The Seven Sinister Sombreros

“But Wolganheimer was with Bonneguard all the time that job was being pulled off,” Sergeant Ackley said, his voice showing contemptuous disgust.

“No, he wasn’t either,” Beaver said, “because the job wasn’t pulled when everyone thinks it was. Just because the guards went to sleep on the job, it’s a natural assumption that the safe must have been cracked while a guard was sleeping. You naturally figure that that’s why the guards were doped. That isn’t so. The guards were doped just as a cover-up.

“Wolganheimer and Bonneguard went in the room to lock up. Bonneguard put the dough in the safe. Wolganheimer went around locking the windows. He could have left that one window unlocked. He went out, took Bonneguard to the lawyer, doubled back in the car, slipped over the fence, spoke to the dogs, reached through the bars, raised the window, squirmed in through that opening, opened the safe by using the combination, took out the cash, then knocked out the dial, and punched back the spindle.

“Bettler was keeping guard in the outer corridor all the time, but Wolganheimer didn’t care because there was a locked door between him and Bettler, and Bettler didn’t even have a key. Wolganheimer slipped back out and went and picked up Bonneguard. He told Bonneguard he’d been out with his Hawaiian girl. Nobody cared enough about it to check him on it because no one figured it made any difference where he’d been.”

“But how did Bettler get drugged, and afterwards how did Bradercrust get drugged?” Captain Carmichael asked. “As Sergeant Ackley has pointed out, those facts indicate that Bradercrust must have been the one who administered the drug.”

“No, it was a cinch,” Beaver said. “When Wolganheimer left the first time, he coated the glass tumbler below the spigot of the water cooler with some tasteless opiate. Bettler took a drink. Half an hour afterward, he became groggy. He telephoned Bonneguard. Bonneguard, Wolganheimer, and Bradercrust dashed up there. They took Bettler and left Bradercrust. While they were there that time, Wolganheimer coated the inside of the glass with more dope. This time he made a better job of it, because he knew he hadn’t given Bettler quite enough. This time he almost got too much. Bradercrust took a glass of water, drank some, saw the dog was thirsty, poured the rest out for the dog, then added more water to it by-refilling the tumbler from the spigot. The dish the dog drank the water from was too big to go under the spigot. It had to be filled by using the tumbler.”

Sergeant Ackley said, “You’re all wet, Beaver.”

“I’m not so certain he is,” Captain Carmichael said thoughtfully. “And what do you suppose is holding them up in the parking station? Let’s go take a look.”

“That will be tipping our hand,” Sergeant Ackley warned.

“Well, maybe it’s time to tip it,” Carmichael remarked. “Come on, Beaver.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” the spy said, “I’m working on another angle of this case. I’m working on Io Wahine. I think I’m going to be able to worm it out of her that Wolganheimer didn’t come to see her at all the night of the burglary.”

“Good work, Beaver,” Captain Carmichael complimented.

“But in order to do that,” Beaver went on desperately, “I’ve got to get in strong with her. I’m giving her a prize on behalf of the Hawaiian-American Aesthetic Art Association which Lester Leith organized for some purpose or other. I don’t know exactly what was back of it, but I figured that it was because he wanted to get on the good side of her and find out about Wolganheimer himself. Now, let’s beat him to it.”

Captain Carmichael nodded. Sergeant Ackley let his eyes narrow. The cigar in his mouth assumed a less rakish angle, but the jaw muscles below his ears were taut as he bit into the soggy tobacco.

“Here’s what I want,” Beaver went on hurriedly. “I want some newspaper we can count on to send a man down to 613 Moronia Building to cover the presentation of this prize I’m awarding. That will make me the fair-haired child, and give me a chance to make her come across with the information I want.”

Captain Carmichael said: “Ring up the Planet. Ask for Joe Ashe, the managing editor. Tell him that I told you to ring him up. Tell him what you want. Tell him it’s for me, and in connection with some work we’re doing. He’ll co-operate with you to the limit. Come on, sergeant: let’s go around and see what’s holding up the procession.”

Beaver turned to dash for the nearest public telephone. Sergeant Ackley and Captain Carmichael, marching shoulder to shoulder, with the air of two tough cops who are ready for anything that may break, rounded the corner and entered the parking lot.

A little knot of figures was engaged in hectic argument.

“I tell you that ain’t his car,” Bonneguard said. “I know the license numbers.”

“I don’t care a hoot about the license numbers,” the exasperated service station attendant said. “This is the number that’s on his ticket. This is the number that’s on his car, and this is his car. A skinny, bow-legged fellow with a Hawaiian girl came in here and parked that other car. A skinny, bowlegged fellow with a Hawaiian dancer came in and got that other car. It was a ’36 Ford when they brought it in, and it was a ’36 Ford when they took it out. This is this guy’s car. I don’t know what kind of a flimflam you’re trying to work, but so far as I’m concerned, it’s no soap. See?”

Bonneguard said ominously: “Now listen, brother. We don’t want any of your lip. This car is important. We’ve searched this guy, and we’ve searched his room. We’re looking for something. We want to search his car. Now then, it ain’t going to do us no good to search the wrong car.”

Wolganheimer took a deep breath. “You guys are nuts,” he said quietly. “This is my car. It’s the car I brought in, and it’s the car I’ve been driving. I didn’t recognize it at first.”

The service station attendant nodded. “Sure, it’s his car,” he said.

Bonneguard and Bradercrust exchanged puzzled glances.

Captain Carmichael said in a low voice to Sergeant Ackley: “Looks as though you’ve had us barking up the wrong tree, sergeant. Now, where do you suppose Leith is? We’ve let him slip through our fingers, and it begins to look as though he was the one we wanted.”

“Not until he gets in touch with Bradercrust,” Sergeant Ackley said doggedly.

Captain Carmichael stepped forward, and said to the parking attendant:

“A man came in here a few minutes ago, all dressed up in cow-puncher togs, and—”

“Yeah, I know, driving a ’36 Ford, same model as this one,” the attendant said. “He went out a minute ago. What do you want?”

“Which way did he go?”

The attendant jerked his thumb, and said: “I don’t think he went far either. I noticed his right rear tire was going flat as he pulled out. I yelled at him two or three times, but he didn’t hear.”

Captain Andrew Carmichael said, “Thanks,” and nodded significantly to Sergeant Ackley.