Erle Stanley Gardner’s The Case of the Murderer’s Bride and Other Stories

Lester Leith versus Sergeant Ackley in The Candy Kid

Lester Leith, slender, debonair, gathered the lounging robe about him and sprawled at silken ease.

“Scuttle, the cigarettes.”

His valet proffered the case of monogrammed cigarettes with a synthetic servility which ill became the massive hulk of the man. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“And the crime clippings. I think I’d like to read about crime.” The valet, who was in reality no valet at all, but a police spy employed to watch Lester Leith and report his every move, let his thick lips twist into a grin.

“Yes, sir. I was going to speak to you about them. Your prediction has come true.”

“My prediction, Scuttle?”

“Yes, sir. You remember Carter Mills, the gem expert?”

Lester Leith puckered his forehead.

“Mills... The name seems to be familiar, Scuttle... Oh, yes, he was the one who was working on the ruby necklace for some rajah or other. He insisted on grabbing all the newspaper publicity he could get. I remember the headline: Carries a Million Dollars to Work.”

The valet nodded. “Yes, sir. That’s the one. You remember he had his photograph taken with a leather brief case in his hand. The newspaper article mentioned that he carried a fortune in rare gems back and forth from his place of business to his house. He was making a design for the rubies, flanked with diamonds. It was to be something unique in the art of gem setting, sir, and—”

“Yes, yes, Scuttle. There’s no need to go into it again, but you’ll remember that I mentioned he was simply inviting danger.”

“Yes, sir. You said that Mr. Mills didn’t realize how businesslike the underworld had become. You mentioned that he would find himself robbed someday and that his client would find, to his grief, that it didn’t pay to have a gem designer who carried a million dollars’ worth of stones around in a brief case.”

Leith nodded. “I take it, Scuttle, that all this is merely a preface to telling me that Mr. Mills was robbed?”

“Yes, sir. Yesterday morning, sir. He went to work in a taxicab. He was carrying the brief case stuffed with gems and sketches. When he opened his shop he found a man standing inside with a gun. The man ordered Mills to come in and lock the door, and Mills had to obey. The man took the brief case and started to run for the back.

“But Mills hadn’t been altogether foolish. He had installed a burglar alarm just inside the door, and he’d notified the occupants of adjoining buildings what it would mean when the burglar alarm sounded.

“He pressed the burglar alarm and then grabbed a shotgun which he kept behind the counter for just such an emergency. He fired, and he fired low. Some of the pellets hit the bandit’s legs.

“The sound of the shots and the noise of the burglar alarm made a terrific commotion. You see, it was early in the morning. Mr. Mills makes a habit of being the first one to come to his shop every morning. I believe it was about ten minutes to eight, sir.

“But there were clerks in some of the adjoining stores, and there was a traffic officer on duty at the corner. Naturally, these men all got into action.

“By the time the bandit reached the alley there were two clerks waiting for him. He ran toward a car that was parked in the alley and started it. But the clerks shouted to the traffic officer and he sprinted for the mouth of the alley.

“The bandit saw him coming, jumped out of the car, still carrying the brief case, and dashed into the rear door of a candy store.”

Lester Leith held up his hand.

“Just a moment, Scuttle. You say he was wounded, this bandit?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bleeding, Scuttle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Clerks behind him raising an alarm?”

“Yes, sir, and Mr. Mills, with a shotgun, banging birdshot at him.”

“Birdshot, Scuttle?”

“Yes, sir — a size they call Number Eight.”

Lester Leith blew a meditative smoke ring at the raftered ceiling.

“Rather an unusual size of shot for a man to use in repelling a bandit, Scuttle!”

“Yes, sir, it is. But, as Mr. Mills explained to the police, one is less apt to miss with a charge of small shot. And he was most anxious, as he expressed it, to leave his marks on the bandit.”

Lester Leith waved his hand in a careless gesture.

“Quite right, Scuttle. Number Eight shot will make a most uniform pattern, and it’s deadly if the range is short. What happened next?”

“Well, sir, the back door of the candy store was open, because the proprietor was moving out some boxes and refuse. But the store hadn’t been opened for business, so the front door was locked.

“The proprietor of the candy store ran out and locked the back door. The bandit was trapped. It took a key to open the front door and the proprietor had taken that key with him when he ran out the back door.

“The police besieged the place with tear gas and machine guns. They killed the bandit, riddled him with bullets, sir.”

Lester Leith nodded. “Recovered the gems and closed the case, I take it, Scuttle?”

“No, sir. That’s the funny part of it. The bandit had fifteen or twenty minutes in the candy store, and he hid the stones so cleverly that the police haven’t been able to find them. They recovered the brief case, of course, and the penciled designs, and perhaps half a dozen loose stones. But there were literally dozens of the stones concealed so cleverly the police have been completely baffled.

“They identified the bandit. He was a man named Grigsby, known in the underworld as Griggy the Gat, and he had a long criminal record.”

Lester Leith blew another smoke ring, extended the forefinger of his right hand, and traced the perimeter of the swirling smoke.

“I see, Scuttle. Then Griggy the Gat must have concealed the gems somewhere between Mills’s shop and the candy store, or somewhere in the candy store, when he knew that capture was inevitable?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the police can’t find them, you say, Scuttle?”

“No, sir. They’ve looked everywhere. They’ve searched every inch of the candy store. They’ve even searched the car in which Griggy the Gat tried to make his escape from Mills’s place. They simply can’t find a single trace of the stones.”

Lester Leith’s eyes were bright now; and the valet watched him as a cat watches a mouse hole.

“Scuttle, you interest me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The candy shop was wholesale or retail, Scuttle?”

“Both, sir. It’s a small factory too — in the rear, sir.”

“And the rubies were worth a great deal of money, Scuttle?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, the newspaper account, valuing them at a million dollars, was exaggerated. But the rajah has offered a reward of twenty thousand dollars for their return.”

Leith lapsed into thought once more. Finally he flipped the cigarette into the fireplace and chuckled.

“You’ve thought of something, sir?”

Lester Leith regarded the valet coldly.

“One always is thinking of something, Scuttle.”

The valet’s face turned brick-red.

“Yes, sir. I had thought perhaps you had worked out a solution, sir.”

“Scuttle, are you crazy? How could I work out a solution of where the gems are?”

The valet shrugged. “You’ve done it before, sir.”

“Done what before, Scuttle?”

“Solved intricate crime problems just from reading what the newspapers had to say about them.”

Lester Leith laughed. “Tut, tut, Scuttle, you’re getting as bad as Sergeant Ackley! Many times I’ve thought out possible solutions, but no more. True, Sergeant Ackley has a theory I must be guilty of something just because I take an interest in crime clippings. He keeps hounding me with his infernal activities, suspecting me of this, suspecting me of that. And he tortures the facts to make them fit his theories. Do you know, Scuttle, an impartial observer hearing Ackley’s theories might come to the conclusion I was guilty of some crime or other?”

