He waved in my direction. I had not the slightest idea how he had found Freuh’s address, nor the faintest conception of how he had gone about getting it. He knew this very well. All this act was calculated to prove me a fool and Sackler a genius. I was very happy I had sold him down the river to Woolley.
“Go ahead, big shot,” I said. “Tell the class how you did it.”
“The day Freuh called here,” said Sackler, “he said two things. First, that he had come downtown on the west side subway. Second, he started to give us his address, then thought better of it. But before that second thought came to him, he said. ‘Twenty-four,’ then stopped. Do you see, Joey?”
I saw nothing and said so.
Sackler went on. “Moreover, when Freuh said ‘twenty-four’ he began to mention another number. Thus the number was not merely twenty-four. Now could it have been two-hundred-and-forty-something? If so, he would have said ‘two-forty’ and not ‘twenty-four’. Therefore, the number he almost mentioned was twenty-four hundred or twenty-four hundred and something. And he came down on the west side subway.
“Now, assuming he lived in Manhattan which is better than an even money guess, there isn’t a cross street on the island whose numbers run as high as twenty-four hundred. That leaves only the avenues. Now, what avenue has numbers that high which is contiguous to the west side subway? Obviously, Broadway. Moreover, Broadway that far uptown contains a number of cheap rooming houses, and Freuh, if I had figured him correctly, lived in a rooming house.”
By this time I saw it. “So you went to all the twenty-four hundreds on Broadway and asked for a roomer who hadn’t been home for a couple of nights?”
“Right. And by means of some little judicious lying I obtained access to his room and procured the item Mr. Capelli considered worth two thousand dollars.”
Capelli looked impressed. He took a silver cigarette case from his pocket and held it out to Sackler. Sackler’s free wheeling hand moved automatically. Then he checked it and looked with sad inquiry at me. I shook my head emphatically. Sackler sighed and refused the free smoke. I took one and Capelli put the case down on the edge of the desk.
“Well,” said Capelli, “I guess that just about winds up our business. I guess I’ll run along.”
“Wait,” said Sackler. “Wait a minute or two. I want you to meet a couple of friends of mine. They’ll be here shortly.”
Capelli looked mildly suspicious but he nodded his head. “All right. In the meantime is there a men’s room on this floor?”
I gave him the necessary directions. He went out of the room leaving the torn brown package and his cigarette case on Sackler’s desk.
I glanced at Sackler. Despite the fact that his nicotine-conditioned body was crying for tobacco he looked happy. That caused me no wonder. He’d picked up a cold three grand in the last few days.
“Well,” I said aloud, “you won’t get that hundred.”
“What hundred, Joey?”
“The hundred Freuh gave you on condition you tracked down the author of that quotation.”
“What gives you the impression I won’t keep it, Joey?”
“Because I told Woolley you had it and he’s going to take it from you.”
He looked at me in sheer horror. When he found his voice he said in shaken accents: “You really did that? You really betrayed me, your employer and friend, to a professional copper?”
“I really did.”
He murmured, “My God,” three times dramatically. His face was white and I had never seen him so shaken. But then I had never seen him lose a hundred dollars before either.
His hand reached out toward Capelli’s cigarette case. I held my breath. He was so upset about the money it seemed he had completely forgotten about not smoking. His fingers took a cigarette from the case and he took a match from his pocket.
I felt like a man whose horse is running eight lengths ahead of the field in the stretch. He struck the match. My heart pounded wildly. He touched it to the tobacco. He inhaled. He took the cigarette from his mouth and blew out the smoke as I bounded up from my chair.
I thrust my upturned palm under his face and yelled: “Pay up! You lose. You’re smoking!”
He froze to horrified immobility. He jammed the cigarette out in the glass tray at his elbow. He blinked slowly and adopted a whining tone.
“Now, Joey, you’re certainly not going to count that. It was an accident. I was engrossed in more important thought. Besides, I only took one puff.”
I kept my palm under his nose. “I am adamant.”
“But Joey—”
“I am the Rock of Ages—”
“One lousy puff and—”
“I have the heart of a loan shark at the moment. I am as hard as a diamond. As ruthless as a flood. Give me a hundred bucks.”
He cursed heartily. He said, “Naturally, I haven’t got the cash with me. I—”
“Don’t stall. You’ve still got that envelope that Freuh gave you.”
“But you yourself have said that that isn’t mine.”
“It isn’t. But money’s negotiable. You can give me that and give Woolley another hundred from the bank.”
He sighed like a heartbroken steam engine, thrust his hand in his pocket and took out the envelope Freuh had given him. He tore it open and withdrew a crisp hundred dollar bill. He said: “Put it in your pocket and may it pay for your not too distant funeral.”
I took it, sunk it deeply in my pocket and went back to my desk with a singing heart.
An instant later Capelli returned from the washroom and an instant after that Woolley walked in the door escorting a well bandaged Earnshaw.
Capelli glanced at our visitors suspiciously. I observed that Sackler looked happy again and wondered at his quick recovery. Earnshaw sat heavily down in a chair, glared at Capelli, and said, “I’m a sick man. What’s the idea of dragging me out of my bed?”
“You’ll be sicker,” said Sackler. “Sit down, Woolley.”
Woolley did so, on the edge of the desk. He said: “What’s going on? What do you want to tell me?”
“An attitude of more gratitude would be in order,” said Sackler smugly; “Once again I have been doing your work for you. How far have you moved on the Freuh matter?”
I translated Woolley’s grunt as meaning he hadn’t moved at all.
“Well,” said Sackler. “I have all the answers for you. I also have the plates.”
Woolley started. “The plates? Where are they?”
At the moment the oblong package was lying on the desk, and Capelli’s arm was lying on the package. Sackler indicated it. Woolley grabbed the parcel. Capelli glared at Sackler and said: “You punk. You double-crosser. You—” His vocabulary seemed strained at that point and he went off into an inarticulate gurgle.
Woolley ripped open the package and took out two pieces of metal. He held them up to the light. “That’s it,” he said. “Where did you get them?”
“In Freuh’s room.”
“How did you find his room?”
“I have methods,” said Sackler, “far too subtle for the police department.”
“Huh,” sneered Woolley uncomfortably. “And I suppose you know who killed Freuh?”
“Naturally. Earnshaw.”
Woolley blinked. Things were going a little fast for him. They were for me, too. I hadn’t the slightest idea what it was all about.
“And,” said Woolley heavily, “since you are obviously omniscient, I suppose you also know who beat up Earnshaw?”
“It is too, too apparent,” said Sackler. “It was Capelli.”
By now Woolley, Earnshaw and Capelli were all staring at him and there was not an iota of friendliness in any eye. Earnshaw and Capelli were frankly angry and somewhat afraid. Woolley was annoyed.