moment, paying a great deal of attention to either of us. I knew, however, that any sudden move on my part would bring the thug immediately back to the alert.

But here was a case where I had absolutely nothing to lose. If I grabbed the gun and shot it out the chances were, say, two to one against me. If I didn’t, they were infinity to nothing. I took a deep breath and moved like a pursuit plane.

I grabbed the automatic at precisely the same moment that Sackler threw his ancient hat full in Hymie’s face. Hymie sprang from his chair and his thirty-eight fired a single shot into the floor. By that time I was pressing the automatic into his side.

“All right,” I said, “you’re licked, Hymie. Pipe down.”

Sackler took the thirty-eight from his hand.

From the upper story came Mike’s voice. “What the hell’s wrong down there? What the—”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Take him, Joey,” said Sackler. “But here, use this.”

He pressed Hymie’s thirty-eight into my hand and relieved me of the automatic. He slugged Hymie, quite unnecessarily, over the head with the butt of my weapon, hut I had no time to protest then. I raced to the edge of the stairs and ducked down behind the bottom newel. Mike was a cinch to handle.

I had the gun in his back before he had even reached the last step. I relieved him of his gun and the pair of them stood there disconsolately while I covered them. Sackler was beaming from ear to ear.

“Hold them there, Joey. I’m going upstairs to make a phone call,” he said cheerfully.

I nodded. I said: “Why did you switch guns on me? I’m used to that automatic.”

“Oh,” said Sackler, as calmly as if he were telling me what he’d had for lunch, “that automatic wasn’t loaded. Mike knew it.”

“It wasn’t loaded! Do you mean to tell me you had me jump Hymie with an unloaded gun?”

“Mike unloaded it when Hymie took you to the kitchen for that water. Hymie didn’t know about it. You were in no danger.”

“I am speechless,” I told him. “Is there any way in which you wouldn’t gamble for my life?”

“Joey,” he said, “you hurt me. After all it was the only chance of saving your life. I took it.”

“Saving what?”

“Your life, Joey.”

“Saving your bail, you mean. For God’s sake, go upstairs before I slug you.”

He went upstairs registering the misunderstood beautiful soul, far too good for this mundane world.

The situation was reversed in the hack going back to town. I enjoyed it infinitely more than the ride out. Hymie and Mike sat huddled together, glumly facing the gun I held in my hand. Sackler hummed a lilting tune far off-key.

I said: “I don’t know why we’re bringing these monkeys into headquarters. Why didn’t you have them send out a wagon?”

“We’re not going to headquarters, Joey.”

“Where are we going then? Roseland?”

Sackler shook his head. “We’re going to Alice Grattan’s apartment. I just phoned Wooley. He’s meeting us there along with Bellows and that lawyer guy, Justis.”

“Why? If it’s a cocktail party I’d sooner go to O’Shaughnessy’s Bar and Grill.”

“It isn’t social, Joey. It’s professional. You may have forgotten that I’ve been paid a fee to find out who killed old man Grattan. Well, now I’m going to tell them.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re going to tell them? You haven’t worked a minute on the case. We’ve been held up. We’ve been kidnapped. We’ve been held in ten thousand dollar bail. When did you find time to discover who knocked off old man Grattan?”

“I’ve been thinking,” said Sackler. “A process you wouldn’t understand, anyway, Joey. Besides, I made a couple of phone calls earlier today. I spoke to Alice Grattan and the Second Federated Bank. Also to a number of wholesale diamond dealers.”

“And I suppose they told you who murdered old man Grattan,” I jeered at him.

Sackler sighed happily. “In a manner of speaking, Joey, they did,” he said smoothly.

Chapter Four Sackler Shares the Wealth

Eight of us congregated in the huge hook-lined study at the Grattan apartment. Hymie and Mike, subdued and — apprehensive, sat together on a sofa looking very much like the Katzenjammer kids awaiting a sound spanking. Alice Grattan, an ash blonde with wide blue eyes, relaxed in an armchair and turned an adoring gaze on young William Bellows who stood over her chair. Elmer Justis, well-dressed and pompous as when I had first seen him, smoked a cigar and looked thoughtful.