Lester Leith watched his valet with narrowed eyes.

The valet, mindful of his duties as a valet, yet recollecting also that he was an undercover man for the police, and anxious to trap Lester Leith into some damaging admission, nodded sagely.

“Yes, sir. I’ve thought so myself at times.”

“Thought what?”

“How convincing the sergeant’s theories are, sir. You’ve got to admit that there’s some mastermind who is doping out the solutions of baffling crimes in advance of the police. By the time the police solve the crime, this mastermind has scooped up the loot and gone. The police have only the empty satisfaction of solving the crime. They never recover the loot.”

Lester Leith yawned prodigiously.

“And so Sergeant Ackley has convinced you that I’m that mastermind?”

The valet spoke cautiously, aware that ho was treading on dangerous ground.

“I didn’t say so, sir. I merely mentioned that sometimes Sergeant Ackley’s theories sound convincing.”

Lester Leith lit another cigarette.

“Tut, tut, Scuttle. You should know better. If I were this mysterious criminal the sergeant talks so much about, it stands to reason I’d have been caught long ago. You must remember the sergeant has had shadows tail me everywhere I go. He’s continually popped into the apartment with his wild accusations and submitted me to search. But he’s never discovered a single shred of evidence. Surely, he’d have had some proof by this time if he were at all correct.”

The valet shrugged again.

“Perhaps, sir.”

“Perhaps, Scuttle! You don’t sound at all convinced by my line of reasoning.”

“Well, sir, you must remember that it’s the most difficult sort of a crime to prove — the robbing of robbers. Naturally, the one who is robbed doesn’t dare to complain, since to do so would brand him as a criminal.”

“Pshaw, Scuttle. Your reasoning is getting to be like that of the police. Besides, I think the sergeant is making a mistake.”

“How so, sir?”

“In concentrating so much on the hijacker that he lets the real criminals slip away. After all, this mysterious mastermind of the sergeant’s, no matter who he may be, is a public benefactor.”

“A benefactor, sir?”

“Certainly, Scuttle. If we concede the man exists outside the imagination of Sergeant Ackley, we must admit that he makes it his business to detect crimes in time to strip the criminal of his ill-gotten gains. That’s all society would do with the criminal if Sergeant Ackley apprehended him. The court would confiscate his loot, perhaps imprison him; but too often some slick lawyer would get him off.”

“Perhaps, sir.”

“No doubt about it, Scuttle!”

“No, sir, perhaps not. But you must admit that you have a mysterious trust fund which keeps growing, sir. True, that trust fund is administered for needy widows and orphans, but I understand the fund has grown so large that you have to employ a clerical staff to handle its disbursements.”

Lester Leith’s eye glittered.

“Indeed, Scuttle. And where did you get such detailed information about my private affairs?”

“Sergeant Ackley,” blurted the valet. “He insisted on stopping me on the street and telling me his suspicions. He thinks you are just the type of man who would enjoy doping out crime solution, levying tribute from the criminal, and then turning the money into a trust fund for the unfortunate.”

Lester Leith began to laugh.

“The dear sergeant! The overzealous, stupid, blundering incompetent! But we have digressed. We were talking about Mills, Griggy the Gat, and a million dollars’ worth of rare gems. Do you know, Scuttle, the crime does interest me. How thoroughly have the police searched?”

“I understand, from the newspapers and from gossip, that they searched every nook and cranny. They probed between walls. They poked under showcases, they looked in sugar bins, they poured out barrels of syrup. They took the upholstering of the bandit’s automobile to pieces.”

“Did they look in the candy, Scuttle?”

“Where?”

“In the candy.”

“Why — er — that is, I don’t know what you mean, sir. How could one look inside of candy and how could a man hide gems in candy?”

“There were chocolate creams in this candy factory, Scuttle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It would be readily possible for a man to melt off the chocolate coating and thrust in one or two gems.”

“But the candy would show it had been tampered with, sir.”

“Not if it was re-dipped. By the way, Scuttle, go to this candy place and see if you can buy some of the chocolate creams that were on the upper floor of the establishment when the fighting was going on. I should like to examine them.”

“Yes, sir. How many, sir?”

“Oh, quite a good supply. Say around fifty dollars’ worth. And find out if there was any dipping chocolate that was warm while the bandit was cornered in the place.

“You see, Scuttle, the problem fascinates me. There are so many places in a candy store or factory where gems might be hidden. The proprietor may get his chocolate shipped to him in large thick bars. What would prevent a criminal from melting a hole in a bar of chocolate, dropping in some stones, and then sealing up the chocolate with a little dipping chocolate?

“Of course, Scuttle, I’m only interested in a theoretical solution, you understand. I don’t want to actually recover the gems. I only want to see if they could have been hidden that way.

“Now, Scuttle, I don’t want any trouble about this. Telephone Sergeant Ackley and ask him if there is any possible objection to my buying candy from the store in which the bandit was killed.”

The valet’s mouth sagged. “Now, sir?”

“Oh, no great hurry, Scuttle. You might even drop by and ask the sergeant for his opinion. See if you can get him to scribble a note stating there’s no objection on the part of the police department to my purchasing candy.

“Better run along, and buy the chocolates, Scuttle — and also get me an electric soldering iron. Oh, yes, Scuttle, and you’d better get some of those hard, red cinnamon drops too.”

The valet-spy oozed his huge bulk from the room, clapped a hat on his head and opened the outer door.

“Right away, sir. I shall carry out your orders to the letter, sir.”

Sergeant Arthur Ackley scraped a spade-like thumbnail over the coarse stubble along the angle of his jaw. Across the table sat Edward H. Beaver, undercover man assigned to Lester Leith. The undercover man had just finished his report and Sergeant Ackley was considering it, his crafty eyes filmed with thought.

“Beaver,” he said at length, “I’m going to let you in on something. We’ve recovered four of the rubies.”

“Found them?” asked the undercover man.

Sergeant Ackley shook his head. He took a box of perfectos from the drawer of his desk and selected one, without offering the box to the man opposite.

“No, we didn’t find them. We recovered them. Two were given to a girl and pawned. One was handed to a man who was mooching, and the other was dropped in the cup of a blind beggar.”

Beaver’s lips parted in astonishment.

“Fact. Girl named Molly Manser was standing looking at a window. She says a heavy-set man with a hat pulled low over his forehead and a patch over his left eye sidled up to her and asked her if she’d like some of the clothes on display in the window.

“She says she tried to walk away, but he grabbed her arm and pushed a couple of the rubies into her hand. She claims she broke away and ran, but the man didn’t try to follow her.”

Beaver twisted his lips. “Boloney,” he said. “What did she do with ’em?”

“Took ’em to Gildersmith to hock.”

“He knew they were hot?”

