Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol.69, No. 5, August 13, 1932

Sam Smitz was seasick — anyone would be seasick watching dizzy fluffy McGoff try to pull a hold-up on an ocean liner.

I

I never been one to take much stock in horseshoes, rabbit’s feet, and that kinda hooey, but all crooks is a little superstitious at heart, and how I ever come to go sailin’ out the Golden Gate on Friday the thirteenth is beyond me. I’d never ’a’ done it under ordinary circumstances, bein’ the cautious, methodical type that takes account of such details, but the run of good luck I’d been havin’ was enough to unbalance any guy.

Landin’ in Frisco three weeks before, without a dime in my pocket, Fortune, which has been dealin’ me foul of late, suddenly gives me the glad hand. First I finds four bits in the gutter, with which I buys a forty cent meal down in one of them dumps where you can still drop your tip in a slot machine. This I does, wins the jack pot, and starts out with three and a half in nickels. But some guy stops me by the door and suggests a game of stud. I’m agreeable, and departs later with twelve bucks and a Chinese lottery ticket which some guy has put in for a quarter. I keeps this just from sentiment, havin’ never won so much as a chop-stick in my life, and knocks over twenty-five hundred cold cash at the drawin’. Boy, it’s no wonder I gets a little giddy and goes in for more’n a few loud neckties.

Well, it may not mean nothin’ in your life, but somethin’ I always wanted to do was take a trip some-wheres — just for the ride. So I gets flirtin’ around with a lot of them seethe-world folders, and the first thing I know I’m booked for Hawaii. I can’t honestly afford a vacation, but I figgers there must be somethin’ over there a good crook can turn his hand to, same as anywhere else.

Anyhow, the trip will do me good, because I ain’t been feelin’ myself for a long time now.

All dolled up like a trouper I saunters aboard about sailin’ time, and it sure is a thrill to be for once mountin’ a means of transportation without the law at my heels. I follows the boy down with my bags to the stateroom I’m to share with some other gent, and then hurries back on deck to see the excitements. The band is whoopin’ it up and the deck’s full of serpentine, bonny voyage baskets and gay parties, and I gets right into the spirit of the thing. All these folks looks like ready money, and it strikes me maybe this ship itself has got possibilities.

So we steams out through the Gate into the path of the settin’ sun. I watches the land grow low in the distance and then ambles down some ladders to D deck and hunts up my quarters. All carefree and unsuspectin’ I steps over the doorsill into the double stateroom, and starts to spruce up. I ain’t seen nothin’ of my roommate yet, but his bags is there on his bed. “F. McG.” says the fat gilt inscription on one of ’em.

“F. McG.” says I, pausin’ in my wash, “where have I heard that before?”

“Well for gosh sakes,” pipes a high voice from the doorway, “if it ain’t my old friend Sam Smitz!”

I turns to view Fluffy McGoff, as blank-faced and balmy as ever, bearin’ down on me.

“Gee, but I’m glad to see you, Sam,” he clutches my drippin’ hand. “How did you know I was gonna to be on board?”

“I didn’t — it’s just one of them coinstances,” says I, backin’ away like from the edge of a precipice.

You see, me and this guy has met before. In fact, him and the ill health I’ve been havin’ is one and the same thing, and findin’ him right here in the same stateroom has knocked me cold.

“Listen,” I recovers somewhat, “how come you’re on this boat?”

“Oh, I had some good luck with a full pete up in Seattle,” he grins, “so I’m goin’ to Australia.”

“Not by some thousand miles you ain’t!” I snorts. “This boat is goin’ to Hawaii.”

“The devil it is! Now how’d I ever come to do that?” He removes his little Hooligan hat, and stands there blinkin’ and scratchin’ his wavin’ hair. “I did think some of goin’ to Hawaii, but then I decided I’d go to Australia, and—”

That’s him, Fluffy McGoff, the world’s dizziest burglar. Still he thinks me and him is born partners, and keeps turnin’ up like a plugged nickel no matter where I lose him. He’s goin’ to Australia, mind you, but he gets a ticket for Haw’aii, and here he is bunked in with me — can you tie that? Yep, me and Fate and this absentminded bozo is the infernal triangle for fair.

“You seem to be sittin’ pretty, yourself, Sam,” says he, grinnin’ at my shiny new bags. “While we’re both ridin’ the crest we’d oughta dope out some real high class job we can pull, huh?”

