“That is not all,” said the heavy-set man firmly. “You signed the name Mr. Pinkley. I, sir, am Mr. Pinkley.”
Sam gulped. “What a coincidence, two of us by the same name staying at the same hotel.”
“I am not staying here,” Mr. Pinkley snapped. “I, sir, am the manager of the hotel!”
Sam staggered, rocked by the blow. He gulped down air, made a clawing motion with his right hand, then said weakly, “Well, whaddya know, the manager’s got the same name I have. I... I just checked in a little while ago.”
“Did you?” Mr. Pinkley asked icily. “Into Room eight twenty-one?”
“Yeah, Room eight twenty-one — that’s right.”
“And Room eight twenty-one is on the eighth floor?”
“It always is.”
“Precisely. Now, there is only one thing wrong with that — there is no eighth floor in this hotel. It has only four stories.”
“Oh, no!” cried Sam, in mortal anguish.
Mr. Pinkley raised his hand, began snapping his fingers. Two waiters came forward, a third and then a bellboy. “The police,” Mr. Pinkley called. “Call the police.”
“Not the cops, mister,” begged Sam. “I... I can’t go to jail. I was so hungry I couldn’t help myself. I... I’ll wash dishes, anything.”
“You forged my signature,” said Mr. Pinkley coldly. “No one can forge my signature. Positively no one.”
The waiters were surrounding poor Sam. Urged on by Johnny Fletcher or led by him, Sam would have scattered the waiters — and the manager — like tenpins and made his escape. Leaderless he was an ox to the slaughter. It was only seconds before policemen, two of them, entered the dining room and Sam found himself, with handcuffs on his wrists, led to a police car.
17
The desk sergeant poised his pen over the police blotter. “Name?”
“Sam Cragg.”
“K-r-a-g?”
“C-r-a-g-g, anybody knows that. But look, captain, this is all a mistake.”
“It sure is. Previous convictions?”
“Whaddya mean, previous convictions?” asked Sam indignantly. “Do I look like a crook?”
“Yes. Now, you might as well tell the truth, because we’ll only check your fingerprints and it’ll be so much the worse for you if you lie. How many previous convictions?”
“None! I ain’t even been in the clink before — well, hardly ever — and it wasn’t for anything serious. Just—”
“Just what?”
“Little things, that’s all. Mistakes, that’s all. Like now, this is a big mistake. I can explain.”
The desk sergeant looked at the two arresting officers. “What’s the charge?”
“Larceny. Forgery,” said one of the policemen.
“Oh, sure, just little things,” said the desk sergeant sarcastically.
“Can you put down just plain dumbness, Sarge?” grinned one of the policemen.
“Who’s dumb?” challenged Sam.
“You are, stupid,” retorted the policeman. “Otherwise you wouldn’t go into a hotel dining room and sign the manager’s name to the check and then, to make it worse, put down Room eight hundred and something when the hotel’s only got four floors.”
Sam winced. “Anybody can make a mistake. Johnny pulled the same stunt and it worked. There wasn’t nothing...” Sam stopped, realizing that he was talking too much. He said desperately, “Ain’t it true that a prisoner’s allowed to make a phone call?”
“A jailhouse lawyer,” said the desk sergeant. He shrugged. “Yes, you’re allowed one phone call. Go ahead, here’s a telephone.”
Sam grabbed the phone, took off the receiver. “Give me New York...”
The desk sergeant snatched the phone from his hand.
“That’s long distance. You’re not getting any free long distance calls on this phone.”
“But I don’t know anybody in this burg. The only person I know, I mean the only real friend I got in the whole world is in New York. He’ll come running out to square this beef.”
“He’s a county supervisor, maybe?” asked the desk sergeant sarcastically. “He can square this... this beef?”
“Maybe he’s a Congressman,” suggested one of the policemen. “Why don’t you write him a letter? Everybody writes to his Congressman.”
“Look, captain,” Sam said to the desk sergeant, “be a sport. Okay, it’s a long distance call. I ain’t got a red cent in my pocket, but Johnny’ll pay you. He’s got five hundred fish in his pocket. He’ll come buzzing round out here and pay you. He... he might even slip you a couple of bucks. All of you.”
“Bribery!” exclaimed the desk sergeant. He picked up his pen again. “Attempting to bribe an officer...”
“No!” howled Sam. “I wasn’t. Don’t put that down. It’s bad enough. I just meant Johnny’ll pay up everything. Everything I owe. The dinner — the lunch at the hotel, the phone bill.”
The desk sergeant could not quite conceal a grin. “All right, son, I’ll trust you for that phone call. Go ahead and make it. But mind you, New York City, not Los Angeles or Seattle.”
Sam caught up the phone once more. Hurriedly he put through his call, then waited. The hotel operator rang Room 821 and rang and rang. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry, there’s no answer.”
“Gimme the bell captain — Eddie Miller!” Sam cried desperately. “This is important.”
“One moment, please.”
After a long wait, Eddie Miller’s voice said cautiously, “Bell captain.”
“Eddie! This is Sam Cragg. Look, I haven’t got time. I’m in a jam. Have you seen Johnny Fletcher since this morning?”
“Not since about ten o’clock. He came in then and — say, aren’t you kidnaped?”
“No-no. I mean, I was, but I got away. I’m okay. Except — I’m in the clink!”
“You’re in jail? Where...?”
“I dunno. Wait...”
Sam turned to the desk sergeant. “What town is this?”
“Peekskill.”
“Peekskill,” Sam said into the phone. “I’m in the Peekskill hoosegow. Johnny’s got to get me out. Tell him I need him — right away.”
“I’ll tell him as soon as I see him,” Eddie said.
“He knows that I don’t like jails,” Sam went on. “Tell him to make it snappy.”
“Sure thing.”
Sam hung up, sighing in relief. “In a couple of hours Johnny’ll be down here and everything’ll be okay.”
“Maybe so,” said the desk sergeant cynically, “although I personally think you need a lawyer more than a friend. All right, boys, take off the cuffs and put him in a cell.”
“Can’t I just wait out here?” Sam asked.
“What do you think this is, a hotel lobby? Uh-uh, we got a nice room in back. It’s got a bed in it. Of course there’s no mattress on it, but if you’re really tired you won’t mind that.”
One of the policemen removed the handcuffs from Sam’s wrists. The other held out his hand. “Your necktie and belt.”
“I need my belt,” Sam said. “I’ll lose my pants.”
“Prisoners can’t have neckties or belts,” the policeman said firmly. “It’s against the rules. They might hang themselves.”
“I ain’t going to hang myself.”
“Your belt!”
Sam groaned. He removed his belt and discovered that his trousers were not too loose around the waist. An occasional hitch would keep them up. He surrendered the belt and his necktie. Then one of the policemen began feeling his pockets.
He exclaimed in chagrin. “What’s this?”
He brought out the revolver that Sam had taken from Sid. “Holy smoke, we didn’t search him when we made the arrest.”
The second policeman winced. “I didn’t think he’d be carrying a gun and pulling a cheap job like that.” He handed the weapon to the desk sergeant.