"You think I'm looking well, Jim?"
"Terrible good. Terrible." He mopped his forehead. "How do you stand
this heat?"
She laughed.
"We've lived South ever since we were married. That's six years."
"And three months," he amplified. "Ever since Johnny finished that last
stretch. Me, I'd just as lief be in stir. Sit down. How's Johnny?"
The woman's face clouded slightly.
"It's about him I came to see you, Jim."
"Much obliged to Johnny." He relighted his cigar. "What's he doin' now?
Con?"
She shook her head.
"We've been straight ever since we hitched up. You ought to know that,
Jim."
"Ought to. Just thought maybe he was keepin' away from my line. I'm
with the Bankers' Protective now, you know."
"I know it; that's why I came to you."
He stretched out.
"Spill it, Helen. I'm all ears--all ears and perspiration, I mean."
"You've always been a friend of ours, Jim. You play square. You sent
Johnny up once, but he didn't hold that against you; it was all his
fault for gettin' caught. And he made a regular killin' that time,
Jim--you remember they never did get the stuff. Well, when he got out
we decided to get married and go straight. Of course we didn't know how
we'd like it, but we did think it was worth trying--understand?"
"Sure! Novelty. Any time you didn't like it you could turn crooked
again."
"That's it. Well, I've liked it, an' so has Johnny. No dicks worryin'
us, everything running smooth. It's been a real nice experience, Jim.
I never would have believed there was so much fun in bein' honest. And
after a while--well, it sort of gets to be a habit. Now I've come to
the point where I wouldn't change for anything."
She paused. He blinked with disconcerting slowness.
"Well?"
She leaned forward tensely.
"Johnny's planning to pull a job!"
"Huh?"
"Johnny's planning to pull another job. He's got a chance for a neat
killing, and he's going to try it."
Jim's head rolled sorrowfully upon his fat shoulders.
"That's too dog-goned bad! After runnin' straight this long!"
"It is too bad, Jim. That's why I've come to you."
"What's why?"
"I want you to keep him straight. I know I can trust you, so I'm going
to slip you the whole works, and I want you to steer him off. There
ain't a bit of sense to his going crooked again. We've got all the
money we need; but the thing looks so easy--you know how it is."
"Uh-huh. I know. What you expect me to do?"
"The job he's planning, Jim, is a bank job. That would bring you into
it."
Jim's lips drew into a protuberant circle and a low whistle escaped.
"Bank job, eh? His old line. That's plumb silly."
"I've told him so; told him a dozen times. But he says it's a cinch.
Sure thing. Bah!"--bitterly. "It's a sure thing he wouldn't get away
with it."
"But he thinks he can."
"That's it. I know just how he feels, Jim. I've felt that way myself
a dozen times when I've seen some dame out at the race track wearing
a million dollars' worth of sparklers. I'd remember how good I used
to be at that sort of thing and my fingers would just naturally itch.
It seemed a shame to pass it up. But"--righteously--"I've given
temptation the go-by, Jim. I haven't pulled a job since I got hitched
up to Johnny, though I've had chances enough. You always have when
you're running straight. Sometimes I've felt like I'd give everything I
had just for the sport of reducing the weight of some fat dame to the
extent of a coupla carats. Well, the bug's got Johnny now. Things have
played into his hands and he's rarin' to go. I told him you was down in
this part of the country, but he only laughed. 'Reckon I can get away
with this in spite of Jim Hanvey,' he said. The poor fish! You know
good and well, Jim, there ain't any crook can buck you and get away
with it, is there?"
Jim grinned.
"What you tryin' to do--vamp me?"
"Lord forbid! It would be too much trouble for the result."
"That sounds more like my frank friend. Now please continue to go on."
"I'm going to give you a straight steer on this job of Johnny's. I
want to leave it all in your hands. You ought to be able to head him
off. I know I'm foolish to be so dead set on honesty and all that sort
of romantic stuff, but I can't help it. Reckon I've been seeing too
many movies or something." She leaned forward tensely, giving off an
aroma of heavy and expensive perfumes, her fingers glittering with an
imposing array of rings. "I want to stay straight, Jim--I sure do! And
I want Johnny to do likewise."
Jim reached for a fresh cigar and settled back comfortably in his chair.
"You don't mind these, do you, Helen?"
"We-e-ll, I haven't any right to kick when I'm asking you a favor."
"Thanks."
He snipped off the end of the cigar and lighted up with gusto.
"Since Johnny turned straight he's been gambling," she explained.
"No rough stuff, nor nothing like that. Of course I'm not claiming
that he hasn't rung in the works once in a while when he's hooked a
particularly easy mark or that maybe he hasn't managed to read the
backs of a few cards; but that's all part of the profession. The point
is he hasn't been crooked--understand?"
"Sure! I get you."
"Last two seasons he's been oralizing down in New Orleans--both tracks
there: Fair Grounds and Jefferson Parish. Business has been pretty
good, but nothing extra. New Orleans is a wise town on horses. They're
the very devil on backing the favorites and that's awful tough on the
bookies. Anyway racing has kinder got into Johnny's blood. He started
off last year by buying a few cheap platers--called himself owning
a stable. And finally he come into a two-year-old that is a colt.
Lightning Bolt is the name. Y'oughter see that angel run!