“Listen,” I snarls, at last findin’ my tongue, “you and me is roommates and no more. I wouldn’t ever ’a’ got on this ship if I’d known you was on it, and the only reason I’m stayin’ is because I ain’t the swimmer I used to be. But that ain’t goin’ to stop me throwin’ you overboard if I hears one word about us pullin’ any more jobs together. No hard feelin’s, Fluffy, but you and me is quits for all time. Now have you got that straight?”

“Well, for gosh sakes,” he complains. “It’s nothin’ to get sore about. I was only thinkin’ there’s probably a lotta money aboard, and—”

“Dry up,” says I, “and get outa them ice cream pants. On this ship you gotta dress for dinner.”

“Okay, Sam,” says he. That’s the sad part about Fluffy — outside them mental lapses of his he ain’t a bad guy. He’s generous and good-natured, and fond of me like a puppy. With a patient sigh he gets into his dinner clothes and we goes down to mess.

II

She’s a swell ship; a hundred fathoms long and I don’t know how much misplacement, with hot and cold water and all kind of built-in features from swimmin’ tanks to beauty shops. It’s my first voyage, except on ferry boats and lumber scows, and I takes to this palace like a duck to water.

I never went in much for sociabilities on shore, but out here things is different. Of course there’s some highbrows that’d start up a social register aboard a desert island, but for the most part everybody is congenial like one big family. I mixes in all the games, gets to callin’ guys by their first name, and it’s great. In fact, if it wasn’t for Fluffy McGoff I’d be havin’ the time of my life.

But you should get a load of that lummox. We ain’t been afloat twenty-four hours before he broaches me thus:

“Sam,” says he, “I don’t want to irritate you or nothin’, but maybe you ain’t noticed everybody has sealed his dough in a envelope and give it to this Mr. Purser, and he’s got it in a dinky safe in one of them offices off the big saloon. Now of course I didn’t lug nothin’ aboard with me that I couldn’t explain to the customs officers, but if we could borrow a drill and some stuff from the engine room, why—”

“Yeah, I’m ’way aheada you,” I bawls. “We could crack the safe, jump out the window into our high powered car and speed away. You ain’t in a hotel you know — you’re in the midst of the Pacific Ocean. There’s no way to pull anything big on board a ship and get away with it. Now make a note of that somewheres before you winds up in the brig.”

“Oh, all right, Sam,” he sighs. “Only I can’t help observin’ things, can I?”

He’s correct there. Crooks is as bad that way as the sailors that goes rowin’ on shore leave — they can’t get outa harness. I been takin’ careful stock of all the fellow passengers myself.

There is some interestin’ folks aboard, includin’ especially Mr. Bart Bodie, a tall, lean-faced gent with black hair, a long, sharp nose, and narrow eyes. He wears a black hat, dark double-breasted suits with the pockets sewed outside, and shaves twice a day. He’s got a slow, engagin’ smile and one of the parlor suites up top, and invites everybody to drop in on him. Which a lot of the boys does, provin’ a new crop is still comin’ up, one a minute.

Then there’s Pilsner, the pineapple prince, and Simpson, the sugar baron, besides a scatterin’ of bankers, movie people, and just plain idle rich. It’s a good mix, and I’m right in the swim, callin’ ’em Pete and Joe and Andy. It’s in this way I gets drawn up to Bodie’s parlor, the second day out.

Beside cocktails, which a friend named Harry keeps mixin’ with both hands, there’s a perpetual game of poker goin’ on there. Mr. Bodie, fulla clever gab and pale from too much shavin’ powder, is presidin’, and one by one the ship’s list is takin’ a ride.

Surprised I didn’t spot this slicker right off as a member of the clan, my first impulse is to let well enough alone. I got a nice little roll for the first time in many moons, and no wish to gypardize it. “Every crook to his trade,” thinks I, and drifts out.

But before dinner time here comes Fluffy behind the silly grin he wears in moments of elation, and pulls me to one side.

“Sam,” says he, “you and me is old friends and I gotta let you in on the Christmas party some guy is givin’ up in number seven. It’s a poker game, and I just walked outa there with two hundred bucks. You’d oughta get in on that, Sam.”

“You don’t tell me,” I sniffs.