“Sure. He spotted ’em and held her until one of our men got there. Mills identified ’em instantly; says he can’t be fooled on those rubies.”

Beaver sighed. “Then she was one of the gang and they’ve managed to find out where the gems were and take ’em.”

“Wait a minute,” said Sergeant Ackley. “You’re behind the times. We figured that, of course, and put the girl in the cooler. Half an hour later another pawnbroker telephoned in he had a ruby he wanted us to look at. We went out on the run. It was the same size, same color, same kind of cutting.

“This time a down-and-outer had brought it in. He was a panhandler, mooching the price of a drink. He picked on a heavy-set guy with a hat pulled well down and a patch over the right eye. The guy told him to take the stone, hock it, and keep whatever he got out of it.

“Then, while we were questioning this guy, the telephone gave us another lead — a blind beggar who had one of the stones dropped into his cup. Naturally, he couldn’t see who did it, but he heard the sound of the man’s steps on the sidewalk. He said it was a heavy-set man.

“Now that sort of puts a. different slant on this candy idea, eh?”

The undercover man nodded slowly.

“Maybe I’d better switch him to some other crime.”

Sergeant Ackley shook his head emphatically.

“Somehow or other, those four rubies slipped through. We want to find out where and when. This guy, Leith, never has missed a bet yet. If we can use him as a hound to smell out the trail we can kill two birds with one stone.

“Besides, Mills is raising hell. He’s related to one of the political-big shots, and he’s riding us up one side and down the other. That’s just like his type. They smear publicity all over the papers that they’re carrying a million dollars around with them, and then squawk when they get rolled.”

Beaver teetered back and forth in the scarred chair. His brow was corrugated in thought.

“Sergeant,” he suddenly whispered.

Sergeant Ackley scowled at him.

“Well?”

“Sergeant,” said Beaver, "I have it. I tell you I have it — a scheme to frame Lester Leith! We’ll get the candy, just like he said. You’ve got four of the rubies that were stolen. Those rubies can’t be told from any of the other stolen rubies. We’ll plant those rubies in the candy and hand ’em to Leith.

“After a while Leith will find those rubies. He’ll salt ’em. We’ll be watching him all the time and we’ll nab him for possession of stolen property, for being an accessory after the fact, and” — Beaver clenched and unclenched the hamlike fist of his right hand — “for resisting an officer!”

Sergeant Ackley grinned. “Make it for resisting two officers, Beaver,” and he doubled up his own right fist.

“It’ll be a cinch,” said Beaver. “He’s got off wrong on this case and thinks the rubies are hidden in the candy. But we don’t care how right or how wrong he is, just so we can get him with stolen property.”

Sergeant Ackley shot his open hand across the table.

“Shake, Beaver! By George, I’ll see that you get a promotion for this! It’s an idea that’ll stick Mr. Lester Leith inside, lookin’ out.” Beaver shook hands.

“Of course, it’ll be framing him,” he said.

Sergeant Ackley snorted. “Who cares, just so we get him!” Beaver nodded solemnly.

“All right. I’ll get the candy and come back here. We’ll plant the rubies. You’d better write me a note I can take to him so he’ll feel I’ve got results. Say in the note he can buy anything he pleases so far as the department is concerned.”

Sergeant Ackley squinted one eye. “It’s sort of a fool letter to write.”

“I know, but it will make Leith think I’m on the level with him.”

Ackley nodded. “Go on out and pick up the candy. Bring it back here and we’ll stick in the rubies.”

It took Beaver an hour to get the candy and the soldering iron and return to headquarters. Sergeant Ackley was pacing the floor in the manner of a caged lion.

“Took you long enough, Beaver,” he grunted. “Let’s get busy.”

“The candy in the boxes?” asked Beaver.

“Yeah. Put the rubies in the top row, one in each of four boxes. Mark the boxes and mark the candies that have the rubies in ’em. I’ve thought of a slick way of getting the rubies into the candy. We simply heat the rubies in a pan. Then, when they’re warm, press ’em against the bottoms of the chocolates and let ’em melt in.”

Beaver nodded appreciatively.

“Beats Leith’s idea of the soldering iron,” he agreed.

Sergeant Ackley sneered. “Leith ain’t so brainy. He’s just had the breaks, that’s all. This idea of mine is going to put him where he belongs.”

“My idea,” corrected Beaver.

Sergeant Ackley scowled. “I’ll let you have some of the credit, Beaver, but don’t try to hog things. I thought of the idea. That is, I outlined the whole thing and was just pointing out to you how to handle it when you interrupted and took the words out of my mouth.”

Beaver’s jaw dropped.

They found an alcohol stove and a pan. They heated the rubies and picked up one of the chocolates. One of the hot rubies was pushed through the bottom of the chocolate.

Sergeant Ackley surveyed the result.

“Not so good. Looks kinda messy,” he said.

“We can take this electric soldering iron and sort of smooth it over,” said Beaver.

Ackley nodded.

“Watch out. Your fingers are melting the chocolate, leaving fingerprints on it. We don’t want that. Better wear gloves. That’s the way they do it in the candy factories.”

They heated the iron and held it against the chocolate. When they had finished, the result was hardly artistic.

“Well,” said Sergeant Ackley, “I guess it’ll get by; but we won’t need to mark the chocolates that have the gems in them.”

“No,” agreed the undercover man.

Beaver picked up the carton containing the boxes of chocolates. The last word he heard as he sidled out of Ackley’s private office was a petulant comment from the sergeant.

“I’m not so sure, Beaver, that idea of yours is any good...”

Lester Leith beamed on the undercover man.

“Well, well, Scuttle, you have had a busy afternoon, haven’t you? And you’ve done nobly — the candy, the soldering iron, even a letter from Sergeant Ackley written on police stationery, stating that I can buy anything I want. That’s fine!

“Now let’s see if I can melt one of the candies and insert one of the red cinnamon drops. We’ll pretend that the cinnamon drop represents a ruby.”

Leith connected the electric soldering iron and set to work. When he was finished, there was chocolate smeared over his fingers, his face was flushed, and three chocolate creams were now sloppy and formless.

“How long did this Griggy the Gat have in the candy shop?”

“Not more than fifteen or twenty minutes, sir.”

“Then he couldn’t have done it, Scuttle.”

“Couldn’t have done what, sir?”

“Hid the gems in the candy.”

“Begging your pardon, sir. Couldn’t he have done a better job if he’d heated the stones and pressed them into the chocolate, and then finished the job with the hot iron?”

Lester Leith stared at his man with narrowed eyes.

“Scuttle, have you been experimenting?”

“Not exactly, sir. That is to say, no sir. And by the way, sir, while I think of it, I picked up a bit of gossip at headquarters. It seems four of the stones have been found by the police.”

The valet told Leith how the four stones were recovered.

When he had finished, Lester Leith was chuckling.

