He unfolded the letter while she leaned toward him to stare over his shoulder.
As her eyes saw the writing, she gave a gasp. “The damn fool,” she said, “to have saved those!”
Paul Pry, apparently heedless of the remark, read a line aloud and then broke into a chuckle. “Certainly,” he said, “that’s indiscreet enough for you.”
She snatched the letter from his hand, stared at him with blazing eyes.
“Come, sweetheart,” he said, “and give me another of those prerogatives of friendship.”
Mugs Magoo stood up as Paul Pry entered the room and gave a dramatic imitation of one who is seeing a ghost.
He swung his arm across his eyes.
“Go away!” he shouted. “Go away! Don’t hurt me! I was good to him in his lifetime! His ghost can’t haunt me! Get away, I say!”
Paul Pry dropped into a chair without bothering to remove either his topcoat or his hat. He lit a cigarette and thrust it in his smiling lips at a jaunty angle.
“What’s the matter, Mugs?” he asked.
“My God,” said Mugs, “it talks! A ghost that talks! I know it can’t be you, because you’re dead! You were killed tonight, but how is it that your ghost doesn’t have any bullet holes in its body? And it’s the first time in my life I ever saw a ghost smoke a cigarette!”
Paul Pry laughed and his hand, dropping to his trouser pocket, brought out a roll of bills. Carelessly, he tossed them to the table.
Mugs stared at the roll. “How much?” he asked.
“Oh, five or six thousand,” said Paul Pry carelessly.
“What!” Mugs exclaimed.
Paul Pry nodded.
“Where did it come from?”
“Well,” said Paul Pry, “part of it was a donation that was made to me by Bunny Myers. It was an involuntary donation and Bunny will probably not recall it when he wakes up, but it was a donation, nevertheless.”
“And the rest?” asked Mugs Magoo.
Paul Pry settled himself more comfortably in his chair.
“Do you know, Mugs,” he said, “I got the idea that possibly Tompkins didn’t trust even his own gang. He had concealed the gem where no one knew where it was. That was a funny crack he made in the note about Bunny’s nutcracker. So when Bunny Myers was making his involuntary donation to me, I examined the slungshot that he carried under his arm.
“Sure enough, there was a screw loose in it. Rather the whole handle could be unscrewed, by exerting proper pressure. Evidently, it was a slungshot that Tompkins had given to Bunny and one he intended to use in a pinch as a receptacle for something that was too hot for him to handle.
“When I unscrewed it, I found the Legget diamond, and a very affable gentleman by the name of Mr. Edgar Patten, an adjuster for the insurance company that handled the insurance on the gem, was good enough to insist that I take a slight reward for my services when I returned the stone to him.”
Mugs Magoo pursed his lips and gave a low whistle. “Just a fool for luck!” he exclaimed. “You sure picked two of the toughest nuts in the game, and you’re still alive! It ain’t right!”
Paul Pry chuckled softly. “Tough nuts to crack all right, Mugs,” he mused, “but, with the aid of Bunny’s nutcracker, I managed all right.”
The Cross-Stitch Killer
Millionaires were that hunter’s only game, and when he’d bagged them he sewed their lips up tight for he knew that even dead men sometimes talk. But Paul Pry, professional opportunist, was a tailor of sorts himself, with a needle as sharp and deadly as the cross-stitch killer’s — an avenging sword cane to darn living flesh!
1. Murdered Millions
Paul Pry polished the razor-keen blade of his sword cane with the same attentive care a stone polisher might take in putting just the right lustre upon a fine piece of onyx.
“Mugs” Magoo sat slumped in a big overstuffed chair in the corner. He held a whiskey glass in his left hand. His right arm was off at the shoulder.
Eva Bentley sat in a small, glass-enclosed booth and listened to a radio which was tuned in on the wavelength of the police broadcasting station. From time to time she took swift notes in competent shorthand, occasionally rattled out a few paragraphs on a portable typewriter which was on a desk at her elbow.
Mugs Magoo rolled his glassy eyes in the direction of Paul Pry. “Some day,” he said, “some crook is going to grab the blade of that sword cane and bust it in two. Why don’t you pack a big gun and forget that sword cane business? The blade ain’t big enough to cut off a plug of chewing tobacco.”
Paul Pry smiled. “The efficacy of this sword cane, Mugs, lies in its lightness and speed. It’s like a clever boxer who flashes in, lands a telling blow, and jumps out again before a heavier adversary can even get set to deliver a punch.”
Mugs Magoo nodded his head slowly and lugubriously. “Now,” he said, “I know why you like that weapon — that’s the way you like to play game, jumping in ahead of the police, side-stepping the crooks, ducking out before anyone knows what’s happened, and leaving a hell of a mess behind.”
Paul Pry’s smile broadened into a grin, and the grin became a chuckle. “Well, Mugs,” he said, “there’s just a chance there may be something in that.”
At that moment, Eva Bentley jumped to her feet, picked up her shorthand notebook and opened the door of the glass-enclosed compartment. Instantly, the sound of the police radio became audible.
“What is it, Eva?” asked Paul Pry. “Something important?”
“Yes,” she said, “there’s just been another corpse found, with his lips sewed together. Like the other one, he’s a millionaire — Charles B Darwin is the victim this time. His murder is almost identical with that of the murder of Harry Travers. Both men were stabbed to death; both men had been receiving threatening letters through the mail; both men were found dead, with their lips sewed together with a peculiar cross-stitch.”
Mugs Magoo poured himself a glass of whiskey. “Thank God I ain’t no millionaire!” he said.
Paul Pry finished polishing the blade of the sword cane, and inserted it in the cunningly disguised scabbard. His eyes were level-lidded in concentration, and his voice was quick and sharp.
“I presume the police are making quite a commotion about it,” he said.
“I’ll say they are,” Eva Bentley told him. “They’ve broadcast a general alarm telling all cars to drop everything and concentrate on finding this mysterious murderer. It seems to be a question of money. In fact, the police are certain of it. Evidently they have some information which has not been given to the press. However, it’s common knowledge that both men received letters demanding that they place a certain sum of money in an envelope and mail it to a certain person at a certain address. Both men disregarded the request and turned the letter over to the police.”
“Any information about any other men who have received similar letters?” asked Paul Pry.
“None. The police are simply giving instructions to the cars. They’re assigning cars to the district in which the body was found.”
“Where was it — in a house?”
“No, it was found in an automobile. The man had evidently been driving an automobile and had pulled in to the kerb and stopped. He was killed seated at the wheel. The officers place the death as having taken place at about three o’clock this morning. They are inclined to believe there was some woman companion in the automobile with him, and they’re trying to find her. They think that she knows something of the crime, or can at least give some clue to the murderer.