Sergeant Ackley squinted one eye. “It’s sort of a fool letter to write.”
“I know, but it will make Leith think I’m on the level with him.”
Ackley nodded. “Go on out and pick up the candy. Bring it back here and we’ll stick in the rubies.”
It took Beaver an hour to get the candy and the soldering iron and return to headquarters. Sergeant Ackley was pacing the floor in the manner of a caged lion.
“Took you long enough, Beaver,” he grunted. “Let’s get busy.”
“The candy in the boxes?” asked Beaver.
“Yeah. Put the rubies in the top row, one in each of four boxes. Mark the boxes and mark the candies that have the rubies in ’em. I’ve thought of a slick way of getting the rubies into the candy. We simply heat the rubies in a pan. Then, when they’re warm, press ’em against the bottoms of the chocolates and let ’em melt in.”
Beaver nodded appreciatively.
“Beats Leith’s idea of the soldering iron,” he agreed.
Sergeant Ackley sneered. “Leith ain’t so brainy. He’s just had the breaks, that’s all. This idea of mine is going to put him where he belongs.”
“My idea,” corrected Beaver.
Sergeant Ackley scowled. “I’ll let you have some of the credit, Beaver, but don’t try to hog things. I thought of the idea. That is, I outlined the whole thing and was just pointing out to you how to handle it when you interrupted and took the words out of my mouth.”
Beaver’s jaw dropped.
They found an alcohol stove and a pan. They heated the rubies and picked up one of the chocolates. One of the hot rubies was pushed through the bottom of the chocolate.
Sergeant Ackley surveyed the result.
“Not so good. Looks kinda messy,” he said.
“We can take this electric soldering iron and sort of smooth it over,” said Beaver.
Ackley nodded.
“Watch out. Your fingers are melting the chocolate, leaving fingerprints on it. We don’t want that. Better wear gloves. That’s the way they do it in the candy factories.”
They heated the iron and held it against the chocolate. When they had finished, the result was hardly artistic.
“Well,” said Sergeant Ackley, “I guess it’ll get by; but we won’t need to mark the chocolates that have the gems in them.”
“No,” agreed the undercover man.
Beaver picked up the carton containing the boxes of chocolates. The last word he heard as he sidled out of Ackley’s private office was a petulant comment from the sergeant.
“I’m not so sure, Beaver, that idea of yours is any good...”
Lester Leith beamed on the undercover man.
“Well, well, Scuttle, you have had a busy afternoon, haven’t you? And you’ve done nobly — the candy, the soldering iron, even a letter from Sergeant Ackley written on police stationery, stating that I can buy anything I want. That’s fine!
“Now let’s see if I can melt one of the candies and insert one of the red cinnamon drops. We’ll pretend that the cinnamon drop represents a ruby.”
Leith connected the electric soldering iron and set to work. When he was finished, there was chocolate smeared over his fingers, his face was flushed, and three chocolate creams were now sloppy and formless.
“How long did this Griggy the Gat have in the candy shop?”
“Not more than fifteen or twenty minutes, sir.”
“Then he couldn’t have done it, Scuttle.”
“Couldn’t have done what, sir?”
“Hid the gems in the candy.”
“Begging your pardon, sir. Couldn’t he have done a better job if he’d heated the stones and pressed them into the chocolate, and then finished the job with the hot iron?”
Lester Leith stared at his man with narrowed eyes.
“Scuttle, have you been experimenting?”
“Not exactly, sir. That is to say, no sir. And by the way, sir, while I think of it, I picked up a bit of gossip at headquarters. It seems four of the stones have been found by the police.”
The valet told Leith how the four stones were recovered.
When he had finished, Lester Leith was chuckling.
“Scuttle, that’s all the information I needed to give me a perfect, solution to the crime.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Yes, Scuttle. But of course, you understand it’s only a theoretical solution, and I do not intend to put it to any practical use.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And now I have some errands for you before the stores close. I want you to get me four genuine pearls of the finest luster. I want a package of cornstarch. I want some quick-drying cement and some powdered alum.”
The valet was rubbing his jaw.
“And, Scuttle,” said Lester Leith beamingly, “you’ve heard of daylight saving, of course. What do you think of it?”
“It’s inconvenient in the mornings, sir, but convenient in the evening.”
“Yes, indeed, Scuttle. Yet a moment’s thought will convince you that it hasn’t saved any daylight. It’s merely kidded man into believing that there is more daylight. The days aren’t any longer. Man simply gets up earlier.”
“Yes, sir. I guess so, sir.”
“Yes, indeed, Scuttle. But it’s a great plan. However, we shouldn’t limit it to clock juggling. Why not carry it to its logical conclusion and have a heat-saving plan? Why not have perpetual summer?”
The valet was interested, but dazed.
“How could you do that, sir?”
“I’ll show you. It’s now the second of November.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well, Scuttle. You see that calendar hanging against the wall?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Watch it.”
And Lester Leith, stepping to the calendar, tore off the month of November. He did the same for December. Next year’s calendar was underneath, and from this he removed January, February, March, April, May, and June. The month that remained on top was July.
“There we are, Scuttle. We simply set the calendar ahead eight months. We now have summer with us. See, according to the calendar it’s July second. Think of what it means to suffering humanity. Summer is here, and we haven’t had a single cold spell. Winter is over! Rejoice, Scuttle!”
The valet-spy sank into a chair.
“Have you gone stark raving mad?” he demanded.
“No,” said Lester Leith, pursing his lips judiciously, “I think not, Scuttle. Why do you suggest it?”
“But, good Lord, sir, simply tearing off the calendar won’t make summer come any quicker.”
“Why, you surprise me, Scuttle. You admit daylight saving gives us an hour more of daylight.”
“Well, that’s different. You said yourself it was merely a scheme by which men kid themselves.”
“Certainly, Scuttle. And that’s all tearing off the leaves of the calendar does. Come, come, Scuttle, enter into the spirit of the thing. It’s the second of July, and you’ve got the heat on. Shut the heat off, and then start out and get me the pearls and the cornstarch and the alum, and quick-drying cement. And you had better get a small crucible and a blowtorch too.
“Some of the things you’ll have to pay cash for, Scuttle. The pearls you can charge. Get them at Hendricksen’s, and he can telephone me for an okay on the order if he wishes. But get started, Scuttle. Even in these long summer days the stores close promptly at five o’clock.”
“It isn’t, summer, sir, it’s the second day of November.”
“Tut, tut, Scuttle, don’t be such an old fossil! Adapt yourself to the times!”
The valet, shaking his head, shut off the steam heat and slipped from the apartment. Lester Leith opened the windows, and the cold of the late November afternoon crept into the room.
From a public telephone booth Scuttle reported to Sergeant Ackley and his report sounded strangely garbled.
Sergeant Ackley muttered a curse over the wire.