AS WAS TRUE of so many of the characters created by Erle Stanley Gardner (1889–1970), Dan Sellers, known as the Patent Leather Kid, works on both sides of the law. Much like another Gardner character, Sidney Zoom, Sellers hates injustice and will put himself at great risk to right wrongs. This generally involves going up against powerful gangsters and performing illegal acts, inevitably forcing the Kid to elude two antagonists: a gang of crooks and the police.
The Patent Leather Kid is an elegant, cultivated crook, hiding his identity with a mask, gloves, and shoes all made out of black patent leather. In reality, he is a wealthy socialite who appears to be a parvenu, dabbling at one thing or another, but he is an enemy of the underworld and devotes his life to battling it. The Depression was an era that spawned the rise of gangsters and the Kid chose to abandon his comfortable life to serve an unsuspecting public, however nefarious his methods might be. He has a bodyguard, Bill Brakey, to help out when the going gets tough.
The stories follow a formula, first featuring Sellers at his club chatting with other members. When he learns of a particularly egregious example of injustice, he leaves the club and his identity as an idle millionaire to don his costume. His nemesis is Inspector Brame, who has no luck in catching the Kid and so loathes him, going so far as to take no action when he learns of a gangster’s plot to kill him.
“The Kid Stacks a Deck” was originally published in the March 28, 1932, issue of Detective Fiction Weekly; it was first collected in The Exploits of the Patent Leather Kid (Norfolk, Virginia, Crippen & Landru, 2010).
DAN SELLER noticed the dummies in the window of the jewelry store because he made it his business to notice everything which was out of the ordinary. And this window display was certainly unique enough.
To the uninitiated, it would seem that a fortune in jewels was separated from the avaricious grasp of a cosmopolitan public only by a sheet of plate glass.
But the eye of Dan Seller, steel gray, coldly appraising, was not an uninitiated eye. He stared for some ten seconds, and, at the end of that time, knew that the majority of the stones were clever imitations.
The window of the big store was made to represent the interior of a drawing room. There were four people at a table playing bridge. A rather sissified looking young man, clad in the very latest of fashion in evening clothes, balanced a cup of tea upon the arm of a chair.
Another stiffly conventional figure leaned against a mantel, match in one waxen hand, cigarette in the other. Over in a corner a woman was extending a welcoming hand to another woman, both of whom glittered with jewels. The effect was impressive to the average spectator.
The men were introduced apparently for the effect of contrast, since they showed no jewelry beyond the conventional shirt studs, cuff links, and elaborate wrist watches. But the women were beautifully gowned, and the lights of the windows were thrown back in myriad sparkling reflections from the diamonds that occupied every point of vantage.
The display was a distinct departure from conventional jewelers’ windows, and marked the opening gun of a new merchandising policy on the part of Hawkins & Grebe.
The display attracted a small crowd. Dan Seller had no doubt, but what it would also attract the attention of crooks. He filed away both facts for future use, and strolled toward his club.
Dan Seller was a man of mystery so far as his associates were concerned, and he was greeted with varying degrees of cordiality by the little group of members who were discussing the latest news bulletins.
Pope, the hard bitten explorer of the tropical jungles was there, taking a brief rest between expeditions. He gripped Seller’s hand with a cordial clasp. He liked Seller, and didn’t care who knew it.
Renfore, the banker, was more conservative. He knew that Seller maintained an active account which ran into large figures, but he had never been able to ascertain just what investments Seller made, and that fact nettled him. He bowed, did not shake hands.
Hawkins, part owner of the jewelry store, nodded and smiled. He knew Seller as a good customer. Inspector Phil Brame let his eyes get that coldly penetrating stare with which he customarily regarded every one about whom he was not quite certain. He knew Seller, and liked the man, but he could never entirely overlook those mysterious disappearances.
For to all of these men, Dan Seller was a mystery.
He was wealthy. Of that there could be no doubt. He was reserved, yet friendly. He was likeable. He was well posted. Outwardly he was an idler. Yet that failed to explain his character. There was a certain hard fitness about the man which made him seem as crisply active as Bill Pope, the jungle explorer.
Both in body and in mind he was hard, and fit. Yet he seemed to idle his time away. He laughed at life, strolled in and strolled out, was always interested in people and in things, always posted on recent developments. Yet he never played cards, never mentioned losses or gains in the stock market, never complained of business conditions.
