ZOWIE!
Dejectedly Cates returned to headquarters to make his report to Captain
Henessey. The captain laughed. “Don’t take it so much to heart, lad,”
he encouraged. “Sometimes it requires weeks, months, years to untangle
one of these things.”
“I suppose so,” nodded Cates despondently. “Say, captain, what makes a
crook, anyway?”
Captain Henessey eyed his little radio officer uncertainly.
“So help me, you can ask some of the damnedest questions I ever heard
of!” he ejaculated.
Then, seeing that Cates was in earnest, he went on more kindly: “If you
must know, Dave, there’s probably a million different things, as you’ll
find out when you’ve been in this business as long as I have.
Environment, moods, impulses, hatred, hunger, needs excitement,
mental--why, what’s the trouble? Got an idea?”
For Dave Cates had suddenly sat bolt upright his blue eyes eager.
“I’ll say I have! How good it is I don’t know, but I’m going to sock it
for all it’s worth. Listen.”
Captain Henessey didn’t scoff at the plan. He was much too experienced
in police work for that.
“Not bad at all, lad,” he acknowledged. “It may not work, but then
again it may. Anyway, I’ll see that a microphone is installed where you
want it.”
Cates looked at his watch.
“Time for the broadcast, captain,” he said. “Give me the stuff you’ve
got ready. Afterward, I think I’ll take a run out to the Salon
Quintesse and listen to Leo Archer. I’m getting to know quite a lot
about music.”
Syndicate Park, where the Salon Quintesse was located, was a-glitter
when Cates arrived. It was a warm evening and couples were sauntering
through the grove during the intermission between dances.
A big car came roaring up the drive to give forth its cargo of
laughing, voluble, noisy youngsters. Down by the river some one was
playing a ukulele and the mellow chords blended oddly with the booming
music of Leo Archer’s band.
Cates went quietly into the big hall and sat down at a corner table. He
was an unobtrusive little figure and nobody paid the least bit of
attention to him.
The room was filled with amusement seekers, most of them in evening
dress. There were laughing faces, flushed faces, sad, serious, and
vindictive faces but Cates gave them little thought.
He was watching the tall lean figure of Leo Archer as the band leader
put his men through their paces.
It was a wonderful band, Cates thought. Hot music, probably none hotter
in the country. Funny that Archer could get such effects when he was
such a bored, cynical guy. Almost beyond understanding, but not quite.
Dave Cates became a bit wistful. He wished he had such talent as
Archer’s. It must be great to be up there leading a band like that.
Even music that boomed and crashed seemed connected with that vague
green-shuttered bungalow with the garden plot out back.
Then a slim, graceful little figure slipped out on the floor and began
to dance. Cates sat forward, his eyes sparkling with pride. If anybody
could beat Anabelle Talbot’s dancing, he’d like to know it!
It was one of the world’s prize mysteries, why she accepted his
attentions, but since she did he’d not question his blessings. She was
a dream girl suddenly come to life--his dream girl.
Whirling, pivoting, gliding, she moved about the floor, smiling
steadily as one who dances must smile. Then she saw the little radio
cop sitting alone in the corner, and her smile became radiant.
Lightly she blew him a kiss, finished her dance to a mad burst of
syncopation, and skipped into her dressing room.
“Gee!” exclaimed Dave Cates softly. “Gee!”
In a few minutes she came out of the dressing room and hurried over to
Cates’ table. Grinning broadly, he rose to greet her.
“You sure can dance, Ann!” he told her. “Boy, how you can dance!”
Hazel eyes sparkled up at him and a red little mouth crinkled at the
corners.
“I’m glad you think so, Dave,” she said. “Just the same I wish I didn’t
have to do it. Oh, did I tell you that Leo Archer wants me to sign a
contract to dance exclusively to his music?”
Cates shook his head. “No, you didn’t,” he said slowly. “Are you going
to sign?”
“I don’t want to, Dave. But you know a girl must do something.” She
stopped and studied his face. “Anyway,” she finished, “he gave me until
the Charity Ball to decide.”
“Which is just a couple of days anyway,” mused Cates. “Say, Ann, when
did he offer you this contract?”
“Yesterday,” she answered. “He called me up to his office at the
Renhurst.”
“At what time?”
She looked wonderingly across the table. “Why all curiosity about it,
Dave?”
“I’ll explain some time, Ann. What time was it?”
“Why, shortly after four o’clock, I think.”
“How long were you there?”
“Only a few minutes. He was working feverishly on a new number he
expects to introduce at the Charity Ball. He offered me this contract,
and told me I could take it or leave it. Then he gave me till the
Charity Ball to decide.”
Suppressed excitement was in Dave Cates’ voice. “Did any one come in
while you were there?” he asked.
She considered.
“N-no,” she said presently. “That is, nobody but a bell boy who had a
little package that he gave Archer.”
“Wow!” Cates smacked his fist jubilantly into the palm of his hand.
“I’ve got it now; sure as the deuce I have! What a break this is!
Zingo!”
He reached across the table and took both her hands, caring not what
people around might think. “Gee, you’re a dear, and a sweetheart, and
how you’d fit into that little bunga----”
“Dave, behave! What in the world ails you!”
“Nothing, honey. I can’t tell you yet, but the first thing I’m going to
plant is tomatoes. Zowie!”
* * * * *
Greatly as the city was interested in the Van Goss-Meusel jewel
robberies, the interest in the Charity Ball overshadowed all else. It
was an annual affair and tradition and skillful publicity had built it
up to a point where attendance was a matter of civic pride. A hundred
social leaders served as patronesses; the best show talent in town was
secured for the acts; and the general populace prepared for a gala
night.
As chairman of the general committee, Terhune bustled around attending
to this and that, a smile of smug importance on his florid face. Had he
not been so preoccupied he might have noticed that he was trailed by a
small, stocky figure, homely and determined of face.
At this last hour Dave Cates was overlooking no bets. Not only did he
watch Terhune, but he kept an eye on Miss Meusel and Leo Archer. To
Hughes he paid no attention.
“It’s got to break right,” was his constant thought. “When anything
means as much to a guy as this does to me, it’s got to break right.”