Sir Lancelot’s Crime Wave

At six he met Corrine. She had taken the day off, and found the jewelry store, had the name and address of the clerk who had made the sale. The clerk was young and lived with his parents. They caught him just as he was on his way out.

“Sure, I remember the guy. What’d he do? Steal the dough to buy the ring? It cost him nine hundred and fifty.”

“How did he pay?”

“Cash, mister. Cash on the line. All in fifty dollar bills.”

“Did he act any different than any other customer?”

“He seemed happy and he told me that the ring was for the most wonderful girl in the world and he was whistling about ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’. Say, miss, you’re wearing the ring, aren’t you? Yeah, that’s the one. What gives?”

Jamison thought fast. He said quickly, “If you see the man again, please don’t mention this little visit. Miss Smith wants to borrow a small amount on the ring and I wanted to check and see if the purchase price was as she said.”

The clerk looked wise. “Uh... Oh, sure. Never saw you in my life. How about a lift downtown if you’re going that way?”

Chapter Three Smoke Screen

Corrine looked haggard and worried, and she had no appetite. Jamison pushed his coffee cup aside and lit a cigarette. She said, “Why don’t you let me in on what you are guessing?”

“How do you know I’m guessing anything?”

“At first you were casual, and even... amused. Now you’ve tightened up. You must be thinking something.”

“Tell me what you know about Gardener.”

“Mr. Gardener? He’s nice to work for. He manages the office as well as being sales manager. He’s married and has a nice house outside of town. He isn’t a slave driver.”

“What does he look like?”

“Fiftyish. Tall and a little heavy. Youthful clothes. Suntan all year round. Don’t ask me how.”

“Do the men like him? The salesmen?”

“Oh, yes.”

“He seems well off?”

“I guess he makes a very good salary, and also he owns some of the firm, you know. But why are you asking me all this?”

“Corrine, if you have a haystack and you suspect there’s a needle in it, the best method I know is to keep rolling around in the haystack until something sticks you.”

“Felt anything yet?”

“Not yet. Does Gardener seem interested in his work?”

“Very, Jamie. A long time ago he was a pharmacist, before he got into sales work. I guess he’s clever. He maintains his own lab down at the warehouse and makes up a special product called Gardener Headache Powders. He’s so anxious for the product to catch on that he does all the sales work himself.”

Jamison had the cigarette between his thumb and first finger. He looked steadily at Corrine. Slowly he became conscious of having squeezed the cigarette so tightly that the paper tore.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“The needle, honey. The needle.”

“Is there enough... to refer the case to one of your divisions?”

“Not quite enough.”

“Can we get more?”

“If I’m right, we can get a lot more.”

“When, Jamie?”

“Ballou and Stark is closed now. Can you get back in there?”

“Why, yes. I have a key. But—”

“Let’s go...”

Gardener’s office door was locked. Jamison cursed softly. He told Corrine what he wanted. She went to the supply cabinet, found extra desk pads that had been printed for Mr. Gardener’s use. “From the Desk of A. William Gardener.”

She rolled it into her typewriter. Then she had to go and look up the name of the night warehouse man.

Her fingers were brisk on the keys as he dictated.

“Seaton,

I have asked Miss Dobbs to make an early delivery for me tomorrow to a dealer who is out of Gardener Powders. Please turn over a case of the powders to Miss Dobbs.”

She found Gardener’s signature. Jamison turned the sheet upside down and carefully drew the signature.

“I don’t get it,” Corrine said plaintively.

“Just be a good girl and do as I say...”

The entrance to the warehouse was at the blind end of an alley, with a high loading platform. Jamison backed his car to the loading platform, helped Corrine out, jumped up, gave her his hand, pulled her up.

A feeble light shone through the wired window of the office door at the side.

Corrine said, “Shouldn’t I go in alone?”

“I’m just a guy to carry the box, Corrine.” He hammered at the office door. He paused and listened, heard the slow steps coming toward the door. The bolt was shot back. The door opened and a sleepy, elderly man looked out at them.

Corrine said, “I’m Miss Dobbs from the office.”

“Oh, sure. Didn’t recognize you. Come on in.” They stepped into the office and the man shut the door. He yawned, took the note which Corrine handed him.

He moved his lips as he read. Then he looked at Corrine angrily. “Wish he’d make up his mind. Keeps a man confused all the time. Gave me hell a while back for giving out them pet powders of his and told me that no one gets ’em but him, and then he goes and writes this.”

“The ones you gave to Kiern?” Jamison asked softly,