But once I’ve heard that I naturally begins thinkin’ of the swell luck I had before comin’ aboard, and number seven starts fascinatin’ me like a loose plank in a ball park fence. Whichever way I starts walkin’, I finds myself fetchin’ up outside of Bodie’s parlor. I holds out till after lunch next day, and then gives in. If a monkey like McGoff can take this guy for two hundred, so can Sam Smitz.

But, oh baby, I’m wrong! It’s the old come-on game in the hands of a expert. Between his sly chatter and Harry’s cocktails I runs up a fat surplus, till I gets to thinkin’ in round numbers, and then comes down the skid. Time and again I digs into the padded wallet for reserves, till I begins to touch bottom. Wow — nearly a thousand bucks has slid over the felt to this slicker.

“Excuse me, gents, I got a headache,” says I, and stumbles out.

Well, maybe I ain’t a good loser or somethin’. Anyhow, my first thought is to avoid Fluffy, so I hides out till he goes to dinner, and then sneaks into our stateroom. Some way I don’t seem to feel so good, and it ain’t all in the head either. I falls on my bed and goes to sleep.

About four bells I awakes to the tune of one of Fluffy’s shoes hittin’ the deck. There he sits dreamily unlacin’ the other, with a sad, far-away look.

“What’s ailing you?” says I.

“Huh? Oh, I just got a idea, that’s all.”

“Well, close the portholes,” I grunts. “It’d be too bad to have it get away on you.”

“Every guy should stick to his own game, ain’t that right?”

“Sure, but what brings that up?”

“Well — now don’t get me wrong, Sam — have you noticed the procession of diamonds that Mrs. Jingleberry has been wearin’? Now you and me had oughta be able to figger out some way—”

“Oh, cripes!” I wakes up. “Sure I noticed ’em; I ain’t blind. But neither am I dumb. While you’re spottin’ the richest dame afloat, I’m also spottin’ William O’Mally, the ship’s detective.”

“Gosh, is he a dick?”

“Sure, and can’t I get it into your head that this is a ship? It’s like a island, see, with water all around — every man is accounted for, and nobody can get off. So suppose you did steal ’em; how would you get away with it?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods, “but you see, Sam, I just lost all my wad up in number seven, and I can’t help tryin’ to think of some way to recuperate.”

“Gosh, that’s too bad,” I grins. “How much did you drop, Fluffy?”

“About twelve hundred,” he sighs. “Oh well, easy come easy go. But you keep thinkin’ about them rocks anyhow, will ya? You got a good head.”

“Oh, sure,” I tolls over. “But in the meantime don’t you do nothin’ rash — you know them salt water burials is awful clammy.”

Well, it’s some satisfaction to find him and me is in the same boat, but it don’t help out my slumber much. All night I got troubled dreams — me and Fluffy is out repairin’ our busted fortunes. He’s stickin’ up the U. S. Mint with a water pistol while I’m outside tryin’ to crank his flivver, which he’s forgot to put gas in.

By mornin’ I’m all wore out, and wakes to find the day dull and soggy. Also, the sea is rollin’, and I gradually identifies my wooziness with the rise and fall of the ship. Maybe if I gets out in the air, thinks I, I’ll feel better, so I does.

III

I’m up on the sun deck, which is deserted this time of mornin’, pacin’ back and forth in the drivin’ mist, when some guy falls in beside me.

“Mornin’, Smitz,” says he. It’s MacEwen, the sour-faced camera man with the movie troop, lost deep in his overcoat and blue with the cold.

“Mornin’, Mac,” says I. “How long since you been a early riser?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he grunts; “been up all night. Listen Smitz; wasn’t you in jail once in Kansas City?”

“Huh!”

“No offense — I just thought I recognized you, that’s all. I was there myself. It was Christmas, and they give us beans. You remember that, don’t you Smitz?”

“Hum-m,” I eyes him narrow, “seems to me maybe I do. What’s the gag, Mac?”

“Well, gettin’ right down to crass facts,” says he, “you lost some money to this guy Bodie, didn’t you?”

“And how!”

“Me too — not much, but all I had in the world. It’s a old failin’ of mine — drink and cards has been my ruination. But since I give up the stage and took to the technical end I been doin’ better. Had a little stake laid by and thought of openin’ a photo shop in Honolulu. Then — phooey! — in three days it’s gone. I tell you it’s got me all broke up.”

