The Limping Goose

18

Johnny Fletcher came out of the Harover Club and a taxi pulled up at the curb. “Taxi, mister?” asked Leonard, the cabby.

“Yes.” Johnny pulled open the door, had one foot in the taxi when he saw the man inside. “Oh-oh!”

“I want a word with you, Fletcher,” the man in the cab said.

Johnny backed swiftly out of the cab. “Not with me chum!”

“Get in,” snarled Harry Flanagan. “This is money in your pocket.”

“I’ve got enough money,” said Johnny.

“Then how about this?”

Flanagan’s hand went under the left lapel of his coat Johnny took two big backward steps.

Flanagan whipped out his gun, a.32 automatic, and lunged toward the open door. “Come here, or I’ll let you have it.”

Johnny continued to skip backward, almost colliding with the doorman of the Harover Club.

“You haven’t got the nerve!” he yelled at Flanagan.

And Flanagan didn’t have it. He saw the doorman, two or three men coming out of the club, some pedestrians. Too many witnesses. Besides which the taxicab driver, Leonard, wanted no part of a shooting on Forty-sixth Street. He was already meshing gears, stamping on the gas pedal. The cab roared away, heading for Madison Avenue.

The doorman was at Johnny’s side. “Why, I do believe that man had a gun,” he said solicitously to Johnny. “Are you all right, sir?”

“I’m fine. As fine as nylon.”

Johnny shook his head and strode toward Sixth Avenue. It was a one-way street and the taxicab had headed in the other direction.

At the corner of Sixth Avenue and Forty-sixth Street, Johnny stopped. He looked uncertainly northward. There was someone he wanted to see in that direction, but he was worried about Sam Cragg. He had not yet found a clue to his abductors. Still, Sam might have gotten word to the hotel. He might even have returned.

Sighing, Johnny walked to Forty-fifth Street, and turned toward the hotel. There was a squad car parked in the taxi stand, he noticed, but there were always squad cars around. The Forty-Fifth Street Hotel had a small bar in connection, where drinks were rather modestly priced.

Johnny entered the hotel. A uniformed policeman stood just inside and there was another standing by the elevator. Eddie Miller, in the middle of the lobby close to a post, made a quick, covert signal to Johnny.

Oh-oh, thought Johnny. He continued toward the elevator, slackening his stride, then snapped his fingers as if he had thought of something and wheeling, headed for the street.

Alas, Mr. Peabody came out of his office behind the desk at that moment and caught sight of him. “Mr. Fletcher!” he called.

The policeman beside the elevator came to life. “Here, you..!” Johnny pretended not to hear, but the policeman just inside the door caught his partner’s signal and swarmed forward. Caught between two policemen, Johnny stopped.

“Hi, fellas,” he said.

The policeman came up from the rear. “Your name Fletcher?”

“I park my limousine in a no-parking zone?” Johnny asked pleasantly.

The policeman shrugged. “I don’t make the charges. We got orders to come here and detain a man named John Fletcher.”

“You’ve got a warrant?”

“I said detain, not arrest. We don’t need a warrant to detain you.”

“If you think I’m going down to the station house without a warrant for my arrest, you’ve got another guess coming.”

Mr. Peabody came out from behind the desk. “Arrested again, Mr. Fletcher? This is getting to be too much. We cannot have officers coming in here all the time because of you. It’s bad for the hotel’s reputation.”

“Reputation? What reputation?”

Lieutenant Madigan came swinging into the hotel. “Johnny, what happened to Sam?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

Mr. Peabody squealed when he saw the lieutenant. “Lieutenant Madigan, please take this man with you at once. People are coming and going here all the time and I simply cannot have policemen all over the lobby.”

“Let’s go up to your room, Johnny,” suggested Madigan.

“Why bother? If I’m arrested, we might as well—”

“You’re not arrested. It’s your pal Cragg, this time.”

“Sam!”

Lieutenant Madigan stepped impatiently into the elevator. Johnny followed. “You’ve got Sam at the station?” Johnny asked sharply.

“No, that’s the trouble. But he ought to be.”

They got off at the eighth floor and Johnny unlocked the door of Room 821. They went in. A quick glance around told Johnny that there had been no more searchers in the room since he had left it in the morning.

“Now why,” he asked Madigan. “should Sam be in the clink?”

“We got a call from the police in Peekskill. They arrested Cragg up there, threw him in jail and he broke out, taking another prisoner with him.”

Johnny regarded Lieutenant Madigan in astonishment. “This is Sam Cragg you’re talking about? My pal, Sam?”

“None other. And who else could tear iron bars right out of the concrete?”

“Sam did that?”

“He did.”

“I haven’t seen Sam since early morning,” said Johnny. “I went out and when I got back the bell captain told me that Sam had received a phone call that I’d been hurt in a traffic accident. He dashed out to go to me and no one’s seen him since. No one, that is, except the people who snatched him.”

“How could anyone make Sam go anywhere against his will?”

“Oh, Sam’s strong enough, but he can’t punch bullets with his fist.”

Lieutenant Madigan scowled. “What’re you up to, Fletcher? It’s that Carmichael business, isn’t it?”

“I’m not interested in who killed Jess Carmichael.”

Madigan regarded him suspiciously. “You’re not playing cop again?”

Johnny did not say yes and he did not say no.

Madigan sat down on the bed and drummed his fingers on the nightstand. “This is a courtesy pinch, Fletcher. The Peekskill police want Cragg and we’re picking him up for them. He made a phone call to you here at the hotel, that’s how we got here so quickly. When Cragg comes in we’ll pick him up and hold him for the Peekskill boys. The Peekskill boys are not interested in you, unless they come up with an accessory-after-the-fact rap.”

“I haven’t been in Peekskill in eight years.”

“Then they probably won’t want to bother you, But they’ve sure thrown the book against Cragg. Grand larceny, forgery, the Sullivan Act, assault—”

“Are you kidding?” cried Johnny. “Sam a forger? Why, he can hardly write his own name, much less someone else’s.”

“That’s what they said over the phone. Forgery, along with the other items.”

“No wonder he broke out of jail. Forgery!”

Madigan got up. “You’re sure you’re not messing in the Carmichael case?”

“I just told you.”

The phone rang. Johnny started for it, but Madigan reached automatically for it. “Hello,” he said, then, “Who?... I see. Well come right up, sir. Room eight twenty-one.”

“Sam?”

“Uh-uh, someone else. I’m glad to hear you’re not snooping around the Carmichael’s, Fletcher. Mr. Carmichael’s a very rich man and he’s got some important friends. Down at City Hall, for instance.”

“He’s also got twenty-two hundred grocery stores.”