The Limping Goose

22

When Johnny re-entered the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, the policemen were still on duty in the lobby. And Lieutenant Madigan was still sitting glumly in a far corner. Johnny waved to him and went up to his room.

Entering, he went into the bathroom and retrieved the sock weighted with the dimes and pennies he had taken from Jess Carmichael the Third’s limping goose bank.

“It’s here,” he muttered. “It’s got to be here.”

He dumped the coins on the bed and began to examine them individually. He wished he had a magnifying glass, but his eyes were good and he studied the coins with elaborate care. Most of them were worn; a scratch or mark would have shown up readily on them. There was none. He counted the feathers in the Indian’s headpiece on the pennies. They all matched. He studied the milling around the edges. There was nothing out of place. He turned the coins over and studied them.

He separated the dimes from the pennies, studied each in turn. A half hour went by and he was no nearer the solution.

“It’s here,” he exclaimed aloud. “Jess Carmichael was no smarter than I am.”

He had the coins lined up according to their age. The oldest, he discovered, was an 1860 penny. The oldest dime was an 1862. The next dime was dated 1865.

Idly, he pushed the two rows of coins together, the oldest dime, the penny, then — a thought struck him and he moved swiftly, lining up the coins according to the dates, regardless, of their value. The coins’ dates now ran continuously 1860, through to 1939. “That’s it!” he cried. “That’s it!”

He raked the coins together, scooped them up and dumped them into his pocket. He started for the door, but wheeled back and picked up the phone.

“Give me the Barbizon-Waldorf!” he exclaimed. A moment later he said, “Mr. James Sutton, please.”

Sutton came on the wire. “I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “I’ve been delayed. If it’s all right I’ll come over now.”

“I was wondering what happened to you,” Sutton said.

“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.” Johnny hung up, then picked up the telephone book and called another number. “I want to talk to Mr. Jess Carmichael. That’s right... No, no, don’t give me that. Tell his secretary that this is Johnny Fletcher talking. If she’ll pass that on to him he’ll talk to me.” He waited a full two minutes, then a woman’s voice said:

“This is Mr. Carmichael’s secretary speaking. Mr. Carmichael is not in at the moment.”

“This is Johnny Fletcher,” Johnny persisted. “I’m investigating the... the murder of his son. Mr. Carmichael himself engaged me this morning. Personally. I have something very, very important to tell him.”

“Mr. Carmichael still isn’t in.” the secretary said, unperturbed. “He was in, but he left about a half hour ago.”

“Can you tell me where he went?”

“Mr. Carmichael doesn’t take me into his confidence every time he goes out.”

“All right,” said Johnny. “Can you tell me just one little thing? The telephone number of Hertha Colston, the late Mr. Carmichael’s fiancée?”

“I’m sorry,” was the reply. “I am not permitted to give out telephone numbers.”

Johnny groaned, but knew when he was licked. He replaced the phone on its springs.

He strode to the door and went out. As he stepped into the elevator the operator gave him a quick look, then averted his eyes. Johnny rode down to the lobby and stepped out of the elevator into a scene of violence.

Sam Cragg stood at bay. He had a huge leather chair raised over his head and was defying two policemen, Lieutenant Madigan, and Mr. Peabody.

“Nobody’s throwing me in no more clinks!” Sam howled. “I ain’t going with you until I talk to—” Then he saw Johnny. “Johnny!” he cried in vast relief. “Johnny, don’t let them throw me in the hoosegow. Go ahead, tell them it’s a mistake.”

“Fletcher,” grated Lieutenant Madigan, “we don’t want to hurt him. Will you order him to put down that chair?”

“Put it down, Sam,” Johnny said.

“Out of my hotel!” bleated Mr. Peabody. “Out of my hotel. This is an outrage. I won’t take this another minute.”

Sam lowered the chair to the floor, but still stood at bay. “You ain’t goin’ to let them pinch me, are you, Johnny?”

“It’ll be all right, Sam.”

“It won’t be,” persisted Lieutenant Madigan. “You know very well that I’ve got to take him in.”

“No!” roared Sam.

“Out!” screamed Mr. Peabody.

“Cragg,” said Lieutenant Madigan, “you can come quietly, or you can be dragged out.”

“Who’s going to do it?” defied Sam.

