Frank Gruber - The Talking Clock

“Why, they made a racket that almost drove me nuts.”

“I know that. But what else? Just before they went off. Nick Bos had offered fifty thousand bucks. When the clocks went off, he stuck his head down next to the Talking Clock. Remember? He listened to what it said and when he straightened up, he raised the ante twenty-five G’s… Why?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear the clock say anything… Too much racket…”

“For me, too. But I’m wondering, now. This Bos guy is slick. And so’s Jim Partridge. For five or ten G’s, he wouldn’t be working so hard, but for seventy-five, or more— Say!…”

A strange look came over Johnny Fletcher’s face. Sam, watching, stirred uneasily. “What is it, Johnny?”

“That Dalton dame. Did she pick you up or did you pick her up?”

Sam scratched his head. “Why, I was showing Eddie a couple of tricks in the lobby and she was sitting there. She laughed and then, well, one thing led to another and—”

“Okay, I can guess the rest. So she picked you up. I thought so.”

“What’s wrong about a doll picking me up?” Sam scowled. “After all, I’m not a gorilla and she was a swell dish.”

“A swell decoy.”

“Decoy? What do you mean?”

“I mean, she deliberately struck up an acquaintance with us and then what’d she do — invited us to the Lucky Seven Club. You know what, I’ve a good notion to take her up on that invitation.”

“We can’t. Not with the way our clothes look. We can get some new shirts and things, but our suits aren’t so hot. Not for the Lucky Seven. If we had maybe a hundred bucks or so…”

“Clothes can be had without money. I’ve a good notion to try the bathroom-burglar gag on Peabody, the old skinflint.”

“You mean throw your old suit out of the window, then holler that someone came into the room while you were taking a bath and swiped your suit?”

Johnny chuckled. “I haven’t worked that one in five or six years. I’m afraid it wouldn’t work on Peabody. He’d claim one of us took the other’s clothes out and he’s just mean enough to let us walk through the lobby in our shorts and shirts. No, I’ve got to think of something else.”

Sam began muttering something about “Here we come, jail…” while Johnny sat down on the edge of the bed and copied Rodin’s “Thinker.”

After a moment he began to chuckle and Sam turned a frowning face upon him. “Why don’t we just go down to jail right now and save them the trouble of coming after us?”

Johnny picked up the telephone and said, “Bell captain, please.” Then, “Eddie Miller? This is Johnny Fletcher. Wonder if you can tell me something? Where does Mr. Peabody, the manager, buy his clothes?”

Eddie sniffed. “At Hagemann’s on Broadway, near 40th. I had to take one back there for alterations for him only last week. You wouldn’t want to buy there, though, Mr. Fletcher. It’s a cheap joint.”

“I know. I just wanted to settle an argument with Sam. I said Peabody must have bought his clothes at either Hagemann’s or McGaa’s. I was right.”

He hung up and turned to Sam. “Run down and buy an afternoon paper. Hurry up, we’re going to get some new suits.”

“I don’t like it,” Sam said, but went out.

When he returned with the newspaper, Johnny began paging through it. “Yep, here she is — a nice full-page ad. They’re featuring a blue suit with a white pin stripe at $19.85. Burlap, but better than what we’re wearing now. Have you noticed, Sam, that Mr. Peabody is just about my size?”

“But I couldn’t wear his clothes. I wear a 44 suit.”

“Forty-four, eh?”

Johnny picked up the telephone, while Sam ducked into the bathroom, in order not to hear. A minute later, a man’s voice in the store of Hagemann’s said, gruffly:

“Harley Hagemann talking.”

Johnny raised his voice two scales. “This is Mr. Peabody, manager of the 45th Street Hotel. You know that suit — bought at your store a week or so ago?”

“H’arya, Mr. Peabody. Yeah. I remember the suit. We made an alteration for you.”

“That’s right. Well, I had a very unfortunate experience with that suit. My uncle came to visit me here and sitting down on my desk, upset a big bottle of ink and ruined both our suits. I wonder if you could do me a personal favor, Mr. Hagemann…”

“Why, certainly, Mr. Peabody. You’d like a new suit, huh?”

“Precisely. You have my measurements there. I’ve been looking in today’s paper and I notice you’re featuring a very nice blue suit, with a white pin stripe, at $19.85…”

“And a steal at that price, Mr. Peabody. It’s positively worth $45.00, that suit. On Fift’ Avenue it’d cost you—”

“Yes, yes,” Johnny cut in, mimicking Peabody’s impatient tone. “I understand all that. But here’s the favor. I can’t leave the hotel now, and I must have a new suit for this evening. Can’t you — taking my measurements — rush a suit of that style and price right over here to the hotel?”

“We certainly could, Mr. Peabody. We got it in all sizes.”

“Splendid. At the same time, send over another suit, for my uncle — let’s see, Uncle, you say you wear size 44? That’s right, another suit of the same material, only size 44… And put them both on my bill. Yes?”

Johnny squinted as he waited for the answer to the last question. If Peabody didn’t have a charge account or Hagemann didn’t think him worthy of a little credit, the game was up.

But Hagemann made the correct answer. “Of course, Mr. Peabody. I’ll put it on your bill… How soon you want the suits?”

“Immediately. I may not be in the office when the boy brings them, but just leave them at the desk for me.”

Johnny hung up and called to Sam. “Quick Sam, run across the street to the haberdashers and buy us each a nice shirt… and on the way back, pick up a white carnation.”

“Why the carnation?”

“Peabody always wears one, doesn’t he? And so do most of the hotel clerks. It’s just like a badge… Hurry!…”

Johnny took a quick shower, while Sam got the shirts. When Sam returned, Johnny took the pins out of his shirt and put it on. The white carnation he carefully put into his breast pocket.

“Now,” he said to Sam, “Hagemann’s is on Broadway, near 40th. They’ll send the messenger here with the suits. It’s your job to get outside the hotel and take up a post about fifty feet up the street. When you see someone with two suit boxes, or a big box that might contain two suits, you take a quick gander and make sure the name Hagemann is on the box, then you run ahead into the hotel and give me the high sign. I need thirty seconds to get out the white carnation and set the stage. Understand?… You can’t miss up.”

“Oh, I’ll do it,” groaned Sam. “But there’s going to be hell to pay when Peabody gets his bill. He’ll suspect us, right off the bat…”

“No, he won’t. Because in a day or two, after I get forty bucks, I’m going to step down to Hagemann’s and pay them for our suits. Or I’ll send Eddie Miller down with the money. Peabody need never know that we used his credit…”

They went downstairs and Johnny seated himself in the lobby near the door. Sam went outside.

Peabody was nowhere in sight.

Eddie Miller strolled over. “The boss just stuck a French Key in a guy’s room on the fourth floor. The poor guy owed only three weeks’ rent.”

Johnny shuddered. “Thanks for telling me, Eddie. I don’t feel so bad now.”

Sam Cragg burst into the hotel, saw Johnny and headed for the elevator. Johnny got up quickly, took the carnation out of his pocket and put it into his lapel. Then he started toward the door.