The Limping Goose

12

Returning to the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, Johnny entered Room 821 and found it empty. He looked in the bathroom, but Sam was missing. Puzzled, he rode down to the lobby. Eddie Miller came forward.

“What happened, Mr. Fletcher?” he asked.

“Sam Cragg go out?”

“Yes, that’s what I was asking about. He came tearing down here about ten minutes ago, said he’d just got a call that you’d busted your leg—”

“No!” cried Johnny, “who called him?”

“He didn’t say. Just that he’d got word that you’d been in an accident and had your leg broken.”

“Did he go to a hospital?”

“Not that I know of. But I saw him getting into a cab outside.”

“He didn’t have any money to pay for a cab.”

“Maybe he forgot that.”

“Damn!” said Johnny. He strode to the desk. Mr. Peabody, the manager, turned from a ledger he was studying. Johnny drew out his his new roll of bills and peeled one off.

“Break this for me.”

Peabody inhaled softly, took the bill and held it to the light. He scrutinized both sides, wrinkled the bill and scrutinized it again. “Where did you get this, Fletcher?”

“Do you ask all the guests where they get their money?” Johnny snapped. He exhibited the other bills. “I needed some change so I stopped in at my bank.”

“Five hundred dollars,” Peabody said softly. Then a shudder ran through him. “Yes sir, Mr. Fletcher, how will you have it?”

“Doesn’t make any difference — tens, twenties. Better give me some singles, for tipping purposes.”

Peabody counted out the bills, took one more look at the hundred-dollar bill and put it into the cash drawer.

Johnny signaled to Eddie Miller and went to the door.

A Sky-Top cab stood at the curb a few yards from the hotel. Johnny strode up to him. “How long’ve you been waiting here?”

“Long enough,” the cabdriver replied. “You want to get in?”

Eddie Miller came up. “Hell, Ben,” he said. “I want you to help out Mr. Fletcher.”

“Sure thing, Eddie.”

“How long have you been waiting here?” Johnny repeated.

“A half hour, more or less. This is a quiet day.”

“About fifteen minutes ago,” Johnny went on, “a man came dashing out of the hotel — about five-ten, two-twenty—”

“Sure,” said the cabby, scowling. “I got beat out of a fare. Some guy’s double-parked here — I don’t think much of it, but then this guy comes out of the hotel and the double-parking guy scoots out in front of me and grabs the fare right under my nose.”

“What kind of a cab was it?”

The cabdriver shrugged. “I don’t know the hackie; he ain’t from around Times Square, that I do know. He’s driving a beat-up jalopy... yeah, a Lucky Clover cab. There ain’t many of those around.”

“A setup,” said Johnny. “I don’t suppose you got his number?”

“Naw, he beat it out of here like a bat out of hell before I could even tell him what I thought of him, stealing a fare out from under me. Hey — come to think of it, there was a guy already in the cab. I mean, in back.”

“Wait here,” said Johnny. “I’ll take a ride with you in a minute.” He turned and strode into the hotel lobby. He walked directly to the phone booth and looked up a number in the directory.

Eddie Miller hovered over him. “Looks bad, huh?”

“Sam can take care of himself,” said Johnny. He turned. “I’ve got to go out to see a man,” he said. “If Sam happens to come back, tell him to sit tight and wait for me. Even if someone calls and tells him I broke my left arm and both legs.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Fletcher.”

Johnny strode out of the hotel and stepped into Ben’s waiting cab. “Forty-ninth and Madison,” he said.

The cab went to Seventh Avenue and North, turned east on Forty-sixth Street, scooted across to Madison Avenue and turned north. A few minutes later, Johnny got out and gave the driver a dollar. “Can you wait here?”

“If it ain’t too long.”

“It shouldn’t be over ten minutes.”

“Then it’s okay. You’ll find me at the hack stand, or double-parked.”

Johnny walked a short distance and entered an office building. He consulted the building directory and rode up to the ninth floor. A moment later he stood before a ground glass door on which was lettered Acme Adjustment Agency.

He entered. There was a small reception room and apparently two private offices. A secretary with incredibly long, pointed nails was idling with a typewriter.

