"Hello, old soldier. What are you doing this afternoon?"
"Nothing--after I conclude my conference with Mr. Skinner. By the way,
he has just given me a most handsome boost in salary, for which I am
most appreciative. I feel, however, despite Mr. Skinner's graciousness,
that you have put in a kind word for me with him, and I want to thank
you--"
"Tut, tut. Not a peep out of you, sir. Not a peep. You get nothing for
nothing from Skinner or me. However, in view of the fact that you're
feeling kindly toward me this afternoon, I wish you'd do a little errand
for me. I can't send a boy and I hate to make a messenger out of
you--er--ah--ahem! That is har-umph-h-h--!"
"I have no false pride, Mr. Ricks."
"Thank you, Bill. Glad you feel that way about it. Bill, I was prowling
around town this forenoon, after church, and down in a store on Sutter
Street, between Stockton and Powell Street, on the right hand side as
you face Market Street, I saw a blue vase in a window. I have a weakness
for vases, Bill. I'm a sharp on them, too. Now, this vase I saw isn't
very expensive as vases go--in fact, I wouldn't buy it for my
collection--but one of the finest and sweetest ladies of my acquaintance
has the mate to that blue vase I saw in the window, and I know she'd be
prouder than Punch if she had two of them--one for each side of her
drawing room mantel, understand?
"Now, I'm leaving from the Southern Pacific depot at eight o'clock
tonight, bound for Santa Barbara to attend her wedding anniversary
tomorrow night. I forget what anniversary it is, Bill, but I have been
informed by my daughter that I'll be very much _de trop_ if I send her
any present other than something in porcelain or China or
Cloisonné--well, Bill, this crazy little blue vase just fills the order.
Understand?"
"Yes, sir. You feel that it would be most graceful on your part if you
could bring this little blue vase down to Santa Barbara with you
tonight. You have to have it tonight, because if you wait until the
store opens on Monday the vase will reach your hostess twenty-four hours
after her anniversary party."
"Exactly, Bill. Now, I've simply got to have that vase. If I had
discovered it yesterday I wouldn't be asking you to get it for me today,
Bill."
"Please do not make any explanations or apologies, Mr. Ricks. You have
described the vase--no you haven't. What sort of blue is it, how tall is
it and what is, approximately, its greatest diameter? Does it set on a
base, or does it not? Is it a solid blue, or is it figured?"
It's a Cloisonné vase, Bill--sort of old Dutch blue, or Delft, with some
Oriental funny-business on it. I couldn't describe it exactly, but it
has some birds and flowers on it. It's about a foot tall and four inches
in diameter and sets on a teak-wood base."
"Very well, sir. You shall have it."
"And you'll deliver it to me in stateroom A, car 7, aboard the train at
Third and Townsend Streets, at seven fifty-five tonight?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you, Bill. The expense will be trifling. Collect it from the
cashier in the morning, and tell him to charge it to my account." And
Cappy hung up.
At once Mr. Skinner took up the thread of the interrupted conference,
and it was not until three o'clock that Bill Peck left his house and
proceeded downtown to locate Cappy Rick's blue vase.
He proceeded to the block in Sutter Street between Stockton and Powell
Streets, and although he walked patiently up one side of the street and
down the other, not a single vase of any description showed in any shop
window, nor could he find a single shop where such a vase as Cappy had
described might, perchance, be displayed for sale.
"I think the old boy has erred in the co-ordinates of the target," Bill
Peck concluded, "or else I misunderstood him. I'll telephone his house
and ask him to repeat them."
He did, but nobody was at home except a Swedish maid, and all she knew
was that Mr. Ricks was out and the hour of his return was unknown. So
Mr. Peck went back to Sutter Street and scoured once more every shop
window in the block. Then he scouted two blocks above Powell and two
blocks below Stockton. Still the blue vase remained invisible.
So he transferred his search to a corresponding area on Bush Street, and
when that failed, he went painstakingly over four blocks of Post Street.
He was still without results when he moved one block further west and
one further south and discovered the blue vase in a huge plate-glass
window of a shop on Geary Street near Grant Avenue. He surveyed it
critically and was convinced that it was the object he sought.
He tried the door, but it was locked, as he had anticipated it would be.
So he kicked the door and raised an infernal racket, hoping against hope
that the noise might bring a watchman from the rear of the building. In
vain. He backed out to the edge of the sidewalk and read the sign over
the door: