“A white feather, Scuttle?”
“Yes, sir. He says it brings him luck because it teaches him prudence. Whenever he’s inclined to plunge in a poker game, he looks in his wallet, sees the white feather, and is convinced that it’s prudent to play a conservative game.”
Lester Leith frowned. “It sounds like a silly system to me, Scuttle.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A man never makes anything by being conservative, Scuttle. He makes his pile by plunging. After he’s made his pile, he becomes conservative.”
Lester Leith stared again at the photograph of the thin man with a sardonic smile whose thumb and forefinger held the fluffy white feather up against the dark background formed by the iron bars of a jail door. “Who is he, Scuttle?”
“Rodney Alcott, sir.”
“And what’s he done to get himself in jail and his picture in the newspaper?”
The spy’s eyes glittered as he saw that Leith was taking the bait. “The police don’t know, sir.”
“I see,” Leith said. “Typical police methods. They don’t know what the man’s done — therefore, they throw him in jail. That’s a jail door in the background of the photograph, is it not, Scuttle?”
“Yes, sir.”
Leith concentrated his attention on the white feather shown in the picture. “How long has he had this peculiar pocket piece, Scuttle?”
“He says for more than a year. It’s always in his wallet.”
Lester Leith put down his book, and walked across his apartment to stand smoking in front of the window. The big police spy watched him with glittering, anxious eyes.
“What do the police think he’s done?” Lester Leith asked at length, without taking his eyes from the view which was framed in the window — a vista of tall, lighted buildings in the foreground, a penthouse apartment, and, far below, a crawling stream of automobiles whose headlights made them seem like a procession of fireflies.
The spy said, “The police think that he changed twenty-five one-thousand-dollar bills into twenty-five one-dollar bills.”
Leith slowly turned. His eyes were whimsical. “Rather a good percentage, Scuttle,” he said. “A thousand to one. Who’d he shortchange?”
“The police aren’t certain. They think it may have been Judge August Peer Mandeville.”
Leith frowned. “Isn’t he a federal judge, Scuttle?”
“Yes, sir.”
Leith glanced at his watch. “Scuttle,” he said, “I have twenty-five minutes. Tell me the story briefly, and I’ll listen. But mind you, Scuttle, I’m just listening to pass the time. I don’t want Sergeant Ackley to think this is another time when I’m outguessing the police, depriving a criminal of his ill-gotten gains, and passing the profits on to the unfortunate.”
“I understand, sir... Judge Mandeville is presiding over the patent litigation involving the patents of the Click-Fast Shutter Company. A week ago Rodney Alcott approached Mr. Boyen, the president of the Click-Fast Shutter Company, and said that for twenty-five thousand dollars Judge Mandeville would give them a favorable decision.”
“And how did Alcott fit into the picture, Scuttle?”
“Apparently, he’s a close personal friend of Judge Mandeville.”
“I see, Scuttle. Go ahead. What happened?”
“You’ve heard of Charles Betcher, the famous private detective, head of the national agency which—”
“I’ve heard of him,” Leith said.
“Well, it seems that the Click-Fast Shutter Company was suspicious. They thought Alcott might be trying to feather his own nest, or that Judge Mandeville might take the money and fail to give them a favorable decision after all. The shutter company wanted to prove Judge Mandeville had received the money.
“Mr. Boyen called in Charles Betcher and asked his advice. Betcher decided to let Alcott go ahead, but to install detectographs so that every word of his conversation with Judge Mandeville could be taken down on v/ax cylinders.”
Lester Leith slipped a cigarette from the thin, hammered-silver cigarette case which he took from his hip pocket. He tapped the end upon a polished thumbnail and said, “Then they’d let him know they held the records, and own the judge. What happened?”
“They didn’t play it that way, sir. That’s what they should have done, but the Click-Fast Shutter Company didn’t like Judge Mandeville. They decided they’d let him accept the bribe money and then arrest him.
“Betcher took control personally. He came to town, got a suite in a downtown hotel. He and Boyen gave Alcott twenty-five thousand dollars — twenty-five one-thousand-dollar bills. They had the numbers on the bills listed, and they didn’t let Alcott out of their sight after they gave him the money. He went directly to the judge’s chambers, and the detectograph picked up the conversation.”
“Was the judge crooked?” Lester Leith asked.
“No one knows, sir,” the spy said. “The detectograph recorded conversation in which Alcott said, ‘Okay, Judge, I got the money. I had some difficulty getting them to give it to me, but it’s all here.’ And then the money was passed over. Alcott came to the door and shook hands with Judge Mandeville. The detectives and police swooped down on Mandeville. They searched him and found a sealed envelope containing twenty-five new one-dollar bills. Mandeville swore this money was the return of a personal loan which he’d made to Alcott.”
“And they searched Alcott?” Lester Leith asked.
“Oh, yes, of course, sir.”
“And what did they find?”
“Nothing.”
“And what does Alcott say?”
“Alcott swears that he gave the twenty-five one-thousand-dollar bills to Judge Mandeville, that the judge must have smelled a rat and managed to ditch the money.”
Lester Leith crossed over to stand above the table, looking down at the newspaper photograph. “I notice Alcott has a bandaged head,” he said. “Did he resist arrest?”
“No, sir. That wasn’t done by the police, sir. That’s the result of an automobile accident.”
“I see,” Lester Leith said musingly. “Well, it’s very interesting, Scuttle. The Click-Fast Shutter Company has paid out twenty-five thousand dollars. The net result has been to antagonize Judge Mandeville, whether he was bribed or not, and probably to have cost them their chance of winning the lawsuit.”
The police spy said, “Mr. Boyen, the president of the Click-Fast Shutter Company, is furious. He’s offered Mr. Betcher a five-thousand-dollar reward to prove what happened.”
Lester Leith raised his eyebrows. “Why Betcher?” he asked.
“He seems to feel that Betcher is the best detective in the country.”
Lester Leith smiled. “After his experience,” he said, “you must give Mr. Boyen credit for a great amount of blind, loyal faith, Scuttle. I take it Charles Betcher arranged the details of payment.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Exactly how was the money paid?”
“President Boyen took the money from his pocket, said to Charles Betcher, ‘Here are the twenty-five one-thousand-dollar bills.’ Betcher and Boyen together copied the numbers, while Alcott sat on the bed, watching. Then Betcher picked up the money and handed it to Alcott. Alcott folded the bills and started to put them in his pocket. Then he asked for an envelope. He says he didn’t even bother to look at the money. He says he watched them copying the numbers from the bills and saw the money then, but that when Betcher handed him the money he just took it for granted it was the same money. He says Betcher switched it.”
“And Mandeville didn’t count the money?” Leith asked incredulously.
“The money which was given Judge Mandeville was in a sealed envelope,” the valet said. “The judge had just torn open the edge of the envelope and taken out the bills when the detectives and police made the raid.”