“The boss,” Johnny said.

“What’s your name? I’ll see if he’s in.”

“Cragg, Sam Cragg.”

The girl gave Johnny a searching look and got up. She went to the right-hand ground-glass door and entered, closing the door behind her. She reappeared in a moment.

“What’d you want to see Mr. Hammer about?”

“About a man named Kilkenny,” Johnny replied. “He works here.”

“Kilkenny? Mmm, I don’t know if we have a man here by that name or not...”

“Hey!” cried Johnny. “Cut it out. This outfit isn’t that big!”

“What’d you want to see Mr. Kilkenny about?”

“I don’t want to see Kilkenny. I want to see Mr. Hammer about Mr. Kilkenny.”

“Well, what about him?”

Johnny pointed to the private office. “Hammer, that’s who I want to see. In fact—” He suddenly shoved open the wooden gate and strode toward Hammer’s private office. The receptionist let out a scream, but Johnny paid no heed. He slammed open Hammer’s door and found Mr. Hammer whipping open the right-hand top desk drawer.

Mr. Hammer was a squat, bald man who perspired copiously. He kept his hand in the top drawer. “What do you mean, bustin’ in like that?” he snapped.

“You’ve got a man named Kilkenny working for you.”

“Have I?”

“If you haven’t, then I’ve given money to a crook.”

Hammer’s attitude changed. He actually raised his right hand out of the desk drawer, although he kept it near. “You paid money to Kilkenny? On an account? Your name, please?”

“I told the girl — Sam Cragg.”

Hammer went quickly over a file of cards and extracted one. “Sam Cragg, ah yes, Ajax Mandolin Company. You say you paid Mr. Kilkenny on this account? How much?”

“What does it say there?”

“It doesn’t say anything. Mr. Kilkenny gave you a receipt, of course?”

“He gave me nothing.”

“Then I’m sorry, Mr. Cragg. Our collectors are instructed to give receipts at all times. If you cannot produce one, I’m afraid the account still stands. And since this is long delinquent, I must insist upon prompt payment.”

“Go ahead, insist. But I want to talk to J. J. Kilkenny.”

“The matter is out of Mr. Kilkenny’s hands. I’m handling this and I want payment at once, or else...”

“Or else, what?”

“Or else I shall start immediate suit. Hey — wait a moment, here’s a notation from J.J. Ah, yes, this alters things considerably. It seems, Mr. Cragg, that you pawned this instrument.” Mr. Hammer beamed happily. “That, sir, is where you made your mistake. Selling property you did not own takes it out of the civil court and puts it into the criminal. Yes, Mr. Cragg, you’ve overstepped yourself. You will pay this bill — at once, sir — or I shall clap you into jail. What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s a lot of hooey,” snapped Johnny. “Look, I haven’t got time to shilly-shally around with you. I want to see Kilkenny, that’s all.”

Mr. Hammer made an impatient gesture of dismissal. “Mr. Kilkenny is out of this, Mr. Cragg. It’s no concern of his. But you, sir, are in serious trouble. I hope you are prepared to pay.”

“I’m not prepared to pay anything!”

“In that case — Miss Trout!” Hammer rose swiftly to his feet. “A policeman...”

“Cut the comedy,” snarled Johnny. “All I want from you is the whereabouts of J.J. Kilkenny.”

“And all I want from you is sixty-seven dollars!” Miss Trout appeared in the doorway. “Telephone for a policeman, Miss Trout.”

“Yes, Mr. Hammer!” The girl turned and headed for the phone on her desk.

Johnny stepped to the door. “Put down that phone!”

“Oh-ho!” cried Mr. Hammer. He whipped back to the desk drawer and drew out a short snub-nosed revolver. “Violence, Mr. Cragg? All the more reason to call the police. Miss Trout—”

“Hold it,” said Johnny. “Let’s talk this over quietly.”

“We’ve talked, Mr. Cragg. Sixty-seven dollars, or the police.”

Miss Trout was already dialing. Desperately, Johnny cried, “I’ll pay!”

“Just a moment, Miss Trout,” called Hammer. “But stand by. Very well, Mr. Cragg, let’s see the color of your money.”

