“I’m afraid I left my wallet at home.”
Johnny’s frown became a scowl. “I wasn’t able to get to the bank today. Sam, how much money have you got on you?”
“Why, you know, Johnny, a dollar forty-five.”
“You, too?” Johnny shook his head. “This is a bit awkward. Not even enough to tip the driver.” He turned back to Sutton. “Haven’t you got some small change on you? A tenner or so.”
Sutton drew a five-dollar bill from his pocket. Johnny eased it from between his fingers.
“This’ll do.”
During their talk the rented limousine had crossed the Triborough Bridge and was rolling down the East River Drive. It turned west and a few minutes later ran smoothly into the service entrance of the Barbizon-Waldorf Hotel.
“A very nice drive,” Johnny said to the chauffeur. “I may want you again, tomorrow.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the chauffeur. “Just ask for Wilbur. Let’s see, it’s just about three hours. That’ll be eighteen dollars, sir.”
“Very reasonable,” Johnny said, concealing a little wince. “I made arrangements with the bell captain. Room eight twenty-one. Here... here’s a little something for you.”
He handed the man the five-dollar bill he had just obtained from James Sutton. The man touched his visored cap. “Thank you, sir. Room eight twenty-one.”
Johnny, Sam and Sutton walked into the hotel. “I’ll leave you now,” Sutton said. “But I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow. Room eight twenty-one, I believe you said.”
“That’s right, eight twenty-one,” Johnny said blithely. “But better give me your number, so I can call you if I get something important.”
“I’d rather get in touch with you,” Sutton said. “I’m in and out.”
“So am I,” retorted Johnny.
“I’ll leave a message, then.”
“I can leave one for you.”
Sutton suddenly grinned. “Look, Fletcher, what’s wrong with me phoning you here? You are in Room eight twenty-one, aren’t you?”
“Sure,” said Johnny. “Room eight twenty-one... at the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel.”
Sutton exclaimed softly. “But you charged the limousine to...” Then he chuckled. “You are a character. All right, the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel.”
“Now you might as well give me your address,” Johnny said. “I’ll find it out anyway, but that takes time and you want me to concentrate on finding Lester Smithson, don’t you?”
“You’ve got a point there. Believe it or not, I happen to live here, up in the tower.”
Johnny grinned. “Well, one of us lives here, anyway.”
“Now, don’t go getting any ideas, like charging limousines to me.”
“Who, me?”
“That’s right. I’ve lived here quite a while and they know me. I just thought I’d mention it.”
“Glad you did. Tomorrow, then.”
Johnny and Sam left the hotel and started to walk across town to the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel. Sam walked beside Johnny, his face wearing a heavy scowl.
“All right, Sam, out with it. What’s eating you?”
“This detective stuff, Johnny. You know I don’t like it.”
“Relax, Sam, we’ve got a paying client. How else could we make eight fifty in a week’s time?”
“Sure, we’ll make eight fifty. We always make money out of these things, but how is it we always wind up broke? And if we make all that dough, why is Peabody always about to lock us out of our hotel room?”
“That’s one of the things I don’t understand, Sam. One of us squanders the money. Which reminds me, how much did that lunch cost you today, the second lunch, I mean? When you gave the fifty-cent tip.”
Sam winced. “All right, Johnny, I get the idea. I ought to keep my trap shut. I know I haven’t got a chance arguing against you.”
“Don’t feel badly about it. Nobody else can outtalk me either.” Johnny chuckled. “That Sutton lad tried to talk fancy.”
“Yeah, but we haven’t got any money from him.”
“We got a fiver out of him.”
“What kind of dough is that for a guy who lives in the Barbizon-Waldorf Tower? You ask me, he’s pretty cozy with his money.”
“We’ve seen the color of it, we’ll get more, don’t worry.”
Although it was after eleven o’clock when they entered the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel, Peabody, the manager, was in the lobby. He smiled wolfishly when he spied Johnny and Sam heading for the elevators.
“Mr. Fletcher,” he called.
Johnny turned to the desk. “Harya, Peabody, a good night’s sleep to you.”
“But not to you,” retorted Peabody. “I’ve been thinking things over and I see no reason for letting you stay another night in this hostelry. As long as you’re going to fake up your abode in the subway, you might as well do it this evening.”
“We’ve had a rough day, Peabody. I need a good night’s sleep because I’m going to be busy tomorrow.”
“So shall I be. Fumigating your room.”
“Good night, Peabody.”
Johnny stepped into the elevator, but Peabody came dashing out from behind the desk. “No, Albert, don’t take them up!” he cried to the elevator operator.
With a sudden snarl of rage, Sam Cragg sprang out of the elevator and grabbed the hotel manager by the coat front. “You heard Johnny, didn’t you? We’re tired and we want to go to bed.”
“Unhand me, you — you gorilla!” cried Peabody. “This is the last straw. I shall not only lock you out of your room, I shall turn you over to the police.”
“On what charge?” snapped Johnny.
“Defrauding an innkeeper,” snarled Peabody, still struggling to get out of Sam’s grip. “It’s against the law to engage hotel accommodations when you have no means of paying.”
“Let him go, Sam,” Johnny said. Then facing Peabody: “Now, see here, I’m getting sick and tired of hearing you harping on that subject. Just how much do you say we owe you?”
“You know very well. It’s thirty-six dollars and it might as well be—”
“Thirty-six dollars,” snapped Johnny. “I’ve got a good notion to pay you and move out of this crummy joint.”
“Oh, you’re moving, all right,” howled Peabody. “Right now, you’re moving.”
“On the other hand,” Johnny went on, “I think I’ll just pay up and stay here.”
“You’re doing a lot of talking about paying,” sneered Peabody.
“Why shouldn’t I? I always pay my honest debts...” He reached into his pocket and brought out a sheaf of bills. “Thirty-six dollars, did you say?”
Peabody gulped as he saw the money. “Wh-where did you get that?”
“This small change? I’ve always got thirty-six dollars.”
“Then why didn’t you pay your bill when it was due?”
“Because you didn’t ask me for it nice.”
Peabody skimmed through the bills, counting them. “Very well, you made it. But there isn’t going to be another time. You’ll pay each and every week hereafter, at the end of the week. I’ve got a good notion to make you pay in advance.”
“Do you make other guests pay in advance?” cried Johnny.
“Other guests don’t do to me what you do.”
“I’m not asking any favors,” Johnny growled. “All I want is the same treatment as your other paying guests.”
Peabody opened his mouth to complain further, then thought better of it and whirling, went back behind his desk. Johnny and Sam rode up to their room on the eighth floor. When the door was closed on them, Johnny said, “I was going to be decent about it and mail him the pawn ticket for his suit, but I dunno, now after the way he’s treated us, I ought to tear it up!”
He didn’t, however.