“I am not a genius,” began Woolley.
“Consider that statement seconded,” interrupted Sackler.
“No,” said Woolley, “I am not a genius. I do not know how you found the plates. How you found Freuh’s room, how you know Earnshaw killed Freuh, or that Capelli beat Earnshaw up. I do not even know how you knew what Freuh’s racket was, or anything else. The matter was a police secret.”
“I shall explain it,” said Sackler, “in monosyllabic words.”
“Do so,” said Woolley. He turned and gave me a heavy wink. “Then I shall explain something to you.”
“Very well. You, Woolley, came in here interested in Freuh. You also implied that the Treasury men were interested in him. Those two facts argue certain conclusions. First, that Freuh was not an honest citizen. If he was a crook why are the Treasury men interested? What sort of crooks call for their officers? Counterfeiters, obviously.”
“Next, Freuh had appointments with Earnshaw and Capelli. They are known racket boys. Obviously, he was trying to interest them in some counterfeiting racket. Then, Capelli offers me money to find out where Freuh lived and to obtain his personal possessions. He offers to double the fee if I find there an item which he will not identify. What could that be, if we accept the conclusion that Freuh is a counterfeiter? Obviously, again, plates.
“So, as per contract, I deliver the plates to Capelli and collect an honest fee.”
“You didn’t,” yelled Capelli, “That copper’s got them. He took them from me. He—”
“That doesn’t concern me,” said Sackler. “I delivered them to you.”
“All right,” said Woolley. “Tell me all about Earnshaw killing Freuh.”
“It’s easy. Freuh’s original deal was with Capelli. But Earnshaw heard of it and wanted to cut himself in. Somehow he got Freuh to see him. Freuh called on Earnshaw after he called on me and before he called on Capelli. But for some reason or other he wouldn’t do business with Earnshaw. He was sticking to Capelli. Earnshaw only cared about the plates which apparently Freuh had made with considerable skill. He tried to get the plates by force. He tried to beat the information out of Freuh. But Freuh wouldn’t talk and the beating became, inadvertently or not, a murder.”
“And Capelli beat Earnshaw up for that?” I said.
“Of course he beat him. Because he thought that Earnshaw’s beating had been successful and that Earnshaw knew where the plates were. Had it not been for that he would have killed Earnshaw at once. Then Capelli dragged me down to his place, believing that Freuh had given me his address when he was here. He found out he hadn’t and told me to go and find it any way.” Sackler bowed modestly and added, “I did.”
Woolley nodded. “It makes sense. But you don’t have any evidence, do you? I mean the sort of stuff we can take to a courtroom.”
“You big dumb goat,” said Sackler. “Of course, you have evidence. All sorts of evidence and all around you. Can’t you see it?”
Woolley obviously did not relish Sackler’s tone. But he shook his head woodenly and said, “No, I don’t.”
“You have a confession,” said Sackler. “From Earnshaw.”
“You’re crazy,” said Earnshaw.
“Oh, no, I’m not. Capelli’s mob is bigger and tougher than yours. He didn’t kill you last time because he thought you might know where the plates were. Now, it doesn’t matter. He’ll kill you for killing Freuh. At least, in a courtroom, you can plead self-defense or whatever your lawyer suggests. You’ve got a fighting chance. You haven’t against Capelli’s guns. Capelli will kill you. The law might give you as little as ten years. It’s pure percentage.”
Earnshaw thought it over for a long silent two minutes. Then he nodded. “All right,” he said. “Your way is safer. But, by God, I want Capelli held for assault on me.”
“You see,” said Sackler to Woolley, “you have a confession and an assault charge. And that cleans up everything for you.”
“Thanks,” said Woolley without gratitude. He grinned broadly and added, “I’ll just take the three of you in.”
“The three of us?” said Sackler,
“My very words.”
“On what charges?”
“Earnshaw for murder, Capelli for assault, and you for being in possession of counterfeit money.”
A warning bell hammered in my skull but I wasn’t quite sure exactly what it meant.
“Me?” said Sackler. “Counterfeit money?”
“Yes. You have an envelope in your pocket containing a hundred dollar bill which is counterfeit.”
“Me?” said Sackler again. I felt my stomach go suddenly empty. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” went on Sackler. “Whatever gave you that impression?” He glanced over at me and smiled, “Ah, I get it. Joey told you that. Joey is always kidding the department, Inspector. I’ve often spoken to him about it. I haven’t a hundred dollar bill in my possession. I’ll even waive my civil rights and permit you to search me.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” snapped Woolley, advancing upon him.
By this time I’d figured it out. I had the phony bill. And if I opened my mouth and said Sackler had given it to me I’d be the guy in illegal possession of a counterfeit note.
Woolley finished his examination of Sackler’s pockets and scowled in my direction. Sackler said, “If you’re thinking Freuh gave me a hundred dollars, you’re wrong. He gave me two five hundreds which I’ve banked. The bank would have spotted it if they were bad. Besides, those plates are for hundreds. No, Joey was just kidding you, Woolley. Weren’t you, Joey?”
He took a deep drag on a cigarette and watched me speculatively, like a scientist watching a guinea pig. Woolley was staring black murder at me. I took a deep breath and did the only thing I possibly could.
I said: “I was only kidding, Inspector,” then I laughed the hollowest laugh this side of Woodlawn Cemetery.
Woolley took a deep breath. He cursed me by bell and book. He fumed, raved and shouted. I stood with my head bowed and took every word of it. At last he grabbed his two glaring prisoners and took them from the room, leaving me alone with Sackler and my sorrow.
He said, rubbing it in: “One certainly enjoys a smoke after a layoff, Joey. You really should quit smoking yourself sometime.”
I said: “You rat, how did you know? How did you do it?”
He threw me his most perfect superior smile.
“It was obvious, really from the day Freuh was in here. There was a T man on his tail. He knew he’d be picked up and searched at any moment. He wanted to get rid of his sample phony bill for a day or two, so he gave it to me.”
“But he gave you a grand besides?” I inquired.
“That was to shut me up and lull my suspicions. He gave me a legitimate thousand bucks to find out a simple thing — the whereabouts of Dworkin, which Freuh knew himself all the time. Then he offered me a hundred to do something utterly impossible, knowing I’d have to return his hundred when I couldn’t do it.”
“You mean there is no such quotation?”
“Of course not. Freuh made it up. He’s not a literary man, and the quotation stinks. He planted the hundred on me. Then he went down, threw himself into the T man’s arms, got pinched and searched. He was clean. He would have come back the next day and got his hundred.”
“And lost his grand?”
“What of it? Those plates were magnificent. He and Capelli would have made a fortune with them. I always thought that hundred dollar bill was phony. After I examined the plates and saw they were devised to make bills of that denomination, I knew it was.”
“So you planted it on me?”