“First of all,” said Johnny, “my name isn’t Sam Cragg.”

“Oh, we’re going to try that now, are we? Very well, Miss Trout, you may phone.”

Miss Trout began dialing once more.

“I’ll pay!” cried Johnny. He brought out a handful of bills.

“Wait, Miss Trout,” ordered Mr. Hammer.

Miss Trout waited with her hand on the phone. Johnny counted out sixty-seven dollars and put the rest of the money back in his pocket, carelessly revealing that one packet of bills consisted of hundreds. Mr. Hammer noted it greedily.

“Put the money on the desk, Mr. Cragg.”

Johnny held it in his hand. “Here’s the money, now let’s talk. Your Mr. Kilkenny is involved in the Jess Carmichael murder.”

“You’re wasting time.”

“Alice Cummings,” Johnny said, pointing to the file cards. “Look it up — you collected money from her yesterday. Miss Cummings happens to be the little lady in whose apartment Jess Carmichael was murdered. And your Mr. Kilkenny just happens to be in it up to his fat ears.”

The collection agent smiled thinly, but there was vague uncertainty in his eyes.

“None of this will do you any good.”

“All right,” said Johnny grimly. “Look at your cards — I dare you. If Miss Cummings’s name isn’t on one of them, I’ll be willing to give you a hundred dollars.”

Hammer hesitated, then reached for the cards. “I’ll just prove to you that you’re...” His fingers ran over the cards, stopped. His eyes narrowed and he shot a quick covert look at Johnny. Then he drew out the card.

“Just who are you, Mr. Cragg?” he asked slowly.

“First of all, I’m not Sam Cragg,” Johnny said quickly, “and you’ll find the card — Miss Cummings paid up in full.”

“Fifty-two dollars.” Hammer’s forehead creased. “It was accepted in full payment. Alice Cummings, mm.” Hammer mused thoughtfully. “It is the same name, but there could be two women—”

“Uh-uh, there couldn’t. How would I have known of her?”

“That’s a point. Oh, you could have known about Alice Cummings, all right; her name is in all the papers since yesterday, but you couldn’t have known that our Mr. Kilkenny collected money from her yesterday.”

The door of the outer office opened and J.J. Kilkenny came in. Johnny’s back was turned to the door, however. He said to Mr. Hammer, “Kilkenny’s in it up to his ears. The least you can say about him is that he’s a crook, but to me it looks like he’s worse...”

Kilkenny crossed the short distance from the outer door to the inner and lunged into the room. His big hands reached out and grabbed Johnny. “What’d you call me, you little pipsqueak?”

He whirled Johnny with his left hand and with the open palm of his right, rocked his head to the left, then to the right. Johnny, gasping in pain, hit the big man in the stomach with his fist and only bruised his knuckles.

Mr. Hammer saved him. He was half Kilkenny’s size, but he was Kilkenny’s boss. He said coldly, “That’ll do, J.J.!”

Kilkenny released Fletcher, but he was not soothed, by any means. “You and me are gonna have this out.”

“You lay a hand on me again,” Johnny said savagely, “and I’ll cut you to pieces.”

Kilkenny’s big right hand reached automatically for Johnny, but the latter stepped back nimbly.

“Here, now,” Mr. Hammer said authoritatively. “Let’s get this straightened out. J.J., Mr. Cragg’s made some serious charges against you.”

“Cragg?” exclaimed Kilkenny. “This ain’t Cragg. He’s Fletcher, Sam Cragg’s keeper.”

“Keeper?”

“Cragg’s an ape, a muscle-bound gorilla. He can’t talk unless this fellow tells him what to say.”

“I’ll repeat that to Sam,” Johnny warned.

“You do. I’m itchin’ to go another round with the ape and next time he may not be so lucky.”

“I’ve got news for you,” Johnny said. “Sam can throw you all night long.”

“Now, wait a minute, you two,” interrupted Hammer. “What’s this all about? You... you announced yourself as Sam Cragg, now it turns out your name isn’t Cragg.”

“I never told you my name was Cragg,” Johnny retorted.

