“Yes, sir. Do you wish me to get you one, sir?”
“No, Scuttle, I will select my own stooge.”
And Lester Leith abruptly left the apartment.
The man who ran the theatrical employment agency was frankly skeptical.
“Do I understand,” he said, “that you wish to hire a young woman who has been thrown out of employment by the recent drive against burlesque shows?”
“That’s exactly it,” Leith said. “I want a young woman who is beautiful, who is accustomed to the public admiration of her curves, and who has just about given up hope.”
The agent said, “You might try Ora Sanders. That poor kid certainly has had a tough time. Last Friday her roommate tried to commit suicide. Ora hocked everything she had except the clothes she stood in, and kicked through with every last cent to help the kid out.”
“Where,” Leith asked, “can I find Miss Sanders?”
“I’ll reach her for you. What’s the nature of the employment?”
Leith coughed deprecatingly. “I’m an amateur magician,” he said. “I want a young woman who can assist me.”
“You can’t go wrong on Ora,” the agent said. “Let me give her a ring.”
“If possible,” Leith said, “I’d prefer to see her in her room rather than here in the office, and I’d like to see her right away.”
The agent dialed a number, said, “Miss Sanders, please,” and then, after a moment, “I’m sending a Mr. Leith to discuss employment at fifty dollars a week. Is that satisfactory?... Fine... Yes, almost at once.”
He hung up, and said to Leith, “She’ll be glad to see you. Here’s her address.”
Leith found Ora Sanders to be a blonde with light blue eyes that were waging a losing battle with the fine wrinkles of worry, a determined chin, and smiling lips. Her small, poorly lighted room was well covered with autographed theatrical pictures.
Leith introduced himself.
“Manna from heaven!” she exclaimed. “Come on in.”
“I am in somewhat of a hurry,” Leith explained.
“In that event, you can dispense with telling me that times are hard, that there aren’t many jobs available, and I’ll be fortunate to get work with you; and I’ll dispense with telling you that times aren’t hard for me, that I’ve had two offers lately, but that neither is just what I want, so that I might consider something good.”
Leith smiled. “The salary is fifty dollars a week.”
“My agent told me that.”
“Your duties,” Lester said, “will be highly personal.”
“Oh-oh!” she remarked.
“I’m an amateur magician,” Leith went on. “I have noticed that professional magicians usually have a young woman with beautiful legs appear on the stage to hand them their props.”
She stepped back, placed her ankles together, and raised her skirt. “How are my legs?” she asked.
“Perfect,” Leith said. “I can’t imagine anyone in the audience keeping his mind on the disappearing watch with scenery like that to look at.”
She dropped her skirts and with them her manner of easy banter. “Listen,” she said, “I simply have to get a job. This isn’t the sort of work I’ve been doing. I’m not certain that it’s the kind I’d like to do, but if you’re willing to take a chance on me, I’m willing to take a chance on you.”
Leith opened his wallet and took out one hundred dollars. “Two weeks’ salary,” he explained. “And here’s an extra hundred.”
“An extra hundred,” she echoed.
He nodded. “I want you to get some new clothes for your act. Brevity is the soul of wit, and I think you understand what is required.”
He reached once more into his wallet and took out three hundred-dollar bills. “Here is some expense money. Get a wardrobe.”
“Now, wait a minute,” she said. “I’m not going to pinch myself because I don’t want to wake up, but let’s not go overboard.”
Leith said, “It’s quite all right. You’re going to take a trip on a boat. You’ll need a couple of dinner gowns, a sports outfit, and accessories.”
She said again, “Now, wait a minute. What do you want in return for all this?” And her eyes stared at Lester Leith with disconcerting frankness.
“Loyalty,” Leith said. “A willingness to follow instructions.”
She said, “Listen, I’m no tin angel, but—”
Leith smiled, put his wallet away, and said, “I think we understand each other, Miss Sanders. If you’ll get out and do your shopping, I’ll telephone instructions later.”
The undercover man sat across the table from Sergeant Ackley and said, “Well, Sergeant, it’s all off.”
“What is?” Ackley asked.
“The whole thing,” Beaver said. “It’s just a runaround. He’s either gone nuts, or else he’s become suspicious and is taking us for a ride.”
“Nonsense,” Sergeant Ackley said, “not with a priceless string of matched pearls with a historical value which makes it a collector’s item.”
“All right, then,” Beaver said, “suppose you figure it out.”
Sergeant Ackley said, “That’s what I’m here for, Beaver. You do the leg work. I furnish the brain that directs your energies. You’re the contractor. I’m the architect.”
“All right, then,” the undercover man said, “figure this out. He hires Charles Sansone’s Chinese secretary. He hires a girl with the prettiest figure you’ve ever seen. He gets a thousand dollars’ worth of parlor magic stuff, and announces he’s taking the whole kit and kaboodle to Honolulu.”
“To Honolulu?” Sergeant Ackley exclaimed. Then a look of smug satisfaction came over Ackley’s countenance. “The trouble with you, Beaver, is that you haven’t a deductive mind. You’re observant and conscientious, but you’re dealing with a man who has a chain-lightning brain, and you can’t think fast enough to put two and two together.”
“Meaning,” Beaver said, “that you have a highly trained mind.”
“Naturally,” Sergeant Ackley said modestly, “or I wouldn’t be here.”
“All right,” Beaver said, “you tell me then. What’s the answer?”
Sergeant Ackley picked up the morning paper, opened it to an inside page, and said, “Get a load of this. ‘The international competition of skeet shooters is scheduled to take place in Honolulu two weeks from today. Silman Shore, a noted trap-shooter who has already broken several records, expects to compete. Shore’s photo is shown above.’ ”
Beaver’s face showed amazed comprehension. “By gosh,” he said, “it may make sense at that!”
“Of course it makes sense,” Sergeant Ackley said. “Now, tell me exactly what’s been going on.”
Beaver said, “He wanted to know all about how the crime was committed. I told him. Most of it he could get from the newspapers anyway, and he’s a shark at deducing things from what he reads in the papers.”
“Exactly what did you tell him?” Sergeant Ackley asked.
“I told him about Shogiro passing the necklace around for examination. Sansone pretended it was a social party. As a matter of fact, every one of the men there knows something about gems — or about Chinese history. Grier had seen the necklace when he was in the Forbidden City five years ago, and remembered it.”
“Go on.”
“Well, he was interested in finding out how the theft took place. I told him all we knew, that the necklace was shown around, that Grier was the last to look at it. He passed it to Sansone who had already looked at it. Sansone passed it back to Shogiro. Then, after a while, Sansone announced that he was intending to buy the neck lace and asked Shore if he had noticed the workmanship of the catch. Shore said he’d paid more attention to the pearls than to the catch, and Shogiro obligingly took the ivory jewel case out of his pocket and handed it to Shore. Shore opened it, picked up the necklace, turned toward the light, and then said, ‘By George, this thing is counterfeit!’ And then, of course, all hell broke loose.