Wooley leaned upon the mantelpiece and regarded Sackler with disfavor. Sackler himself strutted up and down the floor exceedingly pleased with himself. I still wasn’t sure why. If he had found the time to turn up the answer to Grattan’s murder between our adventures of the past few days, I was prepared to admit that he had half the brain he claimed he had.

Sackler cast a swift glance around the room. His eye lighted on a japanned box of cigarettes. He took one and lit it.

He bowed in Wooley’s direction and said: “First, I want to know about Big Joe Angers. Have you broken-down Monte Carlo coppers got a line on him?”

“They’re on the way to pick him up now,” said Wooley. “We got a tipoff to his whereabouts right after you called me. He’ll be in the can within the hour. But what’s that got to do with the Grattan killing?”

“That,” said Sackler, “is something I wouldn’t expect a police inspector to understand.”

“Do you really know who killed father?” said Alice Grattan. “You know the Association of Diamond Dealers has offered a twenty-five hundred dollar reward for the arrest and conviction of the killer?”

Sackler’s eyes glittered like green neon lights. He sighed contently. He sat down and inhaled on the cigarette, savoring its flavor, primarily, I supposed, because it was free.

“Look here,” said Elmer Justis petulantly. “I’m a busy man. The inspector asked me to come here as a favor and I’ve come. Will someone come to the point?”

“Frankly,” said Wooley, “I doubt if there’s a point to come to. As I see it we can hold Bellows for murder. With Barker dead the defense can’t produce a reputable witness to support his alibi. The motive’s perfect.”

Alice Grattan’s eyes flashed. Bellows opened his mouth to say something. But, as usual, Sackler was in there first with the dialogue.

“Bellows didn’t kill Grattan,” he said. “Not that it matters a great deal to the D. A. However, I know who did and I can prove it. Moreover, I can get a conviction.”

“For twenty-five hundred dollars reward,” said Wooley bitterly, “you can do anything. Have you brought those two thugs, Hymie and Mike, here to confess the killing?”

Hymie and Mike looked very uncomfortable. Sackler stood up and faced his audience.

“All right,” he said, “let’s get started. Let’s begin with the day I met my client, Mr. Bellows. He gave me a check for fifteen hundred dollars, signed by Alice Grattan. He gave it to me on a Friday morning. At eleven o’clock.”

“Daylight saving time,” sneered Wooley.

“Daylight saving time,” said Sackler blandly. “A few moments later, Hymie over there walked into my office with a gun and stuck me up. He took six dollars in cash and that check. Now, what would a legitimate stickup man want a check made out to me for? He couldn’t cash it. If he tried he’d be walking right into the arms of the law.”

“Is this a puzzle?” said Justis. “I tell you I’m a busy man.”

“It’s a puzzle to everyone in this room but me,” said Sackler. “After the holdup, I called Miss Grattan to have payment stopped, to have a new check issued. I couldn’t get her on Friday. I couldn’t get her on Saturday until the afternoon. Where were you then, Miss Grattan?”

Alice Grattan stared at him in complete bewilderment. For that matter, so did I.

“Why, I told you that on the phone, Mr. Sackler. On Friday, Mr. Justis sent word for me to come to his office. He was detained for some time. I waited a long while for him to return. I remained with him all day. Had dinner with him and his wife and stayed overnight at their place. Saturday morning, I also spent in his office going over some of my father’s papers.”

Sackler waved his hand like a magician who has just pulled a dragon out of a child’s hat.

“There,” he said. “See?”

We looked at each other. It was evident that we all saw with the clarity of a blind man in London at midnight during a blackout. I realized that at least a third of my salary was paid for playing straight man for Sackler, so I came in.

“Could you make it a trifle clearer?” I asked him.

“Ah,” said Sackler grandly, “excuse me. There are times when I forget the mentality of my auditors. Justis makes an appointment with Miss Grattan for Friday, during a period when he knows he will be out of the office. He keeps her waiting. He keeps her out of her own house until Saturday afternoon after the banks have closed. Now do you get it?”

