They reached the eighth floor and crossed to Room 821. Johnny took out his key to unlock the door, but before he could insert the key into the lock, the door was opened from inside and Lieutenant Madigan of Homicide said pleasantly, “Fletcher, old man, how are you?”
“The cops!” cried Sam.
“Damn that Peabody,” snapped Johnny. “He let you in, didn’t he?”
“How could he keep me out?” Lieutenant Madigan asked cheerfully. He sized up Sam. “You lost some weight.”
“I been off my feed.”
“You want to watch that,” Madigan said. “Well, shall we sit down and talk?”
There were only two chairs in the room, but Madigan made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed. Johnny, going to the big Morris chair by the window, saw that the drawers of the single dresser in the room had been pulled out.
“You been goin’ through our things?” he accused.
“Naturally.”
Madigan was a big man, around forty. He was an efficient policeman, thoroughly honest and fair — but he was a policeman. He had known Johnny and Sam for years, but Johnny knew that that acquaintance meant nothing to the detective when he was investigating a case.
Madigan pointed to the folded newspaper in Johnny’s hand. “You’ve been reading about it, I see.”
“We shoulda grabbed the subway,” Sam said bitterly.
“Miss Cummings told you we’d called on her,” Johnny said bluntly. “Did she tell you why?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t very nice. I’m surprised at you, Fletcher.”
“A buck is a buck,” Johnny said. “Nobody likes a bill collector, but I needed the money and the lady could afford to pay.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the reason we called on Miss Cummings. You said she told you.”
“She said you tried to blackmail her.”
“Whoa!” cried Johnny. “Blackmail! That’s a dirty word—”
“Murder’s a dirtier word. Blackmail sometimes leads to murder.”
“Let’s back up about four sentences,” Johnny said. “I called on the little lady for one reason and for one reason only — to collect a bill she owed for a fur coat she bought four years ago and didn’t pay for.”
Lieutenant Madigan looked skeptically at Johnny. “Johnny Fletcher, a bill collector?”
“Why not?” retorted Johnny. “Who knows better than a deadbeat how to collect from another deadbeat?”
The homicide lieutenant chuckled. “You called yourself a deadbeat!”
“I’ve cut a few corners in my time. I’m leveling with you. You’ve known me for a long time. We’re broke — flat. Peabody’s going to throw us out tomorrow. So then this fellow from the A.A.A. came around—”
“A.A.A.?”
“Acme Adjustment Agency.”
“On account of the mandolin,” Sam Cragg cut in. “They said that a child could play it and—” His eyes went to Johnny’s scowling face and he broke off.
“A mandolin that a child could play,” the lieutenant prodded.
“That’s beside the point,” Johnny said irritably. “The point is this skip tracer and I had a... a discussion—”
“After I bounced him with a snap mare,” chimed in Sam.
“One word led to another,” Johnny went on, “and I made a bet with him. Ten bucks that I could trace and collect any skip he had in his pocket. He handed me this...” Johnny brought the A.A.A. card on Alice Cummings from his pocket.
The lieutenant grabbed it from his hand. He studied it thoughtfully for a moment. “A fur coat for sixty-nine ninety-five. She’s got a mink now.”
“But she never paid for the rabbit fur until today.”
“She paid?”
“She paid. That’s what I’m telling you. We went up there to collect. She got sore, but I wouldn’t go without the dough.”
Madigan snapped a finger at the card. “This gives her address as the Chesterton Hotel. How’d you know she was at the Fifth Avenue place?”
“I traced her. Like any good skip tracer would. The doorman at the Chesterton said he’d seen her getting into a cab with young Carmichael a while ago. Carmichael was easier to trace than Alice, so I switched over to him. I ran him down at the Harover Club and tricked him into telling me her address.”
“You tricked him?” Madigan pounced on that.
“Fast talk, that’s all. So then we called on the little lady. She didn’t want to pay and I might have had a tough time collecting, but then the phone rang. It was the desk down in the lobby announcing Carmichael. She couldn’t get us out fast enough — and she paid. We ran into Carmichael as we left the apartment. He was alive.”
Madigan frowned as he tapped the A.A.A. card. “Your story checks, all right — I mean as far as leaving the apartment just about the time Carmichael went up. About the blackmail stuff, it’s your word against Alice Cummings’s.”
“That card in your fist backs up the bill collecting.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t say that you didn’t put the squeeze on her to collect.”
“What squeeze could I put on her?”
“You could threaten to tell Carmichael about her past.”
“There’s something to tell?”
“How do I know?” Madigan asked irritably. “She’s a showgirl, she’s been around.”
“So has Carmichael the third or fourth. Besides, he wasn’t marrying the doll. Or was he?”
“Mmm, the little lady says so. They were engaged.”
“Carmichael’s old man know about it?”
Lieutenant Madigan hesitated, then shrugged. “Mr. Carmichael isn’t an easy man to reach. I, uh, the deputy commissioner has an appointment to talk to him.”
“I see. You don’t carry enough rank to talk to a big man.”
Madigan scowled. “In the Police Department, we follow protocol.”
“Yeah, sure,” said Johnny.
“What’s proto-protocol?” Sam asked.
There was a discreet knock on the door. Johnny strode to the door and whipped it open. Mr. Peabody took a hesitant step into the room, his eyes going to Lieutenant Madigan.
“I was wondering if you, er, ah—”
“No,” said Johnny bluntly.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Peabody flared up.
“You were about to ask if I was pinched.”
“Well? Since you’re vacating this room tomorrow morning...”
“Who says we are?”
“I say so,” Mr. Peabody said firmly. “There’s a small matter of the rent.”
“Do you have to bring that up in front of my guest?” Johnny demanded.
Lieutenant Madigan chuckled. “It’s like that again, eh?”
“Isn’t it always?” Mr. Peabody asked sarcastically.
Madigan got up and headed for the door. “Don’t leave town, Fletcher. And if you do move, let me know your new address.”
“The New York subway, no doubt,” Peabody declared.
“The Forty-Fifth Street Hotel,” Johnny cried, “tomorrow and the next day and next week.”
“Good luck,” Madigan said and went out.
Mr. Peabody glared at Johnny. “Fletcher, you know there’s no chance of you raising thirty-six dollars between now and tomorrow. Why don’t you give up and—”
“Tomorrow,” Johnny said coldly.
Peabody hesitated, then suddenly shrugged. “Tomorrow — positively!” He went out.
Johnny closed the door and turned to Sam. The latter’s face showed concern. “We gonna sell these coins, Johnny?”
Johnny whipped the door open, looked out to see if Peabody had really gone, then closed the door. “No, Sam,” he said. “We’re not selling these coins until we can make a good deal on them.”
“But how’re we going to raise thirty-six dollars?”
Johnny’s lips pursed up in thought. “It’s about time someone taught Peabody a lesson.”