“Gee, it’ll be a wow. Every office girl in the city will be grabbing for the papers. And all the society dames will be digging for new dirt. It’ll be smeared all over the papers and we’ll get a lot of publicity for the efficient police work.”

  Sergeant Ackley grunted. “Hell, Beaver, you ain’t tellin’ me nothin’. But how about the diamonds? We gotta have the diamonds. And then look at old Walker. That bozo has got the idea we ain’t got the real facts yet, and he’s riding the whole damned department to uncover more evidence. He’s going to fall for that idea of the three crooks before he gets done, and let the advertising value of this case slip right through his fingers. That’s why I telephoned you to get Leith interested on this case. He’s been a pretty good bird dog before, pointing out the real crook to us, and usually getting the swag all copped for himself.

  “This time we’ll use him to uncover the diamonds. Those are the key to the whole business. Whoever has got those diamonds is going to get the hot squat. The possession of those stones will fry the guy that’s got ‘em.”

  The spy got to his feet. “Well, all I gotta say is watch him. He’ll slip over another fast one. And you’d better frame up something on the broad. She’s the one that’s the logical defendant in the case. It’ll make a swell case if we try her, and not so hot if we try someone else. Hell, I’d plant some of the diamonds on her!”

  Sergeant Ackley’s suspicious eyes glittered. He lowered his voice. “You get Leith working on that case, let him find the diamonds. Then we cinch Leith for having the stolen property. And we get the diamonds. When we’ve gone that far, you can trust me to see that the diamonds are planted where they’ll do the most good, some of them, anyway.

  “The men have wanted to bust into the jane’s trunks and all that stuff. I’ve held ‘em off. I figure that if we can get the stones, and it looks like a good case otherwise, we might help the D. A. a little with the evidence. Get me?”

  Beaver leaned forward. “Hell!” he said, “maybe the stones are in her trunks!”

  Sergeant Ackley grinned. “Nope. I wouldn’t let the boys make a search, but I got some pass keys and snooped around. “We can’t help the D. A. with the evidence, until we can get some evidence to sprinkle around for him. So you get Leith working on this case, then when we get the stones, we’ll know what to do with ‘em. Get me?”

  The spy nodded. “Yeah, I get you, okay. I got your instructions. But I had a hell of a time getting this bozo to work on the case. He just wouldn’t get interested in it. You’ve been too rough with him. You scared him off. Every time I have more trouble getting our trap baited.”

  Ackley nodded casually. “Well, this’ll be the last time. We’ll cinch him on this job.”

  “You’ve said that before,” reminded the spy.

  “This time it’s a cinch. He ain’t never seen the guy that invented this garbage pail, has he? Well, it’s dead easy. We’ll get the real inventor out of the way, and well run in one of our boys as the inventor. That’ll give us a man that’ll be right with him in the deal without his smelling a rat.

  “And then we’ll have another guy in the house as a servant. Tell him that you forgot to list the butler when you mentioned the servants because the butler had been away on a vacation.

  “And we’ll get hold of Steele and tell him we’ve got to plant a dick in his house. We’ll run in a guy as a butler. See how soft it’ll be?

  “Now you beat it and get things lined up, and keep me posted on what’s doing. Remember to keep Leith all hopped up over those sparklers. We need ‘em in our business.”

  Beaver, the police spy, grunted affirmation, banged the door.

  CHAPTER VI

  Dead Game

  Lester Leith, dressed faultlessly, as was his custom, strolled down the aisle which led to the employment desk of the big typewriter company.

  On either side of that aisle, girls sat. As Lester Leith progressed toward the desk, eyes followed him in silent appraisal. Here and there a face with hope. Here and there listless eyes brightened perceptibly.

  The woman who sat behind the desk was one of those women who are crisply efficient, yet never seem to do anything with their efficiency besides making a nuisance of themselves.

  She smiled at Lester Leith, a mechanical smile of welcome which would have been cordial had not it conveyed the impression that it had been perfected by five minutes a day before a mirror.

