Erle Gardner - The Casebook of Sidney Zoom

“I want cash.”

“But you’ll get cash, and a hell of a good trade to boot. Those diamonds of yours are worth perhaps eight grand. I’ve got some that would be worth twenty thousand if they weren’t hot.”

“Eight grand!” expostulated Willie the Weeper. “Why, those rocks would retail for a cool twenty-five thousand!”

Franklin T. Vane threw back his head and laughed. The laugh was more forceful than mirthful.

“What a boob you are! Somebody’s been kidding you. If you think those things would retail for twenty-five thousand you’d think mine would sell for a hundred. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you three thousand in cash and trade you one of the finest strings of rocks you ever saw. Or I’ve got two strings I’ll trade you even.”

“I want cash.”

“Well, take this trade I’m offering. Three grand and a swell string.”

Willie the Weeper looked at the diamonds in necklace and brooch.

“Le’me see the string.”

The string which Vane offered was made up of rather small stones. There was not the perfect fire, not the matching which makes necklaces run into real money. Yet it was a good necklace, well worth lifting.

Sidney Zoom, sitting there with his dominant, aggressive personality completely dissolved into that of Willie the Weeper, had no difficulty whatever in recognizing that string as one of the necklaces which had been taken from Cremlin’s, and the theft of which had been laid to the door of young Otto Shaffer.

“Four thousand and I might consider it.”

“Three’s the price.”

“Make it three fifty.”

“Three’s the limit. That’s really too much. I should make it two fifty.”

Willie the Weeper sniffled. A streak of moisture slimed his cheek, drifted uncertainly past his quivering lips and dropped to the carpet.

“It’s robbery,” he whined.

Franklin T. Vane sat in sneering contemplation of the weeping man. Willie the Weeper lived up to his nickname. He whined with voice and eyes, sniffled, cried. The tears dropped from his reddened eyes to the carpet.

At length he gave sniffling acquiescence.

Franklin T. Vane stripped three one thousand dollar bills from a roll and handed them over.

“That’s a swell string I’m giving you. You can hock it in Chi for more than both of your pieces were worth.”

Willie the Weeper sniffled over the consummation of the deal. He whined, cried, hung around until Vane had dropped the necklace and brooch into a secret compartment of the wardrobe trunk. Then he sniveled himself out of the door.

Franklin T. Vane snorted, slammed the door shut and locked it.

Willie the Weeper became a very busy man. He took a cab to the cheap hotel where he had placed his suitcase. Within a matter of minutes he transformed himself into his true character. Eye wash stopped the watering eyes, leaving them red.

Attired in a tailored suit which proclaimed itself as having cost much money, Sidney Zoom returned to the Madison House.

“Evening, Colman,” he saluted the house detective. “Wonder how my sister liked the diamonds.”

“She hasn’t shown up,” announced the detective.

“Hasn’t shown up! Good Heavens, there must be some foul play. I sent her a message — I wonder if that message could have miscarried.”

The house detective shrugged his shoulders.

“I wish you’d left those diamonds in the safe.”

“Nonsense! The diamonds are all right, but how about my sister. Come on up and we’ll put through a call.”

The house detective, mindful of the excellent Scotch, nodded assent. Together they approached the door of the room. Sidney Zoom fitted a key, flung the door open, gave a slight, hospitable push upon the shoulder of his guest, and switched on the light.

Harry Colman’s muscles became rigid beneath Zoom’s hand which rested on his shoulder. He jumped back.

“Burglars! Great Heavens! Look at that room!”

Sidney Zoom sprang forward.

“The diamonds!” yelled Colman.

“Gone!” screamed Zoom.

There followed a period of seething activity. The police were notified. Colman started searching for clews, muttering to himself as he looked about.

“Funny they’d make all this commotion when the diamonds were in plain sight. Wonder what the idea was?”

“Looking for my money, perhaps,” volunteered Sidney Zoom, moving slightly so that one foot rested almost upon the crumpled bit of cardboard bearing the mysterious address and the significantly scrawled words.

“Well,” muttered Colman, “they sure made a— What’s that?”

“What?”

“By your foot?”

“Looks like a card.”

Colman pounced upon it.

“Stuff that’s too hot to handle!” he read. “Gee, what a break.”

“Too hot to handle?” muttered Sidney Zoom in an apologetic undertone.

“Yeah,” explained Colman, “a yegg term. It means stolen goods that are wanted badly by the police and for which a description’s gone out. I’ll bet you fifty dollars that’s the address of the fence that was going to handle this job.”

“I’m afraid I shouldn’t bet,” retorted Sidney Zoom, “but if you recover those gems there’ll be a little reward of two thousand dollars, cash.”

And the face of Sidney Zoom set in such grim lines of righteous indignation at the criminal act which had deprived him of his property that Colman found it necessary to place a restraining hand upon the taut arm.

“There, there, don’t worry. Here are the police now. They’ll have authority to make a search of this room in the Westmorland Hotel.”

“You think we have enough evidence upon which to predicate a search?”

“Say, baby, when there’s two thousands bucks reward I’d search George Washington’s tomb for a stolen dollar. Come on.”

The police listened.

A whispered conversation took place between the sergeant in charge of the detail and the house detective. Then the red police automobile sirened its way through the crowded thorough-fares.

Once more Sidney Zoom found himself at the door of Franklin T. Vane’s suite. But this time he was not in the disguise of a whining crook. He stood erect, indignant, a picture of righteous indignation, such as any honest citizen might feel toward a crook, particularly if that crook had just lifted twenty-five thousand dollars in diamonds from the aforesaid honest citizen.

Franklin T. Vane saw the bluecoats, the glittering eyes, the firm lips, and his heavy face blanched.

“What is the meaning of this outrage?” he stormed, before the police had even stated their errand.

The words placed him definitely in an attitude of antagonism.

“It means,” bellowed Sidney Zoom, “that you’re a fence, a receiver of stolen property. You’ve got my diamonds here, taken from some crook with whom you connived the robbery.”

Franklin T. Vane recoiled before the very violence of those words, the blast of righteous wrath which accompanied them.

“Really, gentlemen—”

But it was too late. Sidney Zoom had shouldered the door, marched resolutely into the room. The officers followed.

Ten minutes later they found the secret compartment in the wardrobe trunk.

“The diamonds!” yelled Sidney Zoom. “Colman, you’re a wonder! Sergeant, you’ll get a promotion for this! I never saw such prompt work!”

The police sergeant was gazing at another diamond necklace with a puzzled frown.

“And here’s another one. By George, that’s one of the necklaces from that Cremlin job yesterday. We thought the kid pulled that one. Maybe he used this guy as a fence. But — wait a minute! My God, yes! This is the very room! I see it all now. Why, you’re the man who had the messenger bring up the stones. Aha! so that’s your game, eh?”