The Seven Sinister Sombreros

Chapter VIII. Cars, Cowboys, and Cuties.

Lester Leith heard the sound of the siren, looked up from the automobile, took off his big ten-gallon hat, and wiped his perspiring forehead.

“Quite a drag on your head,” he said to Harry Lanten with a grin.

The thin cowpuncher said: “Oh, you get used to ’em after a while. They seem heavy at first, but they protect your head and neck. After you once get accustomed to them, you wouldn’t ever wear anything else.”

“I think mine’s bigger than yours,” Leith said. “Let’s see those brims for a minute.”

Lanten removed his big cowboy hat, passed it over to Leith who held the hats together, turned them over, and said:

“Nope. They’re as like as peas in a pod. Tell you what you do, Harry. Jump in that car, go down the street until you find a garage. Send a man back here to repair this car, then you and Miss Kapiolani go down to the Crestview Hotel at Lakewood. Put your car in a garage, and you two wait until I get in touch with you. Don’t try to communicate with me under any circumstances. Here’s three hundred dollars for expense money. Get started right away.”

“Gee,” Lanten said, “this is a funny kind of a job—”

“Get started right away,” Leith said.

“O. K.” Lanten grinned. He walked to the car ahead, said to Nano Kapiolani, “Wait until you hear the news.”

They drove away just as the big police car came rocketing down the street.

Lester Leith looked up as tires protested the sudden application of brakes. For a moment, he seemed puzzled, then his eyes flashed into smiling recognition.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “You certainly made a quick run of it, sergeant! Where were you when you got my message? The man said you were out on an important case.”

Sergeant Ackley pushed open the door of the car and stepped to the pavement. He was followed by Captain Carmichael.

“What are you up to now?” he asked.

Lester Leith frowned. “Sergeant,” he said, “I really wish you wouldn’t cultivate such a constant attitude of belligerent suspicion. As a private citizen, I have uncovered information which, I think, should be of interest to the police. I immediately telephoned police headquarters, and asked that the information be relayed to you. I see no reason for you to adopt—”

“What’s this about telephoning headquarters?” Captain Carmichael asked.

Lester Leith indicated the drugstore. “The call went in from there,” he said, “not over three minutes ago. Step in and verify it if you don’t believe it. However, sergeant, unless you received the call, I don’t know how the devil you could possibly have known where to find me.”

Captain Carmichael and Sergeant Ackley exchanged glances.

Sergeant Ackley said to the driver of the police car, “Step in that drugstore, Bill, and check up on it.” He turned back to Lester Leith. “Any time you voluntarily report anything to the police!” he said sneeringly.

Captain Carmichael interposed. “Just a moment, sergeant,” he said. “After all, Leith is a citizen and a taxpayer. Moreover, he’s a prominent citizen. Let’s hear his side of the story before we start any browbeating.”

Sergeant Ackley grunted.

Leith said: “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you, sir.”

“I’m Captain Carmichael,” Carmichael said.

Leith stepped forward and shook hands. Sergeant Ackley, standing on the side lines, snorted, took the cigar from his mouth, spat contemptuously into the gutter.

Leith said: “Quite recently, captain, I became interested in the interpretation of nature through the Polynesian dances, and in particular through the Hawaiian hula dance. My interest was aroused when I advertised for hula dancers who—”

“Why did you advertise for them?” Captain Carmichael asked.

Lester Leith grinned and said: “Because I had an idea it might be possible to work out a purely academic solution of the Bonneguard safe robbery by the use of hula dancers.”

Sergeant Ackley snapped to swift attention. “What’s that?” he asked.

Lester Leith ignored him. “You see, captain,” he explained, “I understood that a man by the name of Wolganheimer had been keeping company with a Hawaiian dancer named Io Wahine. I had never met Miss Wahine myself, but I thought perhaps that by taking an interest in Hawaiian dances, I would find some other dancers who could gain her confidence and who would in turn find out certain things for me.”

“Did it work?” Captain Carmichael asked ominously.

