The Casebook of Sidney Zoom

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  Then Sidney Zoom emerged from the room, carefully locked the door behind him, slipped the key in his pocket, and left the hotel.

  A taxicab took him to the Union Depot. Here he redeemed a suitcase which had been checked over the parcel counter, and sought a cheaper hotel, where he engaged a very modest room.

  Within this room he set about making over his entire character.

  Shabby clothes, glaringly cheap, yet pressed with some attempt to simulate wellbeing, shoes that had been battered out of shape, a celluloid collar and gaudy tie, a shirt that shrieked to high heaven, and a derby hat, all came from the suitcase and were carefully donned.

  A shock of graying hair was properly adjusted. A few strokes of a bit of grease paint weakened the mouth. The hawklike glitter of the untamed eyes was concealed behind a pair of colored spectacles.

  When these preparations had been made, carefully checked, skillfully executed, the personality of Sidney Zoom, adventurer extraordinary, collector of lost souls, doctor of destinies, became merged in a personality that could only be fittingly placed by reference to that well known song of the underworld which features the adventures of Willie the Weeper.

  When the transformation was complete Willie the Weeper left the confines of the cheap hotel and presented himself cringingly at the house telephones of the Westmoreland Hotel.

  The hearty, confident voice of Franklin T. Vane boomed in his ear.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “A friend of yours.”

  “Name?”

  “Never mind the name.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong party.”

  “You’re Franklin T. Vane, ain’t you?”

  “Yes. Who are you?”

  “You wouldn’t know the name.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To make you a proposition.”

  “Well, I’m not open to any proposition. I don’t know you and I don’t care to. Good night.”

  “From Chicago,” whined Willie the Weeper.

  There was a biting silence. It almost seemed that the telephone wire transmitted a squeak made by a tightened grip on the receiver at the other end of the wire.

  “I know no one in Chicago.”

  “But I do.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Downstairs. I’m coming up.”

  And Sidney Zoom, completely merged in the personality of Willie the Weeper, slipped the receiver back on the hook, surreptitiously took something from his pocket, and rubbed it just beneath the lids of his eyes.

  The effect was almost instantaneous. The eyes reddened, began to ooze water.

  Then Willie the Weeper went toward the elevators and was shot upward to the seventh floor. From there he groped about, found seven forty-nine, and scratched on the door.

  The door flung open. A portly, heavy-voiced man let glittering eyes sweep over the cringing figure.

  “What the hell?” he exploded.

  “From Chicago,” said Willie the Weeper, and oozed against the half-open door.

  The big figure drew back, let the unwelcome visitor in, and then thrust out an inquisitive head. After a swift glance up and down the deserted corridor, Franklin T. Vane slammed the door, locked it, turned toward the man who stood in the center of the room.

  “Who in hell are you?”

  “Willie. Folks call me Willie the Weeper.”

  “Willie the Weeper! Hell, there ain’t no such animal. That’s just a song hit that Nell—”

  The dejected figure shook its head.

  “That’s where you make a mistake. The song was first all right. Then I started panhandling, and the boys called me Willie the Weeper, ’cause I got something wrong with my eyes. I made a fortune outa panhandling the boulevard in Chi, but I found I had talents better suited for other things.”

  “Yes?”

  The voice of Franklin T. Vane was cold in its guarded note of inquiry.

  “Yes, I got to collecting hot ice.”

  Vane’s figure stiffened.

  “What brought you here?”

  “I don’t know the local ropes very well. A strange fence tried to cross me, an’ I seen you come out of the hotel this morning.”

  Franklin T. Vane shook his head.

  “You’re crazy,” he said, “as crazy as a bedbug.”

  Willie the Weeper nodded, and reached a hand in the side pocket of his coat. When it came out the fingers seemed to catch the late afternoon sunlight, magnify it, send it sparkling in corruscating fire about the hotel room.

  “What’s that?” snapped Franklin T. Vane, and his glittering eyes contained the fire of avarice.

