And he still had six checks.
In the next two hours he increased his deposits to $94.00 and had bought his second book of Ten-Plan checks — using up every teller in the bank, as he thought it good policy not to repeat on the tellers.
It was now one o’clock and Johnny stopped in at the Automat and had a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee. With a stub of a pencil he figured out his financial status, or predicament, if you want to call it that.
He had $94.00 in the bank, and checks outstanding for $296.00. That meant he had to deposit $202.00 in the bank the following morning — if he wanted to remain out of jail. He had sixteen dollars in cash in his pocket... and $296.00 worth of merchandise in various pawnshops, which could be redeemed for $106.00 including interest. He could make it, with four dollars left over.
He sorted out his pawn tickets and, leaving the restaurant, engaged a taxicab. He rode in it to the various pawnshops, retrieved all of his pledged merchandise, then went to 59th Street and Columbus Circle and pledged the entire lot in another pawnshop for a total of $92.00. He paid off the taxicab from the four dollars he had had left before and going to his bank, withdrew all of his money but two dollars. The teller who gave him the money counted it three times and still seemed hesitant about giving it to him, but finally did.
Johnny left the bank with $184.00 in his pocket, and crossed over to Lexington Avenue, where he opened a new Ten-Plan checking account, depositing $175.00. With this substantial amount he found it no trouble at all, within a half hour, to buy three wrist watches for $150.00, $125.00 and $125.00 respectively and in none of the three jewelry stores did they call up his bank. It’s only when you’re down in the five dollar and ten dollar stores that they distrust you.
He pawned the three watches on Lexington Avenue for a total of $130.00, returned to his second bank and withdrew $150.00 from his account and got in just before three o’clock to a bank on Fifth Avenue, where he started a straight checking account and deposited $250.00, receiving a deposit book.
With thirty dollars cash still in his pocket, he took a taxi-cab across town and redeeming Sam’s suit from Uncle Ben’s, returned to the Forty-fifth Street Hotel.
Chapter Eight
Eddie Miller was standing just within the door of the hotel, staring gloomily out upon Forty-fifth Street. He brightened as Johnny came through the door.
“You made it!” he cried, indicating the suit in Johnny’s hand.
“Made what?”
Eddie grinned. “You were just taking that suit out for an airing?”
“Naturally.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Fletcher, Sam Cragg told me. You hocked the suit this morning to keep Peabody from locking you out. You didn’t have a dime, but in a couple of hours you raised enough dough to get the suit out of hock.” He shook his head admiringly.
Johnny coughed and took the bank book out of his pocket. “I also raised a little money, over and above...” He opened the book and let Eddie take a peek at the entry.
“Two hundred and fifty bucks!” Eddie cried. He stared at Johnny in fascination. “Mr. Fletcher, if I had what you’ve got I’d be a millionaire in a couple of years.” In his admiration, he gripped Johnny’s arm. “Tell me — how’d you get all that money...?” A sudden thought struck him. “Or is the bank book a phony?”
“I don’t have to stoop to anything like that,” Johnny said. He drew out a fat roll of bills — all ones, but Eddie couldn’t see that for Johnny gave him just a glimpse. “I got a little small change, too.”
“Oh, my God!”
Johnny winked and went into the hotel. Opening the door of Room 821, he found Sam Cragg seated on his bed, in the pose of The Thinker. He sprang to his feet when he saw the suit of clothes.
“You got it, Johnny!”
“Of course,” Johnny said, indignantly. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
“You put the bite on Mort?”
“Mort,” Johnny said, sadly, “is out of business. He was evicted, for nonpayment of rent.”
“Then how’d you get this money?”
Johnny thought of the things he had been compelled to do, to get Sam’s suit out of pawn. “That, Sam,” he said, softly, “shall remain a secret between God and me...”
“Huh?”
Johnny tossed the suit on the bed. “Put it on and ask no questions. Your hairy legs offend me.”
Sam slipped on his trousers. “More people seen those legs today...!” He cocked his big head to one side. “Including a little lady, the likes of which you’ve never seen.” He indicated the window. “Her sister.”
“I saw her through the window, myself.”
“I didn’t see her through the window. She was here — sitting right in that chair you’re sitting on.”
“Susan Fair was in this room?”
Sam nodded. “That’s what I said. She’s even better-lookin’ than her sister...”
“What’d she want?”
“Talk, I guess, just talk. She didn’t say. She’s stayin’ here in the hotel.”
“What room?”
“Right above us, nine twenty-one. Uh, she said she’d like to talk to you, too.”
Johnny got up and started for the door. With his hand on the knob he turned. “You said a lot of people saw your bare legs today... who else besides Miss Fair?”
“Well, Peabody and the copper, this morning and then while you were gone about a million people came in here...”
“Who?”
“The maid and the disinfectant man and the vacuum man and the man from the disinfect — say, he was here twice...” Sam screwed up his face. “That’s funny, come to think of it, it wasn’t the same guy... the second fellow, I mean.”
“What’d he look like?”
“He wasn’t wearing overalls, like the first fellow.”
“Then how’d you know who he was?”
“He said he was from the disinfecting company... I was sore, they kept coming in here, one after the other, so when this guy opened the door, I threw the telephone book at him.”
“But what did he look like?”
“I didn’t notice. He was — just a guy...”
“Sam,” said Johnny, “all you did was throw a phone book at the man who killed Marjorie Fair...”
Sam blinked. “W-what...?”
Johnny stepped through the door and closed it behind him. He went to the staircase, climbed to the ninth floor and knocked on the door of Room 921.
“Yes?” called a voice inside.
“Johnny Fletcher,” Johnny called. “I understand you wanted to see me...”
The door was opened by Susan Fair. For once, Johnny thought, Sam is right; she is more attractive than her sister.
“Will you come in?”
Johnny stepped into the room, that was a duplicate of his own, except that it contained only one bed, instead of two. He turned, saw Susan start to leave the door ajar, then close it. In Iowa, you kept a hotel door open when you had a male visitor. She had started to do that, then remembered she was now in New York.
She came into the room. “Won’t you sit down?”
Johnny seated himself, but Susan Fair remained standing. Her face was drawn and her eyes were bright, but otherwise she showed no undue strain. Yet Johnny sensed that she was fighting to control herself.
“I’m sorry about your sister,” he said, lamely.
She made a gesture, accepting the condolence. “I’m going to see that the person who did it is punished. I’m having her — her body sent home, but I’m going to stay here until... until...” She stopped, on the verge of breaking down.
Johnny said: “The New York Police Department is the finest in the world. They’ll take care of—”