“I don’t know,” Lester Leith said, “whether it would work or not. To be perfectly frank with you, captain, I’m not doing it for myself, but merely to win an absurd argument with my valet, a most unusual chap by the name of Beaver. I developed the situation until, as a natural result, he was brought into contact with Miss Wahine, the young woman, who I am satisfied holds the key clue to the case. I’m now leaving Beaver with her and waiting for developments. I think it won’t be long until Beaver comes to me and admits I was right. It’s all rather petty, perhaps, but Beaver’s taking an interest in criminal matters, and I want to encourage him as much as possible.”

The driver of the police car came out of the drugstore and nodded.

“That’s right,” he said. “A thin guy with a cowpuncher’s hat came in and telephoned, said he was telephoning on behalf of Lester Leith, and wanted to get in touch with Sergeant Ackley and report something Leith had discovered.”

Sergeant Ackley frowned. Captain Carmichael inquired:

“What was it you found, Leith?”

“I purchased this car as an investment,” Leith said. “I came to the conclusion that this particular model offered a very remarkable actual value, far in excess of its so-called ‘blue book’ listing. So I bought several of these cars. On this one, I happened to have a flat. I started to change the tire, as you will notice, and then tried to put on the spare tire. What do you think I found?”

“What did you find?” Carmichael asked.

Lester Leith led them around to the back of the car and indicated the spare tire and the section which had so cunningly been built into it.

“Evidently, captain,” he said naively, “this car must have been used by a smuggler. Now it occurs to me that you may want to check back on the registration and find out just who had it.”

Captain Carmichael exchanged glances with Sergeant Ackley.

“Let’s take a look,” the captain said. “And you, Bill, skip in and call the motor vehicle department. Tell them we want some fast action. How long have you had this car, Leith?”

“Not over twenty-four hours.”

“You have a bill of sale and assignment of—”

“Oh, yes,” Lester Leith said, producing several documents from his pocket.

“How many of these cars did you buy?” Captain Carmichael asked.

“I don’t know. Five or six, I think.”

Sergeant Ackley came storming forward.

“Oh, what the hell’s the use of stalling around?” he said. “Leith has some scheme to get the dough. He wants to give us a run-around and is trying to make suckers of us.”

“Just a minute, sergeant,” Captain Carmichael interrupted sternly. “There’s only one way to prove a case, and that’s by getting proof. When you can furnish proof that a man’s a criminal, arrest him. Until you can, he’s a citizen and a taxpayer and entitled to courteous consideration. Shut up!”

Lester Leith smiled gratefully.

Captain Carmichael, checking through the documents, said: “But you don’t seem to have anything covering this car, Mr. Leith.”

“What?” Lester Leith exclaimed incredulously. “I must have. I bought it.”

“Well, it isn’t here.”

Sergeant Ackley said: “Don’t listen to him, captain. He’s just trying to mix things all up and—”

Captain Carmichael said sternly: “Use your head, sergeant. There’s been a mixup in cars at the parking lot. This is Wolganheimer’s car.”

Sergeant Ackley stared at the secret compartment in the spare tire, looked at Lester Leith in startled dismay as slow comprehension sagged his jaw muscles, sent his cigar drooping downward at a dejected angle. Suddenly his eyes sparkled. The cigar snapped upward.

“Holy smoke!” he shouted. “We’ve got him! We’ve got him with the goods on. He read about Wolganheimer having a puncture the night of the burglary and not being able to put on the spare tire because the threads were crossed on the bolt. He figured out Wolganheimer had deliberately crossed those threads so the tire couldn’t be taken off. That’s why he got that big monkey wrench. Wolganheimer knew his own associates would eventually search him and every place he’d been— We’ve got him, captain! We’ve got him! He switched tickets there at the parking space, copped this car, started away with it, and the tire went flat. We came storming on his heels, and he hasn’t had a chance to ditch the swag. He’s trying to stall around so he can hide it. Search him!”

Captain Carmichael nodded, said grimly, “I’m sorry, Leith, but I think there’s enough evidence to warrant our taking you to headquarters.”