  Willie the Weeper passed over the necklace. It was the same necklace which had been purchased from Cremlin’s for fifteen thousand dollars. And Sidney Zoom had selected it because, among other things, a certain odd cutting of the stones, a certain distinctiveness of the clasp, made the necklace one which could be readily identified.

  “Hot ice,” he said, in the whining voice which characterized him.

  “Not interested!” snapped Vane, but his eyes belied his tongue.

  “Too hot to handle here,” pursued Willie the Weeper. “It might be handled in Chi. If I had a stake I’d go back there. If you don’t wanta handle it, how about a stake for get-by money?”

  Vane shook his head. His massive neck gave a suggestion of dominant power to the gesture. But his feverish eyes and eager fingers gave evidence of continued interest. “Got any more?”

  Willie the Weeper rubbed beneath his eyes with a dirty handkerchief. The streaks of moisture still remained upon his sallow skin. His hand slipped furtively into his other pocket, brought out a diamond brooch.

  “I got this.”

  The cupidity which glittered so avariciously in the eyes of the fence crystalized into sudden determination.

  “Sit down,” he said, and there was a cooing softness in the voice which gave the words an oily suggestion of smooth hypocrisy. “I’m going to give you a square deal, one hell of a square deal.”

  Willie the Weeper sat down, raised red rimmed eyes which peered through the darkened lenses of spectacles.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes. I’m going to give you some get-by money for a get-away, and I’m going to give you a trade. This stuff is hot, too hot to handle. But I’ve got some stuff that’s nearly cold. You can take it to Chi, and it’ll be a cinch.”

  Willie the Weeper hesitated, shifted his eyes doubtfully.

  “I want cash.”

  “But you’ll get cash, and a hell of a good trade to boot. Those diamonds of yours are worth perhaps eight grand. I’ve got some that would be worth twenty thousand if they weren’t hot.”

  “Eight grand!” expostulated Willie the Weeper. “Why, those rocks would retail for a cool twenty-five thousand!”

  Franklin T. Vane threw back his head and laughed. The laugh was more forceful than mirthful.

  “What a boob you are! Somebody’s been kidding you. If you think those things would retail for twenty-five thousand you’d think mine would sell for a hundred. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you three thousand in cash and trade you one of the finest strings of rocks you ever saw. Or I’ve got two strings I’ll trade you even.”

  “I want cash.”

  “Well, take this trade I’m offering. Three grand and a swell string.”

  Willie the Weeper looked at the diamonds in necklace and brooch.

  “Le’me see the string.”

  The string which Vane offered was made up of rather small stones. There was not the perfect fire, not the matching which makes necklaces run into real money. Yet it was a good necklace, well worth lifting.

  Sidney Zoom, sitting there with his dominant, aggressive personality completely dissolved into that of Willie the Weeper, had no difficulty whatever in recognizing that string as one of the necklaces which had been taken from Cremlin’s, and the theft of which had been laid to the door of young Otto Shaffer.

  “Four thou
sand and I might consider it.”

  “Three’s the price.”

  “Make it three fifty.”

  “Three’s the limit. That’s really too much. I should make it two fifty.”

  Willie the Weeper sniffled. A streak of moisture slimed his cheek, drifted uncertainly past his quivering lips and dropped to the carpet.

  “It’s robbery,” he whined.

  Franklin T. Vane sat in sneering contemplation of the weeping man. Willie the Weeper lived up to his nickname. He whined with voice and eyes, sniffled, cried. The tears dropped from his reddened eyes to the carpet.

  At length he gave sniffling acquiescence.

  Franklin T. Vane stripped three one thousand dollar bills from a roll and handed them over.

  “That’s a swell string I’m giving you. You can hock it in Chi for more than both of your pieces were worth.”

  Willie the Weeper sniffled over the consummation of the deal. He whined, cried, hung around until Vane had dropped the necklace and brooch into a secret compartment of the wardrobe trunk. Then he sniveled himself out of the door.

  Franklin T. Vane snorted, slammed the door shut and locked it.