"Major Torrance clocked that baby one time in a workout and wanted
him; wanted him bad. Johnny didn't hanker to let him go. They talked
price, but nothing come of it. Everybody knew the old gent was nuts on
Lightning Bolt and was gonna get him sooner or later--everybody except
him. And just recently Johnny found out that the major had booked
passage for Europe on the Homeric, sailing out of New York day after
to-morrow--Thursday. Also that Torrance's stable was bein' shipped
North for the New York season. And that's where Johnny fell."
She paused, one white-shod foot tapping the floor. Jim sat in supine
silence, apparently oblivious of her presence.
"Yes," she continued tensely, "that's where Johnny took his tumble. He
told the major he'd sell Lightning Bolt, provided the old geezer would
buy all the rest of his stable--four other horses. The price for the
bunch was eight thousand dollars. The deal went through. Those horses
went North with the Torrance stable the other day when the season ended
in New Orleans. Old man Torrance sails from New York in a couple of
days. Of course you can prove up on all of this; the real point being
that Johnny holds the major's check for eight thousand dollars."
Her voice died away. Out of the silence which followed came Jim's
drawling voice:
"An' one little teeny letter added onto an eight makes an eighty."
The luxurious blonde glanced sharply at the big man in the wicker
chair, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"What made you think----"
"Two an' two always did make four, sister."
Her fingers interlaced nervously.
"That's the layout, Jim. He's planning to raise that check and make a
get-away----" Her voice trailed off. "And that isn't all."
"No?"
Jim's query was a mere indication of interest rather than an effort to
extract further information.
"Not all, Jim. It's this way----" She hitched her chair closer and
laid one ringed hand on Jim's knee. The ponderous man seemed unmindful
of it--for a moment. Then he moved away. "Just before Johnny turned
straight and married me he pulled one last big job. It was regular and
all that. The poor sucker they caught was hog-tied; he didn't dare let
out a yap. Johnny made a clean-up on it and with that amount added to
what he had he retired with about a quarter of a million bucks." There
was conscious pride in her final declaration: "Johnny never was a
piker."
"He sure wasn't, Helen. Great chap, Johnny."
"That quarter of a million has been salted away in Liberty Bonds.
Johnny bought 'em at about 84 and they're pretty near par now.
He's dead stuck on 'em; says when they jumped in value it was the
first honest money he ever made. He never would touch 'em. Kind of
superstitious. But, Jim, he's planning to dig into 'em now."
"Yeh?"
"He's got a chance of opening a big gambling place down near Juarez.
Things like that take cash--a wad of it. So Johnny is fixing to borrow
on his Liberties."
"Borrow?"
"Yes. He's superstitious about them, like I told you, and he don't want
to sell. He figures he can borrow two hundred thousand on the things.
Then he's going to raise that Torrance check from eight thousand to
eighty. That'll give him $280,000 in cash--more than enough for what he
wants. He'll sink a heap of that into the business, and at the first
opportunity he plans to come back, redeem his Liberties and salt 'em
away again. Understand?"
Hanvey was apparently not listening. He stared moodily through the
window, lower jaw drooping, the ash on his cigar perilously lengthy.
Finally he turned his glassy eyes upon her.
"How c'n you look so cool when it's so durned hot?"
She bit her lip.
"Do you understand, Jim?"
"Eh?" He blinked with interminable slowness. "Oh, about Johnny an' his
gamblin' house an' the Liberty Bonds an' all that? Sure, that's easy.
Johnny's just naturally plannin' to get wicked again, ain't he?"
"And I don't want him to. There ain't anything in the world like being
honest, Jim; I've found that out. It's the grandest feeling I've ever
had. I wouldn't turn crooked again for anything in the world--unless
we really needed the money. I don't want Johnny to. He's been out of
the game so long he's liable to pull a boner and lose what he's got."
"You sure spoke a mouthful then, sister. That's a downright crude stunt
Johnny is figgerin' on pullin'. Of course, him plannin' to beat it into
Mexico, anyway----"
"I'd hate to live there. Never did like Mexican cooking--chili an' hot
tamales and all that sort of thing. And the climate----"
"Hotter'n this, ain't it?"
She didn't answer. For a few moments silence held between them, tense
silence punctured only by the ticking of the cheap alarm clock on the
mantel and the bellowing of a group of boys playing in the street below.
"You've got to help me, Jim--got to help me keep Johnny straight. He'll
listen to you where he laughs at me."
"Awful glad to do a little job like that, Helen. I'm real anxious
Johnny shouldn't turn crooked again. He's got brains enough to make an
honest livin'. Lemme see--when's he plannin' to pass this bum check?"
"Two or three days. You see, Jim, he'll borrow the two hundred thousand
on his bonds--borrow it from a local banking house--Starnes & Company.
When he deposits their check for that amount he'll deposit along with
it Major Torrance's check for eighty thousand; and the eighty-thousand
one being so much smaller than the other, they won't pay a whole lot
of attention to it. Then he'll check against the total sum. Ain't that
clever?"
"Awful!" He inhaled deeply. "Awful clever! A good check for two hundred
thousand and a bum one for eighty, passed right through the bank. Then
he checks against 'em. Johnny sure uses his head for somethin' more
than a hatrack."
She rose and threw a light scarf across her plump shoulders.
"You promise to keep him straight, Jim? You promise?"