“That’s a fine shame,” I’m sympathetic. “But where do I come in?”

“Well, assumin’ that you’re a crook, Smitz — which I know damn well you are — I imagine you’re thinkin’ about some way to get back your losses.”

“Proceed,” says I.

Clutchin’ me by the arm he leads me in behind a ventilator, lowers his voice confidential, and slips me the proposition. If I’ll stick up Bodie for his roll, he’ll manage the job slick as a whistle and get the money safe ashore.

“It’s a pipe,” he assures me.

“A pipe dream,” says I. “If you got it doped out so slick, why don’t you pull it yourself?”

“I ain’t got the nerve,” he admits. “I been tryin’ to get up the courage, but I… I’m too nervous. But it’s right up your alley, Smitz, and it’s well worth your while. He must have close to ten thousand bucks there, and I know right where it’s hid. All you gotta do is pull the stick-up and slip me the jack. I run all the risk after that, and I’ll give you two-thirds of the swag when we get ashore. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be interested in a haul like that if all the details was planned out safe.”

“Sure I would, if they was safe, but—”

“Then listen here: I ain’t always been a camera man. I was once a first-rate actor and I’m still right there with the fine art of make-up. Now, while every one on the ship is well known, there’s several easily recognized types that ain’t on the ship, get me?”

“Say, that’s a corker,” I grins. “They’d have a heluva time arrestin’ somebody that ain’t on the ship, wouldn’t they?”

“Exactly.”

“But how’ll you get the money ashore?”

“Packed in my camera — rolled up in the film. They’ll never suspect me to begin with, and would never in the world think of lookin’ there. It’s water-tight, ain’t it?”

“It’s good enough,” I agrees. “Pull it the last thing, huh?”

“That’s the idea. We docks tomorrow about noon. We’ll pull it durin’ breakfast. Drop up to my place this evenin’ and we’ll go over the details.”

“Sure,” says I, and we grips on it.

I lingers for a minute in the lee of the ventilator, gloatin’ over my good fortune. It’s a shame to put this over on McGoff, but business is business. As I steps forth the wind nearly bowls me for a loop. The sea is visin’, and the ship’s millin’ around like a chip in a busy wash tub. One look at the heavin’ deck and my whole system does a flip-flop and lands bottom-side up. Feebly I staggers to the rail, for support and other matters, and clings there. Boy, I am sick.

Desperate and painfully I finally follows the rail back to the stateroom. A lunge of the boat sends me sprawlin’ within, where I lands, face down, on my bed.

“Well, for gosh sakes, Sam,” pipes Fluffy, idly completin’ his toilet before the swayin’ mirror. “You doin’ a spring dance?”

“Shut up,” I moans, “and get the doctor. I’m dyin’.”

“Seasick, eh? She is a little choppy this mornin’.”

“Seasick your nanny — I got somethin’ tremendous, like scarlet fever or spinal meningitis. Don’t stand there grinnin’, you ape — get me the doctor.”

Well, I’ll always contend he had his breakfast first, but I may be wrong, this bein’ just before I lost all track of time and everything. Anyhow, at last he shows up with the ship’s physician.

“Ah-ha,” nods this gleamin’ white optimist, feelin’ my fevered brow “mal de mer.”

“Yeah — I knew it wasn’t seasick,” I moans.

“Same thing,” says he, dealin’ me out some powders. “Here, take these and eat oranges, and you’ll feel better as soon as the boat lands.” And that’s all I gets outa him.

Just let me pause here to state that, contrary to popular opinion, there ain’t nothin’ funny about seasickness. Beside bein’ pernicious, it’s also contagious (almost half the ship has got it by noon time), and there ain’t nothin’ will cure it except a dry climate. Seasickness is a solemn, tragic, and terrible thing, and would never ’a’ descended into the flippant category of comic strips and Scotch stories if a few more professional humorists had ever had it theirselves.

As to what happened the next eight or ten hours, your guess is as good as mine. I’m too busy wishin’ I could die, and afraid I’m goin’ to, to take no notice of anything. I recalls Fluffy comin’ in a few times to tell me what a swell meal he’s just had, and huntin’ feebly for somethin’ to throw at him. The rest is all blank misery, till I wakes up with somebody shakin’ me.