“No,” I said.

Sackler’s sigh held compassion for all the deficient mentalities of the world.

“When I was first given that check there wasn’t sufficient money in the bank to clear it.”

Alice Grattan frowned. “That’s a little-used account, Mr. Sackler,” she said. “There’s usually a considerable balance in it.”

“So you thought,” said Sackler. “So Justis intended you to think. He tried his best to talk Bellows out of retaining me. Failing that, he sent a thug — Hymie over there — to get the check back by force. He kept Miss Grattan out of the way so I wouldn’t receive another check from her until Monday when the account would once more have money in it.”

Justis slammed his fist down on the table. “That’s absolutely ridiculous,” he thundered. “What have I to do with it? And if there’s no money in the account on Saturday, how would there be any Monday?”

“You put it in Monday morning,” said Sackler sweetly. “As soon as the bank opened.”

“My God,” said Wooley. “Assuming he did it, why couldn’t he deposit the cash Friday? Why Monday?”

“He didn’t have it Friday,” said Sackler. “He didn’t get it until Sunday night.”

A little light filtered into my brain. “Where did he get it on Sunday?”

“From the wall safe in this room. You recall it was broken into on Sunday night. He cashed in a fortune in diamonds and replenished the account he had been looting.”

“You accuse me of embezzlement,” said Justis. “You accuse me of robbery. Are you going to accuse me of murder next?”

“Precisely.” Sackler beamed. “Thank God someone gets it at last.”

Wooley wiped his forehead with his hand. Sackler’s circuitous method of expatiation invariably exasperated him.

“Keep talking,” he said. “If you’re accusing Justis of killing Grattan, the police department would like to know about it. The motive and the method particularly.”

“Sure,” said Sackler. “I shall use the simpler fragments of my vocabulary, so you will understand it. Justis was Grattan’s lawyer and confidant. He also held his power of attorney, looked after his bank accounts and business. Moreover, he was named executor of Grattan’s estate. These things I was told by the Second Federated Bank on which that check was drawn. They also told me that a check for fifteen hundred bucks on Miss Grattan’s account could not have cleared on Friday.”

“All right,” said Wooley. “You’ve already told us most of this.”

“Justis,” continued Sackler, “had been rocking Grattan for years. Then came a crisis. I don’t know whether Grattan got on to it, or whether Justis’ stock market losses were so big he had to do something about it. Anyway, he hired Big Joe Angers to kill Grattan.

“He knew just when Grattan would have a fortune in diamonds in that wall safe. So did one of the wholesale dealers from whom I got my information. Moreover, he had a made-to-order suspect in Bellows. He framed that phone call to Bellows, to lure him to a poolroom frequented by thugs. That sort of an alibi would be no good whatever. During that time he had Angers kill Grattan.”

“Then,” I said, “why didn’t Big Joe force the safe that night? Why wait so many days after the murder?”

“Justis isn’t fool enough to tell Big Joe about that safe. Joe could’ve kept all the swag that way. No, with Grattan out of the way, Justis could take his time about the safe. He had the freedom of the house, was a constant visitor. His hand, however, was forced by two things.”

“You mean the check?” I asked. “He couldn’t permit it to bounce because it would arouse Miss Grattan’s suspicion?”

“Right. Undoubtedly he had visited the house often since the murder, awaiting his chance to open the safe which Miss Grattan didn’t even know existed. He never had the chance. Possibly she was in the room with him all the time. However, he had plenty of time. So he thought. He knew he didn’t have plenty of time after she wrote that check for me.”

Elmer Justis laughed. Not too heartily, I thought. “And I suppose I had this Angers kill Barker also?”

“Is this a confession?” asked Sackler. “You and I know just how right you are.”

“Motive?” snapped Wooley.

“Obvious,” said Sackler. “He knew how anxious you mugs were to convict Bellows. He knew you’d do it without Barker’s testimony. He was already in for one murder, why not two? With Bellows already burnt, it’d take an awful lot of evidence before the D. A. would open the case again, admit he burned an innocent man, even if Justis’ peculations ever came out.”

