Эрл Гарднер - The Adventures of Paul Pry

“For God’s sake!” said Mugs Magoo, “don’t! You’re going to drive me crazy with that thing!”

Paul Pry shook his head, started tapping the wooden stick against the bulge of the drum. A throbbing sound filled the apartment, a sound which had a peculiar wooden resonance which trailed off into vibrating overtones.

Mugs Magoo frantically downed the whiskey, poured himself another drink, gulped it, then shivered and sat motionless. After a moment, he placed his one hand against his ear.

“I can shut out half of the sound, anyhow,” he said, at length.

Paul Pry paid no attention to him, but continued tapping upon the drum at regular intervals.

“What’s the idea of all the drumming now?” asked Mugs Magoo.

“I’m trying to concentrate,” said Paul Pry. “I think I almost have the solution I want.”

Abruptly, he ceased drumming and smiled benignly at Mugs. “Yes, Mugs,” he said, “I have the solution.”

Mugs Magoo shivered. “It’ll be another five minutes,” he said, “before that whiskey takes effect. I was spared five minutes of torture anyway. What is the solution?”

Paul Pry set down the Mok Yeitt . He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulled out an envelope, the flap of which had been steamed open, and took out a letter and a tinted oblong of paper.

“Mugs,” he said, “I have here a letter bearing the angular signature of Perry C Hammond, a multi-millionaire. Let me read it to you.

“Mr. Fremont Burke,

General Delivery,

City.

Dear Mr. Burke:

I herewith comply with your request. You will find enclosed my cheque for twenty-five thousand dollars, payable to bearer. I wish to assure you that no attempt whatever will be made to interfere with the cashing of that cheque. On the other hand, I have notified my bankers by telephone that the cheque represents the transfer of consideration in a bona fide business deal, and that they are to promptly honour the cheque when it is presented.

Trusting that this complies in full with your demands and that I may now be at liberty to consider the matter closed, I am,

Very truly yours,

Mugs Magoo stared at Paul Pry. “A cheque,” he said, “for twenty-five thousand dollars?”

Paul Pry nodded. “And don’t forget, Mugs,” he said, “that it’s payable to bearer.”

“But,” said Mugs Magoo, “who is the bearer?”

Paul Pry got to his feet, replaced the wooden fish in the drum closet, closed the door, turned to Mugs and smiled once more. “Mugs,” he said, “I am the bearer.”

Mugs Magoo stared at him with eyes that seemed to pop from his head. “My God!” he said. “You’ve been mixing into things again! You’re going to have the police after you for theft, Perry Hammond after you for fraud, and probably the man who pulls the cross-stitch murders after you, hammer and tongs, trying to kill you and sew your lips up!”

Paul Pry pursed his lips thoughtfully, then nodded his head.

“Yes, Mugs,” he said, “I should say that that is a very fair statement of the probable consequences. In fact, I would say that it is a somewhat conservative estimate.”

Smiling, he crossed to the writing desk and pulled down the slab of heavy wood which served as a writing table. He explored the pigeon holes which were disclosed in the back of the desk.

“You will remember, Mugs,” he said, “that at one time I secured a long, purple envelope, with a red border. You asked me what the devil I wanted with such an envelope, and I told you that I was keeping it because it was distinctive.”

Mugs Magoo nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I remember that.”

Paul Pry took a fountain pen from his pocket and addressed the purple envelope with the red border.

“Mr. Fremont Burke, General Delivery, City,” he said when he had finished writing. “The red ink shows up rather to advantage on that purple background. It makes it quite harmonious.”

“What’s in the envelope?” asked Mugs Magoo.

“Nothing,” said Paul Pry.

“What’s going to be in it?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s the idea?” asked Mugs Magoo.

Paul Pry smiled. He took from another compartment of the desk a stamped envelope. He addressed that envelope also to Fremont Burke, General Delivery, City.

“What’s going in that envelope?” asked Mugs Magoo.

“In this envelope,” said Paul Pry, smiling, “is going the best forgery of this cheque which I can make, and I’m satisfied, Mugs, that it will be quite a clever forgery.”

Mugs Magoo stared at Paul Pry in wordless contemplation. Then, “You’re going to cash the original cheque?” he asked.

Paul Pry nodded.

“How about the forged cheque?” asked Mugs Magoo.

Paul Pry shrugged his shoulders. “That, Mugs,” he said, “is a matter which lies between the bank and the man who presents the cheque.”

“But,” said Mugs Magoo, “suppose the forged cheque should be presented first?”

Paul Pry smiled patronizingly. “Come, come, Mugs,” he said, “you must give me credit for a little intelligence. The original cheque will be cashed before the forged cheque ever reaches the post office.”

“And what,” asked Mugs Magoo, “is the idea of the two letters — one in the coloured envelope and one in the plain envelope?”

“That, Mugs,” said Paul Pry, “comes under that classification of a trade secret. Really, it’s something that I can’t tell you unless you permit me to do a little more drumming.”

Mugs Magoo shook his head violently from side to side in extreme agitation.

“What’s the idea of the shake?” asked Paul Pry.

“I wanted to see if the whiskey had taken effect,” said Mugs Magoo. “If it had, I’d let you drum some more, but I see that I either didn’t get enough whiskey, or else I misjudged the time it would take to make me dizzy. I can’t stand the drumming, so you can keep your damned trade secret to yourself.”

Paul Pry chuckled and thrust the envelopes into his inside pocket. “Tomorrow at this time, Mugs, I’ll be twenty-five thousand dollars richer. Moreover, I’ll be embarked upon an interesting adventure.”

“Tomorrow at this time,” said Mugs Magoo, with solemn melancholy, “you’ll be stretched out on a marble slab, and a coroner and an autopsy surgeon will be staring at the cross-stitches that are placed across your lips.”

Paul Pry, wearing an overcoat which was turned up around the neck, a felt hat which was pulled down low over his forehead, and with heavily smoked glasses shielding his eyes, shoved the cheque through the cashier’s window.

The cashier stared at Paul Pry’s smoked glasses, looked at the check, said, “Just a moment,” and stepped from his grilled cage. He consulted a memorandum, looked at the check once more, sighed, and, with obvious reluctance, picked up a sheaf of currency.

“How,” he asked, “would you like to have this?”

“In hundreds,” said Paul Pry, “if that’s convenient.”

The cashier counted out hundred dollar bills in lots of ten, stacked them all together and snapped a large elastic band about them.

“You’ll take them that way?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You wish to count them?”

“No,” said Paul Pry, and turned away.

His long overcoat flapped about his ankles as he walked. He could feel the gaze of the cashier striking between his shoulder blades with almost physical impact.

Paul Pry went at once to the post office, where he dropped the two letters through the slot marked for city mail. Then he went out to lunch, and, after lunch, he strolled back to the post office.

He managed to stand where, without seeming to be too conspicuous, he could watch the window marked “General Delivery — A to G.”