“Scuttle, that’s all the information I needed to give me a perfect, solution to the crime.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Yes, Scuttle. But of course, you understand it’s only a theoretical solution, and I do not intend to put it to any practical use.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And now I have some errands for you before the stores close. I want you to get me four genuine pearls of the finest luster. I want a package of cornstarch. I want some quick-drying cement and some powdered alum.”

The valet was rubbing his jaw.

“And, Scuttle,” said Lester Leith beamingly, “you’ve heard of daylight saving, of course. What do you think of it?”

“It’s inconvenient in the mornings, sir, but convenient in the evening.”

“Yes, indeed, Scuttle. Yet a moment’s thought will convince you that it hasn’t saved any daylight. It’s merely kidded man into believing that there is more daylight. The days aren’t any longer. Man simply gets up earlier.”

“Yes, sir. I guess so, sir.”

“Yes, indeed, Scuttle. But it’s a great plan. However, we shouldn’t limit it to clock juggling. Why not carry it to its logical conclusion and have a heat-saving plan? Why not have perpetual summer?”

The valet was interested, but dazed.

“How could you do that, sir?”

“I’ll show you. It’s now the second of November.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, Scuttle. You see that calendar hanging against the wall?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Watch it.”

And Lester Leith, stepping to the calendar, tore off the month of November. He did the same for December. Next year’s calendar was underneath, and from this he removed January, February, March, April, May, and June. The month that remained on top was July.

“There we are, Scuttle. We simply set the calendar ahead eight months. We now have summer with us. See, according to the calendar it’s July second. Think of what it means to suffering humanity. Summer is here, and we haven’t had a single cold spell. Winter is over! Rejoice, Scuttle!”

The valet-spy sank into a chair.

“Have you gone stark raving mad?” he demanded.

“No,” said Lester Leith, pursing his lips judiciously, “I think not, Scuttle. Why do you suggest it?”

“But, good Lord, sir, simply tearing off the calendar won’t make summer come any quicker.”

“Why, you surprise me, Scuttle. You admit daylight saving gives us an hour more of daylight.”

“Well, that’s different. You said yourself it was merely a scheme by which men kid themselves.”

“Certainly, Scuttle. And that’s all tearing off the leaves of the calendar does. Come, come, Scuttle, enter into the spirit of the thing. It’s the second of July, and you’ve got the heat on. Shut the heat off, and then start out and get me the pearls and the cornstarch and the alum, and quick-drying cement. And you had better get a small crucible and a blowtorch too.

“Some of the things you’ll have to pay cash for, Scuttle. The pearls you can charge. Get them at Hendricksen’s, and he can telephone me for an okay on the order if he wishes. But get started, Scuttle. Even in these long summer days the stores close promptly at five o’clock.”

“It isn’t, summer, sir, it’s the second day of November.”

“Tut, tut, Scuttle, don’t be such an old fossil! Adapt yourself to the times!”

The valet, shaking his head, shut off the steam heat and slipped from the apartment. Lester Leith opened the windows, and the cold of the late November afternoon crept into the room.

From a public telephone booth Scuttle reported to Sergeant Ackley and his report sounded strangely garbled.

Sergeant Ackley muttered a curse over the wire.

“Beaver, you’ve been drinking.”

“No, sir, I haven’t. I swear I haven’t had a drop. Go on out there and see for yourself, if you don’t believe me. I tell you he’s gone crazy. He had me shutting off the heat just before I left. And he insists that it’s July according to this crazy calendar saving time of his. Go there, if you don’t believe it.”

“By George, I will go out there!” yelled Sergeant Ackley.

Which was why, as Lester Leith sat bundled to the ears in a fur coat, there was an imperative rap on the door.

He arose and opened it.

Sergeant Ackley glared at him.

“H’lo, Leith. Happened to be in the neighborhood and dropped in to see you.”

Lester Leith gathered the fur coat about him.

“Is this an official visit, Sergeant?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“You haven’t a warrant either for search or arrest?”

“Good Lord, no! I tell you I just dropped in.”

“Very well, then, it’s a social visit. Do come in, Sergeant, and sit down. It’s a little chilly for July. In fact, I don’t remember when there’s been a cooler summer.”

The sergeant stared at Lester Leith.

“A cooler summer! Dammit, man, it’s winter.”

Lester Leith positively beamed.

“By George, that’s so. I forgot to tell you of my new heat-saving scheme. It’s the same as daylight saving. That is, it depends on the same psychological factors, and it’s equally logical.

“You see, like every great idea, it’s simple. We achieve daylight saving simply by setting our clocks ahead. Well, I’ve achieved heat saving by the same method. I’ve set the calendar ahead. I tear off eight months and make it July. It’s marvelously simple!”

Sergeant Ackley peered intently at Lester Leith.

“You’re cuckoo,” he said. “It’s freezing in here. You’ll catch your death of cold. Good Lord, sitting in a room with the windows all up and thermometer down to freezing!”

Sergeant Ackley sat on the edge of a chair and shivered.

“Hello, what’s the idea of all the candy?” he asked.

“Just a whim, Sergeant. I was thinking about that unfortunate robbery of Mr. Mills, and I wondered if it was possible that the criminal had concealed the rubies in some of the candy.”

“So you sent out and bought this candy. Did it ever occur to you that you’d have been in rather a bad position if the candy had contained the gems?”

Lester Leith smiled frankly.

“Of course, Sergeant. That’s why I had my man call on you and get permission in writing to purchase anything he wanted.”

Sergeant Ackley’s brows knitted.

“But it was all a mistake. The hiding couldn’t have been worked that way. Have a piece of candy, Sergeant.”

Lester Leith extended a box and the sergeant took a chocolate, taking care to inspect the bottom before he sank his teeth into it.

For several seconds he toyed with the candy, going through the motions of eating it, yet making little headway. All of a sudden he stiffened and looked at the candy between his forefinger and thumb. Then he looked at the insides of the thumb and forefinger, and sat upright in his chair.

“Something?” asked Lester Leith politely.

But Sergeant Ackley was halfway to the door.

“You devil!” he exclaimed. “You clever devil!”

And the door banged behind him.

Lester Leith gazed at the door with a puzzled frown.

Sergeant Ackley sprinted for the elevator and literally ran into Beaver at the sidewalk. He shot out a huge hand and scooped Beaver into an alcove.

“He ain’t crazy,” said Sergeant Ackley. “I don’t know what his game is, but it’s the cleverest scheme ever pulled in a criminal case.”

Beaver, his arms filled with packages, surveyed his superior with blinking eyes.

“Have you gone daffy too?”

Sergeant Ackley shook his head.

“Look here,” he said, “when we heated the gems and tried to put them in the chocolate creams, what happened?”

“Why, we messed the job up,” admitted Beaver.

