“In fact, I tried to tell you it wasn’t—”
“You gave your name to Miss Trout as Sam Cragg.”
“I told her it was about the Cragg account.”
“Which reminds me, that money in your hand you were going to give it to me.”
Johnny put the money in his pocket. “At the point of a gun, I was going to give it to you. I came here to find out about the moose” — indicating Kilkenny. “He’s in the Carmichael murder case.”
“Who says I’m in it?” roared Kilkenny.
“I say so. You came busting into my hotel room this morning with a gun and when I took it away from you—”
“Kilkenny!” cried Hammer. “Have you been carrying a gun?”
“That ain’t a bunch of violets in your fist,” sneered Kilkenny.
Hammer became aware that he was still holding the revolver in his hand and dropped it in the top desk drawer. “I keep that here for protection, that’s all. But you know very well how I feel about collectors carrying firearms. You get in a jam and the police find you with a gun and—” He ran his finger across his throat. “Now, what’s this about your breaking into this man’s room this morning?”
“His partner’s Sam Cragg. We got a tab against him for sixty-seven round iron men.”
“I have Cragg’s card here. He owes the money, all right.”
“That’s all I was trying to do, collect it. Fletcher’s a wise guy. That’s why he’s here now — trying to get out of paying an honest debt by getting me in trouble.”
“You’re in trouble, Kilkenny,” growled Johnny. “After we left the hotel this morning, you came back and tore the room apart. You stole the limping goose bank—”
“What’s that?” cried Kilkenny. “The... the bank’s gone?”
“You took it, didn’t you?”
“No!” howled Kilkenny. “But I want it...!”
“Why?” Johnny asked quickly.
“Because the dame” — Kilkenny caught himself, then finished — “because the Cummings girl was short seventeen dollars and gave you the bank to make up. It’s got seventeen dollars in it, money that belongs to me.”
“J.J.” said Hammer, “just what are you talking about? You collected the money from Alice Cummings.”
“Go ahead,” Johnny said, “explain that.”
Kilkenny tried. He swallowed hard and said, “I told you this bird’s a wise guy. I ran down him and his gorilla friend over at the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel without a thin dime to their names.”
Johnny took the four hundreds from his pocket, ruffled them so that J.J. Kilkenny could note their denominations. “Go ahead, big boy.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Hammer, “continue.”
Kilkenny went on, “One word led to another and he said he could collect deadbeat skips better than I could. I gave him the Cummings card and said I’d give him ten dollars if he could collect it.”
“Ten dollars,” Johnny said quietly. “I said I’d run down a girl who skipped four years ago, for a measly ten bucks. Go ahead, big boy. But make it funnier.”
“Shut your trap,” snarled Kilkenny. “Anyway, we made the deal and then he said the doll paid him only fifty-seven dollars.”
“And you didn’t believe me and went back to her and found out she gave me a bank containing seventeen dollars. This was after Jess Carmichael was murdered.”
“That’s a lie!” howled Kilkenny.
“Is it, J.J.?” asked Mr. Hammer.
“I told you he’s just trying to get me into trouble.”
“Oh, sure,” said Johnny easily. “With hundreds of dollars in my pocket, I made a deal with you to trace a woman who skipped four years ago — for a ten-dollar skip-tracer fee. And then I try to swindle you out of a piggy bank full of pennies. And” — Johnny paused, then suddenly shot at Kilkenny — “just why are you so anxious to get those pennies?”
“Because I got them coming to me.”
Mr. Hammer came to a sudden decision. “I think, J.J., you and me have got some talking to do.” He looked at Johnny Fletcher. “I don’t think we need you any more.”
“Then I’ll just be running along,” said Johnny. “And don’t forget, Mr. Hammer, ask old J.J. here why he wanted me to try to collect a little old bill from Miss Alice Cummings — just about the time Jess Carmichael was going to be murdered in her apartment. And ask him—”
“Get out of here!” yelled Kilkenny hoarsely, making another lunge at Johnny.
Johnny evaded him and chuckled. He ducked through the office door to the outer room. With his hand on the hall door he called back, “The Times publishes the best want ads, J.J.!”
He went out quickly.
13
Eddie Miller left Room 821 shortly after Johnny Fletcher tore out to see James Sutton at the Barbizon-Waldorf. He left Sam Cragg to try to clean up the mess made by the person or persons who had ransacked it and stolen the limping goose bank.
Sam had the room about straightened out, when the phone rang. He took it off the hook. “Sam Cragg talking,” he said.
An excited voice said, “Are you the friend of John Fletcher?”
“Johnny Fletcher, yeah, him and me are buddies.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell you,” the voice went on, “your friend’s suffered an accident.”
“An accident!” cried Sam. “Holy cow — what happened to him?”
“He was dashing across Madison Avenue, against the lights, I might add, when he ran directly in front of my car—”
“You mean you’re the guy who run him down?” howled Sam.
“I’m afraid so, but as I was just telling you, it was really his fault. However, I’ve taken him to my place and I’ve sent for a doctor—”
“A doctor? How bad is he hurt?”
“It looks like one of his legs is broken and I’m afraid there may be internal injuries.”
“Where’re you at? I mean, where do you live? I’m comin’ right over.”
“I think that would be wise. It’s, uh, ten hundred one Madison Avenue. Apartment C...”
“Ten hundred one Madison — Apartment C. I’ll be right there. Tell Johnny I’m on the way.”
Sam slammed the receiver back on the hook and rushed for the door. He tore out, forgetting even to lock the door. Fortunately the elevator was on an upper floor and came down immediately.
In the lobby, Sam encountered Eddie Miller. “I just got a phone call that Johnny’s been run down by a car,” he told Eddie excitedly. “His leg’s busted, or somethin’. I’m going over to see him.”
“Gee, I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Cragg,” sympathized Eddie. “What hospital...?”
But Sam was already heading for the door.
He tore out of the hotel, signaled to the taxi waiting in the hack stand some yards away. A taxi, doubled-parked nearby, whipped in front of the other taxi and skidded to a stop in the vacant space in front of the hotel. The door flew open.
“Hop in, mister?” said the driver.
Sam sprang into the taxi and it roared away. It was then that Sam discovered there was a man already in the cab. “Oh, excuse me, mister,” he said. “I just got word that my best friend was run over and I gotta see him right away... It’s ten hundred one Madison Avenue.”
“Sure,” said the man beside Sam. “We’ll take you there. Leonard, step on it.”
The man beside Sam was almost as heavy as Sam and probably several inches taller. He needed a shave, but the growth of beard did not quite conceal some scars on the heavy features.
“This is doggone decent of you, mister,” Sam Cragg said. “Me and Johnny’s been pals for sixteen, maybe seventeen years and there ain’t nothing we wouldn’t do for each other.”
“That’s the way friends should be.”