  “Good morning, sir, and what can I do for you, if you please?”

  “I wanted to ask about a girl,” said Lester Leith.

  The hard, metallic eyes behind the spectacles snapped with anticipation.

  “Ah, yes. In times such as these we’re only too glad to get a chance to place one of our young women. And what was your name, please, and the address?”

  And she slid a pad of paper, printed into various paragraphs of questions with blanks for answers, across the top of the counter, held a pencil poised.

  Lester Leith shook his head. “I wanted to get information about a certain young lady,” he said.

  The woman’s pencil dropped. Her eyes lost their expression of metallic eagerness, and became, instead, dulled with disinterest and caution.

  “What was her name?” she asked. Lester Leith leaned forward.

  “That’s what I want to know. I have only the description. She was employed for a while during the rush of the business boom, but she hasn’t been able to hold her job since. She’s rather an attractive girl, very friendly and good-natured, knows her way about, but just can’t get along with the typewriting and shorthand. She’s got some dependents she’s been supporting the best she could, and she’s pretty hard up, pretty shabby, but she comes in every day to see if there’s anything for her, and she always manages to keep cheerful.

  “The way times are right now, you’re almost afraid to recommend her, even if there was an opening for just her type. She’s a good scout, loyal, friendly, but a rotten stenographer. She can smile, but she can’t spell.

  The woman interrupted.

  “The only one I know is Lois Webber. She doesn’t fit all the description, but she fits most of it. I hope she hasn’t been getting into any trouble. You aren’t an officer, are you?”

  Lester Leith shook his head. “Where can I find Miss Webber?”

  The woman consulted a card-index.

  “She was in here in hour ago, but she went out. She keeps plugging right along, looking for work, but she’s not getting anywhere. We all like her, only she’s hopeless as a stenographer.

  “Let’s see. Here’s her address. I’ll write it down and slip it across to you. I wouldn’t want the other girls who are waiting, to think I was letting a prospective employer take some girl who wasn’t waiting here.”

  Lester Leith took the slip of paper.

  “She hasn’t been doing anything wrong, has she?” asked the woman.

  Lester Leith shook his head, turned, and walked down the long aisle. Feminine pulchritude, arrayed in postures which showed that pulchritude to advantage, stared at him with scornful eyes, their facial expressions showing lofty disdain.

  Leith found the elevator, got his roadster, drove to the address he had been given. It was in a district where a dollar could be counted upon to bring a full one hundred cents worth of the necessities of life. The district was cheap but efficient.

  Leith climbed a rickety flight of stairs, came at length to a little room which was sandwiched in under the stairs, opening on a court. He knocked on the door.

  There was the sound of someone moving, the springs of a bed creaked, and the door opened a crack.

  The girl was young and blond, wrapped in a kimono. She held a needle and thread in her hand, and a torn dress was lying on the bed, evidently in process of mending.

  The room was so small that the bed filled its center, leaving barely room for a cane-bottomed, straight-backed chair in one corner, a little bureau with a mirror that gave a sickly, wavy reflection in another corner. There had been a pathetic attempt at decoration, a cheap pennant hung at an angle on the wall, flanked by two colored prints.

  The girl was shaking her head. “Not today. I can’t make any payment today. You’ll just have to put me out if you can’t wait.”

  Her eyes were friendly, frank, but her mouth was grave, unsmiling.

  Lester Leith smiled affably. “I came,” he said, “to offer you employment.”

  The girl swayed slightly, as though something had pushed her back into the room. Sheer surprise flooded her features. Her eyes widened with incredulity.

  “The hell you did!” she exclaimed.

  For a moment the significance of her own words did not seem to strike her, and then she gasped.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that! That is, I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant was that I’d come to the conclusion there wasn’t any work to be had in the whole city…Come in. Pardon the negligee. I’ve got one dress, and I snagged it getting off a high curb. I was going to mend it and then start out again. I’ve been looking for work.”

  Lester Leith bowed, entered the tiny room. The girl left the door open, perched on the bed, indicated the chair.

