“Milford? Never heard of him. What does he do?... Oh, yes. Well, you see he’s a building contractor, and you’re a building contractor, Mr. Underwood. It would look a little better if you had someone who was in an entirely different profession... How’s that? A doctor? Well, with a doctor, there’s always a feeling that his judgment is more anatomical than esthetic. We’d like someone who is in an entirely different branch of work from what you are. A baker, an undertaker, a detective, a— How’s that?... What’s his name?... How do you spell it?... Oh, Lame. L-a-m-e; yes, Robert Lame. You say he’s a detective?... Yes, that’ll be fine. He’ll make an excellent second judge. Now, whom would you want for a third?... Charles Sweeney, and he’s in the real estate business. That’ll be fine, Mr. Underwood. Now, the judging will take place at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock on the dot. I’ve rented a sample room in the Maplewood Hotel. The girls will be instructed to come there... That’s right, you’ll award only one prize — five hundred dollars in cash... Yes. Now, if you’ll kindly ring up the other judges and make certain they can serve, then call me back and let me know. My number is Bayshore 69237... That’s right; ask for Mr. Killigen.”
Killigen hung up the telephone, and grinned at me.
“Now, what,” I asked, “is the big idea?”
“Giving the girls a break,” he said.
“You’d better talk to the cashier of the bank before you issue that check,” I warned. “You know it’s a felony to issue checks without funds in the bank.”
“Phooey,” he said. “There are enough loopholes in that law to drive a horse and buggy through. Besides, no one pays any attention to it these days, anyway. However, if you insist, I’ll have a talk with him. Get him on the telephone.”
I got the cashier. Barney Killigen turned loose his personality. Yes, he had a deposit which was coming through within two or three days, rather a substantial deposit, he couldn’t tell the exact amount, somewhere between five thousand and ten thousand dollars. And, incidentally, he was issuing a five hundred dollar check — unless they made the check good, the fee wouldn’t come through, and then the bank would lose the amount of its overdraft... Oh, sure, he’d sign a note for it, but there’d be no need of going to all that bother, because he’d be down within a couple of days with a deposit. The fee’s already in the bag... Yes, definitely, before the first of the month.
He hung up, with a breezy nonchalance. “All right,” he said, “that’s settled. Now then, we need the skunk and the bathing beauties.”
“I take it,” I asked, “this whole thing is engineered for the purpose of getting Detective Lame at a certain place at a certain time?”
“You,” he told me, “are getting rather observing. Now, here’s something I’d like to have you do for me — that is, if you’re game.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Drop around to Lame’s bungalow. Give him any name which comes to your mind. Tell him you’re going to enter the bathing beauty contest, put on by Associated Bathing Suits, Inc., and that you want to be certain you win the first prize.”
“Say,” I protested, “what are you talking about? A man like that will try to—”
“Sure, he will,” Killigen said, “and you’ll hand him a great line.”
“Precisely what,” I asked, “is the idea? Do you intend to enter me in that bathing beauty contest?”
He looked me over appraisingly, and said: “We’d be pretty certain to keep the five hundred dollars in the office, if I did, but I don’t intend to subject you to that indignity. I just want to make certain that Lame appreciates the possibilities of the situation, and considers that bathing beauty contest an absolutely essential part of his life. Moreover, you’ll plant the skunk in—”
The telephone rang. Barney Killigen scooped up the receiver, and said:
“Yes, Mr. Underwood... They did, eh?... Well, that’s fine... That’s right... Yes, I’m a lawyer. I handle a general practice. You’ll notice an ad in the classified column tomorrow: ‘Bathing beauties wanted, professional models. A five hundred dollar check for not more than ten hours’ posing given to the lucky model.’... That’s right, professionals only. We want them to look well in bathing suits... Why the devil should we care how you pick them? Just get us someone who looks like a million dollars in a bathing suit... Use your own judgment. Have them stand on their heads and swivel their eyes, if you want them to... All right, thank you. Good-bye.”
Barney Killigen grinned across the desk at me. “Hook, line, and sinker,” he said.
“And where do you want the wild skunk delivered?” I asked.
“To the office,” he said, “in a box suitable for carrying, with holes bored for ventilation, and the owner must guarantee that the skunk is in a... er... quiescent state when delivered.”
“Now, let’s get this straight,” I said. “All you want me to do is to call on Robert Lame, and tell him that I want him to pick me for the winner of the beauty contest?”
“Well,” Killigen said, with a grin, “there’s one other little thing you’ll have to do.”
“The skunk?” I asked.
“Yes. You’ll take this quiescent, stupefied, slumbering skunk, and surreptitiously plant him in Lame’s bungalow.”
“Perhaps it’s an apartment,” I said.
“No,” he told me, “it’s a bungalow. I’ve looked him up. His wife is away, visiting her mother. He’s there alone.”
“What,” I asked, “is the idea?”
“The idea,” he said, “is multifarious — and nefarious. The whole case hinges on Lame. Lame identifies the defendants and their machine. Yet Lame can’t swear the defendant, Grayson, ever touched a single gem. Lame was unconscious all the time Grayson was in the room. Now, much may happen while a man is unconscious. I can argue that point to the jury — and the jury won’t listen. I need to clinch the point — drive it home — and a live skunk is the answer.”
“I know almost as much as I did before,” I said.
He nodded. “So many people don’t,” he remarked conversationally.
I gave up. “Now listen. I’ll tell you exactly what I’ll do, and that’s all I’ll do. I’ll go to Lame’s bungalow. I’ll pull the bathing beauty line with him, but I won’t go any farther. I won’t let him date me. I won’t even bother to kid the man along, and if he comes within two feet of me, I’ll slap his damn face.”
“And you’ll plant the skunk?” he asked.
I sighed. After all, there was no resisting Barney Killigen. “All right,” I said, “I’ll plant the skunk.”
V
Barney Killigen always claimed you could get anything on earth by using an intelligently written want ad in the newspapers, and the “quiescent” skunk which I carried in the little black handbag, perforated with breathing holes to keep the air fresh, went a long way toward proving his contention. It had been supplied by a doctor, who had gone in for vivisection in a large way, lived out in the country, and was not at all averse to picking up the extra money — supplementing the rather meager income of a small practice. A faint odor of ether emanated from the bag, but none of the polecat smell was detectable.