“My God!” Jim Robertson blinked at Sargent, then turned and streaked back to his office, to glue his ear again to the thin panels that separated his office from Chapman’s. But he was evidently too late, for Chapman opened his door and called in a quavering voice:
“Sargent!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sargent returned to Chapman’s office. His employer was shaking and his face was a pasty gray-green.
“I’ve just had a terrible shock, Sargent,” he said. “A... a person, the deadliest enemy I’ve got in the world, just telephoned. I didn’t dream. She... I mean he... has Hanson Hill’s share of stock. Sh-he wants twenty thousand dollars for it. And I’ve only got until eleven in the morning!”
“So?”
“I haven’t got twenty thousand,” Chapman moaned. “I’m a ruined man. Thayer, the dirty dog, did this to me. He found my wi — this person — and gave her the stock to get revenge on me. And she’ll do it.”
“You mean your wife?” Sargent asked bluntly.
Chapman looked up startled. “How do you know?”
“You’ve been telling me. She. What other woman would you he afraid of?”
“She’ll nail me to the cross.”
“What’d you do to her?”
“What did I do to her?” Chapman groaned. “I picked her out of the gutter — practically. She was only a stenographer, fresh out of school. I made her an editor... married her... and then she walked out on me. I didn’t do a thing to her. And she’s hated me all these years! She’s here in Chicago.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell. She going to telephone at eleven in the morning and if I don’t give her the money, she’ll give the stock to Martha Sligo. Unless... I’ll be thrown out of my own business. Unless...” Chapman caught up his letter opener and pointed it at Sargent.
“...unless I get that stock of Pelkey’s. I need that more than ever now. I can get a draw at least, if I have that. Get it, Sargent. What are you waiting for?”
Sargent came forward and placed both of his palms on Chapman’s desk. He leaned forward, “Listen, Ben,” he said, “Ernest Pelkey lost his life saving mine. I’m going to get the man who killed him.”
Chapman gave Sargent a strange look. “All right, go ahead.”
“I will. That’s why I’m going to do this for you. Because I believe it’ll bring out Pelkey’s killer.”
“What do you mean?” Chapman was startled. “You mean... my wife?”
“I don’t think so. But someone she knows.”
“Thayer!”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. I need some money. Give me a hundred dollars.”
“A hundred dollars. You think I’m made of money?” Chapman started whining, then suddenly broke off and whipped out a billfold. He skimmed out five twenty-dollar bills. “Get the stock, Sargent. If you save me, I’ll give you a raise. A ten-dollar raise. And I’ll make you a partner in this business.”
“I’ll do without the partnership,” Sargent said. “There seems to be a bounty on partners in this firm. But I’ll get your stock by eleven o’clock tomorrow.”
“Before then!” Chapman cried. “I won’t be able to sleep a wink. Call me!”
Sargent left the office. Waiting for the elevator was Grosvenor Black.
“Sargent!” the horse-playing editor exclaimed. “I thought you’d been fired.”
“Just one of Benny’s jokes,” Sargent replied. “What’s good today?”
Black looked around furtively. “Whipsaw in the fifth at Belmont. I’m just sneaking out to lay a bet on him. He’ll be eight to one at least.”
“Whipsaw,” Sargent said musingly. “That’s what I’ve been getting ever since I came into this place. A whipsawing.”
“A hunch!” cried Black. “That’s a hunch. My God, you can’t pass up a hunch like that. Slip me a sawbuck and I’ll lay it for you.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course. Every horse player plays hunches and that’s a beauty. I tell you, you can’t lose. I was sure before, but now I’m positive. Whipsaw, my darling!”
Sargent had forty-some dollars of his own money left from his excursion to Minnesota. He also had the hundred dollars he had just obtained from Ben Chapman. He pulled out a handful of bills and peeled off a twenty.
Black’s eyes bulged as he saw the roll. “You holding down lettuce like that?”
Sargent added another twenty and a ten. “Put this fifty on Whipsaw. If he doesn’t win—well, I’m a gone goose anyway. A little more whipsawing won’t hurt me.”
“Fifty smackers—on the nose?” There was respect in Grosvenor Black’s tone.
Down on the street they parted, Black hurrying toward Wells Street, where he no doubt had a poolroom all ready to take his bets. Sargent walked northward on Clark, to Randolph.
There he climbed the stairs to the offices of the Decker Detective Agency.
Wilting was sprawled on the bench behind the door. Sargent wondered if he had got up from it since the other day. Sargent gave him a scornful glance and turned to the redheaded receptionist. “Is Mr. Decker still on that big case?”
“Uh-huh, why?”
“Because I wanted to hire him to do some work. I guess I’ll have to go elsewhere.”
“Wait a minute. Is that straight or are you trying to pump us again about Mr. Chapman?”
“I don’t want to know anything about Chapman.”
Wilting stirred and opened one eye up. “ ’S all right, now, we ain’t working for Chappie any more. What’s it you want?”
“A shadowing job.”
“Okey-doke, let’s see your money.”
Sargent scowled at Wilting. “I think I’d better go elsewhere. Since Decker’s too busy—”
“There isn’t any Mr. Decker,” the redhead said sweetly. “Mr. Wilting owns this agency.”
Sargent exclaimed, “What? Then why all—?”
“Stall,” said Wilting. “Always blame the boss something goes wrong. Twenty dollars a day for shadowing; night work, twenty-five.”
“This is a night job—and I want four men shadowed. You can’t take care of more than one—”
“Sure, got an arrangement with some boys. Get them in a half hour. Who you want shadowed?”
“Some fellows from Chapman’s office. Grosvenor Black, Lew Thayer, Jim Robertson, and Andy Lawrence.”
“You got a hundred dollars to pay for this?”
Sargent pulled out the fifty that remained of Chapman’s money. “Half now and half tomorrow.”
“Deal. Which one you want me to shadow?”
“Lew Thayer, but I don’t know where he lives.”
“I do. Shadowed him for Chapman. The others I can pick up at the office. Anything special you want to know about them?”
“Everything. Where they live, who they meet, where they go.”
“Report where?”
“At the office of Business Journals. Ten o’clock in the morning. If I’m not there at ten, call every ten minutes.”
“Right.”
Wilting closed his eyes and began to breathe heavily. Sargent slammed out of the office before he lost his temper. Outside he walked slowly toward Lake Street where he climbed to the elevated platform.
Sargent couldn’t have thought of a more distasteful task than calling on Hester Pelkey, but it had to be done. Not so much because of Ben O. Chapman, but because... she might know something that would aid Sargent in bringing to justice the murderer of her husband.
He rang the doorbell of the little white Cape Cod cottage, but there was no response. He tried it again, then knocked on the door. Starting away, he caught a glimpse of a canvas sun umbrella in the back yard and went toward it.