Дэшил Хэммет - The Collected Dashiell Hammett

“What seems to have happened,” he went on, “is that some bird come in here all by himself, put Mr. Barnable and his help under the gun, took ’em for what was in the safe, and blew out, trampling over some folks that got in his way. He then beat it up to Powell Street, jumped into a car, and what more do you want to know?”

“At what time did this occur?”

“Right after twelve o’clock, Mr. Thin — not more than a couple of minutes after, if that many,” said Mr. Barnable, who had circled the others to reach my side. His brown eyes were round with excitement in his round brown face, but not especially melancholy, since he was insured against theft in the company on whose behalf I was now acting.

“He makes Julius and me lay down on the floor behind the counter while he robs the safe, and then he backs out. I tell Julius to get up and see if he’s gone, but just then he shoots at me.” Mr. Barnable pointed a spatulate finger at a small hole in the rear wall, near the ceiling. “So I didn’t let Julius get up till I was sure he’d gone. Then I phoned the police and your office.”

“Was anyone else, anyone besides you and Julius, in the store when the robber entered?”

“No. We hadn’t had anyone in for maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Would you be able to identify the robber if you were to see him again, Mr. Barnable?”

“Would I? Say, Mr. Thin, would Carpentier know Dempsey?”

This counter-question, which seemed utterly irrelevant, was intended, I assumed, as an affirmative.

“Kindly describe him for me, Mr. Barnable.”

“He was maybe forty years old and tough-looking, a fellow just about your size and complexion.” I am, in height and weight, of average size, and my complexion might best be described as medium, so there was nothing in any way peculiar about my having these points of resemblance to the robber; still I felt that the jeweler had been rather tactless in pointing them out. “His mouth was kind of pushed in, without much lips, and his nose was long and flattish, and he had a scar on one side of his face. A real tough-looking fellow!”

“Will you describe the scar in greater detail, Mr. Barnable?”

“It was back on his cheek, close to his ear, and ran all the way down from under his cap to his jawbone.”

“Which cheek, Mr. Barnable?”

“The left,” he said tentatively, looking at Julius, his sharp-featured young assistant. When Julius nodded, the jeweler repeated, with certainty, “The left.”

“How was he dressed, Mr. Barnable?”

“A blue suit and that cap the sergeant has got. I didn’t notice anything else.”

“His eyes and hair, Mr. Barnable?”

“Didn’t notice.”

“Exactly what did he take, Mr. Barnable?”

“I haven’t had time to check up yet, but he took all the unset stones that were in the safe — mostly diamonds. He must have got fifty thousand dollars’ worth if he got a nickel!”

I permitted a faint smile to show on my lips while I looked coldly at the jeweler.

“In the event that we fail to recover the stones, Mr. Barnable, you are aware that the insurance company will require proof of the purchase of every missing item.”

He fidgeted, screwing his round face up earnestly.

“Well, anyways, he got twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth, if it’s the last thing I ever say in this world, Mr. Thin, on my word of honor as a gentleman.”

“Did he take anything besides the unset stones, Mr. Barnable?”

“Those and some money that was in the safe — about two hundred dollars.”

“Will you please draw up a list immediately, Mr. Barnable, with as accurate a description of each missing item as possible. Now what evidence have we, Sergeant Hooley, of the robber’s subsequent actions?”

“Well, first thing, he subsequently bumped into Mrs. Dolan as he was making his getaway. Seems she was—”

“Mrs. Dolan has an account here,” the jeweler called from the rear of the store when he and Julius had gone to comply with my request. Sergeant Hooley jerked his thumb at the woman who stood on my left.

She was a woman of fewer years than forty, with humorous brown eyes set in a healthily pink face. Her clothes, while neat, were by no means new or stylish, and her whole appearance was such as to cause the adjective “capable” to come into one’s mind, an adjective further justified by the crisp freshness of the lettuce and celery protruding from the top of the shopping-bag in her arms.

“Mrs. Dolan is manager of an apartment building on Ellis Street,” the jeweler concluded his introduction, while the woman and I exchanged smiling nods.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnable. Proceed, Sergeant Hooley.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thin. Seems she was coming in to make a payment on her watch, and just as she put a foot inside the door, this stick-up backed into her, both of them taking a tumble. Mr. Knight, here, saw the mix-up, ran in, knocked the thug loose from his cap and gun, and chased him up the street.”

One of the men present laughed deprecatorily past an upraised sunburned hand which held a pair of gloves. He was a weather-browned man of athletic structure, tall and broad-shouldered, and dressed in loose tweeds.

“My part wasn’t as heroic as it sounds,” he protested. “I was getting out of my car, intending to go across to the Orpheum for tickets, when I saw this lady and the man collide. Crossing the sidewalk to help her up, nothing was further from my mind than that the man was a bandit. When I finally saw his gun he was actually on the point of shooting at me. I had to hit him, and luckily succeeded in doing so just as he pulled the trigger. When I recovered from my surprise I saw he had dropped his gun and run up the street, so I set out after him. But it was too late. He was gone.”

“Thank you, Mr. Knight. Now, Sergeant Hooley, you say the bandit escaped in a car?”

“Thank you, Mr. Thin,” he said idiotically, “I did. Mr. Glenn here saw him.”

“I was standing on the corner,” said Mr. Glenn, a plump man with what might be called the air of a successful salesman.

“Pardon me, Mr. Glenn, what corner?”

“The corner of Powell and O’Farrell,” he said, quite as if I should have known it without being told. “The northeast corner, if you want it exactly, close to the building line. This bandit came up the street and got into a coupé that was driving up Powell Street. I didn’t pay much attention to him. If I heard the shot I took it for an automobile noise. I wouldn’t have noticed the man if he hadn’t been bare-headed, but he was the man Mr. Barnable described — scar, pushed-in mouth, and all.”

“Do you know the make or license number of the car he entered, Mr. Glenn?”

“No, I don’t. It was a black coupé, and that’s all I know. I think it came from the direction of Market Street. A man was driving it, I believe, but I didn’t notice whether he was young or old or anything about him.”

“Did the bandit seem excited, Mr. Glenn? Did he look back?”

“No, he was as cool as you please, didn’t even seem in a hurry. He just walked up the street and got into the coupé, not looking to right or left.”

“Thank you, Mr. Glenn. Now can anyone amplify or amend Mr. Barnable’s description of the bandit?”

“His hair was gray,” Mr. Glenn said, “iron-gray.”

Mrs. Dolan and Mr. Knight concurred in this, the former adding, “I think he was older than Mr. Barnable said — closer to fifty than to forty — and his teeth were brown and decayed in front.”

“They were, now that you mention it,” Mr. Knight agreed.

“Is there any other light on the matter, Sergeant Hooley?”

“Not a twinkle. The shotgun cars are out after the coupé, and I reckon when the papers get out we’ll be hearing from more people who saw things, but you know how they are.”