Erle Gardner - The Casebook of Sidney Zoom

The door of the adjoining room flung open, and Sidney Zoom strode into the room.

“Shut up, Vera. You don’t understand. You see things only from a woman’s viewpoint. This is one case I can handle better.” He turned to the man, whose face was now the color of a boiled beet. “You see, there’s a secret telephone between these cabins. I heard every word you said. Will two thousand dollars square you and take you out of your difficulties?”

The red face nodded.

“Very well. I’ll get you two thousand dollars. But I’ll expect a certain service in return.”

“I don’t want charity.”

“You won’t get it. I want you to do something risky. You won’t be committing any crime. You won’t be in danger of jail. But you’ll have to do exactly as I say.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“There’s a private banker here who owns the entire interest in a bank; it’s one of the few private banking institutions in the city. He’s been defrauding people who couldn’t afford to be defrauded. I want to make a little collection. Will you help?”

The man tugged a nickel plated revolver from his side pocket.

“Would I need that?”

Sidney Zoom reached out a hand, took the weapon, walked to the open port hole, tossed it into the outer darkness. There sounded a sudden splash.

“No,” he said, with a half smile twisting the grim mouth, “you won’t need that”

“What do I do?”

Sidney Zoom spun the combination of a wall safe.

“Your name?”

“Robert Dundley.”

Sidney Zoom abstracted a packet of letters. They were frayed, dog-eared envelopes, addressed to Miss Myrtle Ramsay, and the street number was that of a cheap theater. The packet was tied with a pink ribbon.

Sidney Zoom gazed at it with eyes that had softened.

“One of life’s little tragedies,” he said. “Miss Ramsay was a chorus girl in a burlesque. She died leaving a little girl, penniless. The public administrator auctioned off the personal property — a few clothes, a cheap suitcase, and these letters. I bought the letters.”

There was silence in the room for a few moments.

“Why did you buy them?” asked Vera Thurmond.

Sidney Zoom shrugged his shoulders.

“A human document. People pay fabulous prices for old manuscripts of fiction. Here is a manuscript of fact. One George Stapleton was in love with Miss Ramsay. His letters are filled with expressions of affection for her and uncomplimentary references to his wife. Yes, Stapleton was married. It’s an interesting subject for speculation, whether the chorus girl saved the letters because she intended to use them for blackmail, or whether because she loved Stapleton.”

Vera Thurmond leaned forward.

“Did Mr. Stapleton bid for the letters when they were sold by the administrator?”

“Stapleton was dead. He shot himself the day after Miss Ramsay died.”

There was a silence for a few minutes.

Sidney Zoom handed the packet of letters to Robert Dundley.

“To-morrow morning at precisely ten minutes past eleven you will go to the Pratt State Bank and ask for Mr. Albert Pratt. You will then give him this package of letters. He will give you ten thousand dollars in cash. You will keep three thousand dollars for your trouble. The remaining seven thousand you will distribute to these people in the amounts set opposite their names.”

Sidney Zoom tore a list from a page of his notebook.

“It happens that those persons are ones who have been defrauded of various small amounts by Albert Pratt. You will refrain, however, from mentioning the reason the money is paid, or the source of that money. Simply hand to each one of those people the amount indicated.”

The man’s mouth sagged.

“But — what — how—”

“You will pay no attention to details. You have my assurance that you are not violating the law in any way. And you will agree that it is better to secure three thousand dollars for your wife in this manner than to have the insurance company pay her two thousand.”

He took the packet of letters. Tears blinded his eyes. He held forth a groping hand, then suddenly stiffened.

“If this is another fake—” he began.

Sidney Zoom’s face suddenly became hard as flint. His hawklike eyes stared into the other’s face with an expression of such untamed ferocity as to make the other recoil.

“You will do exactly as I said,” snapped Sidney Zoom, “and you will receive the exact amount indicated. You will answer no questions and you will ask none. You will state that you have a packet of letters to be delivered upon receipt of ten thousand dollars. Beyond that you know nothing. And now I will take you to your home.”

Sidney Zoom, locking a firm hand upon the other’s arm, escorted him to the float, marched him to the sedan, drove him to a taxicab stand. There he handed a driver a ten-dollar bill.

“Take this gentleman home — wherever it is,” he said, and turned with no word of farewell.

Back at the boat he found Vera Thurmond regarding him with questioning eyes.

“Do you know what you are doing in this case?” she asked.

“I always know exactly what I am doing.”

“You’re dealing with a shrewd banker, one who knows the law. Are you certain you won’t slip up upon some technicality and be guilty of crime?”

His voice remained cold, formal.

“I, too, know the law. I have specialized in legalized fraud. The law — bah! What a crude system it is! Every year they pass thousands on thousands of new laws, and still the system is deficient. The very number of laws, the very complexity of our civilization makes it easy for one who knows his way about to perpetrate frauds that are perfectly legal.”

She sighed. “Do you know, I know very little about your real activities. You have never allowed me to really share in your life.”

“This time you will have the chance,” he assured her. “You have had some stage experience. Can you make-up like a loud-mouthed burlesque actress who is an expert on blackmail? Can you play the part of a flashy woman to whom profanity comes naturally?”

She laughed lightly.

“I would love to — if it would help you!”

But Sidney Zoom seemed to notice neither the softness of the tone nor the gleam of her eyes. He had whirled to his cabinet, where he kept his disguises. His fingers were busy checking over clothes and equipment.

“Take the sedan to your apartment,” he said gruffly. “I’ll sleep on the boat. Be back here at nine o’clock in the morning, and have some loud clothes. Better invest in some cheap perfume, too.”

“But,” she protested, “chorus girls aren’t all like that.”

“The one you’re going to take the part of is,” he assured her. “And, good night.”

She paused, opened her mouth as though to speak, then clamped it shut.

“Good night!” she said, and whirled on her heel.

At the door she paused again. But Sidney Zoom was apparently entirely lost to his surroundings. His long, artistic fingers were busily engaged with the disguises, and his touch contained a delicacy of handling that was almost a caress.

Swiftly the girl took two steps back into the room, stooped, pulled the dog’s shaggy head to her cheek, then opened the door.

“Good night,” she called again.

But Sidney Zoom apparently failed to hear the words. He was adjusting a false mustache to his upper lip, trying on a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, contemplating the result in the mirror.

Albert Pratt rested his bony knuckles upon the mahogany desk and frowned.

“You insisted upon seeing me personally, Mr. Stapleton?”

Sidney Zoom, so perfectly disguised that his personality seemed to have entirely melted into another individual, nodded a cringing assent.