“Right,” said Sergeant Ackley. “Chocolate melts at about the heat of the human blood, see? Well, if you hadn’t been such a damned fool you’d have remembered the room was steam-heated. That’s what made the chocolates messy! Now Lester Leith is sitting up there with the heat off and the windows open. The room is freezing. But look what it did to the chocolates! You can hold one of them in your fingers for minutes and it won’t get sloppy. You could slip a hot stone into those chocolates and cover up the place by holding a hot iron near the chocolate, and make a perfect job of it. And you could do it quick!”

The valet-spy’s jaw sagged.

“Of course! And the loft of the candy store was cold when Griggy the Gat was in there!”

Sergeant Ackley nodded.

“I’m glad to see that you’re not entirely hopeless, Beaver. Now you get up to that apartment and humor Lester Leith in this heat-saving idea of his. Give him all the rope he wants. Put on an overcoat and let the room get just as cold as he wants it. And be sure to keep your eye on that candy!”

“How about the candy that’s still out at the candy factory?” Sergeant Ackley chuckled.

“That’s where I’m going right now. I’m going to have the police buy up every ounce of that candy, all the chocolate and all the mixing cream, and I’m going to put them all in one great big pot and melt them down. Then I’m going to pour off the syrup and see what’s left. I have an idea we’ll have the rest of those gems!”

“Meaning,” asked Beaver, “that there are stones in the candy upstairs?”

Sergeant Ackley nodded.

“And we spent the afternoon putting more stones in it!”

“That,” snapped Sergeant Ackley, “was your idea, Beaver. Now go up there and watch him like a hawk. When we get ready to spring the trap we’ll spring it right.”

When Beaver entered the apartment, Lester Leith was wrapped in a fur overcoat, his ankles covered with a wool blanket.

“Ah, good evening, Scuttle. Back already. Do you know, Scuttle, I can’t remember ever having seen a colder summer!”

The valet peered at the calendar.

“Here it is July already, and cold. Sometimes June is rather cool, but it’s unusual July weather, sir.”

Lester Leith smiled and nodded.

“Very well spoken. You got the things for me?”

The valet nodded.

Lester Leith idly reached for a chocolate cream. The valet watched him intently.

Lester Leith’s hand went to his mouth. He pushed some red object into the palm of his hand with his tongue, and his face lit with a smile of satisfaction.

The valet knew it was not one of the pieces he and Sergeant Ackley had loaded with the four rubies, so he leaned forward eagerly.

“Something, sir?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Lester Leith dropped the red object into his pocket.

“Yes, Scuttle, one of the red cinnamon drops. I forgot that I had put them in the chocolates, and cinnamon drops don’t mix very well with cream.”

There was a knock on the door. The valet eased his bulk toward the door and opened it. A dark-haired young woman with a very red mouth stood on the threshold. Her eyes were sparkling from the crisp air of the winter night.

“Which one of you is Lester Leith?” she asked.

Leith got to his feet as the girl walked into the cold room and the valet closed the door.

“Heat off?” asked the girl.

Lester Leith held a chair for her.

“Yes,” he said. “I am trying an experiment in heat saving.”

“Well, you’re saving it all right... All right, what are you giving away?”

Leith explained to his valet. “I telephoned a friend of mine and told him I had a gift for a deserving young lady.” Then turning to their visitor, “I want to give you some candy. I made a rather large candy purchase on a speculation which didn’t turn out, and I’m left with the candy on my hands.”

The valet-spy said, “You wouldn’t give it away, sir—”

Lester Leith said coldly, “That will do, Scuttle.” He turned again to the girl. “If you think your — er — boy friend would misinterpret the spirit which prompts this gift, I should be glad to deliver it to you in his presence.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed.

Leith continued, “I’ll carry the candy down to a cab.”

She was sizing him up with eyes accustomed to make fast and accurate appraisals. In the end she reached the verdict which most women reached with Lester Leith.

“Okay,” she said.

Leith loaded his arms with candy boxes and escorted the woman to the door.

“I’ll help you carry some of the boxes down, sir,” said Scuttle.

Lester Leith shook his head. “You stay right here, Scuttle.”

And he led the way to the elevator, made two more trips back for candy, and then wished the police spy a good night.

“You’ll be back soon, sir?” asked the valet, noticing that Lester Leith had evening clothes under his overcoat.

Lester Leith smiled. “Scuttle,” he said, “I am an opportunist.”

And the outer door clicked as the spring lock shot into place.

The spy made a lunge for the telephone, where he called Sergeant Ackley and poured out a report which made the sergeant mutter exclamations of anger.

“Dammit, Beaver, he couldn’t have given away all the candy!”

“But he did.”

“And he went with her?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got shadows on the job. They’ll tail him.”

“Yes, Sergeant, I know, but how about the candy? The shadows will tail Leith, but they won’t tail the girl after Leith leaves her. She’ll have the candy, and the candy’s got a bunch of rubies and diamonds in it—”

“Damn that fool idea of yours, Beaver. Get down and tell those shadows to forget Leith and tail the candy. Tail that candy."

But by the time Beaver reached the sidewalk there was no trace of Leith, the girl, or the candy. Nor, of course, of the shadows. Following instructions, they had tailed Lester Leith.

It was well past midnight when Lester Leith returned. He scowled at his valet.

“Tut, tut, Scuttle, you have turned the heat on! Here I work out a new calendar arrangement that’s to be a boon to mankind, and you spoil it all. It’s July, Scuttle! One doesn’t have steam heat on in July!”

The valet could only raise his tired eyes.

Leith softened. “Scuttle, I’ll have some errands for you to do in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ring up Sergeant Ackley and tell him I have a valuable clue on the Mills robbery. Then I want you to remember our patriotic obligations.”

“Patriotic obligations, sir?”

“Quite right, Scuttle. Notice the date.”

“It’s the second — no, it’s the third of November.”

“No, no, it’s the third of July! And on the fourth we celebrate the anniversary of the independence of our country. I shall want some firecrackers, Scuttle, and some slow-match—‘punk,’ I think it’s called. You can get them all at one of the Chinese stores. They keep firecrackers, not as seasonal merchandise, but as a staple.”

“Lord, sir, are you really going to celebrate the fourth of July on the fourth of November?”

“Certainly, Scuttle. I presume you are not attempting to criticize me?”

“No sir. I shall attend to the matter in the morning, sir.”

“That’s fine, Scuttle, and I wish you’d get me a siren.”

“A what?”

“One of the electric sirens such as are used on police cars, Scuttle.”

“But it’s against the law to have one on your car unless you’re an officer, sir.”

“I didn’t say anything about putting it on my car. I merely said I wanted one.”

The valet nodded, then left, his expression more puzzled than ever.

For more than an hour Leith sat and smoked. From time to time he nodded his head as if he were checking the moves in a complicated game.

At the end of an hour he chuckled.

