The Limping Goose

13

Eddie Miller left Room 821 shortly after Johnny Fletcher tore out to see James Sutton at the Barbizon-Waldorf. He left Sam Cragg to try to clean up the mess made by the person or persons who had ransacked it and stolen the limping goose bank.

Sam had the room about straightened out, when the phone rang. He took it off the hook. “Sam Cragg talking,” he said.

An excited voice said, “Are you the friend of John Fletcher?”

“Johnny Fletcher, yeah, him and me are buddies.”

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you,” the voice went on, “your friend’s suffered an accident.”

“An accident!” cried Sam. “Holy cow — what happened to him?”

“He was dashing across Madison Avenue, against the lights, I might add, when he ran directly in front of my car—”

“You mean you’re the guy who run him down?” howled Sam.

“I’m afraid so, but as I was just telling you, it was really his fault. However, I’ve taken him to my place and I’ve sent for a doctor—”

“A doctor? How bad is he hurt?”

“It looks like one of his legs is broken and I’m afraid there may be internal injuries.”

“Where’re you at? I mean, where do you live? I’m comin’ right over.”

“I think that would be wise. It’s, uh, ten hundred one Madison Avenue. Apartment C...”

“Ten hundred one Madison — Apartment C. I’ll be right there. Tell Johnny I’m on the way.”

Sam slammed the receiver back on the hook and rushed for the door. He tore out, forgetting even to lock the door. Fortunately the elevator was on an upper floor and came down immediately.

In the lobby, Sam encountered Eddie Miller. “I just got a phone call that Johnny’s been run down by a car,” he told Eddie excitedly. “His leg’s busted, or somethin’. I’m going over to see him.”

“Gee, I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Cragg,” sympathized Eddie. “What hospital...?”

But Sam was already heading for the door.

He tore out of the hotel, signaled to the taxi waiting in the hack stand some yards away. A taxi, doubled-parked nearby, whipped in front of the other taxi and skidded to a stop in the vacant space in front of the hotel. The door flew open.

“Hop in, mister?” said the driver.

Sam sprang into the taxi and it roared away. It was then that Sam discovered there was a man already in the cab. “Oh, excuse me, mister,” he said. “I just got word that my best friend was run over and I gotta see him right away... It’s ten hundred one Madison Avenue.”

“Sure,” said the man beside Sam. “We’ll take you there. Leonard, step on it.”

The man beside Sam was almost as heavy as Sam and probably several inches taller. He needed a shave, but the growth of beard did not quite conceal some scars on the heavy features.

“This is doggone decent of you, mister,” Sam Cragg said. “Me and Johnny’s been pals for sixteen, maybe seventeen years and there ain’t nothing we wouldn’t do for each other.”

“That’s the way friends should be.”

The cab crossed Seventh Avenue instead of turning and Sam exclaimed again. “Why didn’t you go up Seventh?”

“Too much traffic,” replied the cabdriver. “Faster this way.”

Sam did not protest again. The cab turned north on Twelfth Avenue and after a few blocks took the ramp leading up to the West Side Highway. It roared along the drive.

“How’d your pal get hurt?” asked the man beside Sam Cragg.

“He was crossin’ Madison Avenue and got hit by a car. ’Tain’t like Johnny. He’s pretty quick.”

“Maybe somebody ran him down on purpose,” the man said suggestively. “Has he got any enemies?”

“Johnny? Naw. Everybody likes him. Except Mr. Peabody, the manager of our hotel.”

“He may have an enemy he doesn’t know about,” the man pursued. “For instance, your friend may be sticking his nose into somebody else’s business.”

“Then the guy whose business he’s sticking his nose into had better watch out,” retorted Sam loyally. “Johnny’ll make a monkey out of him.”

“You’re real good friends, you and Fletcher.”

“Yeah, sure, like I told you, we been buddies since—” Sam stopped, shooting a sharp glance at the man beside him. “Hey, how’d you know his name was Fletcher?”

“Why, you said so.”

“I didn’t, I called him Johnny.” Sam looked through the window, saw that they were nearing Ninety-sixth Street. “Hey — we’re going too far.”

“Relax, chum,” said the man beside him.

He took a revolver out of his left coat pocket and showed it to Sam. “Just sit nice and still and enjoy the ride.”

