“Will you describe the scar in greater detail, Mr. Barnable?”
“It was back on his cheek, close to his ear, and ran all the way down from under his cap to his jawbone.”
“Which cheek, Mr. Barnable?”
“The left,” he said tentatively, looking at Julius, his sharp-featured young assistant. When Julius nodded, the jeweler repeated, with certainty, “The left.”
“How was he dressed, Mr. Barnable?”
“A blue suit and that cap the sergeant has got. I didn’t notice anything else.”
“His eyes and hair, Mr. Barnable?”
“Didn’t notice.”
“Exactly what did he take, Mr. Barnable?”
“I haven’t had time to check up yet, but he took all the unset stones that were in the safe — mostly diamonds. He must have got fifty thousand dollars’ worth if he got a nickel!”
I permitted a faint smile to show on my lips while I looked coldly at the jeweler.
“In the event that we fail to recover the stones, Mr. Barnable, you are aware that the insurance company will require proof of the purchase of every missing item.”
He fidgeted, screwing his round face up earnestly.
“Well, anyways, he got twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth, if it’s the last thing I ever say in this world, Mr. Thin, on my word of honor as a gentleman.”
“Did he take anything besides the unset stones, Mr. Barnable?”
“Those and some money that was in the safe — about two hundred dollars.”
“Will you please draw up a list immediately, Mr. Barnable, with as accurate a description of each missing item as possible. Now what evidence have we, Sergeant Hooley, of the robber’s subsequent actions?”
“Well, first thing, he subsequently bumped into Mrs. Dolan as he was making his getaway. Seems she was—”
“Mrs. Dolan has an account here,” the jeweler called from the rear of the store when he and Julius had gone to comply with my request. Sergeant Hooley jerked his thumb at the woman who stood on my left.
She was a woman of fewer years than forty, with humorous brown eyes set in a healthily pink face. Her clothes, while neat, were by no means new or stylish, and her whole appearance was such as to cause the adjective “capable” to come into one’s mind, an adjective further justified by the crisp freshness of the lettuce and celery protruding from the top of the shopping-bag in her arms.
“Mrs. Dolan is manager of an apartment building on Ellis Street,” the jeweler concluded his introduction, while the woman and I exchanged smiling nods.
“Thank you, Mr. Barnable. Proceed, Sergeant Hooley.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thin. Seems she was coming in to make a payment on her watch, and just as she put a foot inside the door, this stick-up backed into her, both of them taking a tumble. Mr. Knight, here, saw the mix-up, ran in, knocked the thug loose from his cap and gun, and chased him up the street.”
One of the men present laughed deprecatorily past an upraised sunburned hand which held a pair of gloves. He was a weather-browned man of athletic structure, tall and broad-shouldered, and dressed in loose tweeds.
“My part wasn’t as heroic as it sounds,” he protested. “I was getting out of my car, intending to go across to the Orpheum for tickets, when I saw this lady and the man collide. Crossing the sidewalk to help her up, nothing was further from my mind than that the man was a bandit. When I finally saw his gun he was actually on the point of shooting at me. I had to hit him, and luckily succeeded in doing so just as he pulled the trigger. When I recovered from my surprise I saw he had dropped his gun and run up the street, so I set out after him. But it was too late. He was gone.”
“Thank you, Mr. Knight. Now, Sergeant Hooley, you say the bandit escaped in a car?”
“Thank you, Mr. Thin,” he said idiotically, “I did. Mr. Glenn here saw him.”
“I was standing on the corner,” said Mr. Glenn, a plump man with what might be called the air of a successful salesman.
“Pardon me, Mr. Glenn, what corner?”
“The corner of Powell and O’Farrell,” he said, quite as if I should have known it without being told. “The northeast corner, if you want it exactly, close to the building line. This bandit came up the street and got into a coupé that was driving up Powell Street. I didn’t pay much attention to him. If I heard the shot I took it for an automobile noise. I wouldn’t have noticed the man if he hadn’t been bare-headed, but he was the man Mr. Barnable described — scar, pushed-in mouth, and all.”
“Do you know the make or license number of the car he entered, Mr. Glenn?”
“No, I don’t. It was a black coupé, and that’s all I know. I think it came from the direction of Market Street. A man was driving it, I believe, but I didn’t notice whether he was young or old or anything about him.”
“Did the bandit seem excited, Mr. Glenn? Did he look back?”
“No, he was as cool as you please, didn’t even seem in a hurry. He just walked up the street and got into the coupé, not looking to right or left.”
“Thank you, Mr. Glenn. Now can anyone amplify or amend Mr. Barnable’s description of the bandit?”
“His hair was gray,” Mr. Glenn said, “iron-gray.”
Mrs. Dolan and Mr. Knight concurred in this, the former adding, “I think he was older than Mr. Barnable said — closer to fifty than to forty — and his teeth were brown and decayed in front.”
“They were, now that you mention it,” Mr. Knight agreed.
“Is there any other light on the matter, Sergeant Hooley?”
“Not a twinkle. The shotgun cars are out after the coupé, and I reckon when the papers get out we’ll be hearing from more people who saw things, but you know how they are.”
I did indeed. One of the most lamentable features of criminal detection is the amount of time and energy wasted investigating information supplied by people who, through sheer perversity, stupidity, or excessive imagination, insist on connecting everything they have chanced to see with whatever crime happens to be most prominent in the day’s news.
Sergeant Hooley, whatever the defects of his humor, was an excellent actor: his face was bland and guileless and his voice did not vary in the least from the casual as he said, “Unless Mr. Thin has some more questions, you folks might as well run along. I have your address and can get hold of you if I need you again.”
I hesitated, but the fundamental principle that Papa had instilled in me during the ten years of my service under him — the necessity of never taking anything for granted — impelled me to say, “Just a moment,” and to lead Sergeant Hooley out of the others’ hearing.
“You have made your arrangements, Sergeant Hooley?”
“What arrangements?”
I smiled, realizing that the police detectives were trying to conceal their knowledge from me. My immediate temptation was, naturally enough, to reciprocate in kind; but whatever the advantages of working independently on any one operation, in the long run a private detective is wiser in cooperating with the police than in competing with them.
“Really,” I said, “you must harbor a poor opinion of my ability if you think I have not also taken cognizance of the fact that if Glenn were standing where he said he was standing, and if, as he says, the bandit did not turn his head, then he could not have seen the scar on the bandit’s left cheek.”
Despite his evident discomfiture, Sergeant Hooley acknowledged defeat without resentment.
“I might of known you’d tumble to that,” he admitted, rubbing his chin with a reflective thumb. “Well, I reckon we might as well take him along now as later, unless you’ve got some other notion in your head.”
Consulting my watch, I saw that it was now twenty-four minutes past noon: my investigation had thus far, thanks to the police detectives’ having assembled all the witnesses, consumed only ten or twelve minutes.