Wooley scratched his head. “It sounds logical to me,” he admitted reluctantly. “And examination of Grattan’s accounts, of Justis’ books, ought to prove it pretty well.”

“Wait a minute,” said Justis. “You forget that I’m a lawyer.”

“You seem to have forgotten it once or twice yourself,” said the Grattan girl bitterly.

“I’m a lawyer,” said Justis again, “and I don’t see that you have any case. Bellows’ motive is as strong as mine. The case against him is as good. The whole theory is pretty conjectural from a legal point of view.”

Wooley looked inquiringly at Sackler. There was an unpleasant degree of truth in what Justis had said. Sackler, I observed, appeared very calm. He looked as if he had at least one more rabbit in the hat.

“Big Joe Angers is cold on Barker’s murder,” he said. “Joey’s testimony will burn him. He has a better chance if he comes clean in a courtroom. I have no doubt he’ll drag Justis down with him.”

Justis’ face was pale. Wooley nodded slowly. He strode across the room to the telephone. “I’ll see if they’ve picked up Big Joe yet.”

He put the call through, spoke for a moment, then hung up slowly. “Rex,” he said, “there goes our case.”

“My God,” exploded Sackler, “I solve a case for you. Do you mean to tell me your coppers are so dumb they can’t get a known crook like Big Joe Angers?”

“They got him all right,” said Wooley. “But with bullets. He’s dead.”

Sackler clapped a hand to his head. The blood came back into Elmer Justis’ cheeks.

“He came quietly enough at first,” said Wooley. “But on the way to the station-house the boys told him what you’d already told me. That Joey’s snatch hadn’t worked. Big Joe said he was damned if he was going to burn. He snatched a copper’s gun and started shooting. They shot back. Big Joe’s in the morgue at this moment.”

Sackler’s shoulders sagged. His face was suddenly haggard and there was pain in his eyes. He uttered a groan that would not have been out of place at the Wailing Wall.

“Well, Mr. Sackler,” said Bellows, “it certainly isn’t your fault, even if we can’t get a conviction. At least I’m cleared. That, after all, is what we were paying you for.”

“You’re cleared?” said Sackler as if that were the last thing he had been thinking of. “Who gives a damn about clearing you? The Diamond Dealers’ Association says specifically: arrest and conviction. Those dumb coppers are plucking twenty-five hundred slugs out of my pocket.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said Justis rising, “if there isn’t anything else at the moment, I’ll be running along.”

“Wait,” said Sackler. “Wooley, don’t let him go. I’ll think of something. I must think of something.”

I smiled happily. I examined the innermost core of my heart. I discovered that my interest in the triumph of justice was not so intense as my desire to see Sackler lose twenty-five hundred dollars.

All of us, even Justis, watched him with interest. There was anguish in his eyes and the tortured frown on his brow was shaped like a grieving pretzel. Every brain cell had been drafted in a titanic battle for twenty-five hundred dollars.

He looked up suddenly. There was a familiar glint in his eye and his brow was clear again. He glanced across the room to Hymie and Mike. Then he looked at me. His eyes clouded again for a moment. He reached in his pocket, withdrew a worn leather purse and extracted fifty cents.

“Joey,” he said, “will you run down to the corner and get two decks of cigarettes? I’m all out and you can get one for yourself.”

“There are plenty of cigarettes here,” said Bellows. “In that box there.”

Sackler shook his head. “I’ve been smoking yours all afternoon,” he said apologetically. “Go ahead, Joey.”

I blinked at him. Sackler’s worrying about smoking someone else’s butts astonished me. Moreover, he’d never bought me a package of cigarettes since I’d known him. I took the fifty cents from his hand, suspicion welling up within me like erupting lava.

I donned my hat, walked from the apartment and closed the door behind me. I stood in one place and moved my feet up and down achieving the sound effect of diminuendo footsteps. There was something very screwy going on in Sackler’s mind. I wanted to know what it was. I jammed my ear against the panel of the door and listened.

