Chapter 2 Chapter two

The incandescent light fell on Officer Ackley's cigarette-scorched desk.The air in the building had a peculiar stench that permeated the cells, police headquarters, and other places where people were there all day.Sitting across from Officer Ackley's desk, Beaver said, "I didn't expect you to be up when I called." Ackley yawned and ran his hands through his hair. "It's okay, Beaver. I'll get up in the middle of the night and catch that guy. You said you need this information before 9 am?" "yes." Ackley pressed a button, called a police officer, and ordered: "Go and find out which detective agency is in the Channing Commercial Building, and ask their leader to listen to the phone."

After the officer left, Ackley rubbed the nape of his neck, yawned, and took out a cigar from his vest pocket. "Do you think it has anything to do with that ludicrous shoplifting at Gilbert's?" asked the inspector. "Looks like it is," Beaver replied. Officer Ackley lit his cigar, took a few puffs, thoughtfully, then shook his head vigorously, and said, "No, Beaver. That was a cover-up. That thing at the furry company was just a price tag." exchange, as you deduce. I guess tomorrow Gilbert will throw a tantrum and say someone took a $2,000 mink coat for $75 a faux-rabbit coat."

Beaver nodded. "I think so. But Leith doesn't think so." "It was just a smoke bomb he put out on purpose so you wouldn't know what he was selling in his gourd," Officer Ackley said. "He fell for me this time, officer. He's really going to trust me." Sergeant Ackley turned the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "No," he said, "he's teasing you, Beaver. That silver fox fur cape thing proves he's teasing you. I'll bet nothing happened to that instrument—" The phone ringing interrupted him.Quickly he grabbed the receiver and said from the corner of his mouth, "Hello—I'm Officer Ackley."

There was a silence in the room, and then Ackerley took the cigar from his mouth and said, his voice immediately full of authority: "Oh, are you the Universal International Detective Agency in the Channing Commercial Building? Are you in charge? All right, I'm Sergeant Ackley, Headquarters. Now listen up, let's get straight to the point. Is Precision Design & Install your client? Oh, yes, I see. So, what are you doing for that company now? What does the company do? I don't care if it's classified or not! This is Police Headquarters and we're working on a case that we think is fraudulent...don't care how we know. We're asking for information...no you're giving you Don't haggle when your clients call. I'm asking what's going on and you have to answer. We've let you guys off so many times, but now... well, that's about it. Okay, let's get on with it."

There was about 3 minutes of deathly silence as Officer Ackley held the microphone, frowning, listening to a voice speaking continuously through the receiver into his left ear with rapt attention.Then he said, "How do you know this woman is that person? ... I see ... where is she now? ... Well, you guys should have reported that first. That's crime, that's theft ...Of course, they don't want to discredit them, but they don't need to be punished. We can keep it secret like everyone else. Do you bastards think you can do better than the police department? ... Well, that's okay .Tell him the truth. Tell him that Police Headquarters has called and asked to report it. Tell him we are very alert and we can learn about crimes even if victims try to hide them, and you can also tell him it's Ackley Sergeant handles the case himself. Tell him I've made real progress towards a solution. In the meantime you bastards keep me up to date, get it... ok, I'm Ackley police officer."

Ackley slammed the phone down and grinned at the undercover across the table. "The head of the firm is going to be fired this time," he said. "They're trying to hide it. The guy at the detective agency is going to faint. Don't know how we know." "How do we know anything?" Beaver asked. Ackley said: "An inventor named Nicholas Hodge has made an improved locator for sea bottom detection. He has made a rough model which seems to work. He has recommended it to Washington. , but was snubbed for red tape. He was later contacted by a rear admiral who arranged for a qualification test but insisted that it be a full-fledged instrument so that the chiefs of the Admiralty would leave Good impression. The precision instrument design and installation company was selected to take on this task.

"Naturally, this matter had to be done in extreme secrecy. Only Jason Bellevue, the company's president, and his confidential secretary, a girl named Bernice Lamen, knew about this matter and the original drawings. Those offices in the instrument company are only responsible for the design, and the factory is about a mile outside the city. Bellevier's idea is to divide this thing into several parts, let the workers divide the manufacturing, and finally, after two trusted assistants With the assistance of the team, I will assemble it myself.” "And something happened to the blueprint?" Beaver asked.

"It disappeared." "The detective agency is handling the matter?" "Yes. They were contracted to do everything for the instrument company. Bellevue called them as soon as he knew what was going on. They suspected Bernice Lamen and set her up for a trap, and she fell in. They Captured her and questioned her, but found nothing." "So we'll take over?" Beaver grinned. Sergeant Ackley grinned too. "We're going to take over," he said, "but not until this old fellow Jason Bellevue crawls up and begs us. He's worried about it being exposed. If it's known that the drawings are out of the office, or, If he can't guarantee that the drawings won't be reproduced in an out-of-control situation, Precision Instruments will suffer."

Suddenly the smile on Beaver's face disappeared, and he frowned thoughtfully. "Oh," asked Ackley, "what's the matter?" "How the hell does Lester Leith know this?" Ackley's eyes showed his inner surprise at the question. "It's something to do with that silver fox fur cape being thrown out of the window," Beaver said. "Nonsense, Beaver. That's just a cover he's using." Beaver said suddenly, "Hey, Sergeant, the Instrument Company's office is across the street from the Fur Company. Do you think you can tell from that—"

Officer Ackley shook his head authoritatively: "The instrument company is on the sixth floor, and the fur company is on the fourth floor." Beaver said stubbornly: "Oh, the leather goods company is in a building, and its fourth floor is as high as the sixth floor of the office building." Sergeant Ackley frowned. "There's some truth to what you're saying," he admitted.Then he added hastily: "But I have some doubts." Lester Leith listened to the footman's report over coffee and toast and bacon. "Very interesting, Beaver, and quite complete, I should say. How did you get these things?"

