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Million-Dollar Suitcase

[Pg 87] <h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> <h3>A TIN-HORN GAMBLER</h3> After we were in the machine, my head was so full of the matter in hand that Worth had driven some little distance before I realized that the young people were debating across me as to which place we went first, Barbara complaining that she was hungry, while Worth ungallantly eager to give his own affairs immediate attention, argued, "You said the dining-room out at your diggings would be closed by this time. Why not let me take you down to the Palace, along with Jerry, have this suitcase safely locked up, and we can all lunch together and get ahead with our talk." "Drive to the office, Worth," I cut in ahead of Barbara's objections to this plan. "I ought to be there this minute. We'll have a tray in from a little joint that feeds me when I'm too busy to go out for grub." I took them straight into my private office at the end of the suite. "Make yourself comfortable," I said to Miss Wallace. "Better let me lock up that suitcase, Worth; stick it in the vault. That's evidence." "I'll hang on to it." He grinned. "You can keep the rope and hook. This has got another use before it can be evidence." Not even delaying to remove my coat, I laid a heavy[Pg 88] finger on the buzzer button for Roberts, my secretary; then as nothing resulted, I played music on the other signal tips beneath the desk lid. It was Sunday, also luncheon hour, but there must be some one about the place. It never was left entirely empty. My fugue work brought little Pete, and Murray, one of the men from the operatives' room. "Where's Roberts?" I asked the latter. "He went to lunch, Mr. Boyne." "Where's Foster?" Foster was chief operative. "He telephoned in from Redwood City half an hour ago. Chasing a Clayte clue down the peninsula." "If he calls up again, tell him to report in at once. Is there a stenographer about?" "Not a one; Sunday, you know." "Can you take dictation?" "Me? Why, no, sir." "Then dig me somebody who can. And rush it. I've—" "Perhaps I might help." It was little Miss Wallace who spoke; about the first cheerful word I'd heard out of her since we found that suitcase on the roof of the Gold Nugget. "I can take on the machine fairly." "Fine!" I tossed my coat on the big center table. "Murray, send Roberts to me as soon as he comes in. You take number two trunk line, and find two of the staff—quick; any two. Shoot them to the Gold Nugget Hotel." I explained the situation in a word. Then, as he was closing the door, "Keep off Number One trunk, Murray; I'll be using that line," and I turned to little Pete. [Pg 89]"Get lunch for three," I said, handing him a bill. From his first glance at Barbara one could have seen that the monkey was hers truly, as they say at the end of letters. I knew as he bolted out that he felt something very special ought to be dug up for such a visitor. The girl had shed coat and hat and was already fingering the keys of the typewriter, trying their touch. I saw at once she knew her business, and I turned to the work at hand with satisfaction. "You'll find telegram blanks there somewhere," I instructed. "Get as many in for manifold copies as you can make readable. The long form. Worth—" I looked around to find that my other amateur assistant was following my advice, stowing his precious suitcase in the vault; and it struck me that he couldn't have been more tickled with the find if the thing had contained all the money and securities instead of that rope and hook. He had made the latter into a separate package, and now looked up at me with, "Want this in here, too, Jerry?" "I do. Lock them both up, and come take the telephone at the table there. Press down Number One button. Then call every taxi stand in the city (find their numbers at the back of the telephone directory) and ask if they picked up Silent Steve at or near the Gold Nugget yesterday afternoon about one; Steve Skeels—or any other man. If so, where'd they take him? Get me?" "All hunk, Jerry." He came briskly to the job. I returned to Miss Wallace, with, "Ready, Barbara?" [Pg 90]"Yes, Mr. Boyne." "Take dictation: "'We offer five hundred dollars—' You authorize that, Worth?" "Sure. What's it for?" "Never mind. You keep at your job. 