And, occasionally, he disappeared.
At such times, he vanished utterly. Even Riggs, his valet, could give no information as to the whereabouts of his master. Twice there had been important matters at the club which had necessitated getting in touch with Dan Seller, and upon each of those occasions Seller had been where no one had been able to locate him. On the second occasion, Inspector Phil Brame, himself, had undertaken to locate Seller.
The inspector had ascertained that Seller had left the club, headed toward a charity bazaar for which he held a ticket. Seller had never arrived at that bazaar. Nor had he been heard from for a week.
At the expiration of that week he had appeared once more at the club, smiling, debonair, affable. Questioned as to his whereabouts, he had left no doubt whatever that he considered the affair purely a private matter.
Because of the fact that Dan Seller lived at the club, maintained a suite of magnificent rooms, sumptuously furnished, his comings and goings were within the knowledge of several members and his mysterious disappearances were bound to excite comment.
But Dan Seller lived his own life, talked interestingly upon many subjects, seemed always familiar with the latest book, deprecated all attempts to inquire into his personal life, and yet remained popular.
That he was of the finest stock, without a blemish upon his record, was evidenced by the fact that he had been admitted to the club at all. And, after all, a man’s private life was his own.
Hawkins puffed upon his cigar after Seller joined the little group, and then continued with a discussion of the subject which had evidently been been the subject of the conversation before Seller had arrived.
“My partner couldn’t see it at first,” said Hawkins, assuming that air of a man who can say “I-told-you-so.” “But I kept after him, and finally he gave in. The day has passed when old fashioned merchandising methods are going to pay for overhead. It’s an age of keener competition, a more sound appreciation of values. It’s time for an innovation in the jewelry trade.
“Look at our own case. Since we put in that window display we’ve sold exactly three hundred per cent as much merchandise. People pause to look at the display because it’s unusual. The woman who pauses with her husband or father sees something that looks attractive. She wants to buy one like it. That’s the way clothes are sold. Why not jewelry?”
He paused for an answer.
There was none.
Dan Seller drawled a comment.
“Your observation about keen competition is interesting,” he said. “How does it affect the crooks, Inspector?”
Inspector Brame started, flashed his hard eyes upon the younger man.
“Huh?” he said.
“I was wondering,” said Dan Seller, “if crooks weren’t feeling the depression, and turning to more efficient methods. I wondered, for instance, if they’d overlook the challenge of that unique window display.”
Inspector Brame cleared his throat importantly.
“The police,” he said, “can also become more efficient, as the necessity arises.”
Hawkins added a comment.
“And don’t think for a minute that we didn’t take some pretty elaborate precautions before we decided on such spectacular advertising,” he said. “We’ve got things fixed so that it’s a physical impossibility for a crook to enter our store and get away with anything!”
Dan Seller’s voice showed tolerant amusement.
“Really?” he drawled.
“Yes, really!” snapped Hawkins.
Dan Seller yawned, patted his lips with four polite fingers.
“Impossible,” he said, “is rather a big word.”
And he walked away.
Behind him, four pair of eyes regarded him with varying expressions. In each pair of eyes was a certain wonderment. In one was amusement, in at least one the dawning of a suspicion.
Inspector Brame was a hard man, and no respecter of persons.
Dan Seller, his overcoat turned up, felt hat pulled down, left the club, turned into the gusts of the windy night.
Apparently, he was just taking a walk.
He strolled for half a mile, leaning against the rush of the raw wind. A cruising cab solicited his patronage. Dan Seller climbed in. He went to one of the largest and most fashionable of the transient hotels, where hundreds of visitors checked in and checked out every day.
He secured a room under the name of Rodney Stone, was shown to his room, gave certain claim checks to the hotel porter. Half an hour later his light suitcases and hand trunks had arrived. They had been claimed under the checks from the baggage storage company.
To all appearances Dan Seller, masquerading as Rodney Stone, was merely a business man whose occupation necessitated frequent business trips. He had the poise of a seasoned traveller; the complete boredom of hotel life which characterizes one who is much on the road.
It was after midnight when Rodney Stone stepped from his room. He left the hotel by a back stairway and service entrance. He slipped unobtrusively into an apartment hotel which was within two doors of the transient hotel, and the transformation was complete.