“Hey, Smitz, what’s the idea?”

“Huh?”

“I say, you ain’t forgot our proposition have you?”

“Which proposition?”

“Why, about stickin’ up this guy Bodie, to get his roll.”

“If I sticks up anybody,” says I, “it’ll be the engineer, to stop the ship. Beat it.”

“Look here,” he shakes me some more. “Wake up now.”

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” I blinks. “Hello, Mac, what’s on your mind?”

“Why, that agreement we fixed up this mornin’. We was gonna settle the details up in my stateroom tonight. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” I recalls. “You see, I busted all out with mal der mer right after I seen you,” I explains, “and I ain’t been myself since.”

“That’s too bad,” he’s concerned. “But you’ll be able to pull it. You’re feelin’ all right now, ain’t ya?”

“Not by a long ways I ain’t,” says I. “Nope, you better count me out, Mac. Sorry. It woulda been a nice job, and I appreciate your patronage and all that but—”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” he groans, “don’t tell me you’re gonna throw me down just for a little seasickness! Why I’ve staked everything on you.” He gives me a wretched look and starts pacin’ the floor.

“Say,” he halts suddenly, “how about that partner of yours — maybe he’d do it.”

“Who, McGoff?”

“Yeah, the blank-lookin’ card with the mop of hair.”

“He’s no partner of mine!”

“No? He said he was. Well, he’s in the racket anyhow, ain’t he? Why couldn’t he do it just as good as you?”

“You’ll never know,” I explodes, “till you suddenly find he ain’t done it. Listen, him and me is old friends, and far be it from me to knock a pal, but I never knew a guy so long onshort-comin’s as McGoff.”

“Double-crosser, eh?”

“No, nothin’ like that. He’s honest enough and conscientious, but — well, he’s got absent-mindedness, and you never know what he’s gonna do with it.”

“But man alive, he could pull a simple job like this, couldn’t he?”

“You’d think so,” I sighs, “but you don’t know him like I do.”

“But if you rehearsed him on it a little, I don’t see what could go wrong. And he’s got a swell map to make up.”

“Yeah, just like a blank sheet of paper,” I admits.

“Sure, see if he’ll do it, Smitz. That is if you’re sure you won’t.”

“I’m certain,” says I. “If I’m alive I’ll be doin’ well.”

IV

Well, he’s hardly out the door when in breezes McGoff. Neither depression or the weather has dampered his spirits any, and it sure galls me how he can walk around on this heavin’ monster when it’s all I can do to stick on my bed. It’s a big blow to my pride to have to have him double for me on this job.

“Hello, Sam,” he beams. “How you feelin’? Odd how it ain’t bothered me none, ain’t it?”

“Not at all,” I snorts. “A guy as naturally dizzy as you are could ride anything. Sit down and give me your attention. I gotta job I can work you in on.”

“Oh, yeah! You been workin’ on them diamonds, Sam?”

“No, them diamonds is out. This is a big cash proposition, involving nothin’ but a cool stick-up and a quick get-away.”

“Hold on now,” he protests, “ain’t you been dinnin’ it into me that nobody on this ship could pull anything like that?”

“Yeah, but this is gonna be pulled by somebody that ain’t on the ship.”

“Huh? Say, you ain’t runnin’ a fever are you, Sam?”

“Nope, it’s like this, Fluffy.” I proceeds to give him the layout. “MacEwen picked you as the perfect guy for the job,” says I, “and you get one-third of the take, which should be a neat wad if his estimate is correct. What do you say — can you do it?”

“Sure I can do it,” he’s all aglow. “And how I’ll enjoy takin’ a fall outa that card sharp! When do we pull it, Sam?”

“To-morrow at breakfast, durin’ first call. Bodie’ll just be gettin’ up — he eats at second table same as us. Mac’ll make you up in here.

“Bodie keeps the jack in a money belt on his person. You buckle this under your coat, block him in his bathroom, and then walk along natural up to Mac’s. He’ll pull off your make-up, and you’ll go down to breakfast as usual. Then they’ll hunt for the rest of the voyage for a guy like Bodie says stuck him up, but of course they won’t find him.”

“Sure, I get ya, Sam,” he grins. “I knew you’d think up somethin’ so’s we wouldn’t start life in Honolulu with empty pockets. You and me is gonna stick together now, huh, Sam?”

