The spy said, virtuously, “Oh, now, sir, that bet was just for the purpose of trapping Sergeant Ackley. You can give me the twenty-five dollars which is his share of the bet and—”
“No, no, Scuttle. It was a bet, and when I lose a bet I pay off.”
He handed the spy fifty dollars, and as he took the fifty-dollar bill from his wallet, a limp, bedraggled white feather fell out into his hand.
Leith looked at it and laughed sardonically.
The spy said, “That feather doesn’t seem to have brought you any luck, sir.”
“It hasn’t,” Leith said.
“May I ask why you wanted it?” the spy inquired.
Leith said, dejectedly, “Oh, that was just a second string to my bow, Scuttle.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Leith’s voice was flat with disinterest. “You see, Scuttle,” he explained patiently, “there were three possibilities. Either Betcher was crooked, Alcott was crooked, or Judge Mandeville actually took the bribe. Because of the crude manner in which the thing was handled, I was very much inclined to give Mandeville a clean bill of health. If he’d wanted a bribe, he’d have gone about it in a more skillful manner. After all, you know, he has a trained legal mind. I picked Betcher as being the more likely suspect. I was wrong. The feather proves it. If I’d only taken the trouble to look at this feather early this afternoon, I’d have saved myself a lot of work and a humiliating experience.”
The spy stared at the feather. “I don’t see how you reach that conclusion, sir.”
Leith said wearily, “It’s simple, Scuttle. The feather which Alcott was holding up in that newspaper photograph was nice and fluffy. This feather has been pressed together, is worn and bedraggled. Yet it’s been in my wallet less than twenty-four hours. Alcott claimed he’d been carrying that feather for more than a year. I carry my wallet in my hip pocket, but even if Alcott had his wallet in his breast pocket, within a week at the most that feather would have been pressed flat, the edges would have been worn, and it would have had this same bedraggled appearance.”
The spy’s eyes glittered with sudden understanding. “Perhaps,” he said, “they’re both crooked.”
Leith shook his head sadly. “No, Scuttle. Betcher’s on the square. He’s too stupid to be otherwise. Good heavens, Scuttle, I gave him a dozen chances to pick flaws in my story. Among other things, I pretended that I couldn’t see, and yet I called Mrs. Randerman’s attention to the fact that she’d left the bedroom door open. I complained about having people stare at me on the street, and yet I said I couldn’t stand bright light in my eyes... No, Scuttle, Betcher is a stuffed shirt, vastly overrated, a pompous, stupid individual who has achieved some measure of success, not because of his own ability, but because of the ability of men whom he has employed. He tried to handle this bribe business personally and Alcott could have swindled him right under his eyes.”
The spy’s hand quivered with excitement as he took the white feather.
“But,” he said, “knowing that Alcott is the real crook and with this feather as a clue, you could—”
“No, Scuttle,” Leith said, “I’m finished. I made a fool of myself. I’m getting as dumb as Sergeant Ackley. Come on, Scuttle, let’s get this suit off and you can bundle it up and send it to the Salvation Army... Am I dining out tonight, Scuttle?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Van Peltman, sir. At eight. You promised to—”
“Ring her up,” Leith said, “and tell her I’m indisposed. Convey my regrets.”
“Yes, sir,” the spy said. “But this white feather—”
“Don’t mention it to me again,” Leith said irritably. “I don’t want to hear anything more about the case, Scuttle. I’ll go in and get these clothes off and get into a shower. You’d better put through that telephone call about the dinner before you forget it.”
“Yes, sir,” the spy said, and vanished with alacrity into the booth.
But the first call which he put through was not to Mrs. Van Peltman, nor was it to Sergeant Ackley. It was a call put through directly to Captain Carmichael.
When the spy had Carmichael on the phone, he said, “I beg your pardon for calling you direct, Captain, but this is Beaver, the undercover operative working under Ackley.”
“Oh yes, Beaver,” Captain Carmichael said. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry, Captain, but I understood that you’d been advised I had a wrong idea on that Alcott case.”
Carmichael said, “I was placed in rather an embarrassing position, Beaver. That bandage business—”
The spy made so bold as to interrupt. “Pardon me, Captain,” he said, “but I think sometimes Sergeant Ackley gets things confused. I thought I’d call you direct so as to eliminate the possibility of any misunderstanding. What I was telling Sergeant Ackley was that I thought the feather Alcott was holding in that newspaper picture was a most significant clue.”
Captain Carmichael said, “The feather, Beaver?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“What the devil kind of a clue would that be? What does it signify?” Carmichael asked.
“Don’t you see, Captain?” Beaver said. “Alcott says that feather is a pocket piece, one that he’s carried in his wallet for some time. As a matter of fact, the newspaper photograph itself proves that he’s a liar. That feather is all fluffy and in perfect condition. You’ll find that if you carry one of those light, downy feathers in your wallet for no longer than twenty-four hours, it will commence to look rough and frayed and—”
“By George,” Captain Carmichael interrupted, “you have something there, Beaver!”
“I thought so,” the spy said modestly. “I tried to explain it to Sergeant Ackley, but the sergeant occasionally jumps at conclusions. I think he had some idea about that bandaged head, and he naturally thought that anything I was trying to tell him had something to do with that.”
Captain Carmichael said, “I’m glad you called me direct, Beaver. You did quite right. That’s a most valuable clue. I should have had my wits about me. It’s obvious that feather couldn’t have been carried in the man’s wallet for any length of time. That’s very good work, Beaver, very good reasoning.”
The spy grinned as he eased the telephone receiver back into its cradle.
Down in an isolated cell at the city jail two husky detectives peeled off their coats, neatly folded them, and placed them over the back of the chair. They took off their shirts and ties.
Rodney Alcott, seated at the far end of the cell, watched them with apprehensive eyes. “What are they going to do?” he asked Captain Carmichael.
Captain Carmichael said grimly, “How about that feather?”
“What about it?”
Carmichael said, “You claim you had been carrying that for more than a year as a lucky piece.”
“That’s right,” Alcott said.
Captain Carmichael laughed sardonically. “When you carry a feather in a wallet for even twenty-four hours, it looks all bedraggled. The feather you had looked as though it had just been plucked out of a goose. All right, boys, get started.”
Captain Carmichael turned toward the cell door.
One of the big plainclothes men spat suggestively on his hands, and approached Alcott, his eyes glittering in anticipation.
Alcott screamed, “Don’t go, Captain! Don’t go! I’ll come clean!”
Captain Carmichael turned. “Well,” he said, “it’s about time. Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
“Because I thought I could get away with it,” Alcott sobbed, “but now that you’re wise to that feather, I’ll tell you all about it...”