  VI

  Willie the Weeper became a very busy man. He took a cab to the cheap hotel where he had placed his suitcase. Within a matter of minutes he transformed himself into his true character. Eye wash stopped the watering eyes, leaving them red.

  Attired in a tailored suit which proclaimed itself as having cost much money, Sidney Zoom returned to the Madison House.

  “Evening, Colman,” he saluted the house detective. “Wonder how my sister liked the diamonds.”

  “She hasn’t shown up,” announced the detective.

  “Hasn’t shown up! Good Heavens, there must be some foul play. I sent her a message — I wonder if that message could have miscarried.”

  The house detective shrugged his shoulders.

  “I wish you’d left those diamonds in the safe.”

  “Nonsense! The diamonds are all right, but how about my sister. Come on up and we’ll put through a call.”

  The house detective, mindful of the excellent Scotch, nodded assent. Together they approached the door of the room. Sidney Zoom fitted a key, flung the door open, gave a slight, hospitable push upon the shoulder of his guest, and switched on the light.

  Harry Colman’s muscles became rigid beneath Zoom’s hand which rested on his shoulder. He jumped back.

  “Burglars! Great Heavens! Look at that room!”

  Sidney Zoom sprang forward.

  “The diamonds!” yelled Colman.

  “Gone!” screamed Zoom.

  There followed a period of seething activity. The police were notified. Colman started searching for clews, muttering to himself as he looked about.

  “Funny they’d make all this commotion when the diamonds were in plain sight. Wonder what the idea was?”

  “Looking for my money, perhaps,” volunteered Sidney Zoom, moving slightly so that one foot rested almost upon the crumpled bit of cardboard bearing the mysterious address and the significantly scrawled words.

  “Well,” muttered Colman, “they sure made a— What’s that?”

  “What?”

  “By your foot?”

  “Looks like a card.”

  Colman pounced upon it.

  “Stuff that’s too hot to handle!” he read. “Gee, what a break.”

  “Too hot to handle?” muttered Sidney Zoom in an apologetic undertone.

  “Yeah,” explained Colman, “a yegg term. It means stolen goods that are wanted badly by the police and for which a description’s gone out. I’ll bet you fifty dollars that’s the address of the fence that was going to handle this job.”

  “I’m afraid I shouldn’t bet,” retorted Sidney Zoom, “but if you recover those gems there’ll be a little reward of two thousand dollars, cash.”

  And the face of Sidney Zoom set in such grim lines of righteous indignation at the criminal act which had deprived him of his property that Colman found it necessary to place a restraining hand upon the taut arm.

  “There, there, don’t worry. Here are the police now. They’ll have authority to make a search of this room in the Westmorland Hotel.”

  “You think we have enough evidence upon which to predicate a search?”

  “Say, baby, when there’s two thousands bucks reward I’d search George Washington’s tomb for a stolen dollar. Come on.”

  The police listened.

  A whispered conversation took place between the sergeant in charge of the detail and the house detective. Then the red police automobile sirened its way through the crowded thorough-fares.

  Once more Sidney Zoom found himself at the door of Franklin T. Vane’s suite. But this time he was not in the disguise of a whining crook. He stood erect, indignant, a picture of righteous indignation, such as any honest citizen might feel toward a crook, particularly if that crook had just lifted twenty-five thousand dollars in diamonds from the aforesaid honest citizen.

  Franklin T. Vane saw the bluecoats, the glittering eyes, the firm lips, and his heavy face blanched.

  “What is the meaning of this outrage?” he stormed, before the police had even stated their errand.

  The words placed him definitely in an attitude of antagonism.

  “It means,” bellowed Sidney Zoom, “that you’re a fence, a receiver of stolen property. You’ve got my diamonds here, taken from some crook with whom you connived the robbery.”

  Franklin T. Vane recoiled before the very violence of those words, the blast of righteous wrath which accompanied them.

  “Really, gentlemen—”

  But it was too late. Sidney Zoom had shouldered the door, marched resolutely into the room. The officers followed.

  Ten minutes later they found the secret compartment in the wardrobe trunk.

