Эрл Гарднер - The Amazing Adventures of Lester Leith

She watched him with an impassive countenance on which there was not the slightest flicker of expression, but just as the valet returned with the moistened sponge, she lowered her own right lid, although her face remained as calmly placid as though it were carved from old ivory.

“Now then,” Leith said, “if you’ll just take this slate, Scuttle, and clean it with the wet sponge. Make absolutely certain that there is no writing on it.”

“Yes, sir,” the valet said, wiping off the surfaces of the slate.

“Now take it into the bathroom, get a towel, and dry it carefully.”

Beaver produced a towel and carefully dried the slate.

“Now,” Leith said, “I don’t want you to let that slate out of your sight, Scuttle. First, we’ll put a piece of pencil between the leaves of the slate. Hold it open, Scuttle, just so. That’s right. Now we’ll close it, and you might take it over and place it on that table in the far corner of the room, being careful not to take your eyes from it for even a moment.”

The valet did as he was instructed.

“Now, Scuttle, watch closely. See if you can see the spirits.”

“The spirits, sir?”

“Yes, Scuttle, the... There they are!”

A faint squeaking noise became distinctly audible.

“Good heavens, sir!” the valet exclaimed. “Is that noise coming from — from the slate?”

“From the slate, Scuttle.”

Beaver’s eyes widened.

“And now, Scuttle,” Leith said, as the noise ceased, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a message from the unseen world.”

“But surely, sir, you’re fooling.”

“Not at all, Scuttle. Just pick up the slate and bring it to me. Ah, that’s right.”

Leith took the slate from the valet. Only the Chinese girl noticed the manner in which he fumbled with the catch as he opened the double slate.

A message, written in a distinctly feminine hand, appeared across the inner surface of the slate. It read: First warning. Be very careful, Beaver, not to tell any falsehoods after you have started for Honolulu. Ruth.

The spy was visibly shaken. “Good heavens!” he said.

Leith frowned. “What the devil are they talking about, Scuttle?”

“Who?” the spy asked.

“The spirits. And what is all this about a trip to Honolulu?”

“I assure you, sir, I don’t know.”

“And who is Ruth? Someone perhaps who has gone to the other shore, Scuttle?”

“The other shore, sir?”

“Yes, Scuttle. I—”

“Good grief!” the valet suddenly exclaimed, staring at Leith with eyes which seemed about to bulge from their sockets.

“What is it, Scuttle?”

“Ruth!” Beaver exclaimed. “My wife!”

“Your wife, Scuttle? I didn’t know you were married.”

“It was some time ago, sir. I was married for two years. But she was — she was killed in an auto accident.”

Leith said, closing the slate as though that disposed of the matter, “Undoubtedly, Scuttle, the message is from your departed wife who wishes to warn you against the result of any falsehood should you take a trip to Honolulu.”

Beaver turned pale. “It’s uncanny.”

“Oh, quite,” Leith said airily, dismissing the subject. “But we can’t neglect these other boxes, Scuttle.”

The spy took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. “If it’s all the same to you, sir,” he said, “I’d like to postpone the rest of it for a while. I’m feeling shaky, sir. I—”

Leith said, “That’s all right, Scuttle. You’d better have a drink. Perhaps Miss Foy will join us.”

The Chinese girl shook her head.

“Well,” Leith said, “a couple of Scotch and sodas, Scuttle — or perhaps you’d prefer to make yours a double brandy?”

“Yes, sir, I would.”

When the valet had filled the glasses, Leith sat on the arm of a chair, casually sipping his Scotch and soda. “Do you know, Scuttle,” he said, “there’s one other thing I didn’t get.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“A stooge.”

“But I don’t understand.”

“Did you ever see a magician on the stage?”

“Yes, sir, a couple of times.”

“Then you’ve noticed that a magician is invariably accompanied by a young stage assistant, a very beautiful young woman who is easy on the eye and whose skirts are always very short?”

“Yes, sir, I do remember that.”

Scuttle was puzzled.

“Exactly, Scuttle,” Leith said. “That’s the first principle of stage magic — divided attention. The idea is that the hand is quicker than the eye, but the eye can’t watch the hand when it’s stealing glances at a pair of beautiful legs. So what we need, Scuttle, is a girl with beautiful legs.”

“Yes, sir. Do you wish me to get you one, sir?”

“No, Scuttle, I will select my own stooge.”

And Lester Leith abruptly left the apartment.

The man who ran the theatrical employment agency was frankly skeptical.

“Do I understand,” he said, “that you wish to hire a young woman who has been thrown out of employment by the recent drive against burlesque shows?”

“That’s exactly it,” Leith said. “I want a young woman who is beautiful, who is accustomed to the public admiration of her curves, and who has just about given up hope.”

The agent said, “You might try Ora Sanders. That poor kid certainly has had a tough time. Last Friday her roommate tried to commit suicide. Ora hocked everything she had except the clothes she stood in, and kicked through with every last cent to help the kid out.”

“Where,” Leith asked, “can I find Miss Sanders?”

“I’ll reach her for you. What’s the nature of the employment?”

Leith coughed deprecatingly. “I’m an amateur magician,” he said. “I want a young woman who can assist me.”

“You can’t go wrong on Ora,” the agent said. “Let me give her a ring.”

“If possible,” Leith said, “I’d prefer to see her in her room rather than here in the office, and I’d like to see her right away.”

The agent dialed a number, said, “Miss Sanders, please,” and then, after a moment, “I’m sending a Mr. Leith to discuss employment at fifty dollars a week. Is that satisfactory?... Fine... Yes, almost at once.”

He hung up, and said to Leith, “She’ll be glad to see you. Here’s her address.”

Leith found Ora Sanders to be a blonde with light blue eyes that were waging a losing battle with the fine wrinkles of worry, a determined chin, and smiling lips. Her small, poorly lighted room was well covered with autographed theatrical pictures.

Leith introduced himself.

“Manna from heaven!” she exclaimed. “Come on in.”

“I am in somewhat of a hurry,” Leith explained.

“In that event, you can dispense with telling me that times are hard, that there aren’t many jobs available, and I’ll be fortunate to get work with you; and I’ll dispense with telling you that times aren’t hard for me, that I’ve had two offers lately, but that neither is just what I want, so that I might consider something good.”

Leith smiled. “The salary is fifty dollars a week.”

“My agent told me that.”

“Your duties,” Lester said, “will be highly personal.”

“Oh -oh!” she remarked.

“I’m an amateur magician,” Leith went on. “I have noticed that professional magicians usually have a young woman with beautiful legs appear on the stage to hand them their props.”

She stepped back, placed her ankles together, and raised her skirt. “How are my legs?” she asked.

“Perfect,” Leith said. “I can’t imagine anyone in the audience keeping his mind on the disappearing watch with scenery like that to look at.”