Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 26, No. 4. Whole No. 143, October 1955

“Till the bird has flown the coop?” Alberts asked grimly. “No, much as I dislike the fuss, I’m going directly to the police.”

“Now, Mr. Alberts,” the hotel manager said, “Mr. Fenny has a—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll handle it,” Fenny said, getting to his feet with a great effort. “But I’m still against it. Come along, both of you.”

Mr. Rogers was a large man whose graying hair and handsome face gave him an air of distinction. But on his face at the moment was the loose, silly grin of a, drunk. He poured a drink from the bottle on his dresser and watched a bellboy pack his bag. When the three men entered, Rogers blinked at them and asked, “Are we holding a conference here, gentlemen?”

“I understand you sold my watch for twenty dollars,” Alberts began. “I—”

Trying to focus his eyes, Rogers said, “I did? Funny, thought it was my watch, sell it for what I please. Nobody’s business but—”

Fenny pushed the jeweler aside and said, in a mild squeak, “Merely wanted to talk to you, Mr. Rogers.”

Rogers waved his arm. “Busy, busy. Some other time,” he said thickly.

His hand barely touched Fenny’s face; but, in trying to duck, the rolypoly detective lost his balance and fell heavily to the floor. Glancing up at the manager and Alberts, both of whom were annoyed at Fenny’s clumsiness, the dick said, “Help me up.” Then he growled at Rogers, “Watch them hands, mister.”

“Sorry,” Rogers said. He tried to bow and reached out to steady himself.

Fenny took Rogers’s arm. “Better come with me, chum.”

As he was being steered toward the door, Rogers asked, “Where are we going? Can I take my pal along?” He motioned toward the bottle.

Fenny told him, “It’s your pal, take all of it.”

“Sir, you’re a gentleman,” Rogers mumbled and tilted the bottle.

They had reached the rear elevators when Rogers passed out. Alberts said, “Shouldn’t have let him drink so much. Look at him, stupid drunk.”

“Come on,” Fenny said, “we’ll have to carry him to the police station.”

On Saturday morning Fenny called the desk sergeant and asked, “Jack, how’s that Rogers joker taking jail?”

“Sleeps a lot — like a guy who’s been here before.”

“Beefing much?”

“Naw,” the sergeant said. “Usual pitch — the food stinks, going to hire the best lawyer in town Monday — you know the routine.”

“Yeah,” Fenny said. “Thanks.” He hung up and stuck a horrible-smelling cigar butt in his mouth.

At 9 o’clock on Monday morning Fenny stood outside the jewelry shop, watching Alberts make a telephone call. Two minutes later the jeweler put down the telephone, and his face turned a greenish white. Fenny opened the door as Alberts groaned, “Lord, the check is good! Have to rush down to the jail; might be time to smooth this out before—”

Alberts slapped his hat on, dodged around Fenny, sprinted through the lobby and out into the first cab waiting at the curb. Trotting behind him and blowing like a whale, Fenny managed to jump into the same cab.

Rogers was talking to a lawyer in his cell when Alberts rushed in, saying “Mr. Rogers, I’ve come to apologize for a terrible mistake.”

“Do your talking in court, sir,” the lawyer said. “My client has suffered the indignity of false arrest, plus the discomfort of two days in jail. We shall sue for damages and—”

“Jail’s as good a place as any to sleep off a drunk,” Fenny said, disregarding Alberts, who was tugging at his sleeve. “And your client is strictly a con man.”

“We don’t have to listen to your insulting language. When we sue for false arrest, you will be—”

“What false arrest?” Fenny asked softly. “Rogers must have been so sure of his act he never asked to see the blotter when he came to this morning. Evidently you haven’t either — yet. When you do, you’ll see the charge was made by me: assault. Rogers knocked me down when he was drunk. And I’ve got witnesses to prove it.”

The lawyer turned to Alberts. “Didn’t you sign an affidavit that my client had defrauded you?”

“I thought—” Alberts began. “I was confused; I left things up to Fenny. He knows all about police stations.”

Rogers began to curse, and Fenny, who was herding Alberts out, turned and asked, “That a way to talk chum? Especially when I’m dropping the charge? You’re free to scram. Just don’t ever try anything at my hotel again.”

In the cab, on the way back to the hotel, Alberts stared at the house dick with open admiration.

Fenny said wearily, “Going to be a long day. Not ten yet.” He looked at the slim watch on his thick wrist.

“Why, that’s the watch!”

Fenny nodded. “Gave the bellhop forty bucks for it,” he said. “But no kidding, Alberts, did I really get a bargain?”

Farewell to Kennedy by William Fay

The question is: Is an hottest cop — even a super-cop, a Galahad-with-a-badge — entitled to one mistake?

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