“For what?” Lester Leith asked. “To search you.”

“Search me here,” Leith said. “Come on in the drugstore. Search me in there.”

“Come on,” Sergeant Ackley said; “in the drugstore, captain. Seconds are precious. We want to clean this thing up.”

They rushed Lester Leith into the drugstore, searched him from head to foot, went through every inch of his clothes — and found absolutely nothing, other than the usual assortment of articles which might have been expected, including some two thousand dollars in fifty and hundred-dollar bills.

Sergeant Ackley wiped perspiration from his forehead, scowled at Captain Carmichael.

“He couldn’t have ditched it,” said the sergeant. “He— Wait a minute. How about that skinny cowpuncher. What became of him?”

“He drove away,” Lester Leith said.

“He’s got the swag,” Sergeant Ackley yelled, and pounced upon the telephone.

He called the radio department at police headquarters, ordered a broadcast to all cars to pick up a thin man wearing a sombrero, and accompanied by a Hawaiian girl. The pair were probably in a 1936 Ford sedan.

Lester Leith yawned, and lighted a cigarette.

At the end of ten minutes, headquarters called back that a detective reported a thin cowpuncher, wearing a big sombrero, accompanied by a Hawaiian girl, was sitting in a 1936 Ford in front of Lester Leith’s apartment, apparently awaiting instructions.

“Get them under arrest,” Sergeant Ackley bellowed into the telephone. “Rush them to headquarters. Don’t give them a chance to ditch anything. We’ll meet you up there and search them.”

Sergeant Ackley slammed up the telephone and said to Lester Leith:

“Come on, buddy; you’re going to headquarters.”

“This,” Leith suggested, “is a damnable outrage.”

Captain Carmichael tilted back his hat to scratch the side of his head.

“I’m not so certain but what it is,” he admitted.

“I am warning you, gentlemen,” Lester Leith said, “that if I am dragged to police headquarters, I shall cease to co-operate with you. I shall make absolutely no statement of any sort, nature, or description.”

“Who wants you to make any statement?” Sergeant Ackley yelled. “Every time you talk, you mix things all up. We’ve got you this time, dead to rights. We’ve caught you in the act, and we’re going to run down your back trail until we nail you to the cross. All we ask of you is to keep your mouth shut. Come on, captain; let’s go.”

Lester Leith sat in the police car, and, during the journey, made no comment. At headquarters, he nodded to the thin, bowlegged cow-puncher in the Western hat, and the Hawaiian girl who accompanied him.

Sergeant Ackley said: “This gives you the whole sketch. Leith was advertising for a cowpuncher. Why did he want a broncobuster? Not that he cared a hang about whether the man could actually bust broncos or not, but broncobusters are riders. Riders are bowlegged. Now, Wolganheimer is thin and bowlegged. Wolganheimer took a 1936 Ford into the parking station. He had Io Wahine with him. The guy in the parking station was all eyes for the Hawaiian girl. Lester Leith drove in and started shuffling ’36 Fords around like cards in a deck. He had every opportunity to switch parking tickets. Then when this pair came to the parking station, all the attendant could see was a thin man with bowlegs accompanied by a Hawaiian girl. He never smelled a rat. He gave them the car without any questions. Handling the number of cars that he does, he has only a hazy recollection of cars and people.”

Captain Carmichael nodded. “Very logical, sergeant,” he said ominously. “Very well worked out and very concisely stated. Now, just how do you expect to get your proof?”

Sergeant Ackley said belligerently: “I’ll get it. Leith won’t talk, but I can turn the heat on these two and—”

The thin broncobuster said, with a quiet calm which was packed with deadly anger: “I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about. I have been running some errands for Lester Leith. This Hawaiian girl has been with me. We haven’t been near any parking lot.”

“That’s right,” Maui Huanemo said. “I know because I was with him every minute.”

