The Leather Duke

Hillcrest! The name struck a chord in Johnny’s brain. Of course — this was the home of Harry Towner. Johnny started swiftly into the town. He passed a closed gas station, a few houses, then a store or two and two more closed gas stations. But there were cars on the street now and in another block he saw the bright lights of an all-night gas station.

An attendant was hosing down the driveway. Behind him, in the lighted station, was a wall clock. One-fifteen a.m. The attendant watched Johnny approach.

“I’m looking for Harry Towner’s place,” Johnny said. “Do you know where he lives?”

The man looked at Johnny suspiciously. “You kidding?”

“No, I’m not. I had an accident back a ways and I know I look like hell, but I’ve got to get to Towner’s place.”

“This time of the night?”

“This time of the night.”

The man shrugged. “Right through town, three miles, turn right a mile, then left about a half. Big stone wall, big iron gate with an arch over it. Name Five Knolls on the arch. That’s the place.”

“Almost five miles!” exclaimed Johnny. “I can’t walk that far.”

“Probably wouldn’t do you any good if you did,” said the gas station attendant.

“Have you got a phone here I can use?”

“Pay phone inside.”

Johnny went through his pockets. Carmella had told the truth. He had been stripped of every bill and coin in his pockets, in fact every scrap of paper. Even his handkerchief had been taken from him.

“I haven’t got a nickel,” said Johnny. “I wonder if you’d—”

“No,” said the attendant. “I’m a working man. I can’t afford to give money to bums.”

“I’m not a bum,” said Johnny. “I was held up and robbed.”

“I was held up myself, last week,” retorted the attendant. “And believe me, the bonding company gave me a workout. Seemed to think I tapped the till.”

“A nickel,” said Johnny. “It won’t break you. I want to phone Harry Towner. He’ll send a car out after me.”

“Yah!” jeered the attendant. “He’ll send a car out at one-thirty in the morning; he will in a pig’s ear. This is my home town and I know plenty about Harry Towner. He buys his gas from a truck; keeps a couple of tanks on the place. Saves a nickel a gallon that way.”

“I work for Towner,” Johnny persisted. “His leather factory in Chicago. He offered me the job of sales manager only yesterday.”

“Sales manager, huh? You ain’t doin’ such a good sellin’ job right now. You can’t even talk me out of a nickel. You know what I think? Your face is full of blood and your clothes is all torn; I think you got thrown off a freight train.”

“The hell with you!” snarled Johnny and started to walk off. He went twenty feet and then the man called out: “Hey, come back, here’s your nickel.”

Johnny turned and walked back. He took the nickel the man held out, started for the filling station. The attendant followed him.

“If you’re on the level, call Hillcrest 1234; that’s the local cab company. Ride out to Towner’s and get him to pay for the cab.”

Johnny took the receiver off the hook, hesitated, then dropped the nickel into the slot.

Five minutes later, a yellow taxicab pulled into the filling station and Johnny got in. He waved to the gas station attendant and leaned back against the leather cushions. “Five Knolls,” he told the driver. “Harry Towner’s place.”

The man turned completely around in his seat. “This time o’ night — the way you look?”

“I had a car accident,” Johnny said.

The driver hesitated, then muttered something to himself and turned away. The cab roared out of the gas station. It rolled through a village, headed for the country road beyond and a few minutes later drove up to an ornamental iron gate. Worked into the archway overhead were the words Five Knolls.

The driver got out, came around and opened the cab door for Johnny. “Two seventy-five,” he said.

“Pretty steep for five miles,” Johnny objected.

“Night rates — and I got to go back.”

Johnny pointed to the gates. “Ring for the bell, will you?”

“Why?”

“Well, if you must know, I haven’t got any money with me.”

The cabby stepped to the front door, opened it and reaching in brought out a big wrench. “All right,” he said, “I’ll get no money out of it, but I’ll get satisfaction. You’n me are taking a ride to the jailhouse.”

Johnny stepped around the cabby and moved backwards to the big iron gate. He found the bell at the side of it and pressed long and hard.

“Give me five minutes,” he said to the cabby, who had followed him with the wrench, held poised for striking. “If I don’t get the money for you, I’ll go with you quietly.”

He pressed the bell again. There was a cottage just inside the gate and after a moment, a light went on in it. Johnny pressed the bell a third time. A door opened, framing a man in undershirt and trousers. “Who is it?” he called.

“I want to see Mr. Harry Towner,” Johnny called back.

“What’s the name?”

“Fletcher.”

The man in the cottage doorway shook his head. “Mr. Towner didn’t tell me about any Fletcher calling in the middle of the night.”

“He didn’t expect me to call.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until morning.”