"Sure! Sure I promise, Helen! Dog-gone this weather!"
She made her adieus and swung down the street toward the city's largest
hotel. One or two traveling men ogled her and she expanded to the
pleased consciousness of the effect she was creating. It had always
been thus, ever since her girlhood in Troy, New York. Blessed with
voluptuous blondness, men had always flocked about her. Adulation had
been all in all to her until the advent of Johnny Norton, and to him
she capitulated utterly.
Johnny had been an honest and efficient wooer. They teamed up and
knocked about the country until he made his final big killing. Then
they married and turned straight; but the strain of the past five years
had been terrific.
Helen rapped on the door of her room and Johnny opened it in person.
He was a small man, slender and wiry and very much of a dandy in
his lavender silk shirt, his white sport shoes and his aggressively
checkered suit. He kissed her dutifully, then stepped back, twisting
his near-mustache.
Three other men lounged about the room. There was Slim Bolton, a card
sharper, whose practice had been largely confined to transatlantic
liners; Happy Gorman, who had attained fame--and a jail sentence--by
means of an astoundingly clever oil-stock swindle; and Connie Hawes,
one-time counterfeiter and generally expert flimflam artist. Their
eyes were focused interestedly upon the Junoesque figure of the woman
who stood with her back against the door, enjoying to the ultimate her
calcium moment.
"Well," she announced pridefully, "Jim Hanvey fell for it!"
There was a moment of tense silence.
At last, Johnny Norton pulling nervously at his mustache, voiced the
question which was uppermost in the minds of all of them:
"You sure?"
"Positive! You know how it is, boys. Jim has got only one weakness
and that's his heart. It's softer than mush. He fell for that
going-straight stuff like a tabby for a fresh box of catnip. Honest, it
was a shame to take the money."
Johnny grinned.
"He promised to keep me straight?"
"Yeh. Reckon it was the first time poor old Jim was ever asked to do
anything like that." Her face clouded. "I sort of hate to put it over
on him this way. I'm awful strong for Jim."
"So are all of us." It was Connie Hawes speaking. "But what could we do
about it? It was a cinch we'd have trouble with Jim, so the best thing
was to throw him off the track."
Slim Bolton rose and walked to the window. He spoke without turning.
"Reckon this stuff ain't exactly in my line," he commented; "but I
never did understand the reason for wising Jim up. I'm not saying
you fellows are wrong, but it looks to me like we are running an
unnecessary chance."
Johnny Norton made no attempt to conceal his contempt for the slender
one.
"If you had more than one brain in your head, Slim, they wouldn't have
barred you from the steamships. The reason Jim had to know it was
this: He's chief of the detective force of the Bankers' Protective
Association. Bein' down in this part of the country, it was a dead
cinch he'd be called in the minute anything irregular happened."
"But nothing irregular----"
"Nothing irregular me eye! I borrow two hundred thousand dollars on
a quarter million dollars' worth of Liberty Bonds. The banking house
sends 'em over to the bank by messenger for rediscount. You fellows
bump the messenger and make a get-away with the bonds. Bond robbery
from a banking house which is a member of the Bankers' Protective. Jim
Hanvey is called in of course, and first thing he asks is where did
they get the Liberty Bonds. And when they tell him that a gent named
John Roden Norton borrowed the money he would be most likely to smell a
mice; even two or three mices."
"But when this happens----"
"Pff! You fellows are gonna lay low. And Jim already knows all about
my borrowing the two hundred thou. He even knows about the Juarez
proposition, and at the very moment you fellows are grabbing off the
bonds I'll be with Jim Hanvey. Get that? He not only is gonna be set
easy on borrowing the coin, but he's also gonna be right with me when
the fireworks are being shot. What's the result? I've got a clean slate
with Jim. I even let him induce me not to raise Torrance's check--swell
chance I'd have raisin' that bird's paper--and so Jim will be lovin'
me real sweet and you guys will be beatin' it to the border with
them quarter million dollars in bonds. You fellers will cash 'em in
somewheres----"
"How about the numbers? They ain't registered bonds, I know, but the
minute that many are stolen the banking house will notify the B. P. A.
to watch out----"
Helen of Troy had been too long in the background. She didn't like
it. All her life she had been accustomed to having men stare at her
and hang upon her words, and so now she took the floor again and gave
explanation to Slim Bolton, who had but recently been impressed into
service as the necessary fifth member of the party.
"I and Happy worked out that game," she explained. "Happy is awful keen
on stocks and bonds and things like that, so he knew that we'd have to
watch out for those numbers. So what we'll do is this: Johnny, here,
has already made arrangements for the loan--told the banking house just
what he wants the money for--and on Thursday he's to swap the bonds and
his note for the cash. He's due to be on hand at eleven o'clock in the
morning, but he ain't gonna be. He's gonna get there about half-past
one, the banks in this burg closin' up at two o'clock. He'll hand over
the bonds to the president of the banking house and that bird will
check over the bond numbers with Johnny, Johnny having them written
down formal-like on a piece of paper.
"And here's the point, Slim: The numbers that Johnny reads out will be
the numbers of the bonds all right, but the numbers he reads won't be
the numbers that are written down on this slip of paper.
