Leith nodded. “Do,” he invited.

  The broad-shouldered man paused in the doorway, as though conscious of the fact that his impersonation of the investor had left something to be desired. He shifted uneasily on his feet, trying to think of something to say that would be in keeping with the character of the inventor, opposed to the character of an officer.

  Suddenly his face lit with inspiration. “Thanks,” he said, and closed the door.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Desperate Men

  The knock at the door was timid.

  “No one seems to be finding the bell button today, Scuttle,” said Lester Leith.

  “The light in the hallway is a little confusing at first, sir, to one who leaves the brilliant light of day and …”

  Lester Leith waved his hand. “Open it,” he said.

  The spy opened the door.

  Lois Webber smiled affably at him. “I was to report,” she began.

  Lester Leith was on his feet, pushing the spy aside. “Quite all right, Miss Webber, quite all right. Do come in and sit down. This is my valet. I believe his real name is Beaver, but I call him Scuttle because he looks so much like a reincarnated pirate.

  “And this, Scuttle, is Miss Lois Webber, the young lady who is going to have charge of our thieves’ kitchen.”

  The spy bowed. The girl stared directly at Lester Leith.

  “Thieves’ kitchen?” she asked.

  Leith nodded.

  “Yes, you see I have come to a conclusion in regard to crooks. I believe that ex-convicts want to go straight. But they never have the chance. Society turns thumbs down on them, kicks them around. That either breaks their spirit or else makes them fight.

  “Now what I propose to do is to fix up a regular kitchen for the thieves. I want a home for crooks that’ll be sort of a club. You can understand, Miss Webber. A crook goes to the penitentiary. While he is there he is cut off from all of his outside friends, has to form friendships within the walls. He comes to regard the place as his club. It’s a sort of lodge. All of his friends are there.

  “That’s what brings him back. He may hate the restraint of the place, but his friends are all there, and friendships are the most binding things in the world, Miss Webber. Do you understand?”

  The girl regarded him with frank eyes, then grinned. “Am I supposed to understand?” she asked.

  Leith indicated a chair. “Not unless you want to.”

  “I don’t want to, then. I got enough on my mind. Go ahead and tell me what I do, and don’t worry about the explanations. I’m going through with this job. So shoot the works.”

  Leith nodded. He picked up the pile of correspondence that had arrived in response to the rather peculiar ad he had inserted in the paper.

  “Now here are the addresses and letters of a lot of innocent men who were unjustly imprisoned. Here is some expense money. You’ll hire what help you need, go to this house, open it up as a boarding house and sort of club room. You’ll write to these crooks, or call them on the telephone where they’ve left a number at which they can be reached and you’ll invite them to come and join the club.

  “You’ll impress upon them that the club is founded by a philanthropist who wants to keep his name out of the papers, that the club is secret and confidential. And you’ll see that there is a big free lunch counter with roasts and sandwiches, and salami…and lots of chocolate layer cake and apple pie.

  “Now those crooks will start hanging around that lunch counter. You’ll be there to serve them and assist them. Down underneath the counter you’ll keep a notebook, and in that book you’ll mark down the names of the men, and opposite each name you’ll write just what that man takes from the counter.

  “I want to know exactly what diet these men prefer. I want to know every sandwich they take, every piece of pie, every slab of cake. Now can you do that, Miss Webber?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Sure I can. Gosh, this is a cinch. I was afraid it was going to be another one of those jobs where a guy spouted out a lot of words I’d never heard before and I was supposed to write ‘em down in shorthand, and tell what they were afterwards.

  “I never had any education to speak of, except what I picked up, and I faked most of my shorthand. And the typewriter always did seem to have a jinx as far as I was concerned.” And she grinned at Lester Leith.

  “Some of those men may be desperate,” warned Leith. “You can hire what assistance you need. I would suggest you get a couple of men to act as general help and as bodyguards. You’ll get a caterer to furnish the food.”