The minute Dan Seller stepped into the Maplewood Hotel he became a different and very definite personality altogether. The boy at the desk nodded to him. The girl at the telephone gave him a smile.
Dan Seller was Dan Seller, the millionaire clubman, man about town no longer. He had become The Patent Leather Kid, and he had a definite niche in the underworld.
“You been away, Kid,” said the elevator boy.
Dan Seller nodded.
Here, in this new world, every one called him “Kid.” There was nothing disrespectful about it. It was a mark of honor, a badge of respect. The very voice of the elevator boy was deferential.
“Have a good trip?” asked the elevator boy as he shot The Kid up to the penthouse apartment.
“So, so,” said Seller.
He took a key from his pocket, and, in so doing, opened his coat, disclosing that he was attired in evening clothes, that his shirt bosom sparkled with diamond studs. His shoes were patent leather.
He entered his apartment. The telephone was ringing as he closed the door behind him. He answered it at once. The voice of the girl at the switchboard reached his ears.
“Kid, I didn’t want to tell you before the gang down here, but there’s been a woman trying to reach you for the last two days. She says it’s life and death. She’s left a number. Says to call it and ask for Kate. What’ll I do?”
Dan Seller squinted his eyes in thought for a moment.
“Give me the connection,” he said.
“Okay,” the girl answered.
There sounded the whir of dialed numbers, then the noise made by a ringing of the telephone bell at the other end of the line. Then a man’s voice.
“Kate there?” asked The Kid, making his voice sound casual.
“Who’s speaking?”
“The Prince of Wales,” said The Kid, “and don’t wait too long to think it over because these transatlantic calls run into money.”
He heard the man’s voice, more distant this time.
“Is Kate here?”
Then a woman’s voice, sounding just audible.
“I’ll take the call for her. I’m a friend of hers.”
The banging noise was made by steps coming over a wooden floor, Seller decided. Then a woman’s voice said “Hello!” That voice was filled with suspense and excitement.
“The Kid speaking,” said Dan Seller.
The woman’s voice came to his ears now, low, vibrant, confidential, as though she was holding her mouth close to the transmitter.
“Listen, I’ve got to see you. Where, when, how? Quick!”
Dan Seller spoke without hesitation.
“Go to the Ship Café. Get a private room. Leave word with the head waiter that you’re not to be disturbed, and that if anybody asks him for the number of Kate’s room he’s to tell that person the number of the private dining room. G’bye.”
And The Kid hung up.
He was slightly irritated. This call undoubtedly was of grave import in the life of the young woman who had left her number. That much was apparent from the anguish of her voice, the tremulous words with which the message had been conveyed. But Dan Seller had not wished to waste time keeping after-midnight appointments with strange young women who thought their errands were of life and death. He had been interested in studying the possibilities of the new window display at Hawkins & Grebe’s Jewelry Store.
However, Dan Seller, in his new character of The Patent Leather Kid, was always on the lookout for adventure, and anything sufficiently out of the usual called him with an irresistible attraction.
He took a taxi to the Ship Café.
He knew the head waiter, the manager, most of the waiters. He entered by a back door, slipped into a curtained room and rang a bell.
Within a matter of minutes the head waiter answered that summons.
“Hello, Kid!”
“Hello, Jack!”
“What can I do for you tonight, Kid?”
“A moll, coming in soon. She’ll give the name of Kate and ask for a room. I want to look her over…”
“She’s here already. Been here ten minutes. In room nineteen,” said the head waiter.
The Kid whistled.
“That,” he said, “is fast work. It looks almost as though…”
“As though what?” asked the head waiter, interested.
“As though the party had rather expected I’d pick this joint as the place for a meeting,” vouchsafed The Kid. “Get me another room, Jack. Got one adjoining?”
“Nope. They’re occupied. Give you sixteen.”
“Okay.”
“Want to let the broad know you’re in?”
“Nix.”
“Okay, Chief. How’s tricks? You been away, ain’t you?”
“Just on a business trip, Jack. I’m going on up. You stall the moll along, and send me a waiter into sixteen.”
“Okay.”
Dan Seller went to room sixteen, drew the curtain. Three minutes later a deferential waiter appeared with a menu, a glass of water, knives, forks and spoons, napkins, butter.
“Two?” he asked. And then started to set two places at the table without waiting for an answer.
“The order comes when I ring,” said Dan Seller.
“Yes, sir.”