The morning was still young when Lester Leith was aroused by his valet.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s Sergeant Ackley. You remember you told me to tell him you had a clue on the Mills robbery? Well, sir, Sergeant Ackley wouldn’t wait. He’s in the apartment now.”

Leith stretched and yawned.

“Quite right, Scuttle. The sergeant is only doing his duty. Show him in.”

The valet opened the door and Sergeant Ackley strode into the room.

“Well,” said the sergeant. “What’s the dope on Mills?”

Leith sat up.

“You doubtless know, Sergeant, that I sent, my valet, for some candy to the same firm where Griggy the Gat was killed after the robbery. I had a theory that the thief might have put some of the stones in the candy, and—”

Sergeant Ackley rubbed his tired, red-rimmed eyes.

“Well, you can forget that! Thanks to that idea of yours, I had my men put in most of the night melting down every bit of candy and chocolate in the place. And we got nothing — absolutely nothing!”

“Did you now?” said Lester Leith. “That’s strange, because I gave away my candy last night to a very beautiful young lady. When I left her she insisted that I eat some candy, and would you believe it, Sergeant, when I bit into that piece of candy there were three foreign substances in the filling!”

Sergeant Ackley’s cigar drooped.

“Three!” he yelled.

“Yes, Sergeant, three. One of them was a cinnamon drop I’d put in myself earlier in the evening when I was experimenting, and the other two were red stones. I feel quite certain they are rubies. And I’m wondering, Sergeant, if perhaps they aren’t some of the stolen loot.”

Lester Leith reached in the pocket of his pajamas and took out a handkerchief. In this handkerchief was a knot, which, on being loosened, revealed two large rubies of such deep fire and so perfectly matched that they looked like two drops of jeweled pigeon-blood.

“Both in the same piece of candy?” asked Sergeant Ackley.

“Both in the same piece, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Ackley framed his next question with a carelessness that was far too elaborate.

“Don’t know where the girl is? The one that you gave the candy to?”

Lester Leith shook his head.

The sergeant turned to the door.

“Going to see her again?”

Lester Leith shrugged. Then he said brightly, “You want to help me celebrate the fourth, Sergeant?”

“The fourth?”

“Of July, you know.”

“Why, dammit, this is November.”

“Oh, no, Sergeant, this is July. My new calendar calls—”

“Oh, hell!” stormed the sergeant, and slammed the door behind him.

Outdoors, he called the police shadows and gave them instructions.

“Tail Leith until he brings you to the candy or to the girl that’s got the candy. After that, drop Leith and tail the candy. Get me? I want that candy!”

The police shadows saluted and returned to their stations. They waited for more than an hour before Lester Leith emerged.

Nor was it any secret to Lester Leith that the police shadows were waiting for him. He walked up to them.

“Gentlemen, good morning. So you won’t have any trouble following me, I am going to get a taxicab. I will go directly to the Mills shop, where I will talk with Mr. Mills, the gentleman who was robbed. If you should lose me at any stage of the journey you can go directly there.”

In the Mills shop Lester Leith became all business.

“Mr. Mills, what would you say to a process which produced wonderful pearls at a small cost? The best experts would swear they were genuine.”

Mr. Carter Mills was a heavyset man with an undershot jaw and a leering eye.

“Nonsense,” he said. “You’re just another fool with another synthetic pearl scheme. Get out!”

Lester Leith took a pearl from his pocket and rolled it across the desk.

“Keep that as a souvenir of my visit,” he said.

The jeweler picked up the pearl between his thumb and forefinger and was about to throw it away when he caught sight of the smooth sheen. He opened a drawer, took out a magnifying glass, and focused it on the pearl. Then he pressed a button on the side of his desk.

Lester Leith lit a cigarette.

The door of the private office opened and a man entered.

“Markle,” snapped Mills, “take a look at this and tell me what it is.”

The man nodded to Lester Leith, took a glass from his pocket, accepted the pearl from Mills, and studied it attentively. After nearly a minute Markle pronounced his verdict.

“It’s a genuine pearl. Luster is good and it has a good shape.”

Mills took the pearl from the man’s cupped hand and jerked an authoritative thumb toward the door. Markle nodded once more to Leith and glided through the door.

Mills’s eyes turned to Leith.

“You try to run a bunco on me and I’ll have you jugged!”

Lester Leith took from his pocket a little globule of dead-looking white substance. It was, in fact, a combination of cornstarch and alum, dissolved in quick-drying waterproof cement.

“What’s that?” asked the jeweler.,

“Another pearl — or it will be when I’ve subjected it to my special process.”

Mills examined it under the magnifying glass.

“Huh,” he said. “There isn’t any money in selling synthetic pearls.”

“What’s more, I haven’t any money to put into equipment,” said Leith.

The jeweler grinned. “All right. Let’s have it.”

“You will announce,” said Lester Leith, “that you have found a wonderful pearl deposit off the Mexican coast. That deposit will be there, and your divers will actually bring up the pearls. But I will have first planted those pearls where the divers will find them. We will market the pearls at ridiculously low prices, and then, at the proper moment, sell the pearl bed.”

Mills blinked his eyes.

“You mean to salt a pearl mine?”

“And rake in a few million profit from doing it.”

Mills looked shrewdly at Leith.

“It’s illegal,” he said. “If we were caught we would be jailed for fraud.”

“If we were caught,” admitted Leith.

The jeweler clasped his hands across his stomach.

“How would you keep from getting caught?”

“I,” said Lester Leith, “would keep you completely in the background. You would simply give me sufficient money to salt the field. I would plant pearls in the oysters. Then I would communicate with you and you would discover the field. You would be perfectly safe.”

“What made you come to me?”

“I read of your loss of the rajah’s gems in the paper. I knew the publicity would result unfavorably for you and that your legitimate business would suffer for a while. It occurred to me you might be interested.”

Mills squinted his eyes.

“Yet, after what you’ve told me, you don’t dare to go to anyone else.”

“Why?”

“I’d know too much. I could expose the deal.”

Lester Leith smiled. “That’s supposing you turn it down. You’re not such a fool as to pass up millions of dollars in order to keep me from putting across a deal with someone else.”

Mills sighed. “I’ll look into the process and see how it works.”

Lester Leith nodded.

“I’ll meet you anywhere you want tomorrow morning and give you a complete demonstration.”

Mills got to his feet.

“Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock at my house. I don’t do important business here. There are too many eyes and ears. My house is my castle. Here’s the address.”

Lester Leith took the card.

“Tomorrow at nine.”

Lester Leith loaded his car with a miscellaneous assortment of things which seemed to have no connection with each other. There was a suitcase containing the blowtorch and the crucible. There was a package of cornstarch, of powdered alum, of waterproof, quick drying cement. There was another suitcase containing firecrackers.

There was a siren, a battery, and an electrical connection. There were pliers and wires. There was, in fact, such a weird assortment as to make it seem that Lester Leith was going in the junk business.