'Five hundred dollars for the arrest of Silent Steve Skeels—' Wait. Make that 'arrest or detention,' Got it?" "All right, Mr. Boyne." —"'Skeels, gambler, who left San Francisco about one in the afternoon yesterday March sixth. Presumed he went by train; maybe by auto. He is man thirty-eight to forty; five feet seven or eight; weighs about one hundred forty. Hair, light brown; eyes light blue—' Make it gray-blue, Barbara." Worth glanced up from where he was jotting down telephone numbers to drawl, "You know who you're describing there?" "Yes—Steve Skeels." I saw Miss Wallace give him a quick look, a little shake of her head, as she said to me. "Go on—please, Mr. Boyne." "'Hair parted high, smoothed down; appears of slight build but is well muscled. Neat dresser, quiet, usually wears blue serge suit, black derby hat, black shoes.'" "By Golly—you see it now yourself, don't you, Jerry?" "I see that you're holding up work," I said impatiently. And now it was the quiet girl who came in with. "Who gave you this description of Steve Skeels?[Pg 91] I mean, how many people's observation of the man does this represent?" "One. My own," I jerked out. "I know Skeels; have known him for years." "Years? How many?" It was still the girl asking. "Since 1907—or thereabouts." "Was he always a gambler?" she wanted to know. "Always. Ran a joint on Fillmore Street after the big earthquake, and before San Francisco came back down-town." "A gambler," she spoke the word just above her breath, as though trying it out with herself. "A man who took big chances—risks." "Not Steve," I smiled at her earnestness. "Steve was a piker always—a tin-horn gambler. Hid away from the police instead of doing business with them. Take a chance? Not Steve." Worth had left the telephone and was leaning over her shoulder to read what she had typed. "Exactly and precisely," he said, "the same words you had in that other fool description of him." "Of whom?" "Clayte." Worth let me have the one word straight between the eyes, and I leaned back in my chair, the breath almost knocked out of me by it. By an effort I pulled myself together and turned to the girl: "Take dictation, please: Skeel's eyes are wide apart, rather small but keen—" And for the next few minutes I was making words mean something, drawing a picture of the Skeels I knew, so that others could visualize him. And it[Pg 92] brought me a word of commendation from Miss Wallace, and made Worth exclaim, "Sounds more like Clayte than Clayte himself. You've put flesh on those bones, Jerry." "You keep busy at that phone and help land him," I growled. "Finish, please: 'Wire information to me. I hold warrant. Jeremiah Boyne, Bankers' Security Agency,' That's all." The girl pulled the sheets from the machine and sorted them while I was stabbing the buzzer. Roberts answered, breezing in with an apology which I nipped. "Never mind that. Get this telegram on the wires to each of our corresponding agencies as far east as Spokane, Ogden and Denver. Has Murray got in touch with Foster?" "Not yet. Young and Stroud are outside." "Send them to bring in Steve Skeels," I ordered. "Description on the telegram there. Any word, Worth?" "Nothing yet." Worth was calling one after another of the taxi offices. Little Pete came in with a tray. "All right, Worth," I said. "Turn that job over to Roberts. Here's where we eat." The kid's idea of catering for Barbara was club sandwiches and pie à la mode. It wouldn't have been mine; but I was glad to note that he'd guessed right. The youngsters fell to with appetite. For myself, I ate, the receiver at my ear, talking between bites. San Jose, Stockton, Santa Rosa—in all the nearby towns of size, I placed the drag-net out for Silent Steve, tin-horn gambler. They talked as they lunched. I didn't pay any[Pg 93] attention to what they said now; my mind was racing at the new idea Worth had given me. So far, I had been running Skeels down as one of the same gang with Clayte; the man on the roof; the go-between for the getaway. My supposition was that when the suitcase was emptied for division, Skeels, being left to dispose of the container, had stuck it where we found it. But what if the thing worked another way? What if all the money—almost a round million—which came to the Gold Nugget roof in the brown sole-leather case, walked out of its front door in the new black shiny carrier of Skeels the gambler? Could that be worked? A gambler at night, a bank employee by day? Why not? Improbable. But not impossible. "I believe you said a mouthful, Worth," I broke in on the two at their lunch. "And tell me, girl, how did you get the idea of walking up to the desk at the Gold Nugget and demanding Steve Skeels from the Kite?" "I didn't demand Steve Skeels," she reminded me rather plaintively. "I didn't want—him." "What did you want?" "A room that had been lived in." She didn't need to add a word to that. I got her in the instant. That examination of hers in Clayte's room at the St. Dunstan; the crisp, new-looking bedding, the unworn velvet of the chair cushions; the faded nap of the carpet, quite perfect, while that in the hall had just been renewed. Even had the room been done over recently—and I knew it had not—there was no getting around the total absence of