The waiter glided from the room. Dan Seller picked up the water, the butter, the napkins, knives and forks. He threw one of the napkins over his arm, giving himself the appearance of a professional waiter, bowed his head slightly, and stepped into the corridor.
It was but a few feet to room nineteen.
He pushed aside the door and curtain, entered the room.
The girl who was seated at the table looked up with a face that was flushed, eyes that were starry, lips that were half parted. She saw the figure of a man, slightly stooped, bearing knives, forks, water, butter. The face underwent a rapid change of expression. She frowned.
“I’m served already. I’m waiting.” Dan Seller straightened and met her eyes.
The eyes were brown. The lids were slightly reddened, as though she had been weeping. The face was young. So much of the figure as was visible across the table showed that she was attractive. A silken leg protruded from beneath the folds of the table cloth and the view was generous and enjoyable.
Both hands were in sight.
Dan Seller set the water and butter on the table, dumped the silverware into a pile, kicked the door shut with his heel, and let his hard gray eyes bore into those of the girl.
“Keep your hands in sight,” he said.
She gasped.
The Patent Leather Kid gripped the table with his hands, swung it to one side. The girl remained motionless, frightened, staring.
Without the concealment of the table, the significance of the shapely limb which had been protruding from beneath the cloth became apparent. She was seated, skirts elevated sufficiently far to be out of the way of her snatching hand when it should drop to the butt of the pearl-handled automatic which nestled within the rolled top of the silk hose.
The Patent Leather Kid regarded the weapon.
“So that’s the game, eh?”
She flushed as the concealment of the table vanished, but was mindful of the admonition to keep her hands elevated.
“No,” she rasped, “that’s not it. I just had that gun in case—”
“In case what?” asked Dan Seller.
“In case something happened.”
“Well,” said Seller, “it’s happened.”
And he leaned forward, possessed himself of the gun.
“Now,” he said, “you can lower your hands.”
She grasped at the hem of her skirt, pulled it down, raised her eyes.
“You’re The Kid?”
“Yes,” said Seller. “What’s the lay?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Nothing now, except that I’m going for a ride. I was sent to frame you. I didn’t want to. They gave me my choice between putting the finger on you or getting framed for a rap. I was to put you on the spot. Now I’ve ranked the job and they’ll rub me out.”
Dan Seller drew up a chair, sat down.
“Who will?”
“Beppo the Greek, of course. He’s sore at you over that Carmichael job. Him and his mob are out to get you.”
Dan Seller frowned.
“Beppo the Greek is becoming a source of annoyance. Would your safety be insured if you could tell him exactly where The Kid will be within exactly sixty minutes?”
She nodded.
“Sure. If it was a place where they could give him the works. That’s what I was sent for.”
The Patent Leather Kid lit a cigarette. He regarded the glowing end of it speculatively. Then he smiled.
“Okay, sister,” he said. “I’m not The Kid. I’m the man he sent. The Kid ain’t fool enough to walk into a trap like this. But he’s fool enough to trust me, and I’ve got it in for him on a personal matter. The Kid is going to be knocking over Hawkins & Grebe’s Jewelry Store in exactly sixty minutes. He’s working on the joint now. Now that tip ain’t for the bulls. It’s just a private tip for Beppo the Greek. Do you get me?”
Her eyes studied his face.
“If that’s on the level it means an out for me,” she said.
“It’s on the level,” said The Patent Leather Kid, and extracted the shells from the automatic, skidded it along the floor to a corner of the room, grinned at her, and opened the door.
“Tell Beppo the Greek I’m expecting a cut,” he said. “There’s something I want, a favor. I’ll ask for it when The Kid’s rubbed out. You can hand it to him as the play came up, The Kid was wise. He sent me. I’ve got a score to settle. I’m putting him on the spot, not for the bulls, but for the mob. G’bye.”
And Dan Seller banged the door shut, sprinted down the corridor and vanished into dining room sixteen.
Five seconds later he heard rapid steps walking past the curtained doorway of his dining room. Two minutes later the headwaiter sent him word that the mysterious woman in number nineteen had left quite hurriedly.
Dan Seller used a pair of long-nosed pliers to disconnect the wire which led from the barred window. That wire was one of the newer types of burglar alarms. A certain amount of current must flow through it regularly in order to keep the alarm inactive. Let that wire be cut, or the current short-circuited at any point and the alarm would ring.
