The Leather Duke

“Only something about: ‘I know who did it,’ but it certainly had an effect on Towner. He shut up right away and when he said he’d see her today, he was as meek as a mouse... This was after we threw her out here, about eleven-thirty you know. Around mid-night—”

“This girl, did she give her name?”

“On the telephone? Unh-uh. On’y when she left the messages before. Just — ‘Nancy called’...”

“Nancy!” cried Johnny.

“Yeah, Nancy?” The bellboy’s eyes slitted. “Know her?”

“No,” said Johnny.

“I been thinkin’ today,” the bellboy went on, “Towner’s old man owns a big leather factory up on the north side and there was a murder there yesterday and I was thinkin’—”

“Don’t,” said Johnny, “don’t think.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Uh, what I been tellin’ you, that’s just between us, huh? You could cost me my job, maybe. And Nora—”

“Don’t worry. Not a word to anyone.”

“Thanks, and, uh, if you need anything, just call the bell stand and ask for Number Three. If you forget the number, ask for Augie...”

“Augie, Number Three; I’ll remember.”

Augie, Number 3, stowed away his haul of fifteen dollars and left the suite.

Johnny made a quick tour through the suite, then stepped to a desk and found some club stationery. He picked up a pen and wrote: “Sam, come down to the steam room.”

He stuck the message in the frame of the dresser mirror where it would be seen readily and, leaving the suite, rode down in the elevator to the steam room. An attendant showed him to a locker room and gave him a towel and a sheet. Draping the sheet around him he stepped into the hot air room.

There were several wooden deck chairs scattered about the room, two or three of which were occupied by nude club members. Johnny spread the sheet out over a vacant chair and seated himself on it. Even through the sheet, the wood of the chair was near the scorching point, for the temperature in the room was 180 degrees.

Perspiration broke out on his body inside of a minute or two and in ten minutes it streamed off his body. He remained in the room another ten minutes, then came out and took a hot shower. He finished off with cold water, then ran to the swimming pool and dove in.

He went down deep, came up and looked into the face of Fred Wendland, less than two feet from his own.

“Freddie!” Johnny exclaimed. “Imagine meeting you here.”

Treading water, Wendland looked at him blankly a moment, before recognition dawned on him. “Fletcher,” he said, then: “How the devil did you get in here?”

“Guest card. And you?”

“I’m a member of this club.”

Johnny wasn’t good at treading water, so he swam to the edge of the pool. He climbed up and sat down on the tile, dangling his legs in the water. A few feet away, Wendland continued to tread water. His face wore an angry scowl.

“Too bad you ran out this noon,” Johnny said, cheerfully. “If you’d hung around I’d’ve introduced you to the shamus. We had quite a little tête-à-tête.”

“I’m not interested in private detectives,” snapped Wendland. He swam closer to the edge of the pool, then began treading water again. “And I don’t understand why a man like you would want a guest card at this club. As much gall as you’ve got, you must know that you don’t fit in here.”

“Why, I thought I was fitting in very well,” Johnny replied, mockingly. “I’ve done a good day’s work, so now I’m relaxing at the club. A steam, a little swim, then a rubdown and I’m all set for the evening.”

“You know damn well what I meant, Fletcher. The people here aren’t your sort.”

“They’ve got two heads and I’ve only got one?”

“You’re a common laborer.”

“A common laborer built this swimming pool, Wendland. Common laborers raise the food you eat and make the clothes you wear. And as for me, specifically, Freddie boy...” Johnny got to his feet, roused. “Name one thing in which you think you’re superior to me. Physically, I can lick the hell out of you...”

“That remains to be seen,” snarled Wendland.

“And mentally, Freddie, in what respect do you figure you’ve got it over me? I can make a fool out of you on any subject you name...”

“I’ve had enough from you, Fletcher,” sputtered Wendland. “Wait until I climb out of here...” He swam quickly for the edge of the pool, began to clamber out.

Johnny watched him coolly. “You’ve admitted it yourself, hiring the Wiggins Detective Agency to shadow me...”

Wendland, half out of water, stared at Johnny in astonishment. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

“A man named Begley’s been following me all day. He’s outside the club right now. He works for the Wiggins Agency. And you hired them.”

Wendland finished climbing out of the pool, but was no longer belligerent. A confused frown twisted his features.

“Why are you having me shadowed, Wendland?” Johnny continued. “You know damn well I didn’t kill Al Piper. So why...? Are you afraid of something I might find out about you?”

Wendland suddenly whirled and walked away from Johnny. Johnny was still looking after him, when Sam Cragg appeared on the far side of the pool. He spied Johnny and waved.