"Minute he does that he's gonna ask the banker to give him the check
quick so he can deposit before the bank closes, with the result that
the banker will accept that list and will give Johnny's slip to the
bookkeeper for entering in the journal. In other words, the numbers
that they'll enter up won't be the numbers of the bonds at all, and
there won't be any check when you get away with 'em. Chances are the
banking house has already made arrangements to rediscount at one of
the big banks, and they'll be anxious to shoot the collateral right
around there; so the whole thing will slip through real pretty."
"And if it don't?" questioned the pessimistic Slim.
She stamped her foot irritably.
"Then it'll simply be a harder matter to dispose of the bonds. They're
in thousand-dollar denominations, and it would take time, but not be
dangerous. Anyway you boys are to cash in as soon as you can, shoot the
two hundred thousand back to Johnny and then Johnny redeems his bonds
and hikes down there to join you. We can't lose."
"Us fellers do the rough work," commented Connie Hawes. "That ain't
ever been exactly in my line."
"I'm putting up the kale, ain't I?" queried Johnny. "That ought to
count some."
"It does. But----"
"But nothing!" snapped Helen of Troy. "The way you boys talk about
flunking this thing you almost make me ashamed of being a crook."
Meanwhile, in the very limited confines of his room, Jim Hanvey
had been doing considerable thinking. He sat as Helen had left
him, overflowing the old wicker chair, puffing solemnly upon the
long-extinguished stump of his cigar, fat fingers fiddling with his
watch chain.
Jim was interested; so interested that for a few moments he almost
forgot the intense heat. He had been asked to keep a crook on the
straight and narrow.
"Gee! Johnny was a good workman in his day. Funny what wimmin will do
to a guy."
He was surprised that Johnny had remained straight for this length of
time. He didn't blame the lad, of course--was sincerely glad that he
had done so. Helen was a woman in a million, just such a one as Jim
secretly craved for a wife. She was comfortably large and full-blooded
and richly blond. "And wise. I'd hate to be married to a boneheaded
dame." He lighted his cigar stump absently. "Swell-lookin' frail like
her could almost make me turn crooked. No wonder she's kept Johnny
straight."
More peculiar than that, however, Jim reflected, was the fact that
Helen herself had forsaken the rose path. She had been a clever dip in
her day--none superior--and a smooth worker in other lines. He recalled
the Starkman blackmail scheme; they'd never been able to hang a thing
on Helen for that--or Johnny either. Old Starkman's lips had been
tightly sealed, and not through indifference to money.
"That bimbo didn't love a dollar no more than he did his last pair of
pants. Helen sure had him dead to rights, someway."
Here was Helen going straight and coming to him for assistance that her
husband might not step from the road of rectitude. Jim's massive head
rolled heavily from side to side in wonderment.
He spent the evening at a movie, finding himself aroused to spontaneous
applause at that portion of the picture which disclosed the husband
returning home just in time to prevent the elopement of his wife and
the chauffeur, the latter having turned out to be an old lover in
disguise. There was a saccharine scene which resulted in a dramatic
choice between the men, the woman designating her preference by nearly
strangling her husband while that gentleman beamed happily upon the
discomfited lover as he slunk miserably away, presumably to another
household where, perchance, the husband might not return home thus
inopportunely.
Scenes of that sort were vastly impressive to Jim. He hated bad
sportsmanship, and the villain-chauffeur in this picture had been a bad
sport. Crookedness Jim loved. He admired a clever crook and worshiped
a good woman. There was something massively pitiful about the man as
he gazed raptly upon the silver screen in the picture show; something
inexpressibly sad in his demeanor, his abject loneliness. Jim himself
would have been the last person in the world to realize the void in
his life. Keen as he was in analysis of others, he was no master of
introspection. When he emerged from the picture theater it was in the
grip of a warm, sentimental glow. His simple, direct nature had been
stirred to the roots. At that moment he desired nothing in life so much
as to insure Helen the retention of that happiness which a few brief
years of honest living had brought to her.
The following morning--Wednesday--he visited the banking house
of Starnes & Company, where Johnny's loan was in the process of
negotiation. He discovered that Joseph P. Starnes, the president, was
handling the matter personally and that Johnny had explained frankly
to Mr. Starnes the use to which the money was to be put.
"It is no concern of mine," explained Mr. Starnes crisply, "what Mr.
Norton does with that money. As a matter of fact, it has been my
experience that a professional gambler is highly trustworthy. In the
second place there is always the chance that his venture will prove
unprofitable, in which case I shall have recourse to my collateral. It
is excellent collateral, Mr. Hanvey; as good as money. This house is
safe--entirely and thoroughly safe."
"H'm! Guess you're about right, Mr. Starnes. Just wanted to know if you
was wise to what this bird wanted the money for."
"Of course I am." Mr. Starnes' manner was curt. He had an instinctive
antipathy to this hulking representative of the Bankers' Protective
Association; had more than once seriously considered suggesting to that
organization that the man was mentally unfitted for the responsibility
of his position.
"And if I were not it would make no difference. Liberty Bonds form
security which we cannot question."
Jim rose.
"I ain't gonna argue about it."
"There's nothing to argue."
"Certainly not. Of course there ain't. That's why I ain't gonna argue
about it."
That evening Jim dropped in at the hotel where Johnny and Helen were
registered. He telephoned to their room and was bidden to come up.