But the police knew the unusual methods by which Lester Leith had managed in the past to solve crimes and hijack the criminals, and they watched Leith with cautious eyes.

And always the shadows were mindful of their instructions — whenever Leith should meet the girl, the shadows were to drop Leith and tail the candy.

If Leith knew of their instructions he gave no sign. He drove the car down the boulevard, trailed by a police car.

The shadows were the best in the business. Yet the sedan which slipped between them and Lester Leith had been there for several blocks before the police realized that the two people in the sedan were also tailing Lester Leith.

The police dropped back.

The three cars threaded their way through the crowded streets and came at length to a more open stretch of the countryside. Leith’s car gathered speed. The sedan rushed close behind it, and the police were forced to push the needle high up on their speedometer to keep their quarry in sight.

Lester Leith slowed his car at a place where there was a vacant stretch of field, a bordering strip of woods, and a stone wall.

The sedan also slid to a stop.

The roadside was deserted. For the police to have stopped in that particular place would have meant they must disclose their identity, so they slipped past the parked cars. But they slowed their speed enough so that the two men who occupied the police car could see just who it was Leith was talking with.

And what they saw brought smiles to their faces. For Lester Leith was talking with the girl who had called at his apartment, and the man with her was undoubtedly her boy friend. But, what was more to the point, they glimpsed boxes of candy in the rear of the sedan.

The detectives piloted their car around a curve in the road, then slipped into the shelter of a stone wall. A pair of powerful binoculars gave them a good view of what was taking place.

Lester Leith seemed very well acquainted. The man was not quite as smiling as the girl, but the girl was effusively cordial. After an interval of conversation a flask was produced, also a picnic lunch. The trio ate lunch while the detectives made notes of exactly what was happening.

Following lunch, the detectives received a surprise. Their instructions had been to shadow Leith to the candy, and after that, to follow the candy until it was possible to communicate with Sergeant Ackley. But Ackley had advised them that it was a million-to-one shot that Leith would never separate himself from that candy.

Yet Leith climbed into his car and drove down the road, directly toward the detectives. The girl and her escort got into their sedan and drove back toward town.

There was no doubt as to the detectives’ instructions. They took after the sedan.

The sedan hit the through boulevard some ten miles from town and started along it, traveling at a steady rate of speed.

“Looks like they’re going right in, Louie,” said the officer at the wheel. “I better drop you at the comer. Telephone headquarters, then stop a car and catch up with me.”

The police car came to a stop before a drug store, the shadow jumped to the ground, and was gone.

He notified Sergeant Ackley of the separation of Leith and the candy.

The sergeant got the location of the cars, their probable course, and ordered the shadow to get back to his companion as quickly as possible.

Within six miles, after commandeering a passing car, the detective rejoined his partner.

The cars continued their journey. The first important cross street brought them to a stop. Another police car slipped from the curb and the two shadows identified the sedan ahead by making signs.

What followed was short and snappy. The second police car forged ahead and abreast of the sedan. There was the sound of a siren, the motioning of uniformed arms, and the sedan slid to the curb. The driver leaned out to shout comments.

“Can’t help it,” said the officer in charge, “you folks have been driving recklessly. You’ll have to come to headquarters and explain it to the sergeant. Bill, get over there in the sedan and see that they follow.”

One of the officers pushed the candy boxes to one side and sat down on the rear seat.

At headquarters in the private office of Sergeant Ackley, the sergeant gazed shrewdly at the captive before turning his eyes to the candy.

“Come through and come clean,” he said.

“What,” asked the man, “is the real charge?”

“Robbery.”

“What?”

“You’ve got close to a million dollars’ worth of stolen gems concealed in that candy.”

There could be no mistaking their genuine astonishment.

“You got those boxes from a chap named Leith,” said Ackley, “and the candy in them is loaded with the rubies and diamonds stolen from Mills.”

The sergeant opened a box, bit into a piece of chocolate, chewed it up, and muttered his surprise as he found nothing except chocolate and cream filling. He bit into another, and the frown left his face. He twisted his tongue around, held his cupped hand before his mouth, and pushed a red object into the palm.

“Here’s one of ’em,” he said.

They crowded around him. Ackley lowered his palm. It contained a red cinnamon drop, stained with melted chocolate.

In the silence which followed, the girl’s titter sounded like an explosion. The man nudged her, Ackley reached for another piece of candy.

Once more the sergeant drew a red cinnamon drop.

“He switched before he gave you the candy!” he said.

The girl was fingering the chocolates. “I don’t think so. This top row seems to have been handled, but the other row doesn’t, and it’s just in this box. Wait a minute. Here’s one—”

Ackley grabbed it, broke it open. He pulled out a small object from the interior, then let out a yell.

“This is one!”

It was a blood-red ruby. Then Ackley curbed again.

“Hell, this is the one I planted there myself!”

And he started breaking open the chocolate creams.

His hands became soggy messes, but he found no more rubies.

“Where’s Leith?” he asked.

He might as well have asked the wind what had become of the breeze. For Lester Leith, taking advantage of the absence of shadows, had disappeared.

His apartment remained untenanted, save for the undercover man. His garage remained empty. Lester Leith was somewhere in the teeming city, lying low, waiting for his appointment with Mr. Carter Mills.

And Sergeant Ackley sat back in his swivel chair, blamed his subordinates, and continued to curse.

The entire staff at headquarters was munching chocolate creams and waiting.

Lester Leith, in the living room of Mills’s suburban house, set up a blowtorch, a crucible, took a package of cornstarch and some powdered alum from his suitcase. Then he took some waterproof cement, and sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Unfortunate robbery you had the other day,” he said as he poured a small quantity of cornstarch into the crucible.

Mills grunted.

Leith took a vial from his pocket and handed it to Mills. His greedy eyes devoured the luster of the pearls in the vial.

“We can make our fortune out of this,” Mills said and glanced back to the crucible.

To his surprise he found himself looking into the business end of an automatic which had appeared in Leith’s hand while Mills’s attention had been on the pearls.

Leith smiled. “Take it easy, Mills. You’re dealing with big stuff now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a gangster. I use gangster’s methods. I’ve got a mob that’ll stop at nothing. Griggy the Gat was one of my men.”

Beads of perspiration stood out on the jeweler’s forehead. He kept his eyes on the gun.

“You see, you made up your mind a long time ago to steal those gems from the rajah,” went on Lester Leith, his voice ominously smooth. “So you deliberately arranged for a lot of newspaper publicity about how you carried a million dollars in gems back and forth from your work.

“Naturally I fell for it. I told Griggy the Gat to get into your place, collar you when you came in, and grab the stones. Griggy muffed the job, but mostly because you had it all figured out. You knew a clever yeggman would probably strike just when you entered your place of business in the morning.

“You’re smart, Mills, and that’s why you always came to work a few minutes before anyone else showed up. You gave a stickup just that opening, hoping he’d fall.