  The girl laughed.

  “Shucks,” she said, “all men are desperate. I was in a road show for three years. I oughta know. I can handle ‘em. As a matter of fact, a guy that’s been down on his luck himself will come nearer giving a girl a break than a bird that’s rolling in the lap o’ luxury.”

  Lester Leith nodded.

  “I see that you are a philosopher and an observer of life,” he said.

  She smiled, shook her head.

  “Not me. I just been around a bit, an’ heard most of the lines that get slung at a girl’s ears. When do I start?”

  “Right now,” said Lester Leith.

  She got to her feet, started to count the bills which Lester Leith handed her for expense money. Her eyes widened in surprise. “This can’t be right!”

  “It is right. I want those men to be well treated. I want the food to be the best money can buy. I want them to have lots of it. I want you to make them feel right at home, break through their reserve. And then I want you to telephone me every day the results of the experiment, what the men are eating. I am particularly interested in the men who eat the most pie and the most chocolate layer cake. Get the four high men on pie and cake.

  “There’ll be some more replies to my ad a little later. I want you to send some of the men out to round up the others who reply. Get them all down there. The doors are open to everyone. If you need anything, buy it.”

  The girl stared silently at Lester Leith.

  For some ten seconds the appraisal continued, a searching stare from steady eyes.

  “Guy,” she said softly, “my ears warn me that you ain’t on the level, but everything else I got tells me that you stack up a hundred percent, an’ my eyes don’t lie to me. I’m with you. So long.”

  “Any questions?” asked Lester Leith. “Have I made myself clear?”

  “It all sounds goofy to me, but I’m the baby that rushes in where the angels fear to tread. I’m away to a flying start. G’bye.”

  But she, too, paused in the doorway, as the detective had done. She stared at Lester Leith, and there was something wistful about the stare, a suggestion of moisture in the corners of the eyes.

  And she said exactly the same word which the detective had said, as he had paused in the doorway, trying to think of something which would convince Leith that he was the man he pretended to be, Lamont, the inventor.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Then the door closed, gently. The latch clicked. The spy started to say something to Lester Leith, but the ringing of the telephone interrupted him.

  He strode to the instrument.

  As he took down the receiver and said, “Hello,” the voice of Sergeant Ackley came to his ears.

  “Steady, Beaver, don’t tip this off, but we’re on something hot. We’ve been checking up on the servants, and the moves of Shinahara Kosimosto, the house boy, don’t check out at all. He looks fishy.

  “Maybe that’s where Leith is going to shift his guns. We ain’t doing anything except putting the houseboy under surveillance. But I think maybe that’s where Leith is figuring on pulling his fast one. G’bye.”

  And the line went dead.

  The spy turned to Lester Leith, placed the receiver back on the hook. “A wrong number, sir.”

  CHAPTER IX

  Fingerprints on a Pie Plate

  Lester Leith held the shiny surface of a new tin pie plate to his face, studied the reflection.

  “Almost as good as a mirror, Scuttle.”

  The valet was noncommittal. “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Lester Leith, and picked up a plate, not so new. He regarded the bottom of that pie plate with scowling features.

  The spy watched him as a hawk might watch a rabbit. “Scuttle.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “From time to time you’ve mentioned certain things the police were doing. In fact, Scuttle, you seem to have a certain familiarity with police methods…”

  The valet interrupted in nervous haste. “Only because I happen to be friendly with a certain young lady who is also friendly with a member of the force, sir. I pick up a lot of things from her. You’d really be surprised, sir.”

  Lester Leith’s tone contained no hint of sarcasm. “Doubtless I would, Scuttle,” he agreed.

  “Yes, sir,” said the spy. “I’ve come to know quite a bit about the police and the crime situation, just from what she tells me.”

  Leith nodded again.