His call abruptly terminated a hectic pinochle game then in progress,
leaving Happy Gorman a heavy and disgruntled loser. When Jim entered
the room he discovered Johnny playing solitaire and Helen seated by the
window, reading a fashion magazine. A significant glance passed between
the portly detective and the lavishly blond woman. Johnny rose at sight
and posed for a moment with one hand gripping the card table, a slight
frown showing.
"'Lo, Jim."
Johnny was a most excellent actor. Apparently he was enormously
surprised at the presence of the Gargantuan gentleman who bulked in the
doorway. It was Jim who punctured the silence:
"Ain't you glad to see me, Johnny?"
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"I'll bite. Why?"
"If you think you've got anything on me----"
"Aw, g'wan, Johnny! You know durn well that I know you've been goin'
straight since you and Helen got hitched up. Just heard you were in
town an' dropped in for a social chat."
Norton appeared relieved. He heaved an impressive sigh and motioned his
visitor to a chair.
As though for the first time, Jim took notice of Helen. He held her two
hands in his and stared approvingly.
"Helen of Troy! By gosh, Helen, you're prettier than ever! You've put
on flesh, but you've been careful where you put it."
"That's all that counts, isn't it?"
"Yep. Some wimmin are downright careless. How're you an' Johnny gettin'
along?"
"Mighty well."
"Who you doin' for a livin'?"
"The public. Johnny's been makin' a book down in New Orleans. It's a
lot of work and a heap of expense, but we've managed to make ends meet."
Jim eyed the cards longingly.
"How 'bout a little three-handed game of setback?"
Chairs were drawn up. They played for a cent a point. It was midnight
when Jim paid his losses--eighty-one cents--and rose to go.
"This is the life," he commented heartily. Then his face grew serious.
"Keep it up, Johnny. There's nothin' to this crooked stuff."
"I know that, Jim," returned Norton fervently. "I'm off it."
The door closed behind the detective. Assured that he had departed,
Johnny crossed the room, took his wife in his arms and implanted a
smacking kiss upon her willing lips.
"Hook, line and sinker!"
"It is a dirty shame to take him in that way."
"Sure! But it's him or us, and there ain't any use of it being us.
We'll be on Easy Street when this deal is finished."
They slept but lightly that night. The following morning early there
was an executive session in Johnny's room. Slim Bolton was there,
pessimistic as ever; Happy Gorman, melancholy but game; Connie Hawes,
steely-eyed and emotionless.
"There's nothing to worry about," reassured Johnny. "Everything's
chicken."
"For you--yes."
Helen of Troy whirled on the speaker.
"You can welch any time you want. It's Johnny's idea and Johnny's jack.
If you ain't game to go through with it----"
"Aw, dry up, girlie! Who said anything about welching? I just wanted
you to know that we aren't going it blind. If we didn't need the money
so bad----"
"If people didn't need money there wouldn't be any crooks," she said
tartly. "Now let's check over the plan."
They put their heads together and for the next fifteen minutes their
earnest voices hummed steadily; five clever--if warped--brains planning
the betterment of themselves and the discomfiture of a single, lonely,
unwieldy detective.
"It's rough," summarized Happy Gorman, "but it looks like a cinch."
They separated. Slim Bolton went to a downtown garage, where he took
out a car bought by him three days before. Slim knew more than a thing
or two about automobiles, and for two days had been devoting his
energies to the task of tuning this car up to the notch of perfect
performance. He drove downtown and parked opposite the office building
which housed the firm of Starnes & Company, bankers and brokers.
Slim took his post in the automobile at about eleven o'clock. At 11:30
he was joined by Happy Gorman, strong of arm and melancholy of face.
At 11:45 Connie Hawes appeared. He was dressed in a loose-fitting tweed
suit, his coat tailored with a vent back so as to afford a maximum
of action liberty. He nodded briefly to the two men in the car, then
strolled around the corner and stationed himself outside a barber shop
where he controlled a view of the building which held the Starnes
offices. At 1:20 o'clock the figure of Johnny Norton came into view.
He was walking up from the main business thoroughfare of the city and
carrying a package which the men knew contained the Liberty Bonds.
From the corner of his eye he took note of the fact that his three
confederates were on duty. He turned into the office building and five
minutes later was ushered into the private office of Joseph P. Starnes.
That gentleman greeted him effusively, but it was patent, too, that Mr.
Starnes was very much on guard.
"You're late, Mr. Norton."
"Sorry," explained Johnny suavely. "I overslept, and I've been busy
checking over these bonds." He produced a knife and deftly cut the
twine which bound the bulky package. "I suppose you have the note
prepared."
"Yes."
Starnes reached for the bonds. His sharp eyes, glittering from beneath
bushy brows, inspected them closely. There wasn't a doubt of their
genuineness. He counted them three times. Mr. Starnes was thoroughly
reassured. His firm was on the verge of negotiating a very profitable
loan. They were to receive 7 per cent interest from Johnny, rediscount
the bonds at five per cent and thus make a clear 2 per cent profit,
plus brokerage commission, without the embarrassment of tying up any of
their cash reserve.
"Amount correct?" questioned Johnny crisply.
"Yes."
Johnny glanced at his watch.
"It is almost time for the bank to close, Mr. Starnes. If you'll make
out my check for two hundred thousand and let me sign the note----I
want to make my deposit to-day."
