“It’ll be two years next month.”
I turned from Mrs. McBirney to her husband.
“Did the police search all these people’s apartments?”
“Yeah,” he said. “We went into every room, every alcove, an’ every closet from cellar to roof.”
“Did you get a good look at the robber?”
“Yeah. There’s a light in the hall outside of the Toplins’ door, an’ it was shinin’ full on his face when I saw him.”
“Could he have been one of your tenants?”
“No, he couldn’t.”
“Know him if you saw him again?”
“You bet.”
“What did he look like?”
“A little runt, a light-complected youngster of twenty-three or — four in an old blue suit.”
“Can I get hold of Ambrose and Martinez — the elevator and door boys who were on duty last night — now?”
The janitor looked at his watch.
“Yeah. They ought to be on the job now. They come on at two.”
I went out into the lobby and found them together, matching nickels.
They were brothers, slim, bright-eyed Filipino boys. They didn’t add much to my dope.
Ambrose had come down to the lobby and told his brother to call the police as soon as McBirney had given him his orders, and then he had to beat it out the back door to take a plant on the fire escapes. The fire escapes ran down the back and one side wall. By standing a little off from the corner of those walls, the Filipino had been able to keep his eyes on both of them, as well as on the back door.
There was plenty of illumination, he said, and he could see both fire escapes all the way to the roof, and he had seen nobody on them.
Martinez had given the police a rap on the phone and had then watched the front door and the foot of the front stairs. He had seen nothing.
I had just finished questioning the Filipinos when the street door opened and two men came in. I knew one of them: Bill Garren, a police detective on the Pawnshop Detail. The other was a small blond youth all flossy in pleated pants, short, square-shouldered coat, and patent-leather shoes with fawn spats to match his hat and gloves. His face wore a sullen pout. He didn’t seem to like being with Garren.
“What are you up to around here?” the detective hailed me.
“The Toplin doings for the insurance company,” I explained.
“Getting anywhere?” he wanted to know.
“About ready to make a pinch,” I said, not altogether in earnest and not altogether joking.
“The more the merrier,” he grinned. “I’ve already made mine,” nodding at the dressy youth. “Come on upstairs with us.”
The three of us got into the elevator and Ambrose carried us to the fifth floor. Before pressing the Toplin bell, Garren gave me what he had.
“This lad tried to soak a ring in a Third Street shop a little while ago — an emerald and diamond ring that looks like one of the Toplin lot. He’s doing the clam now; he hasn’t said a word — yet. I’m going to show him to these people; then I’m going to take him down to the Hall of Justice and get words out of him — words that fit together in nice sentences and everything!”
The prisoner looked sullenly at the floor and paid no attention to this threat. Garren rang the bell and the maid Hilda opened the door. Her eyes widened when she saw the dressy boy, but she didn’t say anything as she led us into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Toplin and her daughter were. They looked up at us.
“Hello, Jack!” Phyllis greeted the prisoner.
“’Lo, Phyl,” he mumbled, not looking at her.
“Among friends, huh? Well, what’s the answer?” Garren demanded of the girl.
She put her chin in the air and although her face turned red, she looked haughtily at the police detective.
“Would you mind removing your hat?” she asked.
Bill isn’t a bad bimbo, but he hasn’t any meekness. He answered her by tilting his hat over one eye and turning to her mother.
“Ever see this lad before?”
“Why, certainly!” Mrs. Toplin exclaimed. “That’s Mr. Wagoner who lives upstairs.”
“Well,” said Bill, “Mr. Wagoner was picked up in a hock shop trying to get rid of this ring.” He fished a gaudy green and white ring from his pocket. “Know it?”
“Certainly!” Mrs. Toplin said, looking at the ring. “It belongs to Phyllis, and the robber—” Her mouth dropped open as she began to understand. “How could Mr. Wagoner—?”
“Yes, how?” Bill repeated.
The girl stepped between Garren and me, turning her back on him to face me. “I can explain everything,” she announced.
That sounded too much like a movie subtitle to be very promising, but—
“Go ahead,” I encouraged her.
“I found that ring in the passageway near the front door after the excitement was over. The robber must have dropped it. I didn’t say anything to Papa and Mamma about it, because I thought nobody would ever know the difference, and it was insured, so I thought I might as well sell it and be in that much money. I asked Jack last night if he could sell it for me and he said he knew just how to go about it. He didn’t have anything to do with it outside of that, but I did think he’d have sense enough not to try to pawn it right away!”
She looked scornfully at her accomplice.
“See what you’ve done!” she accused him.
He fidgeted and pouted at his feet.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” Bill Garren said sourly. “That’s a nifty! Did you ever hear the one about the two Irishmen that got in the Y.W.C.A. by mistake?”
She didn’t say whether she had heard it or not.
“Mrs. Toplin,” I asked, “making allowances for the different clothes and the unshaven face, could this lad have been the robber?”
She shook her head with emphasis. “No! He could not!”
“Set your prize down, Bill,” I suggested, “and let’s go over in a corner and whisper things at each other.”
“Right.”
He dragged a heavy chair to the center of the floor, sat Wagoner on it, anchored him there with handcuffs — not exactly necessary, but Bill was grouchy at not getting his prisoner identified as the robber — and then he and I stepped out into the passageway. We could keep an eye on the sitting-room from there without having our low-voiced conversation overheard.
“This is simple,” I whispered into his big red ear. “There are only five ways to figure the lay. First: Wagoner stole the stuff for the Toplins. Second: the Toplins framed the robbery themselves and got Wagoner to peddle it. Third: Wagoner and the girl engineered the deal without the old folks being in on it. Fourth: Wagoner pulled it on his own hook and the girl is covering him up. Fifth: she told us the truth. None of them explains why your little playmate should have been dumb enough to flash the ring downtown this morning, but that can’t be explained by any system. Which of the five do you favor?”
“I like ’em all,” he grumbled. “But what I like most is that I’ve got this baby right — got him trying to pass a hot ring. That suits me fine. You do the guessing. I don’t ask for any more than I’ve got.”
“It doesn’t irritate me any either,” I agreed. “The way it stands the insurance company can welsh on the policies — but I’d like to smoke it out a little further, far enough to put away anybody who has been trying to run a hooligan on the North American. We’ll clean up all we can on this kid, stow him in the can, and then see what further damage we can do.”
“All right,” Garren said. “Suppose you get hold of the janitor and that Eveleth woman while I’m showing the boy to old man Toplin and getting the maid’s opinion.”
I nodded and went out into the corridor, leaving the door unlocked behind me. I took the elevator to the seventh floor and told Ambrose to get hold of McBirney and send him to the Toplins’ apartment. Then I rang Blanche Eveleth’s bell.