Эрл Гарднер - The Amazing Adventures of Lester Leith

Leith said, “You couldn’t do it, Shuttle.”

“I think I could, sir.”

“Oh, no, you couldn’t, Shuttle. He’sh too schmart. Besides he doesn’t like us.”

“I know he doesn’t like us, sir, but I’m rather ingenious. If you’d only have confidence in me and trust me — I’ll tell you what we can do. We could let Sergeant Ackley in on the bet, and then we could let him win. We’d give him twenty-five dollars. Don’t you see? Make him a party to it. Then he couldn’t say anything.”

Leith blinked his eyes. “Shuttle,” he said, “b’lieve... b’lieve you’ve got somethin’ there.” And his head nodded limply forward.

The big undercover man, his face suffused with triumph, picked up Lester Leith in his arms and carried him gently into the bedroom.

Lester Leith stirred, stretched his arms above his head, and then groaned in agony. He reached out a groping hand, found the call bell by his bedside, and rang for his valet.

The big spy popped into the room with suspicious alacrity. “Good morning, sir,” he said.

Leith groaned again. “Good Lord, Scuttle, what happened?”

The spy walked across the room to the heavy drapes, drew them aside and let sunlight stream into the room.

“Don’t you remember, sir,” he said, “Mrs. Randerman was here, and you... you—”

“Yes, yes,” Leith said. “We had some drinks. Then what, Scuttle?”

The spy said tactfully, “You retired early, sir.”

“I must have,” Leith said. “Where did I dine, Scuttle, at home or...”

“You didn’t dine, sir.”

“Didn’t dine?”

“No, sir.”

Leith sat up in bed and twisted his face into a wry grimace. The spy said, “I have iced tomato juice and Worcestershire sauce for you, sir.”

The big undercover operative stepped into the kitchenette, returned with a tall glass in which ice cubes were clicking refreshingly. “If I may suggest it, sir,” he said, “you’d get the best results by drinking this all at once.”

Leith sighed, and gulped down the contents of the glass. He rolled his head wearily from side to side, and said, “Scuttle, was I drunk?”

“You had been drinking, sir. By the way, sir, I have that letter from Sergeant Ackley.”

“What letter?” Leith asked.

“The letter we were talking about,” the spy said. “Don’t you remember?”

Leith frowned. “I have a hazy recollection, a distorted mirage of a memory. Scuttle, did I talk too much?”

“Not at all, sir. You confided in me, I may say, a little more freely than has heretofore been the case, and I trust you’ll have no reason to regret your action.”

Leith’s features showed anxiety and alarm. “Scuttle, what the devil did I say to you?”

“Nothing that you need regret, sir. You mentioned that you wished to set a trap for Charles Betcher.”

“Well, disregard it, Scuttle.”

“And,” the spy went on, “you suggested that you and I might make a bet, that I could get Sergeant Ackley to take a part of the bet and give us his permission to set a trap.”

“Scuttle,” Leith said sharply, “are you making that up?”

“Indeed I am not.”

Leith said, “Scuttle, I can’t imagine myself doing anything so utterly asinine.”

“I think it’s a good idea, sir, particularly since Sergeant Ackley has walked into the trap.”

“He has?”

“Yes, sir. After you retired, and I saw that you wouldn’t— Well, that you wouldn’t be apt to need me any more, I slipped down to police headquarters.”

“But I thought you and Sergeant Ackley were at sword’s points.”

“We are,” the spy said, “but the sergeant has made certain accusations reflecting on my integrity in times past, and I used that as an excuse to call on him. I told him frankly that I intended to sue him for defamation of character.”

“And what did he say?”

“He apologized, sir. He said that he had been suspicious of both of us, but that he had come to the conclusion he was wrong. He said that if you wanted to resume your amateur crime dabbling, there would be no objection, just so long as you confined yourself to an academic solution and didn’t interfere with the police activities.”

Leith said, “Scuttle, I never wanted to solve crimes. I only claimed that frequently valuable clues as to the identity of the criminal were contained in newspaper accounts, and that the police failed to appreciate the significance of certain bits of evidence set forth in the newspapers.”

“Yes, sir. Well, to make a long story short, I told Ackley about our bet, and he said that he would like to come in for half of it. You might care to read this.”

The spy handed Lester Leith a page of scrawled handwriting, and Leith read it slowly.

“You’ll notice the endorsement at the bottom,” the spy said, “in Sergeant Ackley’s handwriting. He says, ‘I think this is a good bet, and I’ll come in on a fifty-fifty basis.’ ”

Leith suddenly jumped out of bed. “Scuttle,” he said, “get Mrs. Randerman on the phone. Tell her to be here inside of an hour. Get me those dark glasses. I want a suit of ready-made clothes with my sleeve and leg measurements, but cut for a stout model. I want those pearls and diamonds — the imitations — and I want that white feather, Scuttle.”

“The white feather, sir? I gave it to you yesterday. You put it in your wallet.”

“That’s right, Scuttle. I’d forgotten.”

The spy said ingratiatingly, “Perhaps, sir, since you’ve seen fit to confide in me to such an extent, you’ll tell me what you wanted with the white feather.”

“It’s a pocket piece,” Leith said. “I’m going to carry it in my wallet for luck, Scuttle.”

“And the suit, sir?”

Leith said, in a burst of confidence, “We’ll have Mrs. Randerman register at Betcher’s hotel. Betcher’s still there, Scuttle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And has the same suite that he had when he was working with Frank Boyen to set a trap for Judge Mandeville?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s the suite in which Rodney Alcott was given the twenty-five thousand dollars?”

“Yes, sir — only he claims it was only twenty-five dollars.”

“And as I understand it, Scuttle, Alcott was never out of sight of the detectives after he received that money and until he entered Mandeville’s office. Is that right?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Do you know how soon they left Betcher’s hotel suite after the money was given to Alcott, Scuttle?”

“Right away, sir, although there was just a bit of delay in connection with making certain that the detectograph was properly installed.”

“And Alcott was never out of sight of the detectives?”

“No, sir.”

Leith said, “Well, Scuttle, we’ll have Mrs. Randerman pose as a wealthy woman who wants protection for her jewelry. I’ll be her husband. I’ll have to disguise myself, of course. I’ll use some padding to make me appear heavier and use the false mustache. I think the white walrus mustache will be appropriate.”

“Even so, sir, you’re a young man, and—”

“I’ll make myself up carefully,” Leith said, “and I’ll let you in on a secret, Scuttle.”

“Yes, sir,” the spy said.

“My eyes,” Leith said, “are going to be very, very weak. I can’t stand any strong light. My interviews with Betcher will be in a darkened room, a room so dark that he will barely have a good look at me. That will keep him from being suspicious. It will also keep him from spotting that the gems are imitations.”

The spy said, “By George, it does fit in, doesn’t it?”

“What, Scuttle?”

“All of those things you wanted.”