The Leather Duke

Towner kicked back his chair, sprang to his feet and tore the order from Johnny’s hand. “Twenty barrels!” he roared. “Where’d you get this?”

“From the Croft Shoe Company — naturally. That’s John B. Croft’s signature...”

“It’s a forgery!”

“Mr. Towner!” Johnny said, indignantly.

“This is another of your stunts, but you’re not going to get away with it. You think I won’t call Croft.”

“Go right ahead, sir.”

Towner regarded Johnny suspiciously. “This order is genuine?”

“Of course it is. Mr. Croft signed it himself. A little, fat, bald-headed guy.”

“That’s Croft, all right. But...” Towner’s eyes slitted. “How did you get it?”

“Why, I just went into his office and asked him for an order for counters and he gave it to me. That’s all there was to it...”

Towner grabbed up his telephone. “Get me John B. Croft,” he snarled.

Johnny strolled to one of the chairs and seated himself carelessly. Then Croft was on the wire. “Croft,” snapped Harry Towner. “I have an order here for twenty barrels of counters, signed by you... What... You did sign it?... What’s that?... I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about Croft. The same to you, in spades!” He listened for a moment, his eyes screwed up in a frown. “You signed the order? That’s all I wanted to know. You’ll get the counters and you’ll pay for them, too!” He slammed the receiver back on the prongs and looked ominously at Fletcher.

“What really happened, Fletcher?” he asked, slowly. “The truth...”

“The truth, Mr. Towner. I asked to see Mr. Croft and when I got into his office I asked him—”

“Croft mumbled something about an old pair of shoes and... blackmail.”

“Blackmail? I don’t know what he’s talking about...” Johnny suddenly grinned. “All right, Mr. Towner, the truth. I stopped in at a secondhand store on Division. I bought the worst looking pair of Croft shoes I could find. Props. They gave me the appointment business at Croft’s office. I scared the hell out of them. Not by what I said, but the way I said it. Significant pauses, emphasis upon my name. I told Croft’s secretary I’d wait three minutes, no more. Perfectly true; if he wouldn’t see me in three minutes, he wouldn’t see me at all. Croft saw me. I went into his office and sat down and let him carry the ball. He’s got a guilty conscience — most men have, you know. At one time or another they’ve taken out a little lady they oughtn’t to have taken out. Or something. So I just sat there and let Croft get himself all worked up. Then I opened the package containing the shoes and let him look at them. Then I showed him two of our counters and asked him if he wanted to buy some. I could have made out the order for a hundred barrels, but I let him off easy. Of course, if you insist I’ll go back and get the other eighty barrels...”

“No,” said Towner, thickly. “It won’t be necessary. You proved your point. You’re a salesman.”

“I told you I was.”

“So you did. You sold John Croft, but you’ve sold a tougher man than he, you sold me. You passed the test. I’m not going to say a word about your methods. I gave you an impossible assignment and you proved that it wasn’t impossible. I guess your methods were justified. Now — the reward. Name it, Fletcher...!”

Johnny looked thoughtfully at his hands, then shifted his glance to Edgar Bracken. The little sales manager cringed visibly. “How much does your job pay, Mr. Bracken?”

“S-seven thousand a year,” stammered the sales manager.

Lieutenant Lindstrom appeared in the office door behind Bracken. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he began, then saw Johnny and scowled. “You, Fletcher, just the man I want to see.”

“Here we go again!” sighed Johnny.

“What is it, Lieutenant?” demanded Harry Towner, impatiently. “More questions?”

Lieutenant Lindstrom drew a notebook from his pocket. “Last night, at eight-forty-three this man and his big friend entered a poolroom on Oak Street. They got into a quarrel with Carmella Vitali and started a riot...”

“I know about that, Lieutenant,” said the Leather Duke. “He told me.”

Lindstrom’s eyes narrowed. “I had a man shadowing Carmella. What I want to know is — why did you go there last night?”

“I wanted to pump him,” said Johnny.

“About what?”

“Now, look, Lieutenant, let’s not be cute. There was a murder here yesterday...”

“I haven’t forgotten it,” Lindstrom said, grimly. “Nor have I forgotten that your leather knife was missing. And I haven’t forgotten the coincidence of your starting to work here the morning of a murder and your poking your nose into Carmella’s business...”

“Lieutenant,” said Johnny, drawing a deep breath. “Do you know who murdered Al Piper?”

“I don’t at this minute, but—”

“Do you know why he was killed?”

“No, but—”

“You don’t know, Lieutenant,” Johnny interrupted. “And I don’t know. But I think I’ll know before you do.” He turned to Harry Towner. “Mr. Towner, this affair isn’t helping the business any, is it?”