Sam gasped in astonishment. “Why, you...”

“Easy!”

Sam groaned. “This is a phony. I’ll bet Johnny isn’t even hurt.”

“He isn’t. Now, that’s off your mind, sit back and take it easy.”

“You’re the one telephoned me. Yeah, your cab was nice and handy outside.”

“That’s right. I phoned you from across the street. Sucker, aren’t you?”

“Put away the roscoe, mister, and I’ll show you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve heard about you. This is the old equalizer. I’m as big as you are with it.”

“You’re as big as me without it.”

“This makes me a lot bigger.”

Sam glowered. “What’s the idea? I ain’t got a nickel on me.”

“Your chum, Fletcher, has something we want.”

“Hey,” exclaimed Sam. “The limping goose bank — that’s what you want, ain’t it?”

“That’s right, fat boy.”

“Fat boy!” cried Sam indignantly. He started to twist around, but the man beside him reached across and stabbed him sharply with the muzzle of the revolver.

“Fat boy, I said. Now, let’s just be nice and quiet until we get out to — out where we’re going.”

Sam slumped back in his seat. Gloomily he stared out of the window. The taxi rolled over the Henry Hudson Bridge, along the Saw Mill River Parkway and some thirty-five or forty minutes later, turned into a narrow dirt road that ran through a heavy growth of young trees. The road was a rutted, bumpy one and Sam bounced about considerably. So did the man beside him, but he never relaxed his vigilance and the gun muzzle was always ready to swing quickly on Sam.

After five minutes along the rutted, winding road, the cab entered a small clearing and pulled up before a rustic lodge built of weathered, peeled logs.

“End of the line,” said the man beside Sam cheerfully. “Climb out now.”

Sam got out of the taxicab. Leonard, the driver, stayed behind the wheel. “I better go back and get the boss, Sid.”

“The boss knows the way out,” the man called Sid said.

“Yeah, sure, but he don’t want us to call him and I think he ought to know that we got the fat boy.”

“We still got to get Fletcher.”

“Do we need him?”

“We need what the boss wants and he’s got it.”

“I don’t like the idea of bringing two of them out here.”

“I don’t like the idea of being here,” Sam interrupted. “I been thinking it over. You brought me here against my will. That’s kidnaping and I can get the FBI after you.”

Sid grinned. “You wouldn’t do that, would you, fat boy? I’m scared already. Let’s go inside and talk things over. Maybe we can work out a compromise.”

Leonard, the cabdriver, did not seem too happy about things, but he got out of the taxi and followed Sam and his fellow thug, Sid, into the log cabin.

The cabin was small, but nicely furnished in rustic style. There were only three rooms, a fairly large living room and a bedroom and kitchen opening off it.

Sid pointed at a couch with his revolver. “Sit down.”

Sam seated himself. He saw a telephone on a stand nearby. “Can I make a phone call?” he asked.

“To Johnny Fletcher?”

“Yeah.”

“You certainly can call him. In fact, I was going to suggest that very thing myself.” Sid signaled to Leonard to watch Sam and crossed to the phone. He picked it up.

“New York City,” he said. “The Forty-Fifth Street Hotel. The number here is eighty-two R three.” He covered the mouthpiece. “What’s the number of your room at the hotel?”

“Eight twenty-one.”

Sid nodded. He waited a moment, then said pleasantly, “Room eight twenty-one, please.” He waited, then shook his head. “No, there’s no message.” He hung up. “You pal doesn’t seem to be very worried about you. He isn’t even at the hotel.”

“He’s probably out looking for me.”

“In New York?” Sid drew a deep breath. “Well, let’s talk about things, fat boy.”

“You’re going to call me fat boy once too often,” warned Sam Cragg.

Sid made a gesture of dismissal. “About this bank — what did you call it? — the limping goose bank?”

“One foot’s shorter than the other.”

“All right, so it limps. Well, that’s all we want from Fletcher, the bank.”

Sam grunted. “Ain’t you got it?”

“If I had it, would we have gone through all this?”

Sam suddenly chuckled. “You mean you two birds ain’t the ones who went through our room this morning and swiped the bank?”

Alarm showed on Sid’s face. “What’s that?”

“The bank’s gone. We ain’t got it any more. It’s swiped.”

“You’re lying!”

