the doll brought you here for a trimming?"
"Oh, no." He looked offended. "She wouldn't do that.
She was a nice girl."
"Buddy, I tailed you and the girl out of the bar because I saw this big mug watching you. Until this guy passed your cab and went ahead, I figured he was after the girl's ice.
But he came here, and that could only mean he knew where she was going."
"Oh, no. I don't believe that," he said. "Not for a minute."
"Okay," I answered. "Better scram out of here before the cops come nosing around."
He scrammed. Me, I am a curious guy. The big potato was still bye-bye, so I gave him a frisk. He was packing a gun, which he might have used if I'd given him time. It was a snub-nosed .38. I pocketed the weapon, then found what I wanted. It was a driver's license made out to Buckley Dozen.
Well, Buckley was coming out of his dozen, so I turned away. Then, I saw the diamond pin.
Somehow, the doll had dropped it. Probably when her ankle had tripped the kid. I lifted it off the pavement, went around the corner, and made a half block walking fast. A moment later a cab came streaking by, and Buckley Dozen was in it. But he didn't see me.
For a couple of days after that I was busy. Several times I looked at that ice. I figured no dame like that would be wearing anything nearly as good as this looked, so decided it must be glass, or paste. Then I dropped in at the Casino Bar and Emery, the bartender, motioned me over.
"Say, there was a guy in here looking for you. Nice lookin' kid."
His description fitted the youngster who'd been with the girl.
"Probably figured things out," I said, "and wants to buy me a drink."
"No, it wasn't that. He looked serious, and was awful anxious to see you. He left this address here."
I took the visiting card he handed me, noted the address at a nice apartment away up on Wilshire, and the name Randolph Seagram.
That made me think of the pin again, so on a hunch, I left the bar and started up the street. There was a fancy jewelry store in Beverly Hills, just west past Crescent Heights and Doheny but a million miles away. I went there first, taking a gander at the stuff in the window.
Glass or not, this pin in my pocket made the rest of that stuff look like junk. Walking around to the door, I went in.
The floor was so polished, I hated to walk on it and everything seemed to be glass and silver.
A clerk walked toward me who looked as if he might consider speaking to either the Rockefellers or the Vanderbilts and asked what he could do for me. I think he figured on taking a pair of tongs and dropping me outside.
"Just give me a quick take on this," I said, handing him the pin, "and tell me what it's worth."
He took a look and his eyes opened like he was looking at this great big beautiful world for the first time.
Then, he screws a little business into his eye and looks the pin over.
When he looked up, dropping his glass into his hand, he was mingling extreme politeness and growing suspicion in about equal quantities.
"Roughly, twenty thousand dollars," he said.
The night before, I'd been in a poker game and my coat had hung on a hook alongside of a dozen others, with all that ice loose in my pocket! I took it standing.
"I'd like to speak to the manager," I said quickly.
The manager was a tall, cool specimen with gray hair along his temples and looked like he might at least be Count von Roughpants or something.
"Listen' I said, "and while I'm talking, take a gander at this." I dropped the ice on the table.
He looked at it, and when he looked up at me, I knew he was thinking of calling the cops.
"I'm not going to tell you how I got this," I said. "I think maybe the party that owns it may be in trouble. I don't have any way of finding out where the party to whom it belongs is-unless you can help me. Isn't it true that pins like this are scarce?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "I would say very rare. In fact, I believe this to be a special design, made to order for someone."
"All right. I
"Oh, no." He looked offended. "She wouldn't do that.
She was a nice girl."
"Buddy, I tailed you and the girl out of the bar because I saw this big mug watching you. Until this guy passed your cab and went ahead, I figured he was after the girl's ice.
But he came here, and that could only mean he knew where she was going."
"Oh, no. I don't believe that," he said. "Not for a minute."
"Okay," I answered. "Better scram out of here before the cops come nosing around."
He scrammed. Me, I am a curious guy. The big potato was still bye-bye, so I gave him a frisk. He was packing a gun, which he might have used if I'd given him time. It was a snub-nosed .38. I pocketed the weapon, then found what I wanted. It was a driver's license made out to Buckley Dozen.
Well, Buckley was coming out of his dozen, so I turned away. Then, I saw the diamond pin.
Somehow, the doll had dropped it. Probably when her ankle had tripped the kid. I lifted it off the pavement, went around the corner, and made a half block walking fast. A moment later a cab came streaking by, and Buckley Dozen was in it. But he didn't see me.
For a couple of days after that I was busy. Several times I looked at that ice. I figured no dame like that would be wearing anything nearly as good as this looked, so decided it must be glass, or paste. Then I dropped in at the Casino Bar and Emery, the bartender, motioned me over.
"Say, there was a guy in here looking for you. Nice lookin' kid."
His description fitted the youngster who'd been with the girl.
"Probably figured things out," I said, "and wants to buy me a drink."
"No, it wasn't that. He looked serious, and was awful anxious to see you. He left this address here."
I took the visiting card he handed me, noted the address at a nice apartment away up on Wilshire, and the name Randolph Seagram.
That made me think of the pin again, so on a hunch, I left the bar and started up the street. There was a fancy jewelry store in Beverly Hills, just west past Crescent Heights and Doheny but a million miles away. I went there first, taking a gander at the stuff in the window.
Glass or not, this pin in my pocket made the rest of that stuff look like junk. Walking around to the door, I went in.
The floor was so polished, I hated to walk on it and everything seemed to be glass and silver.
A clerk walked toward me who looked as if he might consider speaking to either the Rockefellers or the Vanderbilts and asked what he could do for me. I think he figured on taking a pair of tongs and dropping me outside.
"Just give me a quick take on this," I said, handing him the pin, "and tell me what it's worth."
He took a look and his eyes opened like he was looking at this great big beautiful world for the first time.
Then, he screws a little business into his eye and looks the pin over.
When he looked up, dropping his glass into his hand, he was mingling extreme politeness and growing suspicion in about equal quantities.
"Roughly, twenty thousand dollars," he said.
The night before, I'd been in a poker game and my coat had hung on a hook alongside of a dozen others, with all that ice loose in my pocket! I took it standing.
"I'd like to speak to the manager," I said quickly.
The manager was a tall, cool specimen with gray hair along his temples and looked like he might at least be Count von Roughpants or something.
"Listen' I said, "and while I'm talking, take a gander at this." I dropped the ice on the table.
He looked at it, and when he looked up at me, I knew he was thinking of calling the cops.
"I'm not going to tell you how I got this," I said. "I think maybe the party that owns it may be in trouble. I don't have any way of finding out where the party to whom it belongs is-unless you can help me. Isn't it true that pins like this are scarce?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "I would say very rare. In fact, I believe this to be a special design, made to order for someone."
"All right. I
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