The Seven Sinister Sombreros

“Well, that’s a great way to do it.”

“It’s my way.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t care whether you do or not.”

“Well, you’re sure now,” Wolganheimer said, with something of a swagger, “and I know who put the ideas into your head. Now it’s my turn. I’ve got something to say about him!”

“I’m not so certain he’s sure now,” Bradercrust remarked.

Wolganheimer whirled on him, but Bonneguard said:

“That’ll be enough of that, Bradercrust. We want to talk with you, Wolganheimer.”

“Go ahead and talk,” Wolganheimer said irritably, “and talk fast.”

“Not here,” Bonneguard said.

“Where?”

“Out at our headquarters.”

Wolganheimer considered the invitation with knitted brows. “I don’t know just what I’m getting into,” he said thoughtfully.

“You’re in it now,” Bonneguard said.

“I’ve got a dame here,” Wolganheimer protested.

“She’ll keep,” Bonneguard told him.

Wolganheimer looked at the police undercover man, and said bitterly: “That shows all you know about it.”

“Get your hat,” Bonneguard said. “Where’s your car?”

“Down in the parking lot.”

“Get it,” Bonneguard said.

“That’s O. K. I’ll ride out with you,” Wolganheimer told him.

Bonneguard’s voice was ominous. “I said get your car.”

“Oh, all right,” Wolganheimer surrendered, with a shrug of his shoulders. “If you’re going to be like that, let’s go ahead and get it over with.”

He turned to Io Wahine. “Well, baby, I guess this is the end. I’ve given you about all the presents you can reasonably expect. I know what that means.”

The Hawaiian girl said proudly, “One does not buy my friendship.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Wolganheimer remarked. “That don’t keep one from paying for it.”

He marched out of the door, with Bradercrust and Bonneguard falling into position, one on each side.

The door closed.

Io Wahine raised dark, limpid eyes to Beaver. “Thin men,” she said, “are inclined to be nasty. Don’t you think so?”

Beaver, with the assurance of his two hundred odd pounds of brawn, placed a friendly but not particularly platonic hand on her shoulder, and said patronizingly: “Thin guys are the bunk, baby. Now this first prize is a solid gold surfboard studded with diamonds.”

“Don’t you think it would be a good idea to have a representative of the press here when you present it?” she asked. “A photograph would make excellent publicity.”

Beaver nodded. “Sure,” he said. “We aren’t in any hurry, are we?”

She smiled up at him.

Suddenly a look of worried preoccupation clouded the spy’s eyes. He said: “You wait here just a minute. I’ve got to run downstairs and see about my car. I’ll be back in just a minute.”

“You’re pinched if you’ve left it parked near the curb,” she warned. “There’s no parking—”

“It’s all right. I can square it,” Beaver said hurriedly. “You wait right here.”

He dashed out of the door, caught an elevator flashing past the floor, yelled, “Down, six,” and saw the cage come back to a stop as the door slid open. Beaver jumped in the car.

“Get to the lobby just as quick as you can, operator. Pass up all stops. It’s a matter of life and death.”

The cage shot downward. Beaver, running out through the door, ran to the sidewalk and almost collided with Sergeant Ackley and Captain Carmichael.

“What is it, Beaver?” Sergeant Ackley asked, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the parking lot.

“I’ve got something, sergeant,” the spy blurted.

“Well, go ahead and spill it fast,” Ackley told him. “We’re waiting for Bradercrust to drive out of that parking lot. When he does, we’re going to follow him. We’re just about ready to spring our trap. He’s got the dough and—”

“He hasn’t got it at all,” Beaver said hastily. “It’s Wolganheimer.”

“Bunk,” Sergeant Ackley retorted easily. “You’re always going off half-cocked with goofy theories, Beaver.”

The spy said, “Very well, sergeant, I just thought I’d report,” and turned back toward the office building. It was Captain Carmichael who stopped him.

“Let’s hear about it, Beaver,” he invited.

The undercover man turned back.

“It stands to reason it was Wolganheimer,” he said. “I see the whole thing now. When Leith first became interested in the case, he looked at a photograph of the house on Wilmeier Avenue. I noticed that he put his thumbnail over the picture of the window. It didn’t occur to me at the time what he was doing. I’ve been thinking it over, and now I realize he was measuring the bars on that window.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Captain Carmichael asked.

“Everything,” the spy said. “I remember noticing it at the time, and yet I didn’t notice it. It’s one of those things that you see, and it sticks in your memory, but you just don’t understand or appreciate why it sticks until later on when it flashes through your mind all at once and then—”