I took the letters to the main post office, dropped them in the mail chute and then went back and took a look at Bobo. The dog was ready to travel, but I held him there for another day or two. I didn’t want him to open up that wound and there was going to be action ahead. Then I went back to the apartment, called it a day, and rolled in.
The next morning Mrs. Lambert telephoned and wanted me to take dinner with them that night, just an informal party, Lois and her fiancé, Mr. Lambert and herself in addition to myself. I wondered a lot about that invitation. The woman seemed to have an expressionless face yet her keen eyes didn’t miss much that went on. She was following suit for every one of her daughter’s leads. I accepted. I couldn’t imagine any place I wanted to be at eight o’clock that night more than at John Lambert’s.
My letter would reach Ogden Sly in the morning mail, and the same mail would carry the letter to the bank. I happened to know that the bank was the one where Ogden Sly carried his account. The orders in the letters of instructions which I had seen in John Lambert’s safe had given me that information. I could imagine Ogden Sly’s first move as soon as he received that letter. He would hotfoot it down to the bank in search of information concerning the account of one C. W. Kinsington, and he wouldn’t have much trouble in getting hold of that letter of mine to the bank. From that letter he’d get the address I had given, and I could expect to hear from him very soon thereafter.
I hadn’t doped it out far wrong, either. By noon there was a letter delivered from the post office box. Ogden Sly was willing to talk with me concerning the matter I had mentioned, but he wanted to be sure the conversation was private. Would I please telephone him at a certain number, and would I be good enough to consider the matter confidential in the highest degree?
Very apparently Ogden Sly was worried. Not worried badly enough to actually part with any cash on a crude blackmail game, but worried enough to decide that he’d better get rid of me.
I went to a public telephone booth, and called him up, making my voice dry, husky, and a bit cracked, figuring that he hadn’t any line on Kinsington any more than I had, but knowing that the thing of real importance was to keep him from having the faintest suspicion of any resemblance between the voice he heard over the telephone and the voice of that good friend of the Lambert family, Ed Jenkins.
In one way I felt like a philanthropic fool as I stood there carrying on the conversation, and yet in another I knew that I was doing the proper thing, both from a standpoint of business ethics as well as from the standpoint of the dog. Before I got done with things I’d have a nice piece of cash tucked away somewhere, and Bobo would have his revenge, but it was something that couldn’t be hurried. As for Lois… well, damn those flappers, anyway! I couldn’t be sure of her.
Right at the start of the conversation I could see that I had Sly sold. I knew too much about that deal with John Lambert not to be genuine. He figured that C. W. Kinsington himself was the only one who would have all that knowledge concerning the deal. Sly wanted to discuss matters with me, but I wanted a refund of all the blackmail money first. I was the one who pulled the righteous indignation stuff. I was going to get a refund of the money and take it to Lambert. I was going to have Sly arrested, was going to the police immediately.
Sly was all for temporizing. He wanted to see me before I did anything rash, told me I was mistaken about his ever having exacted any money from anyone, that he could explain everything in a few minutes of personal conversation, and all the rest of the old stall.
After a bit I hesitated, and then gave him a street number. I would be there promptly at seven p.m. that evening and he could see me there on one condition, and on one condition alone, and that was that he have a certified check payable to bearer for the sum of ten thousand dollars. I told him I knew he had received a lot more money from John Lambert than that, but if he would hand me that certified check for ten thousand I’d consider it as a guarantee of good faith.
He went up in the air at that, but said he’d come to the place and talk with me, although he wouldn’t have any certified check, or pay me “one damned cent.”
I kept insisting, and finally he told me that he’d send a messenger with ten thousand in cash if that would suit me any better. I told him it would, and that I’d be in room number nineteen at the address I’d given him. Pretending to be green, but obstinate was my cue, and I played the part to the queen’s taste.
The rooming house number I’d given him was a rooming house that was run by a Chink friend of mine, and of all friends a Chink friend is the most loyal and dependable.
I dropped down there that afternoon and had a talk with my friend Chink, and then I did a little more telephoning. By seven o’clock I was ready for the fireworks.
Ogden Sly’s messenger was Bill Peavey, of course. He and Sly were in so deep on the thing that they had to see it through, and one murder more or less wasn’t going to make so very much difference to them providing they could get away with it and get things hushed up. Events were marching along rapidly, and in the death of Wild Andy Caruthers in such a mysterious manner and in the sudden resurrection of C. W. Kinsington, Sly and his henchman could only see the hand of fate turning against them, a little bad break in the luck. They didn’t know that monkeying with Ed Jenkins, and shooting his dog so they could frame a murder on the phantom crook was guaranteed to bring bad luck to any bunch of crooks.
At seven to the minute Bill Peavey presented himself at the entrance of the rooming house and told the Chink he wanted to see his friend in room nineteen. The Chink nodded, smiled and informed Peavey that the “fliend” had left instructions to the effect that his visitor was to exhibit ten thousand dollars in cash before being admitted.
I was at a peep hole in the upper floor where I could look down on the whole affair. Peavey was mad but uncertain and started to argue with the Chink. The Chink shrugged his shoulders, did things to the switchboard and told the crook he could talk with his “fliend” on the telephone. That didn’t suit Peavey either, but he had his murder to commit, and he wanted to get it over with early in the evening. He talked with me on the telephone, and I told him short and snappy that he had to pungle up the ten thousand dollars so I could see that he really had the goods or I wouldn’t talk with him for a minute. Bill engaged in a lot more conversation, and finally exhibited ten one thousand dollar bills to the Chink. I’d sold Ogden Sly on the idea that I was an obstinate old coot all right, and he’d given his messenger the money to be used in case of emergency. That was all I wanted to know. After the Chink had been satisfied that Bill had the money, Bill not knowing that I was watching the show, I told Bill the Chink would show him up. Bill was suspicious by that time that the whole thing was a plant and he came up the stairs with his gun in his hand, ready for anything.
The Chink showed him into room nineteen and Bill sat down, uneasy, suspicious. He was the only one in the room. I was in an adjoining room, taking a peek at him through the little peep hole I’d had constructed there. Bill was good and nervous, and that was the way I wanted to get him. He was desperate, and he was pretty well suspected of one murder already. On the whole his nerves weren’t in the best shape imaginable.