Starnes reached for a memorandum pad.
"I'll have to take these numbers down."
Johnny was frigid under the strain.
"I have a list here, Mr. Starnes. If you will just check the bonds
themselves."
"Good!"
Unsuspiciously Joseph P. Starnes checked the numbers on the bonds as
Johnny Norton read from the list. It was considerable of a memory feat
on Johnny's part, and he would not have been equal to it save for the
fact that he worked with a key system. He read the numbers swiftly,
each number that he read being the actual number on a bond which the
banker checked off. But the numbers which Johnny called out were not
the numbers which he had on his list.
The hour of two was approaching. Johnny again suggested that he desired
to make his deposit that day in the First National. Starnes sounded the
buzzer for his bookkeeper.
"The Norton note, please, and the check."
They were duly produced. Starnes innocently reached for the list of
bond numbers which Johnny had unostentatiously laid atop the bonds and
extended the list to his bookkeeper.
"See that these are entered up, Mr. Mathews. These are the
thousand-dollar Liberties which we have accepted as security for the
loan to Mr. Norton here."
The bookkeeper departed with the incorrect list of bonds. Johnny Norton
was grinning inwardly. He scribbled his name on the note and accepted
the Starnes check for two hundred thousand dollars. He shook hands and
departed. Slim Bolton and Happy Gorman saw him swing down the street en
route to the First National. At two minutes before two o'clock Johnny
deposited to his credit the Starnes check. Then he returned to the
hotel--and Helen.
She was exultant at his report of success, and immediately they set
the stage for a new drama. From the depths of his trunk he produced
several dozen blank checks of the Crescent National of New Orleans.
These he placed on the writing desk beside Major Torrance's check for
eight thousand dollars, which was also on the Crescent National. A half
dozen pens were next laid out carefully and several bottles of ink,
all approximately of the color used originally by the unsuspecting
horse owner, who was at that moment a victim to _mal de mer_. Then,
with brow furrowed, Johnny went to work. The spell of it gained upon
him; he forgot for the moment that this was not seriously undertaken.
His fingers, clumsy through lack of practice, labored over 8's and 0's
similar to those made by the major.
"It's a dog-goned shame," commented Johnny, "that I ain't really trying
something like this."
Helen gazed pridefully upon his handiwork.
"Come off that, dearie! Jim'd have you in less than no time."
"I know, I know; but I'm awfully tempted." He shoved his chair back
from the writing desk, lighted a Turkish cigarette and walked to
the window, where he posed for a moment, carelessly twirling his
close-clipped mustache. "Better telephone Jim, Helen. We want this
thing to be an alibi."
She called the number of Jim's hotel apartment house. The switchboard
operator there answered.
"Mr. Hanvey's apartment, please."
There was a brief pause and then the operator's voice: "If you'll hold
the telephone for a moment I'll connect you. Mr. Hanvey has just went
up in the elevator."
Helen nodded violently at her husband, signifying that Jim was at home.
In the transmitter she fired a question: "How long has he been out?"
"I don't know. I've just been on duty a half hour. If you wish----"
Then came a violent buzzing, a pause and a drawling, lazy voice from
the other end:
"Hello! Who's this now?"
"Jim?"
"Yeh?"
"This is Helen."
"Is it?"
"Oh, Jim"--she pulled out the tremolo stop--"you promised to help me
keep Johnny straight--you promised!"
"Well, I'm doin' my best."
"You haven't done enough. He's working now, Jim--right now. Do you
understand?"
"On that paper?"
"Yes. Understand?"
"Sure; sure I do, Helen! I ain't so thick I can't see the joke when one
clown slaps another in the pants. What you want me to do about it?"
"Come down and stop him. He'll listen to you."
"There ain't many folks will." Brief silence and then--"I'll come. It's
awful hot for walkin'----"
"Take a taxi."
Came Jim's answer, heavy with sarcasm: "Too durned expensive for an
honest detective."
His receiver clicked on the hook. Helen flung herself across the room
and into her husband's arms.
"It worked, dearie. He just came in, which means he ain't hanging
around Starnes & Company. He probably followed you when you left there,
to get an idea if you were up to anything special. Saw you return to
the hotel, and he went home. You've got an alibi. And now--now we'll
let him save you from going crooked! Oh, honey, we're getting away with
it!"
He patted her shoulder fondly.
"You sure are a dandy wife, Helen! Great ol' girl!"
She bustled into the dressing room.
"I'll be on the watchout for Jim in the lobby. Remember, Johnny, if you
act your part right he'll never suspect you of being in on this deal,
even if something should go wrong."
As she arranged her hat Johnny Norton glanced across the housetops in
the general direction of the downtown business district.
"Gee, I'd give something to know what happened down yonder!"
It was worth knowing, for there had been action a-plenty. All three of
the waiting men had witnessed Johnny's departure from the offices of
Starnes & Company, and they saw Johnny walk to the bank via the route
which they knew the messenger would take. The quintet had planned this
affair to a detail. They knew, for instance, that securities of unusual
value held by Starnes & Company were daily taken to the First National
Bank by a trustworthy messenger.
This messenger was little more than a glorified office boy despite
his maturity. Too, he was a creature of habit. He daily departed the
Starnes & Company suite about 2:30 o'clock, and being methodical took
the shortest possible route to the First National. It was upon this
habit of the messenger's that much of their scheme was based.