“That all depends,” says I, “on how slick you put over this job. Now you know your way around the ship, don’t you?”

“Well, I got lost a couple of times a’ready,” he admits. “It’s a big boat. But there’s always somebody around that you can ask.”

“Holy smokes!” I moans. “You can’t be stoppin’ to ask nobody while you’re fleein’ with this money. You won’t be safe till you get that disguise off, and you gotta keep movin’. Get outa here right now and learn the way from Bodie’s parlor down to Mac’s. Learn two or three ways, and spot a place here and there where you might duck in case of emergency. Then go up and see Mac.”

“Okay, Sam.” Eager and obligin’ he dons his little round hat and goes out — after four days! — to learn the ship. Thank God there’s only one guy like Fluffy.

Well, all this has upset me almost more than the ocean. I thrashes and turns, and finally passes out from complete exhaustion. Mornin’ overtakes me in a mess of troubled dreams, and I wakes to find Mac and Fluffy already on the job.

My would-be partner, in striped flannels and a white sweater, is siftin’ in front of the mirror, his cradle-faced countenance in sweet repose. MacEwen is thoughtfully contemplatin’ him, like a sculptor considerin’ a block of stone.

“Mornin’, Smitz,” says he.

“How you feelin’, Sam?” says Fluffy.

“Mornin’. I’m feelin’ like hell,” says I. “I see you guys has got together all right.”

“We’re doin’ fine,” says Mac. “If my figures is right there are ninety-seven pairs of striped flannel trousers and one hundred and five white sweaters on board, and no face like this one. Our list is noticeably free of hirsute adornment, and these distinguished gray whiskers will be in a class by themselves.”

With that he opens a small box on the dressin’ table and starts in on Fluffy with the dangdest display of quick disguise you ever seen in your life. In ten minutes he’s grew a Vandyke that any guy would work thirty years on. Then he starts in on lines of thought and other distinguishin’ features, and by the time he’s powdered it down and carefully adjusted a linen cap over Fluffy’s red hair you’d no more think it was him than the man in the moon.

“Meet Herr Von Mussendorfer, eminent scientist from Berlin, in sport attire,” says he, steppin’ aside.

“Well, for gosh sakes!” astounds Fluffy, droppin’ his whiskered jaw. “My own mother wouldn’t know me.”

“Yeah, that’s the best face you ever had in this world,” I snorts. “Now, have you got your rod, Fluffy?”

“Uh-huh,” says he, still blinkin’ at the mirror. “Say, I’m gonna grow somethin’ like this as soon as I get a little spare time.”

“You sure ain’t yourself,” I admits, “and you’d oughta put it over slick.”

“There won’t be a hitch,” MacEwen surveys him with pride. “Won’t attract no attention; just be somebody no one has noticed beforehand that ain’t on the ship when they come to look for him. It’s a cinch.”

“I hope so,” I sighs. Sick as I am I feel I gotta get up durin’ this climax, and starts strugglin’ up outa bed. “You ain’t nervous or nothin’, are you, Fluffy? You know this Bodie is a tough egg.”

“Me? Gosh, no,” he’s contemptuous. “I ain’t like you, Sam. Well, so long, fellas.” Casual and unconcerned he ambles out the door. Mac follows him with sparklin’ eyes.

“A great guy,” says he.

“All of that,” says I.

“Now, I may not be seein’ you again before we land,” says he, “but you know where to get hold of me on location, for the split.”

“Yeah, I’ll be seein’ ya,” I mumbles, wrestlin’ into my garments, and he departs.

V

As my head emerges through the tunnel of my shirt my eyes lights on Fluffy’s dressin’ table — and there lays his revolver. Him and Mac was so elated over that disguise, and me so busy dressin’, that he’s gone and walked off without it!

“Sufferin’ cats!” I yelps. “I knew it — that absent-minded dodo has gotta be watched every minute or he pulls somethin’ like this.”

Grabbin’ my hat and coat I picks up the gun and rushes out, my seasick momentarily forgot. Frantically I rushes up to C deck, after Fluffy. If he ever steps into Bodie’s joint without a gat, it’s curtains. Reachin’ one end of the hall, I spots him down at the other. But too late — he’s just turned the handle of number seven and stepped within. With a groan I sinks down on the steps of a companion ladder and takes my head in my hands. If I hadn’t been seasick already, I would ’a’ been then.