  Lester Leith sat down.

  “What sort of work?” asked the girl.

  “Rather a responsible position,” said Lester Leith.

  The girl nodded. “I can fill it.”

  Leith studied her face. “Can I count on your loyalty, on your unfailing good nature, on your keeping a closed mouth?”

  She nodded. “When does the work start?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “How…how much salary?”

  “We’ll discuss that a little later,” said Lester Leith, “after I’ve had an opportunity to see how you fit in.”

  She stared at him.

  “Aw, gee,” she said, “let’s not beat around the bush. I’d do almost anything to get a job, but—well —well, I’m no good as a stenographer. I held a job when business was good, but I can’t spell for sour apples, and I can’t read shorthand notes after they get cold. You’re a good scout. I can tell by looking at you. You hunted me up to offer me a job, and that’s something nobody ever did before…”

  Lester Leith got to his feet. “There’s no need of discussing things further,” he said.

  She blinked her eyes, twice, rapidly as though fighting back moisture, then smiled, a wistful smile, gave him her hand.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said “Get some girl that can fill the bill .You’re too good a scout to hand a lot o’ taffy to…”

  Lester Leith shook his head, smiling.

  “No. I didn’t mean that you wouldn’t do. I meant you would. There’s no use wasting time on that. I want character more than ability. I want a girl who is a dead game little trouper, who can stand on her own two feet and be frank and honest. You’ve shown that you’re just what I’m looking for.”

  She stared at him. “It’s on the level?”

  “It’s on the level,” said Lester Leith.

  He took out a wallet, counted out two tens and a five, handed them to the girl, together with a card, bearing his address.

  “Here’s an advance on salary. Here’s my card. Come to that address within a hour if you can, and I’ll explain your duties. You start at five hundred a month.”

  CHAPTER VII

  Jobs for Ex-Cons

  She was staring at the card and the money as Lester Leith gently closed the door and sought the stairs.

  He waited, inconspicuously lounging against a cigar stand entrance at the corner. He waited for less than five minutes. The girl emerged from the rooming house, walked with quick steps and clicking heels, looking neither to the right nor to the left.

  Lester Leith followed her.

  She went directly to a telegraph office, filled out a money transfer blank, and sent twenty dollars by telegraph. Then she came out, walked to a restaurant, sat at a counter and ate a double order of ham and eggs, had three cups of coffee, and ate ravenously a double order of toast.

  Lester Leith smiled, sought his roadster and returned to his apartment. He had found the girl he wanted.

  Beaver, the spy, held forth a newspaper. “Yours, sir?”

  His big, bony forefinger indicated an ad in the classified department. It was boxed in, printed in heavy type commanded attention of the casual eye:

  EX-CONVICTS WHO WANT WORK ARE GOING TO BE GIVEN A CHANCE TO REHABILITATE THEMSELVES. FREE BOARD AND ROOM WHILE WAITING FOR EMPLOYMENT, OFFICERS WILL NOT MOLEST. A LEGITIMATE OPPORTUNITY FOR THE MAN WHO HAS SERVED A TERM IN THE BIG HOUSE AND WHO WANTS TO GO STRAIGHT, DO NOT APPLY UNLESS YOU HAVE A CRIMINAL RECORD. ADDRESS SOCIETY FOR REHABILITATION. BOX 534. GIVING DETAILS.

  Lester Leith nodded his head.

  “Yes, Scuttle, that’s mine. I put it in late last night. It made the first editions this morning. I left word with the paper to bring over the replies in bunches, three times a day. The messenger should be showing up with the first batch.”

  “He has, sir, just a few minutes ago, sir,” said the valet, and pointed to an assortment of folded papers, ragged envelopes of various sorts and description, lying on the writing desk.

  Lester Leith chuckled.

  “Ah,” he said. “I didn’t know but what the gentry would be suspicious and smell a trap. But, evidently, the signature of the ad did the trick. The Society for Rehabilitation, and the offer of free board and room without police molestation sounds good. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  There followed a ten-minute period of silence, broken occasionally by the rustle of paper as Leith unfolded another message, classified it, placed it in a pile, either at his right or left hand.