There were two routes between the Starnes corner and the First
National, located two blocks away. The obvious one was down Elm Street
one block to Main, and thence along that cheap thoroughfare to Pelham
Street. The other was one block north on Ashmore and thence across
on Pelham to Main. The latter route was several steps shorter, less
traveled, and therefore easier. It was this second route which the
Starnes messenger was in the habit of taking.
Almost identical in distance, the two routes were entirely dissimilar.
Elm Street was a principal thoroughfare, something which could not be
said of either Ashmore or Pelham. Those two blocks were lined with
shoddy secondhand stores, groceries, markets and third-rate cafeterias.
At thirty-three minutes after two o'clock the Starnes messenger emerged
from the big office building and started northward on Ashmore. He
walked with a peculiar shuffling gait, and in his right hand he
clutched a brown-leather satchel. The moment he appeared Slim Bolton
slipped into reverse, backed his sedan into the traffic, turned into
Ashmore and followed. He saw Connie Hawes detach himself from the
doorway of a barber shop and fall into step behind the decrepit and
unsuspecting messenger.
Slim was driving parallel to the slow-moving messenger. His car veered
toward the curb. A trifle ahead of the man, Slim stopped his car and
immediately slipped into second in preparation for a quick get-away.
Happy Gorman, every inch the gentleman in appearance, opened the rear
door of the sedan and hailed the little old man.
"Pardon me, stranger," he said politely, "but would you mind telling me
which way I go to reach the best hotel?"
The messenger paused and quite innocently moved toward the curb and the
car. He recognized that this man must be a tourist. Connie Hawes closed
in on him from the rear.
"The best hotel?" repeated the messenger, pleased at having been
questioned. "It's two blocks down that way, and then----"
The world went black before his eyes. Connie Hawes struck as he leaped.
The messenger pitched forward into the opened door and Connie flung him
out of the way as he darted by and grabbed the satchel. A spectator,
rigid with terror, emitted a shriek of horror. The messenger crumpled
grotesquely in the gutter--stunned.
Slim clamped down on the accelerator and sped forward. There was no
traffic policeman on that little-used corner. Another pedestrian
shouted, but no one knew what caused his excitement. The car whirled
eastward on Pelham Street, turned north at the next corner and then
rounded the block and sped southward over the viaduct. A crowd
had collected about the figure of the stricken messenger, who was
now struggling back to consciousness. Excitement was intense, but
explanations given the belated policeman were incoherent. The officer
notified headquarters that a messenger for the Starnes banking house
had been hit on the head and robbed, but he had no clue as to the
identity of the assailants and knew nothing of the affair save that
the escape had been made in an automobile. And the three criminals,
speeding across country, little appreciated the measure of their
safety. They drove at reasonable speed for thirty miles. At the
first little town Connie Hawes alighted, carrying the satchel. The
car proceeded. Twelve miles farther south Happy Gorman left the car.
Slim drove into the next town, parked his car at the curb, strolled
nonchalantly into a drug store, where he consumed an ice-cream soda,
and twenty minutes later boarded a New Orleans-bound train. In the
second Pullman he saw Connie Hawes and Happy Gorman, but by no
slightest gesture did these men indicate an acquaintanceship with one
another.
They knew that they were safe, but took no chances. Time enough for
that after their trip westward from New Orleans, when they should have
attained safety on the far side of the Mexican border.
Events of some importance had been occurring contemporaneously in the
city from which they had so abruptly departed. Immediately on receiving
the telephone call from Helen of Troy, Jim Hanvey left his diminutive
apartment. The heat had become more intense; the sun baked down from a
sky unmarked by clouds.
Walking, for Jim, was far from a pleasure. He rolled uncomfortably
down the street, his tiny, fishlike eyes blinking with interminable
slowness, fat hands flapping awkwardly against his pants legs with each
lumbering step. He turned in at the hotel lobby and there found Helen.
She crossed eagerly toward him, futilely searching his puttylike face
for any indication of suspicion.
"You understand what I wanted with you, Jim?"
"Yeh, sure I understand, Helen. But it does seem to me Johnny might've
been considerate enough to pick a cooler day to go crooked on."
"He's working now. He's all excited, looking like he's sorry he wasted
all this time going straight. He's a wizard with other folks' checks,
Johnny is."
"M'm-h'm! Clever boy. What you want me to do?"
"Go up and talk to him."
"Alone?"
"I'll go with you."
"He won't get peeved at you for tipping me off?"
"I don't care if he does," she returned virtuously. "I always have
believed that honesty was the best policy--when you don't really need
money."
"Yeh--and when you get away with it."
They entered Johnny's room without the formality of knocking.
Johnny backed against the table, jaws working in true movie-villain
fashion. His hands, groping behind his back, scraped the checks into a
heap in a crude attempt at concealment. Helen, too, gave evidence of
the fact that the art of the actor is not yet dead--or even ill. She
raised pitiful eyes to her husband's face.
"I know you'll hate me, Johnny; but I tipped Jim off."
He simulated great rage.
"Snitched on me, eh? Damn you----"
"Whoa, Johnny! Easy there, son! I hate to hear ladies damn-you'd when
I'm around."
Johnny turned his offended attention to the detective.