“In fact, I tried to tell you it wasn’t—”

“You gave your name to Miss Trout as Sam Cragg.”

“I told her it was about the Cragg account.”

“Which reminds me, that money in your hand you were going to give it to me.”

Johnny put the money in his pocket. “At the point of a gun, I was going to give it to you. I came here to find out about the moose” — indicating Kilkenny. “He’s in the Carmichael murder case.”

“Who says I’m in it?” roared Kilkenny.

“I say so. You came busting into my hotel room this morning with a gun and when I took it away from you—”

“Kilkenny!” cried Hammer. “Have you been carrying a gun?”

“That ain’t a bunch of violets in your fist,” sneered Kilkenny.

Hammer became aware that he was still holding the revolver in his hand and dropped it in the top desk drawer. “I keep that here for protection, that’s all. But you know very well how I feel about collectors carrying firearms. You get in a jam and the police find you with a gun and—” He ran his finger across his throat. “Now, what’s this about your breaking into this man’s room this morning?”

“His partner’s Sam Cragg. We got a tab against him for sixty-seven round iron men.”

“I have Cragg’s card here. He owes the money, all right.”

“That’s all I was trying to do, collect it. Fletcher’s a wise guy. That’s why he’s here now — trying to get out of paying an honest debt by getting me in trouble.”

“You’re in trouble, Kilkenny,” growled Johnny. “After we left the hotel this morning, you came back and tore the room apart. You stole the limping goose bank—”

“What’s that?” cried Kilkenny. “The... the bank’s gone?”

“You took it, didn’t you?”

“No!” howled Kilkenny. “But I want it...!”

“Why?” Johnny asked quickly.

“Because the dame” — Kilkenny caught himself, then finished — “because the Cummings girl was short seventeen dollars and gave you the bank to make up. It’s got seventeen dollars in it, money that belongs to me.”

“J.J.” said Hammer, “just what are you talking about? You collected the money from Alice Cummings.”

“Go ahead,” Johnny said, “explain that.”

Kilkenny tried. He swallowed hard and said, “I told you this bird’s a wise guy. I ran down him and his gorilla friend over at the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel without a thin dime to their names.”

Johnny took the four hundreds from his pocket, ruffled them so that J.J. Kilkenny could note their denominations. “Go ahead, big boy.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Hammer, “continue.”

Kilkenny went on, “One word led to another and he said he could collect deadbeat skips better than I could. I gave him the Cummings card and said I’d give him ten dollars if he could collect it.”

“Ten dollars,” Johnny said quietly. “I said I’d run down a girl who skipped four years ago, for a measly ten bucks. Go ahead, big boy. But make it funnier.”

“Shut your trap,” snarled Kilkenny. “Anyway, we made the deal and then he said the doll paid him only fifty-seven dollars.”

“And you didn’t believe me and went back to her and found out she gave me a bank containing seventeen dollars. This was after Jess Carmichael was murdered.”

“That’s a lie!” howled Kilkenny.

“Is it, J.J.?” asked Mr. Hammer.

“I told you he’s just trying to get me into trouble.”

“Oh, sure,” said Johnny easily. “With hundreds of dollars in my pocket, I made a deal with you to trace a woman who skipped four years ago — for a ten-dollar skip-tracer fee. And then I try to swindle you out of a piggy bank full of pennies. And” — Johnny paused, then suddenly shot at Kilkenny — “just why are you so anxious to get those pennies?”

“Because I got them coming to me.”

Mr. Hammer came to a sudden decision. “I think, J.J., you and me have got some talking to do.” He looked at Johnny Fletcher. “I don’t think we need you any more.”

“Then I’ll just be running along,” said Johnny. “And don’t forget, Mr. Hammer, ask old J.J. here why he wanted me to try to collect a little old bill from Miss Alice Cummings — just about the time Jess Carmichael was going to be murdered in her apartment. And ask him—”

“Get out of here!” yelled Kilkenny hoarsely, making another lunge at Johnny.

Johnny evaded him and chuckled. He ducked through the office door to the outer room. With his hand on the hall door he called back, “The Times publishes the best want ads, J.J.!”

He went out quickly.