Beaver said, “That bandage is the place where the money is concealed! Don’t you get it? He had the twenty-five one-dollar bills planted in his pocket. When they handed him the twenty-five one-thousand-dollar bills, he simply made an excuse to get his hand up near his head and slipped the bills up under the bandage. They searched him, but they didn’t think of pulling off that bandage!”
Sergeant Ackley’s piggy little eyes glittered with sudden interest. “They may not have searched that bandage at that,” he said. “But I don’t know what makes you think Leith had any clue to—”
“Don’t you see it?” Beaver shouted. “Look at the two photographs. Here’s the one that was taken after he was booked. See the bandages? Look at the strips of adhesive tape. See? There are four cross strips of adhesive on the bandage in the picture taken in the afternoon and only three in the one taken after he was booked.”
Sergeant Ackley stared at the photograph. His eyes became wide and fascinated. “Holy smoke!” he said.
“Get the sketch?” Beaver said excitedly. “Leith is planning on putting up bail and getting Alcott out of jail. He’s going to drug him or something, and while Alcott is unconscious, Leith will rip that bandage off. Then he’s going to put a new one in its place. Alcott won’t even know he’s been robbed. It will have that clever, artistic, baffling touch that characterizes all of Leith’s crimes.”
Sergeant Ackley picked up the telephone. “Get me Captain Carmichael,” he said, and a moment later, he said into the transmitter, “Captain, this is Ackley. I’ve been thinking about that Alcott case, and checking over the newspaper accounts. I noticed there were different photographs in the papers, and in studying those photographs, my eye hit upon a highly significant detail, one that I think has been overlooked... What’s that?... Yes, Captain... No, it’s apparent from the photographs... Yes, Captain. Right away.”
Sergeant Ackley hung up the telephone, and said to the undercover man, “Well, that’s all, Beaver. As I’ve told you, you get me the facts, and I’ll put them together. I’m going up to have a conference with Captain Carmichael.”
Beaver said, “You might mention to Captain Carmichael that I furnished the idea.”
Sergeant Ackley stared at him with steady hostility. “You furnished the idea!” he said. “Why, you insisted there wasn’t any clue. I was the one who kept telling you that it was in those photographs.”
“But I did mention the discrepancy between the three strips of adhesive tape in the one picture and the four in the other.”
Sergeant Ackley said, “I had noticed that and was debating whether to call your attention to it, Beaver. I pointed out to you that the key clue was contained in those pictures.”
“I see. It was all your idea.”
Sergeant Ackley folded the papers under his arm. “Of course it was my idea,” he said.
The valet entered the penthouse apartment to find Lester Leith, his head heavily bandaged, engaged in conversation with a gray-haired, rather fleshy woman in the middle sixties.
Lester Leith said to the woman, “Here’s my valet now, Mrs. Randerman. His name is Scuttle. You’ll find him very efficient. I believe he has another name for purposes of social security. What the devil is it? Woodchuck, Scuttle?”
“No, sir,” the spy said, his face flushing angrily.
“Weasel,” Lester Leith said. “That’s it. This is Mrs. Randerman, who’s going to act as my assistant in a business venture. You’ll carry out her instructions the same as you would my own, Scuttle.” The spy said, “Yes, sir. And the name’s Beaver, sir. B-e-a-v-e-r.”
Leith said, “To be sure, Scuttle. Beaver. Why didn’t I think of it?”
The spy said to Mrs. Randerman, “I shall consider it a privilege to serve you, madam,” and to Lester Leith: “May I ask, sir, what happened to your head?”
Leith raised delicately exploring fingertips to the bandage around his head. “A bit of a bump, Scuttle,” he said, “that’s all.”
“Should I call a doctor, sir?”
“Oh, dear no, Scuttle. It’ll be quite all right. I probably didn’t need the bandage, but you remember you’d purchased some bandage and adhesive tape.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I found that they came in handy,” Leith said, and then, with a smile for Mrs. Randerman, “Sort of Alice-in-Wonderland affair. My valet buys the bandage and adhesive tape, and an hour later I bump my head. Do you like soda in your Scotch, Mrs. Randerman?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Lots of it,” she said.
Leith nodded to the valet. “Two of them, Scuttle,” he said.
The spy mixed the drinks.
“Did you,” Leith asked him, “get the diamond rings and the pearl necklace, Scuttle?”
“I ordered them, yes, sir.”
Leith yawned. “Well, when they come up, send them back.”
The spy almost dropped the bottle he was holding. “Send them back, sir?” he echoed. “You mean that you don’t want them?”
“I’d hardly want them if I send them back, would I, Scuttle?”
“No, sir, but they’re already paid for. I can’t return them.”
Leith waved his hand in an airy gesture of dismissal. “In that case, Scuttle, we’ll take them, of course. Perhaps the janitor would care for them.”
“But I don’t understand, sir.”
“I’m quite sure you don’t, Scuttle,” Lester Leith said, “and I think Mrs. Randerman could stand just about one more jigger of that Scotch.”
“Yes, sir. I... it wasn’t anything I did, sir, was it?”
Leith smiled. “On the contrary, Scuttle, it was something I did. I intended to conduct a psychological experiment, using the bandage, the pearls, the diamonds, and one or two other bits of equipment, but this bump on the head caused me to use up the bandage. So we’ll just forget about the experiment.”
“But I can get more bandage, sir,” the spy said eagerly.
Leith stretched and yawned. “Oh, I don’t think it’s necessary, Scuttle,” he said. “I’ve been having so much trouble with Sergeant Ackley lately that I’m afraid he might misunderstand my purpose in conducting the experiment. And watch what you’re doing with that soda siphon, Scuttle.”
The spy, consumed with curiosity, served the drinks and sought to hover around in the vicinity of the living room where Lester Leith and Mrs. Randerman were discussing the theater, Leith listening with interest to the stories which Mrs. Randerman told of her vaudeville days.
But Leith spiked the valet’s guns by saying pointedly, “That’s all, Scuttle. We’ll ring if we want anything,” and the spy had no alternative but to withdraw to his quarters from which he immediately telephoned police headquarters, using the unlisted number through which undercover men were able to communicate directly with Sergeant Ackley.
Nor was Sergeant Ackley’s voice any too cordial as he said, “Okay, Beaver. What is it?”
The spy said, “He has the woman all right, a Mrs. Randerman, who was on the vaudeville stage at one time. You’d better look her up. But he’s countermanded the order on the imitation pearls and diamonds. He seems to have lost interest in the entire affair — and he’s used some of the bandage and adhesive tape to place a bandage around his head. He says that he had a bit of a bump.”
“Well,” Sergeant Ackley growled, “that was one screwy tip you gave me, Beaver. You’d better put a bandage around your own head.”
“What do you mean?”
Sergeant Ackley said, “Alcott hadn’t hidden any twenty-five thousand dollars in that bandage. That bandage covered a very real automobile accident. I passed that tip of yours on to Captain Carmichael, and he became as excited about it as you were. He dashed down to the man’s cell and ripped off the bandage, and then found he had to call a doctor to replace it. He told me to tell you not to jump at conclusions next time.”