Эрл Гарднер - The Amazing Adventures of Lester Leith

“Open this door,” said the hoarse voice of the house detective. “We want to talk with you. This is Moss, the house dick.”

“Oh,” said Lester Leith. “Just a minute.”

And he jumped on the bed to give a creaking noise to the springs, then let his feet thud to the floor.

Yet it was several seconds before he opened the door.

His hair was tousled. His eyes were blinking. His collar was wrinkled and his coat was off. There was an air of dazed perplexity about him.

“... lay down for a minute,” he explained sheepishly. “Must’ve dropped off.”

He sucked in a prodigious yawn.

Moss lowered his broad shoulders and pushed past Lester Leith into the room. Directly behind the detective, walking with a certain cat-footed manner, his right hand hovering near the lapel of his coat, his eyes narrowed, came the occupant of 403. The clerk was a tardy third in the procession.

One of the mature bellboys cleared his throat suggestively.

The house detective turned, called over his shoulder:

“Come in here, Joe.”

The bellboy pushed eagerly forward, forcing the clerk into a quicker step.

Lester Leith seemed more awake now.

“What’s the matter?” he asked anxiously.

The house detective switched on the light, looked the room over.

“Where’s the dame?” he asked.

“You mean my niece?” asked Lester Leith.

“You know who I mean. She went out. Did she come back?”

It was the bellboy who answered.

“Naw,” he said, “she didn’t come back.”

“Certain?” asked the house detective.

“Sure,” said the bellboy.

Lester Leith let his eyes widen.

“Why,” he exclaimed with a simulation of surprise, “you’re a detective!”

The man who was dressed as a bellboy snorted.

“Let’s take a look around,” he said.

They moved forward, a compact knot, save for the squat man who occupied room 403. He gravitated slightly to one side.

“All the personal belongings from my room,” he said, “have been stolen.”

Lester Leith let his jaw sag.

“Good heavens!” he said.

The detectives strode through the connecting bathroom, walked into 407.

“This the stuff?” asked the man who had posed as a bellhop.

The occupant of room 403 stared at the assortment.

“Good Lord, yes!” he exclaimed. “How did it get here?”

Lester Leith joined in the exclamation, his tone one of dismay.

“Good heavens!” he groaned. “She’s had an attack!”

“Yeah,” sneered the detective. “Ain’t that too bad!”

Lester Leith turned to the occupant of Room 403.

“But I’m responsible,” he said. “I’m financially responsible. Only I want to know just what I am responsible for. Here, in the presence of these officers, we will open this baggage and list the contents.” There was a sudden swirl of motion behind Lester Leith. Two hands clamped down on his arms. Glittering bracelets of steel clicked around his wrists.

“Yeah,” sneered the man who had posed as bellhop, “and we’ll just keep you out of mischief while we’re making the examination.”

Lester Leith stiffened. His face mirrored dismay.

“Listen, officer,” he said. “I can’t explain, but you’ll ruin some very precious plans I have if you do not remove those handcuffs. I demand that you release me.”

The detectives joined in a guffaw.

“Ruining plans of crooks is one of the best things I do,” said the detective.

“No, no. You don’t understand. Call Sergeant Ackley. Get him here at once. I demand that this baggage be opened. And I want Sergeant Ackley here...”

The squat occupant of Room 403 moved easily toward the door.

“I’ll open it fast enough,” he promised. “But I’ve got to go to my room to get my keys.”

He took swift steps toward the door.

“No, no!” yelled Lester Leith. “Stop him. Get Ackley! Get Ackley. I can’t make any accusation while that baggage is unopened, but I want Sergeant...”

The detective swung his right fist.

The blow made contact with Lester Leith on the jaw. Leith slumped to the floor, inert.

“Hell,” said the detective. “I didn’t hit him hard. He must be playing possum. I didn’t want any more of his damned bawling. Where’s the sarge?”

“Coming,” said a voice from the corridor.

A compact body of men moved into the room.

“Better frisk him,” said someone.

“He’ll keep,” chuckled one of the detectives. “Let’s look around.”

“Maybe we went a little too fast, Joe,” cautioned one of the men. “Orders was to give him enough rope to spring his stuff, and then clamp down on him.”

“Well,” countered the individual addressed as Joe, “he had enough rope, and he was pulling his stuff, or I miss my guess.”

Hands went through Lester Leith’s clothing.

“Nothing here,” said a voice.

“Look the room over,” ordered someone else. “Close that door. We don’t want a crowd in on this. Where the hell’s the sarge? He was sticking around for a while. Then he said he had a sick friend he had to see, and left a telephone number where we could call him if anything broke.”

“You call him?” asked the clerk.

“Yeah. Soon as the guy from 403 made the squawk. Say, where is that bird?”

“Gone to get his keys.”

“Well, we better go down there, and... here’s the sarge now.”

There were purposeful steps, the banging of the door as it slammed open, then the voice of Sergeant Ackley.

“Well,” he exclaimed, “what’s up! See you got the bracelets on him. Did you catch him with the goods?”

“We caught him right enough,” said the voice of the man called Joe. “I don’t know just what he was pulling, but...”

Lester Leith stirred, moved his eyes, groaned.

“Open the man’s trunk,” he said, and then slumped back into silence.

“What happened to him?” asked Sergeant Ackley.

“Oh, he was squawking, and I cracked him an easy one an’ he wilted.”

Sergeant Ackley grunted.

“Better be careful. He’s a smooth one. And he keeps a good lawyer. If we haven’t got the goods on him...”

“We got the goods on him right enough,” said Joe.

“Open the trunk anyway,” said Sergeant Ackley.

“Guy’s gone for the keys,” said Joe.

There was a period of shuffling silence. Someone scraped a match and lit a cigarette. Then someone coughed.

“Say, where is that guy?” asked someone.

Lester Leith moaned, twisted.

“Don’t let him get away,” he pleaded in a groaning whisper. “I tried to get you, Sergeant...”

Sergeant Ackley suddenly exploded into action.

“Go grab that bird, Joe! Bill, get that trunk open. This looks like a job that’s been bungled. That guy in 403... Get started!”

There came a scurrying motion, swift voices, shouted comments. Then a report was called down the hallway. “Went down the stairs. Thought you sent him, Joe. He said you did!”

Profanity spouted from Sergeant Ackley’s lips.

“Get that guy! He’s the murderer and the gem thief. Hurry up. Throw out the dragnet. Give the signal. Close the block!”

And he ran to the window, flung it open, raised a police whistle to his lips, blew a shrill blast.

Lester Leith sat up.

For a man who had been knocked out, he seemed to be in serene possession of his senses.

“I warned you, Sergeant,” he said. “Will someone please give me a cigarette?”

Sergeant Ackley flung back from the window, glowered at the handcuffed figure on the floor.

“Hell!” he said.

Lester Leith talked fluently.

“We’ve had our differences, Sergeant, but I thought I could patch them up by putting a feather in your cap. I figured the murdered man’s trunk had held the gems, but that the trunk had proven obstinate. The murderer, however, would never have carried the whole trunk with him unless something had happened to make that the only course possible.