The Seven Sinister Sombreros
- Автор: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
- Год: 1939
- Язык: английский
- Год: Street & Smith Publications
- Жанр: Классические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Seven Sinister Sombreros». Краткое содержание книги:
“What?” Lester Leith exclaimed incredulously. “I must have. I bought it.”
“Well, it isn’t here.”
Sergeant Ackley said: “Don’t listen to him, captain. He’s just trying to mix things all up and—”
Captain Carmichael said sternly: “Use your head, sergeant. There’s been a mixup in cars at the parking lot. This is Wolganheimer’s car.”
Sergeant Ackley stared at the secret compartment in the spare tire, looked at Lester Leith in startled dismay as slow comprehension sagged his jaw muscles, sent his cigar drooping downward at a dejected angle. Suddenly his eyes sparkled. The cigar snapped upward.
“Holy smoke!” he shouted. “We’ve got him! We’ve got him with the goods on. He read about Wolganheimer having a puncture the night of the burglary and not being able to put on the spare tire because the threads were crossed on the bolt. He figured out Wolganheimer had deliberately crossed those threads so the tire couldn’t be taken off. That’s why he got that big monkey wrench. Wolganheimer knew his own associates would eventually search him and every place he’d been— We’ve got him, captain! We’ve got him! He switched tickets there at the parking space, copped this car, started away with it, and the tire went flat. We came storming on his heels, and he hasn’t had a chance to ditch the swag. He’s trying to stall around so he can hide it. Search him!”
Captain Carmichael nodded, said grimly, “I’m sorry, Leith, but I think there’s enough evidence to warrant our taking you to headquarters.”
“For what?” Lester Leith asked. “To search you.”
“Search me here,” Leith said. “Come on in the drugstore. Search me in there.”
“Come on,” Sergeant Ackley said; “in the drugstore, captain. Seconds are precious. We want to clean this thing up.”
They rushed Lester Leith into the drugstore, searched him from head to foot, went through every inch of his clothes — and found absolutely nothing, other than the usual assortment of articles which might have been expected, including some two thousand dollars in fifty and hundred-dollar bills.
Sergeant Ackley wiped perspiration from his forehead, scowled at Captain Carmichael.
“He couldn’t have ditched it,” said the sergeant. “He— Wait a minute. How about that skinny cowpuncher. What became of him?”
“He drove away,” Lester Leith said.
“He’s got the swag,” Sergeant Ackley yelled, and pounced upon the telephone.
He called the radio department at police headquarters, ordered a broadcast to all cars to pick up a thin man wearing a sombrero, and accompanied by a Hawaiian girl. The pair were probably in a 1936 Ford sedan.
Lester Leith yawned, and lighted a cigarette.
At the end of ten minutes, headquarters called back that a detective reported a thin cowpuncher, wearing a big sombrero, accompanied by a Hawaiian girl, was sitting in a 1936 Ford in front of Lester Leith’s apartment, apparently awaiting instructions.
“Get them under arrest,” Sergeant Ackley bellowed into the telephone. “Rush them to headquarters. Don’t give them a chance to ditch anything. We’ll meet you up there and search them.”
Sergeant Ackley slammed up the telephone and said to Lester Leith:
“Come on, buddy; you’re going to headquarters.”
“This,” Leith suggested, “is a damnable outrage.”
Captain Carmichael tilted back his hat to scratch the side of his head.
“I’m not so certain but what it is,” he admitted.
“I am warning you, gentlemen,” Lester Leith said, “that if I am dragged to police headquarters, I shall cease to co-operate with you. I shall make absolutely no statement of any sort, nature, or description.”
“Who wants you to make any statement?” Sergeant Ackley yelled. “Every time you talk, you mix things all up. We’ve got you this time, dead to rights. We’ve caught you in the act, and we’re going to run down your back trail until we nail you to the cross. All we ask of you is to keep your mouth shut. Come on, captain; let’s go.”
Lester Leith sat in the police car, and, during the journey, made no comment. At headquarters, he nodded to the thin, bowlegged cow-puncher in the Western hat, and the Hawaiian girl who accompanied him.
Sergeant Ackley said: “This gives you the whole sketch. Leith was advertising for a cowpuncher. Why did he want a broncobuster? Not that he cared a hang about whether the man could actually bust broncos or not, but broncobusters are riders. Riders are bowlegged. Now, Wolganheimer is thin and bowlegged. Wolganheimer took a 1936 Ford into the parking station. He had Io Wahine with him. The guy in the parking station was all eyes for the Hawaiian girl. Lester Leith drove in and started shuffling ’36 Fords around like cards in a deck. He had every opportunity to switch parking tickets. Then when this pair came to the parking station, all the attendant could see was a thin man with bowlegs accompanied by a Hawaiian girl. He never smelled a rat. He gave them the car without any questions. Handling the number of cars that he does, he has only a hazy recollection of cars and people.”
Captain Carmichael nodded. “Very logical, sergeant,” he said ominously. “Very well worked out and very concisely stated. Now, just how do you expect to get your proof?”
Sergeant Ackley said belligerently: “I’ll get it. Leith won’t talk, but I can turn the heat on these two and—”
The thin broncobuster said, with a quiet calm which was packed with deadly anger: “I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about. I have been running some errands for Lester Leith. This Hawaiian girl has been with me. We haven’t been near any parking lot.”
“That’s right,” Maui Huanemo said. “I know because I was with him every minute.”
“That’s what you say,” Sergeant Ackley stormed. “Wait until that service station man identifies you.” The thin broncobuster reached in his pocket and said to Captain Carmichaeclass="underline" “Here’s something that may help. About forty minutes ago, I parked the car in front of a fire plug, and the officer insisted on giving me a ticket. Perhaps he can identify me. In any event, the ticket will.” He took from his pocket a traffic tag on which the name, “Phil Wolsack,” had been signed as the operator of the car.
“Your name Wolsack?” Captain Carmichael asked.
“Yes.”
“Go ahead and sign your name. Let’s see you sign it,” Sergeant Ackley said.
They looked over his shoulder while he signed his name.
Captain Carmichael said: “That tag was issued at ten minutes past five by Hal Whiteside over in No. 5 precinct. This car couldn’t have been parked out there by the Moronia Building, sergeant.”
Sergeant Ackley stared from one to the other with apprehensive eyes. An orderly stepped into the room. “Beg pardon, sergeant,” he said. “Do you want another report on that radio broadcast?”
“What radio broadcast?”
“You called all cars and asked them to be on the lookout for a ’36 Ford, driven by a thin chap wearing a cowboy hat, and accompanied by a Hawaiian girl.”
“What have you learned?” Sergeant Ackley asked.
“Radio Car No. 13 has picked up a pair answering the description. They were speeding out of town. The guy says he’s working for Lester Leith and was delivering some packages. The girl says she’s a professional hula dancer, hired by Lester Leith as a member of the Hawaiian-American Aesthetic—”
“Skip all that,” Sergeant Ackley said. “I know all about it.”
“Do you want them?”
“You bet I want them!”
The orderly seemed fighting to suppress a smile. “Just a minute, sergeant,” he said. “Here’s another one.”