“That’s what you say,” Sergeant Ackley stormed. “Wait until that service station man identifies you.” The thin broncobuster reached in his pocket and said to Captain Carmichael: “Here’s something that may help. About forty minutes ago, I parked the car in front of a fire plug, and the officer insisted on giving me a ticket. Perhaps he can identify me. In any event, the ticket will.” He took from his pocket a traffic tag on which the name, “Phil Wolsack,” had been signed as the operator of the car.

“Your name Wolsack?” Captain Carmichael asked.

“Yes.”

“Go ahead and sign your name. Let’s see you sign it,” Sergeant Ackley said.

They looked over his shoulder while he signed his name.

Captain Carmichael said: “That tag was issued at ten minutes past five by Hal Whiteside over in No. 5 precinct. This car couldn’t have been parked out there by the Moronia Building, sergeant.”

Sergeant Ackley stared from one to the other with apprehensive eyes. An orderly stepped into the room. “Beg pardon, sergeant,” he said. “Do you want another report on that radio broadcast?”

“What radio broadcast?”

“You called all cars and asked them to be on the lookout for a ’36 Ford, driven by a thin chap wearing a cowboy hat, and accompanied by a Hawaiian girl.”

“What have you learned?” Sergeant Ackley asked.

“Radio Car No. 13 has picked up a pair answering the description. They were speeding out of town. The guy says he’s working for Lester Leith and was delivering some packages. The girl says she’s a professional hula dancer, hired by Lester Leith as a member of the Hawaiian-American Aesthetic—”

“Skip all that,” Sergeant Ackley said. “I know all about it.”

“Do you want them?”

“You bet I want them!”

The orderly seemed fighting to suppress a smile. “Just a minute, sergeant,” he said. “Here’s another one.”

“Another what?”

“Another report.”

“I don’t want any more reports!” Sergeant Ackley yelled. “I want action! I want that car brought in. I want those two dragged into headquarters and searched.”

“But this other report,” the orderly said, “has some bearing on—”

Sergeant Ackley’s face darkened. “Tell that radio car to bring that cowpuncher and the Hawaiian girl in here. I don’t give a damn about any more reports. Beat it.”

“Very good, sergeant,” the orderly said.

Captain Carmichael stopped him as he was in the act of closing the door.

“Just a minute,” said the captain. “I think I’m interested in that other report. What is it?”

“Radio Car 3,” the orderly said, “also reports that it picked up a Ford ’36 driven by a thin man who admits he’s a broncobuster and who’s wearing a cowboy ten-gallon hat. There’s a Hawaiian dancer with him. They say they’re working for a man named Lester Leith, and he hired them to drive around the city, stopping in at the night clubs and—”

Sergeant Ackley abruptly sat down in a chair, as though his knees had suddenly refused to support his weight.

Captain Carmichael’s lips twisted in the ghost of a smile. He glanced furtively at Lester Leith’s calmly tranquil countenance.

“I suppose you know, Wolsack,” Lester Leith said to the broncobuster, “that you have the right to sue Sergeant Ackley for false arrest, for defamation of character, and malicious prosecution. I’ll be very glad to put you in touch with competent counsel if you desire to go ahead.”

“You bet I want to go ahead,” the thin man said, his voice vibrant with rage.

“And I do too,” the Hawaiian girl chimed in.

Sergeant Ackley yelled: “You can’t get away with that! This is a wholesale conspiracy. You’ve deliberately shuffled this thing all up, figuring that when a person sees a thin man in a sombrero accompanied by a Hawaiian dancer, he isn’t going to look for any better description.”

Lester Leith yawned, and patted his lips with four polite fingers in a cursory attempt to disguise the yawn. “So sorry, sergeant,” he said, “but apparently you’ve forgotten the Hawaiian-American Aesthetic Art Association, organized for the purpose of promoting a closer appreciation of the true nature of Hawaiian art. In case you’re interested, sergeant, I have quite a number of cars canvassing the city, performing errands, calling on night clubs, and leaving literature. Unless you cancel that order asking all radio patrol cars to pick up these people, I’m afraid you’re going to have quite a few cases filed against you for defamation of character, for false arrest, for—”

Captain Carmichael said tersely: “He’s got you, sergeant. Cancel that order.”