Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 36, No. 4, October 20, 1928

A smart crook doesn’t fall for any woman very hard. If a crook does fall, then he becomes just a crook and is no longer entitled to be called smart.

Flash Santelle bad proved himself one of the smartest crooks the sunken gardens had ever known. In no instance had the police ever been able to connect him with women. That is the reason he got by so long and so easily. No woman to betray him.

Now it stood to reason that Santelle, if still a crook, was not going to entangle himself with Marthe. Not a bit of it. Too smart for that. In which case Tommy Patterson need not worry about his love affair, in so far as Flash was concerned.

On the other hand, if Santelle had really decided to tread the straight and narrow, what would be more natural than that he should fall in love with a girl whose father had so many millions as had Bailey, and marry her?

And if he decided to marry Marthe, and Marthe seconded the motion, who could stop him? Anderson might try, of course, but he was the sort who backed a man without reservation or didn’t back him at all. He had come out strong for Flash, and doubtless would not kick very hard against a marriage between his daughter and him. Anderson Bailey was just that sort of man, and might even welcome the union in order to further prove to the world that he was a mighty fine judge of men.

So much for the tangle involving Marthe, Flash and Tommy.

As for the other phase of the Santelle case which I had expressed to Jim in the word alibi, I wasn’t any clearer. If Flash feared that something might be pulled in or around Kansas City, something crooked, and that he’d fall under suspicion — which would not be unlikely, considering who he was and that he was on the ground — having indisputable proof that he could not have had a hand in it would naturally be mighty helpful to him. I could see that.

But Flash couldn’t hire the Kaw Valley to keep watch on him forever, that was certain, even if he could stand such espionage himself. Therefore, if my alibi theory wasn’t just a dud, the danger that threatened Flash would not be a threat after the passing of the present week.

That conclusion would argue that he had private advices that something big would be pulled that week — which didn’t ring true with me.

So I had to come back to the situation as Flash had detailed it to me in my office. A certain three-fingered party was after his meat, and, being tied up with company at the time, he desired a little help in the matter of protection.

After all, couldn’t a reformed crook, or even one who had not resolved to do better, hire a detective for a legitimate job without laying himself open to suspicion on account of it? It stood to reason he could.

But there was a certain question in my mind, having lodged there the evening before, which gave me some heavy thinking. It was this:

Why had not Santelle, if in fear of trouble from a blackmailer, arranged for his servants to guard him and the grounds? That probably doesn’t make much impression the way it’s put, but consider this:

Flash Danielle’s domestic establishment numbered eight males, and every one of them young enough and husky enough to make it hot for anybody who came prowling around the premises. The butler, as I knew, had been a hard-bitten bird in the past, and I’d have hesitated to tackle him myself, even in his present supposedly pacific character. His chauffeurs were mighty powerful looking men, and young, as were his footman, gardeners, valets — in short, Flash seemed to have surrounded himself with servants of a somewhat unusual type.

Also, what the devil did Santelle find for such a staff of servants to do? He entertained but seldom, and his family numbered only himself and Uncle Cato. How did Flash manage to keep so many able-bodied men busy?

Having all the men help his establishment boasted, why go out and hire a pair of sleuths to stand guard over him? That struck me as being a trifle odd. Had he wanted a mystery unraveled, the sleuths would have been logical. But that wasn’t the case. Flash merely wanted a pair of guards — and that was something entirely unnecessary, everything considered.

There was a black boy hanging around the woodpile at Willow Bend or I’d lost my ability to scent ’em.

With that conclusion in mind, and resolving to be even more alert than usual, I joined the guests for a boat trip up the Kaw, which killed the rest of the afternoon.

Chapter X Footprints

Tommy Patterson merely dallied with his dinner that evening, which caused me some concern. A healthy young chap with a poor appetite is usually deserving of a watchful eye. I resolved to keep him under observance until he showed a better mood.