“Did she scream when you jerked the brooch from her?”
Jonathon answered the questions patiently, as carefully as he could. Finally they trooped off. That is, all but one. A lean gray news hound whom Jonathon had seen a few times before about town stuck behind.
“My name is Lafferty,” he said. “You’ve done some writing haven’t you? Play or something wasn’t it?” Jonathon nodded, pleased in spite of himself that anyone should know of that.
“You aren’t the guilty party in this thing are you?” Lafferty asked casually.
“No,” Jonathon said wearily. “I’m not. But nobody listens to me.”
“They will,” Lafferty said. “This little masquerade is about over.” Nastee watched the reporter leave with a troubled look in his eye.
“Something’s up, Tink,” he said positively. “What do you know about it?”
Tink swung gracefully from one bar to another like a trapeze artist.
“You’ll see,” he said coyly, “you’ll see.”
The day dragged by and night settled over the city. At eleven o’clock the warden opened the door to Jonathon’s cell.
“Your bail has just been taken care of,” he said.
“By whom?” Jonathon asked.
“Max Swart. He also wants to see you as soon as you can make it from here to his place. He sent his car here and it’s waiting for you.”
Jonathon left in such a hurry that Tink and Nastee barely had time to rub the sleep out of their eyes and leap to their accustomed spot on his shoulder. On the trip through the city in Max Swart’s smooth car Jonathon racked his brain for an answer to the puzzle of Max Swart’s interest in him. But nothing he arrived at made sense so he gave up.
When he reached the duplex apartment where Swart lived he was whisked to the penthouse in a waiting elevator and led into the Swart apartment by an obsequious butler. Through heavily carpeted corridors and finally to the library. The butler threw wide the double doors of oak and Jonathon was on his own.
Seated behind a huge desk in the center of the room was Max Swart. Jonathon entered the room and saw that Lola was seated in an overstuffed chair in the corner and Lafferty, the news-hound, was leaning against the wall.
“My boy,” Max cried jovially, “Welcome to the shack.”
“Lemme talk,” Lafferty said bluntly. “Something stinks about this whole deal and that’s why I got you together. In the first place Swart I think the robbery was phoney, a press agent’s gag. This lad didn’t take the brooch, in fact nobody took it, but you wanted the public to think this particular person did take it.”
Swart shrugged good-naturedly.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because this young guy is a playwright. You figure that if the public gets interested in this guy as a thief, it’ll be good publicity when you buy a play from him and star Lola Langtry in it, the gal whom he robbed.”
Swart stood up and rubbed his hands excitedly. He paced back and forth behind his desk like an overweight panther.
“It’s terrific!” he cried suddenly. “It’s got everything. We’ll do it. What do we care if he’s a thief? All writers are anyway. Instead of jewels he can steal scenes and dialogue from now on, only its respectable.”
“I’m not a jewel thief,” Jonathon snapped irritably.
Lafferty swallowed incredulously. “You mean you didn’t have this cooked up already?” he demanded of Swart.
“No,” Swart said expansively, “We missed a bet on that, but thanks to you we can capitalize on the publicity yet. We’ll all make barrels of money,” he paused and glanced meaningly at Lafferty. “You understand, of course, that I mean we will all make barrels of money.”
Lafferty nodded and smiled.
“I get you. I’ll forget all about tonight and pretend I was bowling instead.”
Swart picked up Lola’s diamond brooch from his desk and walked to the mantle and placed it in a wall safe.
“Then the whole thing’s settled,” he boomed. “Even to keeping the diamond brooch that started the whole business here in my wall safe tonight.”
“Mr. Swart,” Jonathon said, “if you want me to write plays for you — fine. About working with Miss Langtry though I can’t say. That’s up to her.”
Max Swart looked at Lola and saw the delightful blush which stained her cheeks and the shy smile that fluttered over her lips.
“I think everything will be all right on that angle,” he said drily.
Tink did a little jig step and slapped Nastee on the back almost knocking him over.
“I win,” he chortled. “I win. Everything’s perfectly happy. The guy got out of jail and got a job, and unless I’m way wrong he’ll get the girl too.”
“I’ve still got five minutes,” Nastee snarled peevishly. “My time isn’t up and I’ve got an idea that’ll put him right back where he started. I’m going to cop the brooch again and plant it on him. When they find it a second time, he’ll be through for good.”
“You’re repeating yourself, you know,” Tink said scornfully.
“There’s no law against that,” Nastee retorted.
He ran across the floor and up the wall. Tink followed him dolefully. He saw Nastee walk across the mantle and climb into the interior of the wall safe. Then he chuckled.
Stepping across the floor, he slammed the door to the wall safe and twirled the combination handle.
Tink’s mouth was parted in a wide grin. That’d hold Nastee.
He crawled up and took a seat before the wall safe. He’d let him out after midnight, but not a second before.
Nastee would be furious at being tricked but it was his own fault. Tink could picture him now, red-faced and impotent, tramping up and down inside the safe, probably swearing like a trooper. He wouldn’t be fit to live with for weeks after he let him out.
Tink didn’t care. He looked down at the happiness he had created and his tiny, tinkling laugh bubbled from his throat, contented and happy.
Lola looked up at Jonathon and smiled at him.
“Funny,” she said, “but I thought I heard someone laugh.”
“It was probably my heart,” Jonathon said.
Tink Takes a Fling
First published in Fantastic Adventures, June 1942.
Central Park was alive with the first touch of spring. A soft balmy breeze skipped gaily through the green shrubbery and the sun that splashed extravagantly and gloriously over the wide lawns transformed the emerald heart of Manhattan into a beautiful fairyland.
A robin sang, leaves frisked over the gravelled walks and nature’s general air of happy contentment was reflected in the faces of the starry-eyed couples strolling through the park.
One of these couples sauntered slowly past a bubbling drinking fountain, completely unaware that they were the subject of a rather bitter argument.
“Disgusting!” Nastee said peevishly.
Tink glanced at the passing couple and sighed.
“It’s not disgusting,” he said dreamily, “it’s wonderful. They’re in love.”
“Bah!” Nastee said.
The couple in question strolled on, completely unaware that their rapturous state had started another of the arguments that went on interminably between Tink and Nastee, the city-dwelling Leprechauns.
The two tiny people were lying on the concrete rim of the bubbler looking lazily up at the sky when their eternal argument resumed. Now, Nastee swung himself to a sitting position and stared moodily at the glinting water that bubbled up from the fountain.
“Love,” he said. “Bah! It’s stupid and silly. I don’t like it.”
A man stopped and bent over for a drink and Nastee, knowing ordinary humans couldn’t see him, amused himself by kicking a spray of water into his eyes.