  “Then, Scuttle, perhaps you can tell me something about fingerprints. Now take these two pie plates for instance. One of them is old and the other new. Now I can readily understand how a finger pressed upon the shiny surface of this new pie plate would leave certain lines of moisture which would remain for some time. But I don’t see how in the world the police could ever find a fingerprint on this old pie plate. I press my finger against it, and it leaves no mark whatever.”

  The spy smiled, a wise smile. “You just think it doesn’t. It really does.”

  “No, Scuttle. It does not. I’ve tried.”

  The spy radiated an amused air of superiority. “You’ll pardon me, sir. I think I can show you that it does. Now see here. I press my finger against this new pie plate. You can see the imprint, sir?”

  “Certainly, Scuttle.”

  “Very well. Now I press my finger against this older pie plate. Do you see the impression?”

  “No, Scuttle, there isn’t a line.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind marking the place, sir,” suggested the valet, “I think I can show you something. It happens, sir, that I once took a correspondence course as a detective, and I believe I still have, among my things, the fingerprint outfit they sent me. If you’ll pardon me for a moment, sir.”

  And the police spy walked heavily to his room, returned in a very few moments with two bottles.

  “Now, sir,” he said. “If you’ll be so good as to watch what I do, I think I can show you how the police work.”

  And the valet proceeded to develop the latent print until, dusted with aluminum powder, it showed up startlingly plain, every ridge and whorl.

  Lester Leith stared in silent wonder.

  “Scuttle,” he said, at length, “you surprise me. You’re really clever. I knew that some of the fingerprint experts became very capable in such matters, but I didn’t know that you possessed such a complete education.”

  The valet endeavored to look modest. “Oh, sir, it’s nothing, mere routine, that’s all — er—may I ask how the thieves’ kitchen is coming along, sir?”

  Lester Leith set down the pie plates, bottoms up. He talked rapidly, as one talks when he is riding a new hobby.

  “Scuttle, it’s wonderful. Those men are making a regular club out of it. It’s been going for two days now, and that Lois Webber girl is a wonder. She’s calling all the men by their first names, and she’s got every piece of pie and cake tabulated. She knows exactly how many pieces of pie and cake each man has taken, and she knows the exact size of each piece.

  “These crooks aren’t a bad sort at all, Scuttle. I went down there, and they gave me a big hand. The girl acted as hostess and introduced me, and the men cheered, Scuttle! Think of it! They cheered!

  “These down-and-out crooks, many of them starving because they couldn’t get work, aren’t a bad sort at all. You’d be surprised, Scuttle, to find how friendly they are.”

  The valet nodded impatiently. “Yes, sir, doubtless you’re right, sir. But you’ll remember that the object of the thieves’ kitchen was to pick out the pair that ate the most pie and cake, sir.”

  Lester Leith let the smile fade from his face.

  “By George, Scuttle, you’re right, and I’ve got the figures right with me. Two of those men are veritable fiends for pie and cake, Scuttle. They all eat a lot, but there are two … great Heavens, Scuttle, I’m glad you reminded me! I have work to do!”

  And Lester Leith, scooping the pie plates to him, wrapped them very carefully in a piece of paper, grabbed his hat, catapulted from the room.

  The slam of the door gave the spy his cue. He made a bee line for the telephone, to acquaint Sergeant Ackley with the fact that the watched pot was continuing to simmer, would soon, doubtless, come to a boil.

  But Sergeant Ackley was prepared.

  Outside of the apartment two police cars were ready to shadow Lester Leith to whatever destination he might choose. The man had slipped through the fingers of the police often enough before so that the sergeant was taking no chances.

  But Lester Leith was quite open and above-board in his moves. He made no attempt to shake off the police shadows, but went at once to the store room where the police detective who posed as Lamont, the inventor of the patented garbage container, was guarding the first two dozen garbage cans which had been delivered as sales samples.

  “I’ve got a swell idea,” said Lester Leith.

  The man who posed as Lamont was lacking in enthusiasm. “Yeah?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Lester Leith. “I’m going to start a sales campaign on these cans, and each salesman is going to be an ex-convict.”