  Leith finished the last answer, chuckled. “Would you believe it, Scuttle?”

  “Believe what, sir?”

  “That these men are all innocent?”

  “Are they, sir?”

  “Yes, Scuttle, all of them innocent. They all served terms in various penitentiaries, but they are all utterly innocent of any crime.”

  The police spy snorted.

  “You get to fooling around with a bunch of crooks, sir, begging your pardon, sir; and you’ll find yourself with trouble on your hands. Once a crook, always a crook!”

  Lester Leith smiled, a patronizing smile. “Tut, tut, Scuttle, you overlook the main factor in the situation.”

  “And what is that, sir?”

  “These men aren’t crooks, Scuttle. They just served terms in the penitentiaries of the country. That’s all. They weren’t guilty of any crime. They say so themselves. I’ve got their written statement, over their signatures, Scuttle.”

  The valet snorted, his face turning a dark red with anger. “I wasn’t joking,” he said, and glared angrily.

  There came a knock on the door. Lester Leith raised his eyebrows.

  Then the electric doorbell whirred its alarm. The sound of beating knuckles on the panels became annoyingly audible. Lester Leith motioned toward the door.

  “Seems to be devilishly impatient, Scuttle. Let’s see who it is.”

  The valet went to the door, flung it open.

  A broad-shouldered man with a big jaw, heavy shoes, fists that were as hams, and a slouching attitude of sneering self-assurance, stood on the threshold.

  “Where’s Leith?” he said, and walked into the room. The spy bowed.

  “Well, well, it’s Mr. Lamont, inventor of the Lamont Patent Garbage Container. Do come in, Mr. Lamont. This is Mr. Leith.”

  The broad-shouldered man moved over toward Lester Leith.

  “So you’re Leith, eh? And you want to handle my garbage containers, and are putting up a thousand bucks as a first payment, eh?

  “Okay. I’ve talked with your man here and reached an agreement. I just wanted to drop in and look your joint over, and see the sort of a man I was working with.”

  Lester Leith indicated a chair. “Do sit down, Mr. Lamont.”

  The broad-shouldered man sank into a chair, fished a cigar from his waistcoat pocket, put the tip in his teeth, gave a wrenching motion with his right hand, spat out the tip of tobacco, scraped a match across the sole of his shoe, and scowled at Lester Leith.

  “Only I got one condition about the deal,” he said.

  “What is that?” asked Lester Leith.

  “I want to be with you at the start and watch the way you work. I want to see how you go at selling these garbage containers, and I want to make certain that you savvy how they work.

  “A lot depends on the way a guy puts the stuff on the market, an’ I ain’t going to have my invention ruined by being put on the market the wrong way.”

  And he glowered at Lester Leith. Leith was urbanely smiling.

  “Quite all right, Mr. Lamont. But your attitude is rather unusual for an inventor. Inventors are usually dreamy, unpractical sort of chaps. You seem to be most practical, aggressively so.” And Lester Leith beamed at the man.

  Beaver, the spy, seeing the danger, made frantic and surreptitious signals to the police detective who was masquerading as Lamont.

  That individual changed his tactics a little.

  “I ain’t aggressive,” he said. “I’m just prudent. That Lamont garbage container is destined to revolutionize the garbage industry, and I ain’t going to see it flop because it ain’t put across right.

  “I ain’t sore or nothin’. I just dropped in to shake hands, and tell you that when the first garbage containers are delivered I’m going to come right along with ‘em, and stick around until I see how they’re put across.”

  Lester Leith bowed appreciatively.

  “Your assistance in the matter will be appreciated,” he remarked.

  Silence fell upon the room. There seemed nothing left for anyone to say. Lamont lurched to his feet.

  “When do you want the first shipment of cans?” he asked.

  “This afternoon, at four o’clock.”

  “Okay, brother, only I come with ‘em.”