Lieutenant Madigan produced his revolver. “For the last time, Cragg...”

Peabody bleated again, “Please — no blood on my carpeting. Pease...!”

Johnny crooked a finger at Madigan, “I’ve got something for you, Madigan, something that will—”

“No! I was sent here to get Cragg, that’s all.”

“Aren’t you still on the Carmichael case?”

“I am, but first things first.”

“You think you’ll be a hero, picking up Sam on a fugitive warrant? Would you rather pinch him and turn him over to the Peekskill police on a silly misdemeanor charge than bring in the murderer of Jess Carmichael the Third?”

“I’m not going to listen to you. And Sam Cragg isn’t facing any misdemeanor charges. It’s forgery, grand larceny, jail-breaking and—”

Johnny waved it all away. “I can straighten all that out in two minutes. But, listen, I’ve got the murderer of Jess Carmichael. I can give him to you, all wrapped up and tied with a pink ribbon.”

“You can do one thing,” Madigan said bitterly. “You can talk bigger and faster than any sidewalk spieler I ever heard.”

“You were in my room an hour ago, Madigan. Who knocked on the door and came in?”

“All right, I grant you that. You bamboozled the old man, somehow.”

“I’ve bamboozled the murderer, too.”

“All right, who is he?”

“I’ll name him for you in just about fifteen minutes. And you can then put the handcuffs on him.”

“Tell me now, if you want me to believe you.”

“No — I can’t prove it now. I can in fifteen minutes.”

“All right,” said Madigan grimly. “The boys can take Sam Cragg down to the precinct house and I’ll go with you.”

“No dice,” said Johnny. “Sam comes along with us.”

“He goes to jail!”

“No, Johnny!” cried Sam.

“Sam goes with us,” Johnny said stubbornly. “You can bring your policemen along if you want to, but Sam goes with us.”

Madigan hesitated and was lost. “There’s no monkey business about this?”

“I promise you,” said Johnny. “I’ll hand over the murderer to you or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll hand him over. That’s all.”

“Fletcher, it’s my job to bring in a prisoner as soon as I arrest him. If I carry Cragg around town with me, I’ve got to explain the reason to the captain. If it isn’t a good reason, I’ll be pounding a beat.”

“And if you bring in the person who murdered the son of one of the richest men in the United States?”

“That’s the reason I’m gambling. I know you’re a slick, fast-talking sharpshooter—”

“Don’t believe him, officer,” cried Mr. Peabody. “Don’t believe a thing he tells you. I have reason to believe that he — he entered my apartment and stole a suit of my clothes.”

Johnny waggled a forefinger at the hotel manager. “Some day, Peabody, some day...”

“Come on,” snapped Madigan suddenly.

He started for the door. Sam fell in beside Johnny and the two uniformed policemen fell in behind them.

“Oh, the things I went through today, Johnny,” moaned Sam.

“I know, Sam, I know.”

“First I was kidnaped. Then I escaped and — I was so hungry. My backbone was pushing my chest. I... I had to eat or starve, so I” — he gulped, swallowed hard and shuddered — “I... I can’t even tell you about it, Johnny. The thing that happened to me.”

“Tell me later.”

The squad car was at the curb. The two policemen got into the front seat and Madigan, Sam and Johnny crowded into the rear. “Where to?” asked Madigan.

“The Barbizon-Waldorf.”

The driver used the siren until Madigan curtly ordered him to stop.

Five minutes later the police car pulled up before the Barbizon-Waldorf. A doorman came over, then backed away. “You want to make a scene?” Johnny asked the lieutenant.

“Damn!” swore Madigan.

“Sam won’t escape. I’ll give you my word.”

“Yeah, I promise, too,” chimed in Sam.

“All right, come on,” snarled Madigan. He gestured to the policemen. “You boys wait out here.”

“Sure you can handle it alone?” one of the men asked.

“I can handle it.”

The three men climbed out of the rear seat and went into the hotel. They rode up to the floor of Sutton’s apartment, then as they neared the room, Johnny stopped. “Let me and Sam go in, Lieutenant. You wait outside until I call you.”

“Don’t give me that,” snapped Madigan.

“Play it my way.”

Madigan gritted his teeth. “I’ll be right outside this door.”