  “The diamonds!” yelled Sidney Zoom. “Colman, you’re a wonder! Sergeant, you’ll get a promotion for this! I never saw such prompt work!”

  The police sergeant was gazing at another diamond necklace with a puzzled frown.

  “And here’s another one. By George, that’s one of the necklaces from that Cremlin job yesterday. We thought the kid pulled that one. Maybe he used this guy as a fence. But — wait a minute! My God, yes! This is the very room! I see it all now. Why, you’re the man who had the messenger bring up the stones. Aha! so that’s your game, eh?”

  And Franklin T. Vane, taken unawares at the start, showing a positive genius for doing the wrong thing, made the fatal mistake of trying to rush for the door.

  There was the thud of a well placed fist, the flop of a huge body, the adjustment of handcuffs.

  “Colman, your reward!”

  Sidney Zoom peeled two one thousand dollar bills from his pocket, handed them to Harry Colman.

  Colman flashed the sergeant a meaning glance, pocketed the bills. Both men were grinning.

  On the floor, Franklin T. Vane raised a bruised eye, saw the denomination of the bills, gave a violent start, muttered an oath, and gazed with wide eyes at the form of Sidney Zoom.

  “I get my diamonds?” asked Zoom.

  “Certainly,” purred the sergeant. “The identification’s beyond any doubt.”

  “Then, Colman, you can take them back to Cremlin’s to-morrow I don’t think sister would like any stones that have such unpleasant associations. I’ll ask for a cash refund, as was arranged between us when I purchased the stones.

  “In the meantime, you gentlemen have no further use for me?”

  “Go right along, Mr. Zoom,” boomed the sergeant. “I understand Colman knows where to get you if we want you.”

  “Aboard the yacht Alberta F.,” smiled Zoom, “and now, gentlemen, good night.”

  Franklin T. Vane groaned, stifled a curse, then damped his mouth tightly shut.

  Aboard the yacht, Sidney Zoom gazed at the curious face of his secretary. There was a quizzical gleam in his eyes.

  “The second necklace was
mailed back to Cremlin’s before I boarded the boat. I’ll secure a return of my twenty-five thousand, dollars from the jeweler to-morrow. In the meantime, after deducting the reward, there’s a thousand dollar note that remains a dear profit. I think that should go to Shaffer. He might want to pay his folks a visit.”

  The girl sighed.

  “How perfectly wonderful!”

  “Nonsense!” snapped Sidney Zoom. “There’s a tendency on the part of your sex, Miss Thurmond, to exaggerate any small mental effort that shows successful results. I certainly trust you will not fall into that habit.”

  And Sidney Zoom turned abruptly to the closet where he kept his various disguises, and began putting them in order, making ready for the next case.

  The girl stared at him, and her eyes showed a light of admiration that was far from being impersonal.

  But Sidney Zoom, keeping his back turned, kept busy with his disguises. It was only the police dog that turned yellow eyes upward and surprised the expression of tenderness in the eyes of the young woman.

  The dog wagged his tail, softly thumping it against the carpeted floor, signifying his entire approval.

  A faint wind ruffled the dark waters of the bay and the boat creaked gently as it swung about, the water lapping its sides.

  In the inner cabin Otto Shaffer, just awakening from a peaceful sleep of drugged tranquility, rubbed his eyes with his fists, and smiled dreamily.

  “My Name Is Zoom!”

  I

  Sidney Zoom stood in the main cabin of his palatial yacht, scissors in one hand, paste in the other. On the table before him was a photograph.

  The picture was of a thin man with eyes that seemed almost white. The cheeks were hollow, the mouth a mere razor-thin line of wire lips. A synthetic smile, twitching the comers of that mouth, yet failed to soften it. The picture gave forth an aura of cold cruelty. But the forehead showed keen intellectuality.

  Back of Sidney Zoom, her eyes wide with interest, her shapely figure poised gracefully, Vera Thurmond, the newly employed secretary, gazed at the photograph.

  “Another one for your rogues’ gallery?”

  Zoom nodded, a terse nod that was but a single bob of the head.