Dan Seller performed a very difficult operation with those long-nosed pliers of his, and, when he had finished, the current was flowing just as it had been, yet the barred window offered no resistance to entrance save in the bars.
Those bars were speedily cut through. Dan Seller slid through the opening, dropped to the floor of the interior.
Apparently this interior was what would have been expected in the rear of a jewelry store. But The Patent Leather Kid knew that modern science has baited many clever traps for the criminal, and he governed himself accordingly.
In this game of matching his wits with the law, The Patent Leather Kid found his most fascinating recreation. He gambled with life and liberty, and enjoyed the game.
He dared not use a flashlight. He knew that delicate cells of selenium were advantageously placed so that the slightest change in the amount of light which impinged upon them would cause a change in electric current over a wire, would, in turn, ring an alarm at the headquarters of the detective agency which safeguarded the jewelry store.
The Kid knew that there would be some arrangement by which the early daylight would not set off this alarm. He started out to explore.
He finally found his lead in a narrow channel through which reflected rays from an electric sign were directed against an opposite wall. The principle was the same, only shadow instead of light served to give the alarm.
The Kid found a piece of ground glass, held that in front of his flashlight so that there was a generally diffused flow of light with no sharp pencil of brilliant illumination. And, as he glided in front of the selenium cells, he held the ground glass and the flashlight in such a manner that he cast no perceptible shadow as he made the passage, the diffused light taking the place of the reflected light which came from the sign.
The vault represented a more difficult problem. It had been cunningly constructed. But the burglar alarm was antiquated. The Kid found that within fifteen seconds of the time he started to work on the vault, and the burglar alarm was utterly valueless within ten seconds after it had been located.
When it came to the combination, The Kid had an invention of his own. It was a device by which an electric current was sent through the mechanism of the lock, the dials slowly twirled. Whenever there was the slightest interruption in that current, the slightest jar within the safe, that fact was communicated via the electric current to the ears of The Kid.
It took him fifteen minutes to get the door of the vault open and to inspect the contents.
The Patent Leather Kid was not in the least interested in the glittering array of gems which shone from the interior. He had learned long ago to restrain any natural cupidity which he might have.
He searched patiently and thoroughly, with gloved fingers going through the stock, searching, segregating, choosing. At length he selected three things, a wrist watch studded with diamonds, a necklace of pearls, and a pendant of platinum and diamonds with blood red rubies flanking either side.
When he had selected these things he looked at his wrist watch.
He found that he still had time to do that which he wished to do.
He moved more boldly toward the wrapping department of the big establishment. One does not customarily safeguard the package department of a store with the same elaborate protection given to jewels.
The Patent Leather Kid found a typewriter, and he addressed shipping labels to the individuals to whom he had determined to present the articles. He wrapped them securely, weighed them on scales which he found in the shipping department, and even went so far as to stamp them with postage stamps taken from the stamp drawer of the jewelry concern.
When he had done these things, Dan Seller, chuckling, went to a rear window on the second story of the building and surveyed the darkened shadows of the alleyway.
He found that the darkness impeded his vision, so he made one more requisition upon the stock of the jewelry store, a handsome and expensive pair of night glasses.
He focused these, raised them to his eyes, and contemplated the shadows.
The result was doubly gratifying.
He could see the form of a man crouching in the dark blob of shadow at the corner of a fence. This man was holding something in his hands. It looked like a snub-nosed telescope, supported on a three-legged stand.
The Patent Leather Kid chuckled.
A machine gun was held on the barred window, waiting for him to emerge. He swung the glasses in the other direction, wondering if the other corner would disclose another enemy.
His quest was rewarded.
The man who was partially concealed behind a packing case held an automatic in either hand, and those automatics were resting upon the wood of the packing case, ready for instant action.
Beyond doubt the mob of Beppo the Greek had acted upon the tip the young woman had relayed to them, had ascertained that the barred window of the jewelry store had been tampered with, and had ensconced themselves.
They wanted The Patent Leather Kid, and they wanted him badly enough for his own sake. But how much more of a prize would he be when he had emerged from the jewelry store, laden with valuables which only he could have obtained.
For the uncanny skill of The Patent Leather Kid was only too well known in crook circles. He was one man who could walk unscathed through a maze of burglar alarms which would have balked any other member of the profession. And he could open safes that defied the efforts of the most thorough-going and ruthless crooks.