“I should have seen it before,” Sackler was saying. “Hymie and Mike are the answer, Wooley. It’s easy.”

“Explain it,” said Wooley.

“They’re Angers’ thugs. They were in on the deal all the way. They probably did none of the killing. Big Joe always does that himself. But they stuck me up for the check. They snatched Joey and myself. They know the whole story as well as Big Joe himself. They’ll talk.”

“I ain’t saying nothing at all.” This was Hymie’s voice.

“Oh, yes, you are,” said Sackler. “Look at it this way. Talk and you’ll be open for an accessory rap. Since you’ve turned state’s evidence, you’ll beat it with a few years.”

“Rot,” said Justis. “If they don’t talk you can’t put a finger on them. Why should they turn state’s evidence?”

“If they don’t talk,” said Sackler, “God help them. They’ll be held on a kidnapping rap. They’ll get life.”

There was a long silence. Then Mike said: “You mean if we play it your way you’ll keep your mouth shut about the kidnapping?”

“Exactly,” said Sackler. “Now will you sign a confession implicating Justis, here and now?”

There was a second silence. Then, “Yeah,” said Mike. “Yeah,” said Hymie.

“O.K.,” said Sackler. “Wooley, get a stenographer.”

I grinned happily to myself. I tossed the half dollar Sackler had given me and caught it gaily. I went out of the house and bought two decks of butts. I took my time about coming back.

I timed my entrance nicely. The police stenographer had just pulled the typewritten sheets out of his portable typewriter. Wooley took them and handed them to Mike and Hymie. Justis, across the room, stared at Sackler as if he were a snake.

Sackler saw me, nodded hastily, and forced his fountain pen into Hymie’s hand. I drew a deep breath and made my play.

“By the way, Inspector,” I said, “I want those two men there held for kidnapping. They snatched me forcibly this afternoon.”

Hymie dropped the pen as if it were a scorpion. Wooley uttered an oath, Sackler glared at me and there was sudden hope in Justis’ eyes.

“Well,” said Mike with finality, “that sort of changes things.”

“Listen, Joey,” said Sackler, “I don’t think you ought to press that kidnapping charge.”

“No? I thought we stood for law and order. I thought we stood for virtue. I thought—”

“Shut up,” said Sackler, “I know what you’re driving at.”

“Good,” I said. “How much?”

Sackler licked his lips and swallowed something in his throat. Wooley said testily: “What the devil are you guys talking about?”

Sackler said, not without a terrible effort, “Ten per cent?”

I said, with no effort whatever, “Twenty?”

It may have been a trick of the sunlight but I thought I saw a tear in his eye as he nodded.

“Very well,” I said. “I was not kidnapped. I went with those two mugs of my own free will. I say this before witnesses. I shall make no attempt to press my trumped-up charge.”

Wooley picked up the pen. “All right,” he said. “Now will you sign?”

I beamed happily around the room as they signed. It was difficult to tell at the moment whether Justis or Sackler was more disturbed.

On the way back to the office, Sackler said, low fury in his tone: “Joey, you are a low, black-hearted eavesdropper. You listened at the door.”

I smiled sweetly. “That I did.”

“You are a blackmailing hound. You have no loyalty to your employer.”

“Loyalty?” I said. “What about you? I was the guy they wanted to snatch. I was the guy to make the complaint, if any. Not you. You deliberately got me out of the room, hoping everything would be in the bag by the time I got back, so I wouldn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t even care if I did make the complaint after you had the confession signed and sealed. You were afraid I’d do what I did do. Threaten to screw up the signing until I got my rightful cut of the reward.”

He shook his head and sighed. “What about the cigarettes? And my change.”

I gave him a deck of cigarettes. I gave him eighteen cents change. He weighed it in the palm of his hand for a long time.

“Joey,” he said slowly, “under the circumstances I think you should pay for your own cigarettes. Give me another sixteen cents.”

Personally, I believe that all Scotsmen are a horde of profligate spendthrifts.