The Leather Duke

Chapter Twenty-Two

The men from the counter department filed from the elevator into the office: Hal Johnson, the foreman, Karl Kessler, the assistant foreman, Elliott Towner, son of the factory owner, then Sam Cragg and last, Johnny Fletcher. In that formation they headed for Hal Johnson’s private office.

Johnny paused at the switchboard. “The showdown, Taffy. Better join us.”

“No,” said Nancy Miller stubbornly.

Elliott Towner stepped out of the single file formation. “Let her alone,” he said ominously.

“You’re the boss’s son,” said Johnny, shrugging. He continued on after the others. But at the door of Towner’s office he looked back. Nancy Miller was getting up from her switchboard desk. And as Johnny waited, she came forward.

Harry Towner watched the entry of his visitors. In the office already were his daughter Linda and her fiancé, Freddie Wendland.

“What’s this?” The Leather Duke asked. “A shop grievance committee?”

“The last act,” Johnny said, “the finale, in which you will learn everything... well, almost everything. Remember what I said to you yesterday when I took on this job?”

“No,” said Towner, “but Wendland’s just been telling me some things about you...”

“Phooey on Freddie,” said Johnny flippantly. “Mr. Wendland will sit in the corner and keep his mouth shut while his inferiors carry on.”

Wendland cried out and started forward, but The Leather Duke waved his hand and Wendland swerved and went to a far corner of the room and seated himself.

Johnny looked around the circle of faces. “Well,” he said, “does anyone want to make a confession and save us all time?”

No one in the room said a word.

Johnny nodded. “I thought not. You’re still hoping against hope that I’m nothing but a loud-mouthed fool.” He drew a deep breath. “Mr. Towner, since everyone here is a member of the great big Towner leather family, you won’t mind, I’m sure, if I wash a little dirty family linen.”

“Go ahead, wash,” said Harry Towner grimly, “but you’d better wash it clean, because I’ll probably throw you out of this office on your ear when you get through.”

“It’s about your first marriage, Mr. Towner,” said Johnny.

“Dad’s only been married once,” Elliott Towner cut in.

“Twice,” Johnny corrected. “Of course, I guess he doesn’t count the first one because it was annulled after only a few days. He married beneath his station, you know, a chorus girl or someone like that. A gold-digging chorus girl, with rather low morals... Did you say something, Karl?”

“I said you were a liar,” Kessler said clearly. “A dirty, no-good, stinking liar, Elsie was—”

“Your sister?” Johnny asked quickly.

“What’s that?” cried Harry Towner.

Johnny’s eyes slitted. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course not. Her name was Elsie King...”

“Her professional name. Before she went on the stage, it was Elsie Kessler.”

Towner looked at Kessler in bewilderment. “But, Karl, you never breathed a word...”

“And lose my job?” Kessler asked bitterly. “Your father paid Elsie off. Five hundred dollars he gave her, for the child—”

“Child!” Towner cried hoarsely. “What child?”

“Your daughter.”

“Nancy Miller,” Johnny said quietly.

Harry Towner looked at Johnny, then stared for a moment at Karl Kessler. Then he suddenly strode across the room to where Nancy was standing stiffly just inside the door. He peered into her face for a long time. Then he slowly shook his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t believe it.”

“And neither do I,” Johnny said.

“I have a birth certificate to prove it,” said Karl Kessler. “Also hospital records.”

“I’ve seen them, Dad,” suddenly said Elliott Towner.

“You?” cried The Leather Duke.

“I’ve known about it for months. I... I asked Nancy to marry me, then Karl, well Karl told me I couldn’t, because she was my half sister.”

“They really sold you that bill of goods, Elliott?” Johnny asked.

“I’ve seen the documents.”

“You’ve seen some pieces of paper. And some old newspaper clippings about the first marriage and annulment. The newspaper clippings were real.” Johnny paused. “And you were in love with Nancy.” He laughed shortly. “Funny, how a man in love with a girl will believe every word she tells him. How much has it cost you, so far?”

Elliott Towner winced. His father saw it and came toward him. “Elliott, have you been giving money to these people?” He waited for his son to answer and when he didn’t, he gripped his arm. “Answer me!”

“Yes,” Elliott finally admitted miserably. “They — I mean, he,” indicating Karl, “said he’d been quiet long enough. He was going to tell the newspapers the whole story.”

“But there isn’t any story, son,” exclaimed Harry Towner. “It’s true I was married to a girl named Elsie King and that the marriage was annulled. My father — your grandfather — proved to me that she—”

“That’s a lie!” cried Karl Kessler.

“All right,” said Harry Towner, “let’s say then that I was drunk when I married her. And that’s true. I woke up in Lake Geneva one morning and discovered that I had a wife.”

