D. Champion - Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 30, No. 2 — July 1947)

He lifted the lid of an intricately worked silver box to reveal tiers of fat cigars. “I import them,” he said. “You couldn’t buy them for a buck apiece retail.”

I helped myself to set an example and prayed that Sackler would follow suit. He stretched forth his hand, then remembered. He looked at me. He said sweetly: “Cigars don’t count, do they, Joey?”

“Try one and see.”

He sighed and withdrew his hand reluctantly. Capelli looked at him oddly and closed the box. He said, “I want you to do something simple for me. There’s a grand in it.”

Sackler forgot he had been deprived of a free dollar cigar. His eyes glittered and a beatific expression wreathed his face. He said curiously: “If you wanted to offer me a fee why did you bring me here at gun point?”

“A fair question,” said Capelli. “It seemed the best way to do it. First, it would do me no good to be seen in your office, and it would do you no good at all for me to be seen there. Moreover, if it came to the ears of the coppers they might knock you around to find out why I wanted to see you and you might crack and tell them. I don’t want them to know.”

“My relations with my clients are confidential,” said Sackler with dignity.

“Naturally,” said Capelli without conviction. “Moreover, had I phoned you, you may have made the appointment part of your office records. I don’t want that done. This deal is just between us. No one is to know of it. Your are not to record it on your books. I am a direct man and it seemed simplest to send two of the boys to bring you in.”

“Very well,” said Sackler. “What do you want for this thousand dollars? And when do I get it?”

“The moment you have completed the assignment. I want you to find some thing for me.”

“What?”

“The personal effects of a man named Arthur Freuh.”

“Ah,” said Sackler, nodding his head and looking as if this was exactly what he had expected.

“This man, Freuh, was murdered last night. I don’t have any idea where he lived. But he must have lived somewhere. I don’t have any idea what he owned. But he must have owned something. Clothes, toilet effects and things like that at least. I want you to find out where he lived and bring me his personal possessions. If you do that I will pay you a thousand dollars. If, among those effects, there is an item I want very much to get my hands on, I will double the fee.”

“And what is that item?”

Capelli shook his head. “That’s a trade secret. It’s better for both you and me that you don’t know.” He glanced down at his wristwatch. “Can you have the stuff here in an hour?” Sackler looked startled. “I’m good,” he said, “But not that good. You expect me to find Freuh’s address in sixty minutes? Starting from scratch?”

A shadow of disappointment crawled into Capelli’s eyes. “You mean you don’t already know it?”

“I do not.”

“He didn’t give it to you when he called on you yesterday?”

That was an illuminating question. What Capelli was really doing was offering Sackler a grand for Freuh’s address. He hadn’t believed that we would actually have to go out and find it.

“He didn’t give it to me,” said Sackler. “He only said he’d come back and see me.”

Capelli’s eyes narrowed. “Did he give you anything else?”

“Only my fee.”

“For what?”

Sackler hesitated for a moment, then he said. “That’s a trade secret.”

Capelli made a gesture of impatience. “Very well, how long will it take you to do what I ask?”

Sackler’s shoulders shrugged. “Who knows? Isn’t it likely that his landlady will hear or read he is dead and hand his stuff over to the coppers?”

Capelli shook his head. “It isn’t likely his landlady knows him under his right name.”

“No,” said Sackler thoughtfully, “of course not.”

“Well, will you do it? And quickly?”

Sackler nodded. “You have hired my brain,” he said in a tone which implied Capelli had all the best of the bargain.

“O.K. I’m sorry I can’t tell you what that special item is. You’ll have to take my word on it when it comes to the bonus.”

“Don’t worry,” said Sackler surprisingly. “I know what it is and I shall hold out until I’m paid.”

Both Capelli and I looked at him in some astonishment. Capelli seemed stunned that he could know what the article was and so was I. I certainly had no idea what was going on and I was sure I knew as much as Sackler.

Before either of us could speak however a familiar, roaring voice sounded from without.

“Either you ten cent punks let me in that door or I’ll have three wagon loads of coppers here with a battering ram. By God, I’ll—”

Capelli nodded to Lou who had been leaning against the wall ever since we entered. He said: “Let the inspector in.”

Lou walked across the yielding carpet and turned the doorknob. On the threshold stood Jake and Woolley. Woolley, to judge by his crimson complexion, was in a fine fury.

Jake stood aside and he strode into the office. The first thing his inflamed eyes fell upon was Sackler. He uttered the bellow of a wounded bull. He levelled an accusing finger at Sackler’s concave chest and shouted: “I knew you had your grubby hand in this somewhere.”

Sackler drew himself up and looked supercilious. Woolley glared wildly about the room, embracing both Capelli and Sackler in his gaze, and roared: “You’d both better come clean. What do you know about Freuh? I demand to know.”

Capelli held up a soothing hand. Sackler said: “By what right do you demand to know? Are you a grand jury? Are you even an assistant DA.? You will either shut up or arrest us.”

“I don’t have to consider that choice,” shouted Woolley. “Come on, both of you.”

Capelli stood up. “Take it easy, Inspector. Mr. Sackler’s excited. I’m willing to tell you what I know. Freuh had an appointment with me yesterday. He didn’t keep it. I understand you have his appointment book. Well, he saw Sackler here, and he went to Earnshaw’s right after the pinch. But he didn’t get here.”

Woolley regarded him with distaste. “You seem to know a hell of a lot about it. Have you a pipeline into headquarters?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Capelli, “I have. He left Sackler’s and was picked up by the Treasury men, searched and released. Then he went to Earnshaw’s. He never got here.”

Woolley scratched his head. He seemed to resent Capelli’s information, and he didn’t appear to have enough of his own.

“Well,” he said blusteringly, “you stay where I can get you, Capelli. I’m not satisfied with this. I’m going over to see Earnshaw.”

“I’ll go along,” said Sackler. “There’s one thing I need to straighten out in this case.”

“One thing?” roared Woolley. “There are a half hundred. And I’ve got Washington and the Commissioner on my neck this time.”

“And a fat red neck it is, too,” said Sackler as he strode out of the room.

Sackler’s tactful remark did not improve Woolley’s temper. However, I figured it was that Woolley was so damned baffled about something, that he welcomed Sackler, sharp tongue and all, in the hope that he could be of some aid.

The police car hurtled through the streets to the upper east side and stopped before an expensive apartment house. Woolley pushed past the doorman, got into the elevator and said, “Nine.”

We got out at the ninth floor and followed Woolley to a door where he rang a bell. A scar-faced individual opened the door. Woolley flashed his badge and said: “Police. Where’s Earnshaw?”