Surprised I didn’t spot this slicker right off as a member of the clan, my first impulse is to let well enough alone. I got a nice little roll for the first time in many moons, and no wish to gypardize it. “Every crook to his trade,” thinks I, and drifts out.
But before dinner time here comes Fluffy behind the silly grin he wears in moments of elation, and pulls me to one side.
“Sam,” says he, “you and me is old friends and I gotta let you in on the Christmas party some guy is givin’ up in number seven. It’s a poker game, and I just walked outa there with two hundred bucks. You’d oughta get in on that, Sam.”
“You don’t tell me,” I sniffs.
But once I’ve heard that I naturally begins thinkin’ of the swell luck I had before comin’ aboard, and number seven starts fascinatin’ me like a loose plank in a ball park fence. Whichever way I starts walkin’, I finds myself fetchin’ up outside of Bodie’s parlor. I holds out till after lunch next day, and then gives in. If a monkey like McGoff can take this guy for two hundred, so can Sam Smitz.
But, oh baby, I’m wrong! It’s the old come-on game in the hands of a expert. Between his sly chatter and Harry’s cocktails I runs up a fat surplus, till I gets to thinkin’ in round numbers, and then comes down the skid. Time and again I digs into the padded wallet for reserves, till I begins to touch bottom. Wow — nearly a thousand bucks has slid over the felt to this slicker.
“Excuse me, gents, I got a headache,” says I, and stumbles out.
Well, maybe I ain’t a good loser or somethin’. Anyhow, my first thought is to avoid Fluffy, so I hides out till he goes to dinner, and then sneaks into our stateroom. Some way I don’t seem to feel so good, and it ain’t all in the head either. I falls on my bed and goes to sleep.
About four bells I awakes to the tune of one of Fluffy’s shoes hittin’ the deck. There he sits dreamily unlacin’ the other, with a sad, far-away look.
“What’s ailing you?” says I.
“Huh? Oh, I just got a idea, that’s all.”
“Well, close the portholes,” I grunts. “It’d be too bad to have it get away on you.”
“Every guy should stick to his own game, ain’t that right?”
“Sure, but what brings that up?”
“Well — now don’t get me wrong, Sam — have you noticed the procession of diamonds that Mrs. Jingleberry has been wearin’? Now you and me had oughta be able to figger out some way—”
“Oh, cripes!” I wakes up. “Sure I noticed ’em; I ain’t blind. But neither am I dumb. While you’re spottin’ the richest dame afloat, I’m also spottin’ William O’Mally, the ship’s detective.”
“Gosh, is he a dick?”
“Sure, and can’t I get it into your head that this is a ship? It’s like a island, see, with water all around — every man is accounted for, and nobody can get off. So suppose you did steal ’em; how would you get away with it?”
“Uh-huh,” he nods, “but you see, Sam, I just lost all my wad up in number seven, and I can’t help tryin’ to think of some way to recuperate.”
“Gosh, that’s too bad,” I grins. “How much did you drop, Fluffy?”
“About twelve hundred,” he sighs. “Oh well, easy come easy go. But you keep thinkin’ about them rocks anyhow, will ya? You got a good head.”
“Oh, sure,” I tolls over. “But in the meantime don’t you do nothin’ rash — you know them salt water burials is awful clammy.”
Well, it’s some satisfaction to find him and me is in the same boat, but it don’t help out my slumber much. All night I got troubled dreams — me and Fluffy is out repairin’ our busted fortunes. He’s stickin’ up the U. S. Mint with a water pistol while I’m outside tryin’ to crank his flivver, which he’s forgot to put gas in.
By mornin’ I’m all wore out, and wakes to find the day dull and soggy. Also, the sea is rollin’, and I gradually identifies my wooziness with the rise and fall of the ship. Maybe if I gets out in the air, thinks I, I’ll feel better, so I does.
III
I’m up on the sun deck, which is deserted this time of mornin’, pacin’ back and forth in the drivin’ mist, when some guy falls in beside me.
“Mornin’, Smitz,” says he. It’s MacEwen, the sour-faced camera man with the movie troop, lost deep in his overcoat and blue with the cold.
“Mornin’, Mac,” says I. “How long since you been a early riser?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he grunts; “been up all night. Listen Smitz; wasn’t you in jail once in Kansas City?”
“Huh!”
“No offense — I just thought I recognized you, that’s all. I was there myself. It was Christmas, and they give us beans. You remember that, don’t you Smitz?”
“Hum-m,” I eyes him narrow, “seems to me maybe I do. What’s the gag, Mac?”
“Well, gettin’ right down to crass facts,” says he, “you lost some money to this guy Bodie, didn’t you?”
“And how!”
“Me too — not much, but all I had in the world. It’s a old failin’ of mine — drink and cards has been my ruination. But since I give up the stage and took to the technical end I been doin’ better. Had a little stake laid by and thought of openin’ a photo shop in Honolulu. Then — phooey! — in three days it’s gone. I tell you it’s got me all broke up.”
“That’s a fine shame,” I’m sympathetic. “But where do I come in?”
“Well, assumin’ that you’re a crook, Smitz — which I know damn well you are — I imagine you’re thinkin’ about some way to get back your losses.”
“Proceed,” says I.
Clutchin’ me by the arm he leads me in behind a ventilator, lowers his voice confidential, and slips me the proposition. If I’ll stick up Bodie for his roll, he’ll manage the job slick as a whistle and get the money safe ashore.
“It’s a pipe,” he assures me.
“A pipe dream,” says I. “If you got it doped out so slick, why don’t you pull it yourself?”
“I ain’t got the nerve,” he admits. “I been tryin’ to get up the courage, but I… I’m too nervous. But it’s right up your alley, Smitz, and it’s well worth your while. He must have close to ten thousand bucks there, and I know right where it’s hid. All you gotta do is pull the stick-up and slip me the jack. I run all the risk after that, and I’ll give you two-thirds of the swag when we get ashore. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be interested in a haul like that if all the details was planned out safe.”
“Sure I would, if they was safe, but—”
“Then listen here: I ain’t always been a camera man. I was once a first-rate actor and I’m still right there with the fine art of make-up. Now, while every one on the ship is well known, there’s several easily recognized types that ain’t on the ship, get me?”
“Say, that’s a corker,” I grins. “They’d have a heluva time arrestin’ somebody that ain’t on the ship, wouldn’t they?”
“Exactly.”
“But how’ll you get the money ashore?”
“Packed in my camera — rolled up in the film. They’ll never suspect me to begin with, and would never in the world think of lookin’ there. It’s water-tight, ain’t it?”
“It’s good enough,” I agrees. “Pull it the last thing, huh?”
“That’s the idea. We docks tomorrow about noon. We’ll pull it durin’ breakfast. Drop up to my place this evenin’ and we’ll go over the details.”
“Sure,” says I, and we grips on it.
I lingers for a minute in the lee of the ventilator, gloatin’ over my good fortune. It’s a shame to put this over on McGoff, but business is business. As I steps forth the wind nearly bowls me for a loop. The sea is visin’, and the ship’s millin’ around like a chip in a busy wash tub. One look at the heavin’ deck and my whole system does a flip-flop and lands bottom-side up. Feebly I staggers to the rail, for support and other matters, and clings there. Boy, I am sick.