So Beppo the Greek would win a double victory with the death of The Kid.
Dan Seller strolled back to the front of the store, picked up the wires of the burglar alarm in front of the safe, and deliberately pressed the two ends together.
Nothing happened so far as he was concerned.
He merely saw the naked ends of two wires come in contact.
But Dan Seller knew that plenty was happening in other sections of the city. The company which sold the burglary insurance and safeguarded the protective apparatus would have a watchman on duty constantly. That watchman would detect a certain red light which flashed on at the moment those wires came in contact. And a bell would ring in harsh clamor.
That light would remain on until an adjustment made at the other end of the wire put it out.
Seller looked at his wrist watch.
The watchman would just about be getting the police on the wire now. Now the riot cars would be roaring out of the nearest precinct station, packed with grim men, armed with sawed off shotguns.
Dan Seller walked to the front of the store, peered out through the plate glass show window, keeping himself concealed behind an ornamental screen.
There was no chance for escape. A touring car, side curtains concealing the interior, was parked at the corner. A man stood, leaning against a mail box, on the other side of the street.
The Patent Leather Kid chuckled.
He took the ornamental screen in his hands, his finger tips holding each side, raising it gently, just the merest fraction of an inch from the floor. Then he started shuffling toward the window, moving nearer and nearer.
When he had placed the screen in just the right position, he deposited it on the floor, straightened, turned, and walked once more to the back of the establishment. He dropped his wrapped, addressed, and stamped packages in the mailing chute. They would, he knew, be shipped out as a matter of course in the morning. In the meantime there was nothing incriminating upon him save certain electrical equipment.
He had technically violated the law in that he had broken and entered. But he had removed nothing, not directly. The very employees of the store would do that in the morning when they took the packages and sent them to the post office.
The Patent Leather Kid looked at his watch, smiled, walked back to his place of concealment behind the screen, waited. He had less than a minute to wait.
A big machine skidded around the corner. Men debouched from it, started toward the store. At that instant the touring car started into motion. The man who had been lounging near the mail box, turned, waved a hand at the touring car, started to run toward it.
A man called a sharp command.
The touring car spat forth a vicious shot. The man jumped behind the mail box. His gun barked. The touring car roared into speed.
At the same moment there came the sound of a shot from the rear of the store. Then a police whistle trilled its warning sound. A machine gun sputtered into a rat-a-tat-tat. A police sawed off shotgun bellowed—twice. There were no further sounds from the machine gun.
From the front of the store the action swept to the corner. The police officer who had crouched behind the mail box, emptied his gun as the car lurched into the turn at the corner.
But there were other officers scattered along the sidewalk. And the big police car was roaring in pursuit. The touring car vomited a belching hail of death. Little tongues of stabbing flame darted from the cracks in the side curtains of the car.
Then a police bullet found the left rear tire as the car was midway in the turn.
It faltered, swung.
The driver flung his weight against the wheel. A shotgun bellowed, and the driver went limp. The car swung, toppled at the curb, skidded up and over, went sideways across the strip of sidewalk.
Plate glass crashed. Woodwork splintered. Metal screamed as it was wrenched apart. Then there was an instant of comparative silence.
Footsteps beat the pavement.
Men were running toward the car. Pedestrians ran screaming from the scene of the conflict. Men were rushing from the back of the store to the front. Flashlights gleaming here and there took in the confusion of the interior, the open safe, the littered contents.
But Dan Seller, masquerading as The Patent Leather Kid, was nowhere in evidence. He had vanished as into the thin air.
Sounds of battle continued to punctuate the silence of the night. Police whistles were blowing constantly. Sirens wailed in the distance, screamed as they swept nearer. The tide of battle swung through the dark alleys, and then became silent.
An ambulance came with clanging bell. Officers established a cordon and pushed the curious back, out of the active zone. And the crowd gathered with swift rapidity. There were people clothed in pajamas and slippers, with bathrobes or overcoats thrown over their night garments. There were men and women dressed in evening clothes with that overly dignified bearing which characterizes persons who are trying to impress the world with their sobriety.
The crowd became thicker until a squad of officers started pushing through it, dispersing the people, sending them to their homes. The ambulance carried away inert bodies of reddened flesh. The broken doors and windows of the jewelry store were sealed and guarded. Peace and order once more held sway.
