“A lesser racket boy,” said Sackler.
“And the third,” said Woolley with an ominous note in his voice, “is the name of Rex Sackler.”
“The greatest racket boy of them all,” I said heartily.
Sackler ignored that. “Where did you get that book?” he asked.
“My men took it from a corpse, gave it to the Treasury men who were interested in the case. They lent it back to me.”
“T men?” I said. “What have they to do with it?”
“That’s their business and the police department’s,” said Woolley bruskly.
“I take it,” said Sackler slowly, “that the corpse was that of this Arthur Freuh?”
“Right,” said Woolley, “and apparently he had a date with you yesterday.”
I shook my head. “No, sir,” I said, “the only guy here yesterday was—”
“Arthur Freuh,” said Sackler surprisingly.
“You’re crazy,” I said, “the only guy who was here yesterday was that nut, Fleming.”
“I’m beginning to think that Fleming was Freuh. Describe your man, Inspector.”
Woolley briefly described Arthur Freuh and it was a perfect description of Wilbur Fleming. Sackler nodded his head. “That’s the man.”
“What did he want with you?” snapped Woolley.
“To engage me on a confidential matter in no way illegal.”
Woolley thought that over and let it drop. He snapped, “Did he give you any money?”
Sackler considered carefully before he answered that question. Precisely what went on in his mind I do not know, but wherever money was concerned he invariably calculated all angles before he committed himself. After a long while he said, “Yes.”
“Ah,” said Woolley, registering extreme interest. “And what did you do with it?”
Again Sackler did not speak before he thought. Imagining, I supposed, that if Woolley knew the cash was in his desk, he would demand it as evidence or something, Sackler lied calmly. He said: “I banked it.”
“Oh,” said Woolley and it seemed to me that there was a note of disappointment in his voice, “that’s all right, then.”
What he meant by that odd remark I did not know. Neither apparently did Sackler. However, Rex was so relieved to change the subject that he became slightly more cooperative.
“I assure you,” he said, “that this Fleming or Freuh or whatever his name was had no business with me which would interest you. He only engaged me to locate a couple of items for him.”
Woolley seemed surprised. “He wanted something located?”
Sackler nodded. “And nothing material at that.”
“Well,” said Woolley, “I guess his business with you had nothing to do with my business with him.”
Sackler looked at him curiously but Woolley was putting out no more information. The Inspector sighed, pulled a fat cigar from his pocket, put it between his teeth and bade us a curt good day. Then he stalked from the office.
I said to Sackler: “What’s it all about?”
His thin shoulders shrugged. “I’m not sure. But piecing together Woolley’s odd conversation I should say Freuh was just murdered and that it appears like a very interesting case. However, since we haven’t been retained I refuse to apply my mind to the interpretation of the Inspector’s words.”
I sat down at my desk and a sudden thought came to me. I said: “That dough Freuh gave you.”
He glanced at me distastefully. “What about it, Joey?”
“You tracked down that Dworkin guy successfully so I suppose you’re entitled to those two five hundred dollar bills.”
“I did and I am.”
“Yeah. But you didn’t and you’re not on that quotation deal. That hundred bucks should revert to the Freuh estate if he has one. Anyway, it’s not yours.”
“The time limit Freuh set has not yet expired.”
“No, but Freuh has. It’s not your dough.”
He glared at me. His mind, I knew, was working rapidly as he desperately figured out some specious reason why he was entitled to the hundred bucks as well as to the grand. No brilliant idea had occurred to him by the time the door opened and the two hoods walked in.
One of them was tall, thin and dark. He wore a brown silk shirt with a flashy collar pin. His suit was blue with a pin stripe just a trifle too wide. His lips were tight and his eyes narrowed. His partner was thick and squat, dressed in ready made clothes and his shoes were unshined. The chief point of similarity between them was that they both held guns.
Sackler’s normally white face turned tattletale gray. He was thoroughly opposed to violence when it was directed at him. Not that I liked it myself. I have seen battalions of thugs in my day and I knew a tough guy when I laid an eye on one.
I took no chances. I raised my arms above my head without waiting for orders and said: “O.K., boys, the dough is in that desk over there. The top drawer on the left. In two envelopes.”
Sackler looked at me like a bishop who has just read a volume of Robert Ingersoll. He said: “Iscariot. Traitor, Biter of nourishing hand.”
“On the contrary,” I pointed out. “One of my duties is that of bodyguard. I am, perhaps, saving your life. I know you’d never tell them where the dough was while there was a drop of blood left in your veins.”
The tall hood said in an odd high pitched voice: “All right, you gees, break it up. We don’t want no damned dough.”
“My God,” I said, “this isn’t purely social, is it?”
The tall hood said to his partner: “A comical guy, Jake. Go get him.”
Jake crossed the room, studied my features carefully along the sights of his gun and said: “Get up, mug. We’re moving.”
I got up. I am not garrulous when facing a gun. Across the room I saw that Sackler, too, was standing. He gave me a jaundiced eyes and said: “Earn your keep, Joey. Take them.”
I laughed hollowly to let Jake know I took this last crack as a joke. Jake said over his shoulder: “All right, Lou. Let’s get going.”
Lou nodded. They herded us together just before the office door. There Lou made a little speech.
“We are taking a little trip,” he said. “Now, it might look funny to some dopes if we get on the elevator with these rods in our fists.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Not in this building. No one would pay any attention. No one—”
“Shut up,” said Lou and I was certain he meant it.
“So,” he continued, “we’re going to put the hardware in our pockets. But our hands’ll be in our pockets, too. If either of you guys tries to make a break for it, you’re dead.”
We went out into the hall and got into the elevator. I felt Sackler’s eye upon me. I knew he was registering indignation. I knew he was holding me personally responsible for this kidnapping. I was his bodyguard and I wasn’t guarding his body. I was going to have to fight like hell to avoid a salary cut.
Out in the street Lou and his little friend herded us into a big sedan parked at the curb. We were ordered into the rear seat. Lou took his place behind the wheel and Jake sat alongside of him, twisting his squat body around so that he could keep an eye on us. He took his thirty-eight from his pocket and balanced it suggestively on the back of the seat.
Lou stepped on the starter and we headed downtown. For the first time since the hoods had come upon us I got a chance to think. Not that it did me any good. What their motives were, I did not know.
We’d been mixed up in no cases involving gangsters lately. Obviously it wasn’t a holdup since they had disregarded my information about the cash in the desk. And no one in his right senses would kidnap Sackler for ransom because not all the tortures of Torquemada could wring a single nickel out of him.