“What happened was just what you hoped for — that the stickup would get killed in a gun battle with the cops.

“Griggy the Gat got the bum breaks, you got the good ones. The bulls looked all over and couldn’t find the stones. That was natural — because they hadn’t been in the brief case in the first place!

“Then you made a fool move. You were afraid the police would reach the right conclusion when they searched every place they could think of and still didn’t find the stones. You wanted to convince them that the gems had been stolen. So you started to put some of them in circulation.

“You were clever enough to know that the average person never remembers more than one distinctive feature, or two at the most. You pulled a cap well down on your head and put a patch over one eye. Those two things were obvious. The people you dealt with saw them, and saw nothing else. But you made a mistake when you had the patch over the left eye on one occasion, and over the right on another. Yet you fooled the police.”

“What do you want?” asked Mills.

“A cut, of course.”

Mills wet his lips. “You can’t prove a thing. I’m not going to be held up.”

Lester Leith glanced at his watch.

“It may interest you to know,” he said, “that the police have at last reached the conclusion they should have reached before. Having decided that the gems were not concealed by Griggy the Gat, and having convinced themselves the gems were not on Griggy at the time of his death, they have concluded you didn’t give them to Griggy. Therefore, they have decided you slipped over a fast one. So they took your picture, made a life-size enlargement, put a cap on it and a patch over one eye, and the witnesses have identified it as the man who gave out four of the rubies.”

Mills swallowed with difficulty.

Lester Leith holstered his gun.

“After all, it’s not my funeral. I’ve decided to have the gang take you for a little vacation. At a signal from me they’ll come in. If you don’t kick through with the gems you’ll go for a ride.”

Mills squirmed.

“You said the police—”

Leith glanced at his watch again.

“Are on their way. Guess I’d better call in the boys.”

Mills choked.

“Last chance,” smiled Leith.

Mills shook his head.

“No. You’re wrong. I haven’t got them. I—”

He broke off. From the east sounded the wail of a siren, a wail that grew in volume.

“Save me, the police!” screamed Mills.

Leith struck him across the face.

“Save you, you cheap crook — save myself! Save my boys. They’re out there covering me. If the police stop here it’ll mean a massacre!”

Mills dived toward a window.

Leith’s fist crashed into his jaw and sent him down to the floor.

“You damn fool. Keep away from that window. The police will walk right into an ambush. My choppers will mow them down. You know what that means. When you kill a cop there’s always hell to pay.”

The siren keened even louder.

“Seems to be right in my garage!” said Mills.

“Then listen for firing,” said Leith.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Poppety-pop-pop-pop Bang!

“Riot guns!” yelled Leith.

For a space of seconds the explosions continued, and then silence descended.

Leith sighed. “Well, you’ve done it. My men have wiped out the cops — it’s a massacre. Naturally the bulls will blame you for the job. It’s the chair for you — unless—”

“Unless what?”

“Unless I decide to take you into the gang. We can use a good jewel man.”

Mills struggled to his hands and knees.

“I won’t stand for it. I’ll stay right here and explain to the officers.”

Leith laughed grimly.

“Listen, fat guy,” he said. “My men have just mowed down a squad of bluecoats. Think I’m going to get soft over one more murder?”

He took out his automatic, sighted it. His eyes gleamed with the fury popularly supposed to possess a murderer at the moment of the kill.

“No, no! I’ll kick through, wait!”

Mills scrambled to his feet, scuttled to the hall, and took a thick cane from the hall tree where it had been hanging in plain sight.

“Here they are,” he said, thrusting the cane into Leith’s hands. “Come on, quick. I’ll throw in with you!”

Lester Leith shook the cane.

“No, no. You can’t tell by shaking. It’s balanced with sheet lead and stuffed with cotton. The gems are nested in the cotton. You get into it by unscrewing the ferrule.”

“All right, Mills,” Leith said. “Better go out to your garage and start sweeping up the firecrackers. And you’ll find a siren connected so that it would start to wail when a piece of punk burned through a connection, just before the firecrackers went off. I was celebrating the fourth of July.”

Mills tried to speak, but the sounds that came out were not words.

“Good morning,” said Lester Leith.

“The — the — police!” stuttered Mills.

“Oh, yes, the police. They are still groping in the dark. I solved the case because the police proved my suspicions by a process of elimination. You see, your inordinate desire for newspaper publicity made me a little suspicious at the first. Then when the police looked everywhere that Griggy might have concealed the stones and didn’t find a trace, my suspicion became a certainty.”

And Lester Leith strolled from the front door with all the ease of a man who is very sure of himself.

Sergeant Ackley was pacing the floor of Leith’s apartment when Lester Leith entered.

“Well, well, Sergeant! Waiting for me?”

Sergeant Ackley spoke with the slow articulation of a man who is trying to control his rage.

“Get the stones?” he asked.

Lester Leith raised his eyebrows.

“Pardon?”

Sergeant Ackley took a deep breath.

“You ditched the shadows yesterday and disappeared!”

Lester Leith lit a cigarette.

“Sit down, Sergeant. You’re frightfully fidgety. Overwork, I guess. No, Sergeant, as it happened your shadows ditched me.”

“Well,” growled the officer, “either way, you disappeared and didn’t come home last night.”

Leith’s smile became a chuckle.

“Purely a private affair, Sergeant.”

“Then you called on Mills and set off a bunch of firecrackers.”

“Quite right, Sergeant. This is the fourth of July, you know, according to my special heat-saving calendar. I was celebrating. Mills didn’t complain, did he?”

Sergeant Ackley twisted the cigar from the left side of his mouth to the right.

“That,” he said, “is the funny part of the whole thing. Mills seems to think there isn’t any cause for making a squawk. And I ain’t satisfied about that candy yet. There are some things in this caper I’ve missed. That girl and her boy friend, for instance — couldn’t even hold them, no evidence. Couldn’t be they were working for you, Leith, in your pay?”

Lester Leith smiled. “Tut, tut, Sergeant, you couldn’t have missed anything.”

Sergeant Ackley headed for the door.

“Leith, I think you’re a crook. Sort of a supercrook, a lucky crook — but a crook. Someday I’m going to get you.”

Ackley paused on the threshold.

“Next time the instructions will be what they should have been this time, and every time — tail Leith!”

And the door slammed.

Lester Leith turned beamingly to his valet, who had been standing by during the interview.

“Scuttle, I feel that a heat-saving calendar isn’t as simple as it seemed. Turn on the heat full force, and then see if you can’t pick up a new calendar somewhere. I’m going back to November.”

“Now that the firecrackers are exploded,” said the valet.

Lester Leith smiled again.

“Certainly, Scuttle. You wouldn’t expect me to carry over a big investment in firecrackers, would you?”

The valet sighed resignedly.

“Begging your pardon, sir, I’d expect you to do almost anything — and get away with it, sir.”