Dan Seller lounged in the club, smoking a black cigar, watching the afternoon shadows climb slowly up the walls of the buildings on the opposite side of the street.
All about him men were discussing the robbery of the jewelry store. The subject of conversation had been in the air all afternoon, but it had been given fresh impetus by the arrival of Commissioner Brame. The Commissioner was discussing the affair with Hawkins, senior partner of the firm of Hawkins & Grebe, and neither party to the conversation seemed in a very agreeable humor.
Dan Seller managed to unobtrusively join the little group.
“Congratulations, Commissioner. You seem to have rounded up a pretty tough gang of crooks. Quite a wonderful record I’d say. Do you know, I happened along just as the shooting was at its height, and had an excellent view until the police started dispersing the crowd. I told them I was a friend of yours, but they sent me on about my business just the same.”
The Commissioner glared.
“Very proper for them to do so!” he rasped. “Too damned much interference from bystanders cost us the biggest crook of them all.”
“What,” exclaimed The Patent Leather Kid, in mock surprise, “do you mean to tell me some one slipped through the cordon of police you threw about the place?”
“Huh,” said the Commissioner, “that ain’t half of it. He just made monkeys out of the bunch of us. We got the straight tip from a stoolie. It was The Patent Leather Kid that did that job at the jewelry store. Beppo’s mob wasn’t in on it at all.
“They just had a grudge against The Kid, and they were scattered around, ready to give The Kid the works when he should come out with the haul. When we swooped down and caught them by surprise they naturally showed fight. But The Patent Leather Kid got away, and I’d have given five years of my life to have had my mitts on him and eliminated that thorn in the flesh.”
Dan Seller raised his eyebrow.
“Why, Commissioner, you surprise me! The man has done you a service. He has enabled you to cover your department with distinction, show the very efficient police protection you are giving the community, and he’s wiped out the Beppo gang! He seems to me to be a public benefactor. But how did he escape?”
Commissioner Brame became apoplectic.
“Benefactor!” he stormed. “Know what he did? Damn him! He took some of the best of the haul, all of it that’s been checked as missing, in fact, and mailed it to the wife and myself as presents.
“Put me in a deuced embarrassing predicament. I had the devil’s own time explaining to the wife that she had to send it back. A wrist watch and a necklace! Damn it! And as for escaping, you tell me, and I’ll tell you. He just vanished into thin air!”
Dan Seller frowned, then struck his palm with his clenched fist.
“By Jove,” he said, turning to Hawkins. “How many men were in the window dummies you displayed, Hawkins?”
The jeweler grunted a brief answer.
“Four,” he said.
“That,” said Seller, “explains it all. When I first reached the store I noticed the window display. The cops were just breaking in, pushing the people this way and that. There was a lot of confusion. And I noticed the fact that there were five men in the window display, five dummies, sitting motionless, staring straight ahead. And I was impressed by the fact that there were five men and but four women. And I happened to notice the shoes on the man who sat in the corner, near the screen. They were patent leather, and…”
Commissioner Brame made a noise that sounded like the noise made by a man who is choking over a glass of water.
Hawkins stared dourly at Dan Seller.
“Well,” he snapped, “I wish I had that diamond pendant back. It’s still missing.”
Dan Seller smiled.
For the diamond pendant had also been one of the packages which had gone forward by mail. But that package had been addressed directly to the wife of Commissioner Brame.
He fancied there would be some further explanations in order in the family of Commissioner Brame one of these days.
And it was bad enough as it was. Brame was pacing the floor, cynosure of several amused eyes.
“Dummy, eh? Posed as a dummy, eh? Right under my nose! When the papers get hold of this!…Damn that rascal! I’ll get him one of these days! And when I do…!”
Dan Seller made a deprecatory shrug of his shoulders.
“Well,” he said, “I’ll toddle along for a stroll in the park. Better watch the blood pressure, Commissioner. And, by the way, Hawkins, you said it was impossible for any one to rob your store. I told you at the time that ‘impossible’ was a pretty big word. I wish I’d had the foresight to place a small wager on the affair. Oh, well, better luck next time! And, in the meantime, the enemies of Beppo the Greek must be chuckling. I rather fancy the underworld will be doing some speculating—it won’t hurt the prestige of The Patent Leather Kid. Well, so long, old grouch faces!”
And he was gone.