"It's none of your business----"
"I hope not, Johnny; but it most likely would have been if Helen hadn't
telephoned me."
"I did it for your sake, Johnny," she chimed in. "I have been very
happy during the last six years, unhaunted by the fear of prison
cells."
Jim turned to her, a quizzical light in his glassy eyes.
"Who wrote them words?"
She flushed.
"I don't know; but they're just what I feel." She threw her arms around
Johnny's neck. "Please, dearie, for my sake, for the sake of our
happiness, listen to Jim! We've been straight for so long. You couldn't
get away with no forgery job now, dearie; you're all out of practice."
Jim waddled heavily across the room and took the batch of half-written
checks from Johnny's unresisting hand.
"Lemme see how good you are now, kid. You used to be real clever."
He inspected them closely. "T'chk! T'chk! They just can't come back,
Johnny. That's awful rough work. I'd have got you in no time at all.
Yeh, tough luck, son; but I reckon you'd be wise to run straight from
now on. You've lost your touch, Johnny."
An expression of genuine sorrow crossed Johnny's face.
"On the level?"
"Surest thing you know!"
"Well"--and Johnny sighed--"I s'pose I might as well keep on like I've
been going. Much obliged, Jim."
Helen's hysterical squeal of delight filled the room.
"You promise, dearie--promise to keep straight forever and ever?"
"Amen!"
She turned her attention to Jim, clasped one of his hands between both
of hers.
"I don't know how to thank you, Jim. You've been wonderful, marvelous!"
Jim blushed boyishly.
"Gee, Helen, lay offen that stuff! When a good-lookin' dame begins
sayin' sweet things to me I ain't got no more backbone than a nickel's
worth of ice cream."
"But, Jim----"
The telephone jangled.
"That's for me," Jim announced.
"You?"
"Uh-huh! I was expectin' a call an' I told the apartment house operator
she'd find me here."
Helen and her husband were ill-at-ease. In a trice they had ceased
to be sorry for the ungainly detective. There was something so
cumbersomely positive in his manner; such a degree of assurance.
"Hello!"
It was Hanvey at the telephone. The two others strained their ears, but
without result. And Jim's face told them no more than they could have
learned by watching the lee side of a cantaloupe.
"Yeh, Jim Hanvey speaking.... Uh-huh.... You don't say so!... When?...
Clear?... You done what I suggested?... Well, that proves you ain't the
absolute ass I thought you was, Mr. Starnes."
He clicked the receiver on the hook and turned away. He lighted a fresh
cigar and jerked his head toward the telephone. "Funny thing," he
commented disinterestedly.
"Yes?" They spoke eagerly in chorus.
"Messenger left the Starnes offices a few minutes ago. Coupla
roughnecks bumped him on the bean, grabbed his satchel and made a
get-away." If he discerned their mutual signs of relief he gave no
indication of the fact. His voice droned on monotonously. "Old man
Starnes is a stiff-necked idiot, but this time he was wise. He took my
advice for once."
"Your advice?"
"Sure! Y'see, with you dumping a quarter million dollars in
unregistered Liberties with him, there was always danger that some
crooks might get wise to it and try to make a haul. So I suggested to
Fat-head Starnes that he stick them securities in his own vault for a
while instead of sendin' 'em down to the First National as he usually
does. In view of what just happened, I think I was kinder clever--real
awful clever." He paused apologetically. "You ain't got no objections
to me callin' myself clever, have you?"
They did not answer, a premonition of disaster had robbed them of
speech.
"Y'see, Helen, them naughty crooks might of got away with Johnny's
Liberty Bonds. Might of, I said. But they didn't. All that was in that
satchel was a few registered bonds which ain't worth duck soup s'far's
negotiatin' 'em is concerned."
Helen's face was dead white beneath her plentiful make-up.
"Johnny's Liberty Bonds are still at Starnes & Company?"
"Yeh, sure!"
"You wouldn't lie to me, Jim, would you?"
"Aw, Helen, you know I wouldn't! Fat men are rotten liars."
"You suspected that the bank messenger was going to be robbed?"
He nodded.
"I had a sort of a hunch thataway."
She turned dejectedly. It was Johnny Norton who launched the next
question:
"How did you get wise, Jim?"
"Me? It was easy this time. A lady tipped me off; a terrible pretty
blond lady." Helen winced. "'Bout as much of a tip-off as I needed,
anyway," continued Jim softly. "Y'know, Johnny, things occur awful
funny sometimes. I happened to drift into the Starnes offices just
after you left, and would you believe it, the list of bond numbers that
old bird had didn't tally with the bonds at all. It was real peculiar.
So I just suggested that they hold 'em there a while for the bookkeeper
to enter 'em up. Y'know, a banker ought to be more careful than Starnes
was. He never knows when he's li'ble to get gypped." He turned toward
the door. "Yeh, Johnny, if I was you I'd stay on the safe side of
things. You've lost your touch, son--lost it complete."
Helen of Troy stared at her husband and he returned her gaze with one
equally miserable. Jim Hanvey posed heavily in the doorway, the fingers
of his right hand fiddling with his massive watch chain. He regarded
them benignly. Then he blinked with maddening slowness.
"Didn't you come to me, Helen, an' ask me to keep Johnny from goin'
crooked?"
She nodded.
"Well," drawled the big man, "I only done what you asked me, didn't I?"