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

I felt like a man whose horse is running eight lengths ahead of the field in the stretch. He struck the match. My heart pounded wildly. He touched it to the tobacco. He inhaled. He took the cigarette from his mouth and blew out the smoke as I bounded up from my chair.

I thrust my upturned palm under his face and yelled: “Pay up! You lose. You’re smoking!”

He froze to horrified immobility. He jammed the cigarette out in the glass tray at his elbow. He blinked slowly and adopted a whining tone.

“Now, Joey, you’re certainly not going to count that. It was an accident. I was engrossed in more important thought. Besides, I only took one puff.”

I kept my palm under his nose. “I am adamant.”

“But Joey—”

“I am the Rock of Ages—”

“One lousy puff and—”

“I have the heart of a loan shark at the moment. I am as hard as a diamond. As ruthless as a flood. Give me a hundred bucks.”

He cursed heartily. He said, “Naturally, I haven’t got the cash with me. I—”

“Don’t stall. You’ve still got that envelope that Freuh gave you.”

“But you yourself have said that that isn’t mine.”

“It isn’t. But money’s negotiable. You can give me that and give Woolley another hundred from the bank.”

He sighed like a heartbroken steam engine, thrust his hand in his pocket and took out the envelope Freuh had given him. He tore it open and withdrew a crisp hundred dollar bill. He said: “Put it in your pocket and may it pay for your not too distant funeral.”

I took it, sunk it deeply in my pocket and went back to my desk with a singing heart.

An instant later Capelli returned from the washroom and an instant after that Woolley walked in the door escorting a well bandaged Earnshaw.

Capelli glanced at our visitors suspiciously. I observed that Sackler looked happy again and wondered at his quick recovery. Earnshaw sat heavily down in a chair, glared at Capelli, and said, “I’m a sick man. What’s the idea of dragging me out of my bed?”

“You’ll be sicker,” said Sackler. “Sit down, Woolley.”

Woolley did so, on the edge of the desk. He said: “What’s going on? What do you want to tell me?”

“An attitude of more gratitude would be in order,” said Sackler smugly; “Once again I have been doing your work for you. How far have you moved on the Freuh matter?”

I translated Woolley’s grunt as meaning he hadn’t moved at all.

“Well,” said Sackler. “I have all the answers for you. I also have the plates.”

Woolley started. “The plates? Where are they?”

At the moment the oblong package was lying on the desk, and Capelli’s arm was lying on the package. Sackler indicated it. Woolley grabbed the parcel. Capelli glared at Sackler and said: “You punk. You double-crosser. You—” His vocabulary seemed strained at that point and he went off into an inarticulate gurgle.

Woolley ripped open the package and took out two pieces of metal. He held them up to the light. “That’s it,” he said. “Where did you get them?”

“In Freuh’s room.”

“How did you find his room?”

“I have methods,” said Sackler, “far too subtle for the police department.”

“Huh,” sneered Woolley uncomfortably. “And I suppose you know who killed Freuh?”

“Naturally. Earnshaw.”

Woolley blinked. Things were going a little fast for him. They were for me, too. I hadn’t the slightest idea what it was all about.

“And,” said Woolley heavily, “since you are obviously omniscient, I suppose you also know who beat up Earnshaw?”

“It is too, too apparent,” said Sackler. “It was Capelli.”

By now Woolley, Earnshaw and Capelli were all staring at him and there was not an iota of friendliness in any eye. Earnshaw and Capelli were frankly angry and somewhat afraid. Woolley was annoyed.

“I am not a genius,” began Woolley.

“Consider that statement seconded,” interrupted Sackler.

“No,” said Woolley, “I am not a genius. I do not know how you found the plates. How you found Freuh’s room, how you know Earnshaw killed Freuh, or that Capelli beat Earnshaw up. I do not even know how you knew what Freuh’s racket was, or anything else. The matter was a police secret.”

“I shall explain it,” said Sackler, “in monosyllabic words.”

“Do so,” said Woolley. He turned and gave me a heavy wink. “Then I shall explain something to you.”

“Very well. You, Woolley, came in here interested in Freuh. You also implied that the Treasury men were interested in him. Those two facts argue certain conclusions. First, that Freuh was not an honest citizen. If he was a crook why are the Treasury men interested? What sort of crooks call for their officers? Counterfeiters, obviously.”

“Next, Freuh had appointments with Earnshaw and Capelli. They are known racket boys. Obviously, he was trying to interest them in some counterfeiting racket. Then, Capelli offers me money to find out where Freuh lived and to obtain his personal possessions. He offers to double the fee if I find there an item which he will not identify. What could that be, if we accept the conclusion that Freuh is a counterfeiter? Obviously, again, plates.

“So, as per contract, I deliver the plates to Capelli and collect an honest fee.”

“You didn’t,” yelled Capelli, “That copper’s got them. He took them from me. He—”

“That doesn’t concern me,” said Sackler. “ I delivered them to you.”

“All right,” said Woolley. “Tell me all about Earnshaw killing Freuh.”

“It’s easy. Freuh’s original deal was with Capelli. But Earnshaw heard of it and wanted to cut himself in. Somehow he got Freuh to see him. Freuh called on Earnshaw after he called on me and before he called on Capelli. But for some reason or other he wouldn’t do business with Earnshaw. He was sticking to Capelli. Earnshaw only cared about the plates which apparently Freuh had made with considerable skill. He tried to get the plates by force. He tried to beat the information out of Freuh. But Freuh wouldn’t talk and the beating became, inadvertently or not, a murder.”

“And Capelli beat Earnshaw up for that?” I said.

“Of course he beat him. Because he thought that Earnshaw’s beating had been successful and that Earnshaw knew where the plates were. Had it not been for that he would have killed Earnshaw at once. Then Capelli dragged me down to his place, believing that Freuh had given me his address when he was here. He found out he hadn’t and told me to go and find it any way.” Sackler bowed modestly and added, “I did.”

Woolley nodded. “It makes sense. But you don’t have any evidence, do you? I mean the sort of stuff we can take to a courtroom.”

“You big dumb goat,” said Sackler. “Of course, you have evidence. All sorts of evidence and all around you. Can’t you see it?”

Woolley obviously did not relish Sackler’s tone. But he shook his head woodenly and said, “No, I don’t.”

“You have a confession,” said Sackler. “From Earnshaw.”

“You’re crazy,” said Earnshaw.

“Oh, no, I’m not. Capelli’s mob is bigger and tougher than yours. He didn’t kill you last time because he thought you might know where the plates were. Now, it doesn’t matter. He’ll kill you for killing Freuh. At least, in a courtroom, you can plead self-defense or whatever your lawyer suggests. You’ve got a fighting chance. You haven’t against Capelli’s guns. Capelli will kill you. The law might give you as little as ten years. It’s pure percentage.”

Earnshaw thought it over for a long silent two minutes. Then he nodded. “All right,” he said. “Your way is safer. But, by God, I want Capelli held for assault on me.”