photographs, pictures, books, magazines, newspapers, old letters, the[Pg 94] lack of all the half worn stuff that collects about an occupied apartment. No pinholes or defacements on the walls, none of the litter that accumulates. The girl was right; that room hadn't been lived in. "Beautiful," I said in honest admiration. "It's a pleasure to see a mind like yours, and such powers of observation, in action, clicking out results like a perfectly adjusted machine. Clayte didn't live in his room because he lived with the gang all his glorious outside hours. There was where the poor rabbit of a bank clerk got his fling." "Oh, yes, it works logically. He held himself down to Clayte at the St. Dunstan and in the bank, and he let himself go to—what?—outside of it, beyond it, where he really lived." "He let himself go to Steve Skeels—won't that do you?" "No," she said so positively that it was annoying. "That won't do me at all." "But it's what you got," I reminded her rather unkindly, and then was sorry I'd done it. "It's what you got for me—and I thank you for it." "You needn't," she came back at me—spunky little thing. "It isn't worth thanking anybody for. It's only a partial fact." "And you think half truths are dangerous?" I smiled at her. "There isn't any such thing," she instructed me. "Even facts can hardly be split into fractions; while the truth is always whole and complete." "As far as you see it," I amended. "For instance, you insist on keeping the gang all under Clayte's hat—or you did at first. Now you're refusing to believe,[Pg 95] as both Worth and I believe, that Steve Skeels is Clayte himself. I should think you'd jump at the idea. Here's your Wonder Man." She leaned back in her chair and laughed. I was glad to hear the sound again, see the dimples flicker in her cheeks, even if she was laughing at me. "A wonderful Wonder Man, Mr. Boyne," she said. "One who does things so bunglingly that you can follow him right up and put your hand on him." "Not so I could," I reminded her gaily. "So you could. Quite a different matter." She took my compliment sweetly, but she said with smiling reluctance, "I'm not in this, of course, except that your kindness allowed me to be for this day only. But if I were, I shouldn't be following Skeels as you are. I'd still be after Clayte." "It foots up to the same thing," I said rather tartly. "Oh, does it?" she laughed at me. "Two and two are making about three and a half this afternoon, are they?" "What we've got to-day ought to land something," I maintained. "You've been fine help, Barbara—" and I broke off suddenly with the knowledge that I'd been calling her that all through the rush of the work. "Thank you." She smiled inclusively. I knew she meant my use of her name as well as my commendation. I began clearing my desk preparatory to leaving. Worth was going to take her home and as he brought her coat, he spoke again of the suitcase. "Hey, there!" I remonstrated, "You don't want to be lugging that thing with you everywhere, like a three-year-old kid that's found a dead cat. Leave it where it is." [Pg 96]"Give me an order for it then," he said. And when I looked surprised, "Might need that box, and you not be in the office." "Need it?" I grumbled. "I'd like to know what for." But I scribbled the order. Over by the window the young people were talking together earnestly; they made a picture against the light, standing close, the girl's vivid dark face raised, the lad's tall head bent, attentive. "But, Bobs, you must get some time to play about," I heard Worth say. "Awfully little," Her look up at him was like that of a wistful child. "You said you were in the accounting department," he urged impatiently. "A lightning calculator like you could put that stuff through in about one tenth of the usual time." "I use an adding machine," she half whispered, and it made me chuckle. "An adding machine!" Worth exploded in a peal of laughter. "For Barbara Wallace! What's their idea?" "It isn't their idea; it's mine," with dignity. "They don't know that I used to be a freak mathematician. I don't want them to. Father used to say that all children could be trained to do all that I did—if you took them young enough. But till they are, I'd rather not be. It's horrid to be different; and I'm keeping it to myself—in the office anyhow—and living my past down the best I can." As though her words had suggested it, Worth spoke again, [Pg 97]"Where did you meet Cummings? Seems you find time to go out with him." "I've known Mr. Cummings for years," Barbara spoke quietly, but she looked self-conscious. "I knew he was with those friends of mine at the Orpheum last night, but I didn't expect him to call for me at Tait's—or rather I thought they'd all come in after me. There wasn't anything special about