The Leather Duke

“Our stock dropped four points this morning,” snapped Towner. “I want this mess cleaned up as quickly as possible. I mean that Lieutenant. I talked to the mayor a half hour ago...”

“I know you did, Mr. Towner. I got a call from Headquarters ten minutes ago. But you’ve got to co-operate with the police, Mr. Towner. You can’t protect your employees, just because—”

“I’m not protecting anyone,” Towner said, curtly. “You get proof that someone committed this crime and you’ll find me backing you, to the last dollar I’ve got.”

“I may hold you to that,” the lieutenant said stiffly and walked out. As he left the office he had to step aside for someone who came swinging in.

Linda Towner.

“Dad,” she said, then saw Johnny. “Mr. Fletcher, I was hoping to run into you. I thought perhaps you could talk me into buying your lunch.”

Johnny grinned. “There’s been a slight change in my situation since last night.”

“Oh, you talked Dad out of firing you? I was tempted to make a bet with Dad that you would, but then you see I know him so much better than I know you...”

“Be quiet a minute, Linda,” growled Harry Towner. “I have a discussion to conclude with Mr. Fletcher.” Towner cleared his throat noisily and glared at Edgar Bracken. “You say you want Bracken’s job, Fletcher?”

“Me? I wouldn’t touch it. A sales manager sits in his office all day. I wouldn’t like that.”

“The counter sorters sit at a bench all day,” said Towner. “Although sometimes they stand.”

Out in the factory, bells rang signaling the lunch hour.

“Excuse me a moment,” Johnny exclaimed and left the office. He strode to Nancy Miller’s desk, handed her a couple of dollars. “I’m in a big conference, Taffy,” he said, “but hand this money to my pal, Sam Cragg, as he comes out. Tell him to have a good lunch and I’ll see him afterwards...”

“Conference with the duchess?” asked Nancy.

“The Duke. I’ve already turned down the sales manager’s job.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Uh-uh, I’m going to get something bigger. Tell you about it later.”

He patted her shoulder and returned to Towner’s office. In his absence, Edgar Bracken had slipped out.

“All right, Fletcher,” said Harry Towner. “What job do you consider better than the sales manager’s?”

“Factory detective. I want to devote my full time to finding the murderer of Al Piper.”

“But the police will take care of that,” protested T owner.

“Maybe they will,” said Johnny, “and maybe they won’t. They’ve got a lot of cases to solve. Besides, they’re police and people clam up when a policeman’s around. Me, I’m one of the boys, a counter sorter like the rest of them. I’ve an unusual knack of stirring things up.”

“So I’ve noticed,” offered Linda Towner. “That’s one of the reasons I like you.”

“Linda!” exclaimed her father.

Johnny chuckled. “Why don’t we talk it over at lunch?”

“Can’t,” said Harry Towner. “I’m having lunch at the club with some of the directors of my tannery.”

“Well, I’m not,” declared Linda. “I’m having lunch at the Fluttering Duck.”

“That’s a coincidence,” exclaimed Johnny. “I was planning to have lunch at the Fluttering Duck myself. That is, I was going to have lunch there if I settled this little business with Mr. Towner.”

“It’s settled,” said Towner. “I think you’re making a mistake turning down the sales manager’s job, but perhaps we can talk about that again, after this mess is cleared up.” He grunted. “I have an idea you’ll do as well as the police.”

“I won’t do any worse.” Johnny coughed gently. “It’s customary for a detective to get a retainer. Five hundred, shall we say...?”

“Five hundred!” cried Harry Towner.

“And say, another five hundred when I hand you the murderer.”

Harry Towner opened his mouth to blast Johnny but suddenly shook his head and reached for his wallet. “All right, that order you got amounted to around three thousand. A five hundred dollar commission isn’t too much.”

“The order is for free,” said Johnny, “you’re paying me for detective work.”

“Call it anything you like. Here’s your money...”

He handed Johnny four one hundred dollar bills and two fifties.

“My car’s outside,” said Linda Towner.

Nancy Miller had apparently gone out to lunch, for her desk was vacant. Johnny was just as glad that she did not see him leaving with Linda Towner.

Parked at the curb, in the only available space — in front of a fire hydrant — stood a canary yellow convertible Cadillac.

“You drive?” Linda asked Johnny.

“Only jalopies,” replied Johnny. “Those fenders are too big for me.”

She got in behind the wheel and Johnny climbed in beside her. She started in second gear and by the time she reached the next corner was doing forty-five.

“That wild story you told Dad last night,” Linda said, “was that really just to get a free dinner?”

“Yes and no. We needed the dinner, but more than that I needed to sell myself to your father. One day of sorting counters was about enough.”

Linda laughed. “Dad didn’t want to believe it, even after Elliott told him what you had done to him at lunch. And now you talked Dad into believing you’re a detective.”