“Now listen, chief,” interrupted Riordan, “don’t you go pulling any of that stuff at all. You saw everything I saw, and you noted that desk calendar the first thing. The only thing you missed was how that footprint in the tin was made, and you tumbled to that here yourself to-night.
“You’d have made the whole case before the night was over if Sergeant Roberts hadn’t gone and found that drunk with the boots on — you were just tumbling to it when he bust in. So don’t you try to hand me any credit for it. And I don’t want you to bother me any for the next twenty minutes, either — I got to dope out how’s the best way to put this up to the reporters, so they’ll be sure and see what a fine piece of work the police department has done.”
LQ585
by Jefferson Farjeon
“You got the number, did you? Good!” replied Bracebridge. “What was it?”
“LQ585,” Replied the officer confidently.
I
“Hello — something up!” exclaimed Inspector Bracebridge.
Crook raised his eyes and directed them toward a doorway a little distance along the street. Some one, a shopman, had dashed out excitedly, and two or three passers-by were pausing to stare at him, while from the corner beyond a policeman approached with guarded briskness.
“Policemen are more sinned against than sinning,” commented Crook, “but I wish some one would teach them to run first and ask questions afterward. What’s cur excited man pointing at?”
“A car, I think,” barked the inspector. “Well, I can run, if policemen can’t!”
He dashed forward, and Crook, following, gazed along the road. A car, dark red, was just disappearing, and the policeman was pausing in response to the shopman’s cries and gesticulations.
“Go after it, go after it!” shouted the shopman. “Stop that car, somebody!” Then he saw the approaching inspector, and turned to him wildly. “He’s a thief! He came into my shop, and when my back was turned — God knows what he’s taken!”
Crook glanced at the shop. It was a jeweler’s. Above was written the name, “T. Wheeler. Goldsmith and Silversmith,” and, judged by his display of emotion, the excited man outside was probably T. Wheeler himself.
The policeman, by this time, had banished his vagueness, and catching sight of the inspector, he bustled through the gathering knot of people and saluted.
“We’ll get that car, sir,” he said confidently. “I know the number.”
“You do? Good! What was it?” replied Bracebridge.
“LQ585. I saw it draw up. As a matter of fact, the driver spoke to me—”
“Then you can identify him?”
“Yes, sir. Common-lookin’ man, dirty black suit—”
“That’s the one!” cried the jeweler. “He came in my shop, and while my back was turned—”
“Well, we won’t catch him if we stand here talking,” interrupted Bracebridge sharply. He blew a shrill blast on his whistle, and as he did so a young man stepped up to him quietly from the side of the road.
“Can I be of any use?” he asked. “I’ve got a car here. I saw the way the fellow went.”
“Splendid, sir! Just what we want!” He beckoned to the policeman. “Tumble in. We’ll want you to identify the man and the car. Quick, now! We’ll see he doesn’t get far!” Then he swung round to Crook and raised his eyebrows. “Want to come with us, eh?”
“I think I could be more useful at this end,” replied Crook. “I can tell any further policemen or officers what’s happened, if they come along, and I can get the rest of the story.”
“Right, right!” nodded the inspector approvingly, as he sprang into the waiting car. “That’s the idea. Carry on. You’ve my authority for whatever you think wise to do.”
The next moment the car glided swiftly away in the direction of the vanished dark red car, and Crook turned to the jeweler.
“Shall we go inside?” he asked. “Then you can tell me the whole story.”
“Yes, yes! But—”
“Don’t worry about the chase. That’s already in progress, and, as you can see, there are plenty on the job.” Other policemen had arrived, and, directed by one particularly energetic young constable, were getting busy.
“It’s a dark red car, and we know the number — LQ585,” the energetic young constable was saying. “Got that? Right. Common man, about my ’eight. Dark brown ’air, and a big nose. Wearin’ a black suit, very dirty one, and black boots. Got that? Right. Bowler ’at, a bit the worse for wear. Now, then, get busy. Spread around, boys. Right!”
Crook approached him, and touched him on the shoulder.
“I’m going into the shop, constable,” he said. “Will you join me in a minute? I’m getting the full story for Inspector Bracebridge.”
“Very good, sir,” answered the constable. “Jest want to get these chaps started — with you in a jiffy.”
As Crook entered the shop he reflected, “There’s a man working for promotion — and I should say he’ll get it.” Then he turned his attention to the jeweler.
“He came in here,” the jeweler was spluttering, “and while my back was turned—”
“Yes, but let me hear the whole thing, from the beginning,” interposed Crook. “Did he enter as an ordinary customer, or what?”
“That’s right,” replied the jeweler, wiping his damp forehead. “The rascal! I don’t know even yet all he’s taken. Look — there’s a couple of rings gone from that case!
“By God, I hope they catch him. Eh? Oh, yes! I was saying — he came in, and asked for a cheap watch. What he would ask for. Looked cheap himself. I showed him two or three, but he didn’t like them, so I went to fetch another. And that was when he did it. While my back was turned.
“Used to this sort of game, I should say, he was so quick and noiseless. When I turned round again, he wasn’t here. Out in a flash. And then I saw some things missing — ah, here comes some one. Another policeman. What’s the good of his coming here? Why in the world doesn’t he use his head and go after—”
Crook held up his hand to interrupt the jeweler’s excited flow, as the smart young constable entered.
“Done all I can for the moment outside, sir,” he reported. “One of my mates is carrying on out there. Sometimes they come back to the spot they started from. Old dodge. Straightforward case, I should say.”
“It seems so,” answered the detective, and repeated, briefly, what the jeweler had told him. “And now I’d like to ask you a question or two, constable, if I may. You had the description of the thief pretty pat. How did you get such a close sight of him?”
“Well, I was standing by when he drove up and spoke to my mate,” said the constable.
“Oh — the first constable,” nodded Crook. “You mean the one to whom he spoke?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Did you hear what he said?”
“Yes, sir. It was at the corner. Up he drives, and stops sudden. ‘Nice little car,’ I thinks—”
“You had some reason for thinking that?”
“Yes, sir. The man looked a bit shabby to be driving it.”
“He might have been a chauffeur.”
“Wasn’t dressed like one.”
“In mufti?”
The constable shook his head. “You can spot a chauffeur on ’ollerday, just as you can a coachman,” he observed. “This wasn’t no chauffeur.”
“I agree,” said Crook, smiling. “You’re quite smart.” The constable tried unsuccessfully not to look pleased. “Well, go on. ‘Nice little car,’ you thought. And then?”
“Then the feller speaks. ‘Can you tell me the time?’ he asks. My mate points to a big clock across the road. ‘Oh, I didn’t see it,’ says this feller. ‘Thanks.’ And off he goes again—”