it—no special appointment with him, I mean." I had forgotten them for a minute or two, closing my desk, finding my coat, when I heard some one come into the outer office, a visitor, for little Pete's voice went up to a shrill yap with the information that I was busy. Then the knob turned, the door opened, and there stood Cummings. At first he saw only me at the desk. "Your friend calling for you again, Bobs—by appointment?" Worth's question drew the lawyer's glance, and he stared at them apparently a good deal taken aback, while Worth added, "Seems to keep pretty close tab on your movements." The low tone might have been considered joking, but there was war in the boy's eye. It was as though Cummings answered the challenge, rather than opened with what he had intended. "My business is with you, Gilbert." He came in and shut the door behind him, leaving his hand on the knob. "And I've been some time finding you." He stopped there, and was so long about getting anything else out that Worth finally suggested, "The money?" And when there was no reply but a surprised look, "How do you stand now?" "Still seventy-two thousand to raise." Cummings[Pg 98] spoke vaguely. This was not what had brought him to the office. He finished with the abrupt question, "Were you at Santa Ysobel last night?" "Hold on, Cummings," I broke in. "What you got? Let us—" I was shut off there by Worth's, "It's Sunday afternoon. I want that money to-morrow morning. You've not come through? You've not dug up what I sent you after?" I could see that the lawyer was absolutely nonplussed. Again he gave Worth one of those queer, probing looks before he said doggedly, "The question of that money can wait." "It can't wait." Worth's eyes began to light up. "What you talking, Cummings—an extension?" And when the lawyer made no answer to this, "I'll not crawl in with a broken leg asking favors of that bank crowd. Are you quitting on me? If so, say it—and I'll find a way to raise the sum, myself." "I've raised all but seventy-two thousand of the necessary amount," said Cummings slowly. "What I want to know is—how much have you raised?" "See here, Cummings," again I mixed in. "I was present when that arrangement was made. Nothing was said about Worth raising any money." Cummings barely glanced around at me as he said, "I made a suggestion to him; in your presence, as you say, Boyne. I want to know if he carried it out." Then, giving his full attention to Worth, "Did you see your father last night?" On instinct I blurted, "For heaven's sake, keep your mouth shut, Worth!" For a detective that certainly was an incautious[Pg 99] speech. Cummings' eye flared suspicion at me, and his voice was a menace. "You keep out of this, Boyne." "You tell what's up your sleeve, Cummings," I countered. "This is no witness-stand cross-examination. What you got?" But Worth answered for him, hotly, "If Cummings hasn't seventy-two thousand dollars I commissioned him to raise for me, I don't care what he's got." "And you didn't go to your father for it last night?" Cummings returned to his question. He had moved close to the boy. Barbara stood just where she was when the door opened. Neither paid any attention to her. But she looked at the two men, drawn up with glances clinched, and spoke out suddenly in her clear young voice, as though there was no row on hand, "Worth was with me last night, you know, Mr. Cummings." "I seem to have noticed something of the sort," Cummings said with labored sarcasm. "And he'd been with that wedding party earlier in the evening, I suppose." "With me till Miss Wallace came in." Worth's natural disposition to disoblige the lawyer could be depended on to keep from Cummings whatever information he wanted before giving us his own news. "What you got, Cummings?" I prompted again, impatiently. "Come through." His eyes never shifted an instant from Worth Gilbert's face. "A telegram—from Santa Ysobel," he said slowly. [Pg 100]Worth shrugged and half turned away. "I'm not interested in your telegram, Cummings." Instantly I saw what the boy thought: that the other had taken it on himself to apply for the money to Thomas Gilbert, and had been turned down. "Not interested?" Cummings repeated in that dry, lawyer voice that speaks from the teeth out; on the mere tone, I braced for something nasty. "I think you are. My telegram's from the coroner." Silence after that; Worth obstinately mute; Barbara and I afraid to ask. There was a little tremor of Cummings' nostril, he couldn't keep the flicker out of his eye, as he said, staring straight at Worth, "It states that your father shot himself last night. The body wasn't discovered till late this morning, in his study." <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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