The Leather Duke

“That friend of yours,” Johnson said grimly, “is he a circus strong man?”

“We did a few weeks in a circus once, yes, Why...?”

“He’s back there lifting barrels of counters five and six feet up in the air.”

“They only weigh a couple of hundred pounds, don t they?”

“Are you kidding?”

“No, Sam’s the strongest man in the world.”

“That’s what he told me a few minutes ago. But—”

He broke off, for a sudden scream of horror rose above the noise of the thumping and pounding machines. It came from the direction of the stacks of barrels, where Sam was working. Johnny dropped a bunch of counters and rushed for the aisle leading to the rear of the barrels.

He hurtled through, reached a darkened area beyond. “Sam!” he cried. “Sam are you all right?”

“Yeah, Johnny,” came Sam’s reply. “But come over here...”

Sam bounced out from behind a stack of barrels some twenty feet away. Johnny rushed to him and collided with a shaking, swarthy man, Joe, who was staggering out of the aisle.

“His... his throat’s cut,” babbled Joe.

Johnny shoved the man aside, stepped into the narrow aisle between two rows of barrels. Halfway down, a stack of barrels had been removed and there in the narrow space, slumped down in a sitting posture, was a dead man.

Chapter Four

His eyes were wide and staring and his throat had been cut from ear to ear. Johnny took one quick look and backed away. Johnson, the foreman, standing at the end of the aisle, peering in, cried out hoarsely, “Who is it?”

“How should I know?” snapped Johnny. He gestured. “You’re the boss here, take a look...”

A shudder ran through Johnson’s body, then he pulled himself together and crowded into the aisle past Johnny. He looked at the dead man’s face and gasped.

“Al Piper!”

“One of your boys?” Johnny asked.

“He runs a skiving machine.” Johnson swallowed hard. “He... he must have committed suicide.”

“Because he runs a... a, what did you say? skiver machine?”

“Skiving. Uh, it isn’t that, but Al, well, he just got back to work today.”

“Vacation?”

“You might call it that. Al takes one every six months.”

“That’s very nice of tire company, giving vacations twice a year.”

“The company doesn’t give them. Al takes — took — them.” Johnson inhaled deeply. “Al’s a periodic boozer. Goes along for six months, then he goes on a binge; usually lasts for a week or ten days, then he’s all right for another six months.” Johnson turned, found the eyes of Karl Kessler. “How long was Al gone this time?”

“Twelve days.”

“Little longer’n usual. How’d he look?”

“Not bad. Little shaky, but not so bad, considerin’.”

Johnson shook his head. “Guess it just got too much for him. He wasn’t a bad guy, when he was working. He ran that skiving machine... mmm, must be eighteen or twenty years.”

“Maybe that’s why he did it,” suggested Johnny.

Johnson’s sharp eyes fixed themselves upon Johnny. “The skiving machine’s the easiest job on the floor, unless it’s sorting counters. He just sat there on a stool all day long, feeding flat counters into the skiver.” He suddenly scowled. “What’s the idea, all you people gawkin’ around here? Get back to work.”

The workers, who had been blocking the aisle, scattered swiftly. Even Johnny wandered off, but Sam remained. “Me, too?” he asked. “I was just gonna pile some barrels there...”

“They can wait. Get back to the sorting bench. I’ve got to report this to Mr. Towner.”

He didn’t think of the police. Mr. Towner was the highest authority in the leather factory and when something happened, you reported to him. But Towner must have notified the police for they came within fifteen minutes; a round half dozen of them, headed by Lieutenant Lindstrom of Homicide.

They searched among the stacks of barrels, set off a few flashlight bulbs, then began going through the counter floor, looking at machines, studying workers from concealed vantage spots and making them so nervous that a molding machine operator caught his thumb in the machine and lost about a sixteenth of an inch of flesh. After he went down to the first aid station, Lieutenant Lindstrom, escorted by Johnson the foreman, entered the counter sorting department.

They bore down upon Sam Cragg and began questioning him. Johnny, seeing his friend in difficulties, eased himself along the line of benches, carrying a couple of counters. As he came up, Lieutenant Lindstrom was just saying to Sam Cragg: “That’s your story, but you can’t prove that you never met Piper before today...”

“I didn’t really meet him today,” Sam retorted. “He was already dead when I saw him.”

“Good for you, Sam,” cut in Johnny.

Lieutenant Lindstrom whirled on Johnny. “Who’re you?”

“Fletcher’s the name, Johnny Fletcher.”

“He’s a pal of this man,” explained Johnson. “I hired them together.”

“As a team?”

“No... no, I just happened to need two men.” Then Johnson suddenly grimaced. “Say, I hired this one,” indicating Johnny with his thumb, “to replace Carmella Vitali, who had just quit his job. Uh, Carmella and Piper had a fight about a month ago.”

“About what?”