Black Mask (Vol. 7, No. 5 — April 1950), British Edition

He grabbed the paper and his startled eyes bored into the page. I crossed to my own desk, tilted back in my chair and once again filled the atmosphere with hysterical hilarity.

The story he was reading with bugging eyes was simple and to the point. It stated baldly that Mrs. Parry had been found in her bedroom neatly stabbed through the heart and that her husband was missing.

Friends had announced to the police that she and her husband had got along none too well in recent years and there was a four state alarm out for yesterday’s client, Mr. Campbell Parry. In addition, Mrs. Parry’s father was offering ten G’s cash for any information leading to the apprehension and conviction of the killer.

Sackler hurled the newspaper to the floor and registered a typical reaction.

“I’m out nine thousand, five hundred dollars,” he said bitterly.

“How do you figure that?”

“If I wasn’t so damned efficient, if I hadn’t told him how to hide himself so well, I could find him. I could claim the dough the old man is offering.”

He paced the floor, running his long fingers through his dark black hair. He was thinking of money, money which had eluded his sticky fingers and he was suffering. I watched him, not without enjoyment.

He came suddenly to a halt. His brow brightened somewhat as he said, “Well, if the old guy’s offering a reward, I suppose anyone can get into the act. The coppers won’t have an exclusive on the case. I call him and offer my talents.”

He thumbed through the phone book, put through a call and spoke briefly. Evidently the answer was satisfactory since his face registered relief when he hung up.

He picked up his shapeless hat and said, “We’re working, Joey. Old man Parry wants all the help he can get. Let’s go down to the Parry house and see if we can pick up anything.”

I sat firmly in my chair. I said, “I have something to discuss with you first.”

“It can wait, can’t it?” he said testily. “There’s money involved here.”

“There is,” I agreed. “You were to sleep on a certain proposition I made you yesterday.”

“Afterwards,” he said, annoyed. “Business first. There’s ten thousand bucks in this case.”

“Ten percent of which is mine.”

“We’ll talk about it later, Joey. Come on.”

“No,” I said. I stood up. “Here is my last, my final offer. My salary remains the same. But starting right now, I get ten percent of all fees if you break the case. If I break it, I get ninety percent, you get the ten.”

He stared at me.

“When,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “did you ever crack a case without my help?”

I thought it politic not to answer that. I said, “For instance if you find Parry and bring him back, you get nine G’s. I get one. If I find him I get the nine thousand, you get the one.

“You’re nuts, Joey. First you never solved a case in your life. I solve them all. Why should I give you ten percent?”

I shrugged and essayed to look nonchalant. “You forget Owens has offered me a job.”

“Then take it,” he snapped. “I’m going up to the Parry house.”

I hadn’t expected this and was taken somewhat by surprise. But I still held the top card in the deck. I took a deep breath and played it.

“What would your old pal, Inspector Wolfe, at Headquarters say; what would every paper in town say; what would the whole damned city say if they knew that Rex Sackler took a five hundred buck fee from a killer to tell him where to hide?”

He looked at me, stricken. He said, “Traitor!

“Joey,” he said in a voice which had a tremor in it, “you wouldn’t do it.”

“The hell I wouldn’t.”

He stood for a long silent moment. Then he gave up like a man giving up his right arm. He said, “All right, Joey. I shall do as you say. But the memory of this perfidy shall bow my back until the day I die.”

“Okay with me,” I said cheerfully. “As long as I get my ten percent.”

I put on my hat and we went down to the street en route to the Parry house. Naturally, he sneaked out of the taxi first and stuck me with the bill but I was so elated with the sharp bargain I had driven I didn’t care.

The Parry domicile was a neat semi-Colonial job on the Nassau county border. There was a copper at the gate who made no move to stop us as we went by. The heavy front door was open. I thrust my head around the jamb and the first person I saw was Inspector Wolfe of the Homicide squad. He saw me, too, and groaned. He said, “I suppose Sackler’s with you.”

I nodded brightly. Wolfe groaned again. “I might have known publication of a reward would be bringing him running.”

Sackler pushed past me and confronted Wolfe.

“Reward!” he said with fine contempt. “I am here to do my duty as a citizen. To bring a killer to justice. If there’s any money involved it’s a mere byproduct.”

Wolfe looked as skeptical as I did.

“Now,” said Sackler, “have the police discovered anything of any importance?”