“And six months later, you married another woman who had to go to Europe to have her baby because—”

“That,” said Harry Towner coolly, “is a lie!” He regarded Kessler steadily. “How long have you worked for this company?”

“Thirty-nine years, eight months and eleven days. A lifetime and now, in my old age, I am fired!”

“You’re not fired,” said Johnny, “you’re just taking a leave of absence. Until they take you down to Joliet for the execution...”

All eyes in the room were on Johnny. He looked steadily at Nancy Miller, then at Karl Kessler. “You let Al Piper have the bookie concession; for a weekly consideration, of course. You knew that, Hal, didn’t you?”

Hal Johnson said nothing.

Johnny continued. “And then Carmella began going out with your niece, Karl, and he began taking bets. Al complained but you wouldn’t do anything about it. Then Al, who knew quite a lot about you already, did a little nosing around — during his last binge. He found out about Elliott and Nancy — and the little blackmail job you were pulling. He came back to work two days ago and nailed you with it.”

Lieutenant Lindstrom of Homicide appeared suddenly in the doorway. He pulled someone along from behind, a handcuffed Carmella Vitali.

“Ah,” said Johnny. “I was just telling how Karl Kessler here cut Al Piper’s throat...”

Nancy Miller screamed.

“I’m sorry, Taffy,” said Johnny softly. “He’s your uncle, all right, but then — but then, Elliott isn’t your half brother. Maybe that’ll make up.”

“I had nothin’ to do with it,” suddenly yelped Carmella. “I seen him come out of the aisle with the bloody knife.”

“You fool!” roared Karl Kessler. He suddenly reached under his apron and brought out an eight-inch leather knife, a knife as sharp as a razor and with a point like a needle. He lunged for Johnny. “You...!” he mouthed. “I’ll take you...”

Sam took two quick strides forward. He came up beside Karl Kessler and hit him with his fist, in the back of the head. Karl Kessler plummeted clear across the room, his head striking the far wall. He dropped to the floor and remained still. And while all eyes were on him, Sam Cragg wheeled and slapped Carmella Vitali with his open palm. It was one of the hardest blows Sam had ever struck, and it was a cowardly blow, too, since Carmella was handcuffed and could not defend himself. But cowardly or not, the result was the same. Carmella Vitali went into the same slumberland as Karl Kessler.

Some ten minutes later, Harry Towner’s office contained only Harry Towner, Johnny and Sam, and Linda.

“Thirty-nine years, eight months and eleven days,” said Harry Towner. “The man never had any other job in his whole life.”

“And he was getting forty-five a week,” Johnny said. “And getting old.”

“Don’t rub it in, Fletcher,” said Harry Towner. “As a matter of fact, Elliott’s been talking to me for months about a pension plan for employees. It’s going to be put into effect as soon as I can work out the details with Elliott.”

“You mean,” said Sam, “if I work here I could get a pension?”

“Yes,” said Johnny, “and you’d only have to work thirty-nine years...”

The phone on Towner’s desk rang. He scooped it up, said: “Yes? Oh...” He held out the phone. “For you, Fletcher.”

Johnny crossed and took the phone. “Fletcher talking...”

“Wiggins,” wheezed a voice. “I’ve got something for you. My operator—”

“Never mind,” said Johnny, “the case is closed.”

“Wait a minute,” cried Wiggins. “This is personal...” He spoke for a moment and Johnny’s face lit up. He said, “Thanks” and hung up. He looked at Sam and rubbed his hands together. “Wiggins’ man lost me last night, Sam, so he began backtracking. He traced us back to the Eagle Hotel—”

“Ouch!” said Sam. “The flea bag that evicted us two weeks ago...”

“The same joint,” said Johnny, “hot cockroaches and running mice in every room. But it was home for us, Sam. And they’ve got a telegram there. From Mort Murray... He’s out of hock, Sam, and sending us a shipment of books, prepaid. Get that, Sam, prepaid...!”

“We’re back in the book business!” Sam beamed. “Then I don’t have to work here for thirty-nine years?”

“That’s right, Sam. We’re free men.”

“About that sales manager position, Fletcher,” said Harry Towner. “The job pays fifteen thousand a year...”

“Take it, Johnny Fletcher!” cried Linda Towner.

Johnny shook his head. “And see you coming in here to visit your husband every few days? Unh-uh, I couldn’t stand that...”

“My husband? Who are you talking about?”

“Freddie, who else? The guy loves you. He’s so jealous he had me shadowed. And if it hadn’t been for that, I wouldn’t have solved this mess.”

“Yes,” said Linda, thoughtfully. “That was rather intriguing about Freddie. I didn’t know he had it in him.” She came across the room, kissed Johnny on the mouth and said:

“So long, Johnny. And good luck!”