  The police detective frowned.

  “Say,” he snarled, “what’s the idea?”

  “Publicity,” said Lester Leith. “Come on. Let’s load these cans on a light truck and get them delivered. I’ll telephone the transfer company. We’re going right now to put on a sales talk. You’re going to explain the fine points. Then we’ll advertise.

  “Get the idea? Well ask the public to give the crooks a chance to be honest. Well explain that every salesman is a former convict. It’ll attract a lot of attention. Old Man ‘Pro-Bono-Publico’ will write in the People’s Forum in the newspaper and give us hell for finding work for crooks when honest men are out of employment. And then Miss ‘A-Constant-Subscriber’ will write in and answer him and say she thinks it’s a lovely idea.

  “And all the time it’ll be netting publicity for us. We’ll be selling these garbage cans as fast as you can make them. People will talk, and talk means interest, and interest means sales.

  “Come on. Get your hat. We’ll go see the salesmen. They’re a fine bunch of boys. Youll like them. I’ve been feeding them apple pies, and they’re bearcats when it comes to eating them.”

  The broad-shouldered man regarded Lester Leith with a sneer. “Say,” he snarled, “are you cuckoo?”

  Lester Leith became frigidly dignified.

  “Of course,” he said, “I merely proposed that you come because you said you wanted to come. After all, Mr. Lamont, under our agreement you are to manufacture the cans. I am to sell them through any channel or through any organization I see fit. If you don’t feel enthusiastic, don’t come.”

  Lamont gripped a cigar in his teeth.

  “I’m enthusiastic,” he said grimly. “Hurrah, hurrah, hurray! Try and keep me from coming.”

  And he jammed a businesslike derby down low on his forehead, glowered at Lester Leith.

  Lester Leith became very dignified and businesslike.

  “I will telephone the transfer company,” he said and put through the telephone call, left explicit directions as to the manner in which the cans should be delivered, and then turned to the man who was masquerading as Lamont.

  “Very well,” he said, “we will go in my roadster.”

  And he drove the detective in the place which he had branded as his “thieves’ kitchen,” climbed the stairs to the clubroom.

  CHAPTER X

  “You Show Up!”

  There were some eighteen men lounging around. They smiled at Lester Leith, came crowding forward to shake hands. They stared at the man who posed as Lamont, and had no difficulty whatever in piercing his disguise. A sudden cold restraint fell over the men.

  Lois Webber had been playing poker with a group of five of the convicts. She frowned slightly as Lester Leith introduced her to the man who gave his name as Lamont.

  Lester Leith walked to the free lunch counter, helped himself to a piece of apple pie, ate it, rapped sharply for order.

  “Men,” he said. “I’ve gone into business. I’m going to sell a new form of garbage container. Any of you men who want to work with the company can do so, and can have a territory assigned to him. That holds good for every man of you. There’s only one thing that you’ve got to remember. That is that any man who handles this garbage pail is going to be branded an ex-convict. I’m going to put it across as an advertising stunt.

  “This man, Lamont here, is the inventor of the can. There’ll be a dozen or so of the sample cans come in within the next few minutes. Lamont will explain the features of the can to you.”

  There was a moment of silence as Lester Leith quit talking. Two or three lowering glances appraised the broad-shouldered man who claimed to be the inventor. Those glances were decidedly hostile.

  There was a commotion at the door. A man called a message through the corridor. That message was relayed to Lester Leith.

  “The garbage cans are here.”

  “Send them up,” directed Lester Leith. “Suppose some of you boys give the men a hand.”

  There followed a brief period of bustle and confusion. Under cover of that confusion, Lois Webber approached Lester Leith.

  “The boys like you fine, but they don’t fall for your little playmate.”

  Lester Leith raised his eyebrows. “Indeed,” he said, “the man’s a perfect gentleman, save for a few minor points.”

  The girl snorted.