“Uh-uh, cross my heart. If you’d’ve asked me about the bank the first thing, I could’ve told you and saved you all this trouble.”

Sid took a step toward Sam, then thought better of it and backed away. “You almost convinced me for a moment.”

“You’d better be convinced. You’re wasting your time. We ain’t got the bank. If you two didn’t swipe it, I don’t know who took it.”

Sid appealed to Leonard. “What do you think?”

“Search me.”

“We could work him over.”

“You and who else?” challenged Sam.

Sid bared his teeth. “You think you’re really tough? Leonard, see if you can find a good piece of rope.”

Leonard went into the kitchen and returned in a moment with a short length of clothesline. “How’s this?”

“It’ll do very nicely. All right, fat boy, put your hands behind your back.”

“What for?”

“Because I said so.”

“You ain’t going to tie me up!”

“Oh, no?” Sid came closer and pointed his revolver at Sam’s left knee. “There isn’t a house within a half mile. Nobody’ll hear. I’ll count to three and if your hands aren’t behind your back, bang, right through the knee. Think of it, bone splinters rubbing one another. One...”

Sam let out a howl and got to his feet. His hands went behind his back. Leonard stepped behind him and twisted a rope end about each wrist, circled both wrists twice, then pulling the rope taut, knotted it securely. Sid put away his revolver then and pushed Sam back on the couch.

“Now I’ll ask you quietly, where’s the limping goose bank?”

“I told you,” snapped Sam, “it was swiped from our hotel room this morning.”

Deliberately, Sid clenched his fist and smashed it against Sam’s jaw.

“Once more, where’s the goose bank?”

“All right,” said Sam, “what do you want me to tell you?”

“I want you to tell me where the bank is?”

“It’s in my safe deposit box at the Chase Bank, along with my diamond rings and my loose cash, consisting of fifty thousand bucks. I put it there because Mr. Chase is my uncle and he needs the six bucks a year that I pay him for the safety deposit—”

Sam couldn’t quite get out the last word. Sid hit him a savage blow on the right side of his face, then followed with a blow on the left side. Blood trickled out of Sam’s mouth.

Sid said, “What do you think of that, wise guy?”

“It don’t get you the goose bank,” Sam said.

Sid drew back his fist to hit Sam again, but the taxi driver stepped forward. “Wait a minute, Sid, I think he was telling the truth.”

“Maybe he was,” snarled Sid, “but unless we get those coins we won’t make enough out of this caper to take a blonde and her girl friend to dinner.”

“With those pennies and dimes and quarters you can take a babe to the Automat, but that’s about all,” Sam said.

Sid looked at Sam sharply. “How do you know there’re only pennies and dimes and quarters in the bank?”

Sam realized that he had said too much. He shook his head, his lips taut. Sid looked at Leonard.

“You took the money out of the bank,” Sid accused Sam.

“It wasn’t easy,” Sam admitted. “The slot was pretty narrow.”

“Stand up!” Sid rapped at Sam.

Sam got to his feet and Sid went through his pockets, turning them inside out. “Not a penny! Your friend Fletcher’s got the money.” He nodded savagely. “That’s it, the bank was stolen, but it was already empty. Fletcher’s got the money.”

A few feet away the phone shrilled. Sid whirled and went to it. “Yeah?” He listened carefully, his eyes narrowing. “I just searched him. He hasn’t got a dime in his pockets. And he claims the bank was stolen from his room this morning.” He listened again, scowling. “I called, but I haven’t been able to get him. Yeah, sure, I’ll keep trying. What?” He listened some more, then nodded. “Okay, boss, he’ll leave right away.”

He hung up the phone and turned to Leonard. “The boss says for you to come into town. He’s got an angle.”

“What about him?” Leonard asked, nodding to Sam.

“He stays here. Just in case. I’m going to keep him company.” He signaled toward the door. “I’ll go out with you.”

The two men left the cabin.

The moment they were out, Sam began flexing his hands. He twisted them back and forward, but discovered that the ropes had been tied too tight. He rubbed his wrists together in a semirotating manner, grinned after a moment.

Sid re-entered. “All right, fat boy,” he said. “Sit down and make yourself comfy. We’re going to be here for a while.”

Outside, the taxicab motor began to purr. Gears ground and the noise of the motor became fainter.