The undercover coughed. "A young woman I was interested in befriended a detective," he said. "Oh, yes, you mentioned it before. I don't know if the situation is moral, Beaver, but there's clearly a lot to be gained from this relationship." "Yes, sir." "Are you sure Jason Bellevue called the police?" "Yes, sir. After midnight." "Let's run this over again, Beaver." "Yes, sir. Bellevier put the original drawings in his safe, the door of which was opened during the day and closed and locked at night. The inventor of the instrument, Nicholas Hodge, and Bellevier had just A preparatory meeting was over. The drawings were put in the safe. Bellevueil had an important matter to attend to and said he would be away for a while, leaving Hodge in an office connected to his own private office. And Bernice Lamen, Bellevier's secretary, had opened and sorted the afternoon's mail in her own office, and was delivering it to Mr. Bellevier's private office—so she said. She had just stepped into the Screams were heard across the street from the office. Naturally, many employees ran to the windows to watch the commotion. Bernice Lamen said she heard a 'slam' from the door of the private office, as if someone had rushed out. She thought it was M. Bellevier. That's what she said." "Isn't that Bellevue?" "Yes, sir. M. Bellevier says he's in another part of the building. Whoever took the drawings from the safe seems to know exactly where they are." "Is it possible that an outsider entered the office?" "No, sir. Frank Paxson, director of the company's in-house publications, has been practicing skeet shooting on weekends. He brought his gun into the office, and as soon as he heard the commotion across the street, he grabbed it, loaded it, and jumped to the In the corridor. Among the people present, only the inventor Hodge has nothing to do with the company. Of course, it is hard to imagine that Hodge would steal his own drawings." Lester Leith frowned and pondered: "What about Bernice Lamen?" "The detectives watched the building last night. Miss Lamen came back to her office and said she hadn't done her work. The detectives thought that was suspicious, so they caught her. You know, sir, a guard was immediately arrested. Posted at the door in case anyone takes the drawings out. They must still be hidden in the office, where the burglar took them out of the safe and hid them." Leith said: "The detectives searched Miss Lamen and found nothing?" "No, sir." Leith smiled. "What do you want to do about it, sir?" said Beaver. Leith raised his eyebrows in surprise and asked, "What are you doing?" "Well, sir, I mean, I was wondering if you wanted to confirm some of your inferences." "I don't think so, Beaver. I find myself pissed at the stupidity of the police handling the whole thing, but I'm not told to do anything. My interest in these things is purely abstract--just purely academic It's just speculation." The woman who ran the theater employment agency looked up at Lester Leith.Her smile was at first a professional flattery, but when she saw the strong figure, the keen and alert eyes, the straight nose, and the smiling lips, her demeanor suddenly became kind. "Good morning," she said.Compared with her usual attitude towards strange visitors, this time her tone was much warmer. Lester Leith smiled at her. "I want to write some stories." The smile on the woman's face was replaced by a frown. "We never take writers," she said, "we don't deal with literature ourselves, but unless you've got a lot of experience—" "Feature reporting," continued Lester Leith, "is written from an unusual angle—from the human side behind the news." The woman's frowning brows relaxed a little: "It sounds interesting, but I'm afraid we can't—" "Oh," interposed Leith briskly, "just a hobby. I don't want to make money off of it, and I'm not asking you to give me a job." "So what do you want?" "An actress who likes to show her face." The woman at the table said: "They all like to show their faces." "I want an actress," Leith said, "someone qualified, one experienced, one—" "You don't find actors like that anymore," the woman interrupted impatiently. "These days, young people think only of Hollywood. They just use the stage as a springboard to film." Lester Leith said: "The actor I want doesn't necessarily have to be young. I want someone with character who can afford it and let it go." She stared at him in some bewilderment. "There's one waiting in the office outside," she said. "She's done everything from acting in the troupe to juggling. She's really talented, but—well, she's not getting any younger .” "How old are you?" Leith asked. She laughed: "She said she was 30, she looked like 33. I think she was around 40, I have to admire the way she kept her courage." "What's her name?" "Winnie Gale." "Would she like to do something for me—be a model?" "I don't think so. She doesn't want to be anything but an actress, but you can talk to her." Leith said, "Let her in." Winnie Gale, sure enough, was a woman impatient with tricks, and wanted to know exactly what the hell was going on.She interrupted her initial conversation with Lester Leith with a straightforward question: "Have you ever written anything?" "No," said Lester Leith, "it's a new attempt." "Listen, I don't have the patience to hang out with you," she said impatiently. "Tut, tut. I expected it to be so. Don't go, Miss Gale." "why not?" "Fortunately, I don't make a living selling literature." "But I have to make a living out of time, and I can't afford to waste it." "I want you to pose, let me take pictures, and write a story with a human touch," Leith said. "It will be $250 for two hours—and, of course, a fur coat." "One more thing?" "A fur coat—a silver fox fur shawl." Winnie Gale sat down suddenly. "Hey, listen," she said, "really?" Leith nodded. "Can you speak without counting?" He shook his head. "Will I get cash?" "yes." "when?" "Now." "What am I going to do?" "Throw a fur shawl out the window and tell me how you feel." Winnie Gale glanced at the startled woman behind the desk, then looked up at Lester Leith. "You're crazy," she said, "but if you have $250 cash lying around, I'll do what you say."