That’s the end, thinks I… I may just as well chase up and tell Mac not to wait.

Footfalls. Two guys has turned into the hallway, and blamed if it ain’t Bodie himself, with Detective O’Mally.

“Now, what is the meanin’ of that combination?” I blinks.

Whatever it is, it’s plain somethin’ is about to happen that I can’t afford to be mixed up in. I rises to go, then sorta weakens and sits down again. Though I can’t be no help to Fluffy, still I can’t drag myself away.

A minute passes — two — five — what’s goin’ on in there? Itchin’ with anxieties I starts edgin’ down the hall. Then the door opens. Here comes McGoff, and even through that disguise I can see his silly, satisfied grin.

“Okay, Sam,” he whispers: “forgot my gun, but I held ’em up with a shavin’ stick till I got O’Mally’s. I’ve got the jack and they’re penned up in the bathroom.”

Calm and leisurely, like he’s been instructed, he mosies past me, and I never been more surprised in my life. Good old Fluffy, he’s managed to put it over after all.

Then, wham! — open flies number seven and out pours Bodie and the dick. One look behind and Fluffy takes the first corner on the lam, these two not fifty paces behind him.

Well, if you want a pinch fit, just put yourself in my boots for them next few minutes. Here I am right on the edge of things while McGoff is dodgin’ back and forth, this way and that, with that ten thousand bucks. At first he’s got plenty ways to go, but he always picks the wrong turn, and after a minute they’re closin’ in on him every which way.

At last he makes it to a companion ladder and scrambles down a deck. But they’ve been expectin’ that and takes right after him.

“Cripes!” I moans, followin’ after.

Why don’t he duck in somewheres like I told him? Here he is riskin’ all that jack on a game of tag when, in that disguise, he’s safe with anybody on the ship but them two. There’s any number of places he can step in till they goes by.

On the deck below, Bodie takes a tack to the left, and O’Mally to the right. I heads down the middle aisle just in time to see Fluffy disappear into a doorway up near the lobby. Good — at last he’s usin’ his bean. I’ll tip him off as soon as these birds has moved on, and then if he can get up to Mac’s before there’s a general alarm, why—

Bodie appears in the middle aisle — then O’Mally — and my heart stops beatin’ as they advances, heads together, toward the hideout. But straight past the doorway they goes; through the lobby, and on up forward. Fluffy has put it over, and I takes back everything I ever said against him!

I rushes forward to give him the high-sign, then suddenly slows up, hesitates, and pulls up with a groan. Before me is a plate glass window entitled: Tonsorial Parlor. Beyond this stands two chairs. In one sits the venerable ship’s captain, just finishin’ a shave. In the other, a dignified, German-lookin’ man of science — with iron gray whiskers and flamin’ red hair!

The barber is just approachin’ with his white cloth. One good look and he bounces back like he’s bit, lets out a whoop, and drops everything. Of all the places on the ship, McGoff has walked himself into the barber shop and called for a shave!

The sea has calmed, the decks is millin’ with life, and the ship’s about to land when MacEwen comes poundin’ for the third time on my door.

“Heard anything of McGoff yet?” He pokes in his glarin’ countenance.

“Not a thing,” says I sourly. “Have you?”

“A little,” he gives a sour smile. “They caught him. I can’t find out how, but they caught him — with all the dough. Then it came out that O’Mally has been takin’ protection money on Bodie’s racket. McGoff got ’em red-handed while they was checkin’ the split from a list of the winnin’s, and spilled it all to the captain when he caught him. To avoid a scandal they’ve turned him loose and are payin’ back all losses outa the loot. You can chase up to the captain, Smitz, and get reimbursed.

“But, hell!” he grunts disgustedly. “We could just as well had the whole thing. There wasn’t nothin’ the matter with that disguise. What do you suppose happened to that guy?”

“I got no idea,” I shakes my head.

“Well,” he growls, “I’d give a lot to know, because it looks damn funny to me. If you ever find out, let me in on it, will you, Smitz?”

“Sure,” says I, and he departs, slammin’ the door.

“All right, you fuzzy-brained, nitwitted jackass, come on out,” I bawls, and from under the bed crawls my aspirin’ partner and continues removin’ the presence of Herr Mussendorfer from his downcast countenance.