The Casebook of Sidney Zoom

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “Did they, perhaps,” asked Sidney Zoom, “look through the books in the library?”

  “They looked everywhere,” he said. “They searched this house from top to bottom. They spilled books all over the floor, tore up carpets, pounded walls, pulled out the casements from the windows and examined the window weights. They looked everywhere.”

  Zoom laughed grimly.

  “That,” he said, “makes it nice. It only remains for me to conduct a very limited search.”

  Curiosity mastered the handcuffed man.

  “How do you mean?” he asked.

  “Simply,” said Sidney Zoom, “that they have looked in all of the likely hiding places. It only remains for me to look in the unlikely hiding places.”

  The man’s laugh was sarcastic.

  “They looked everywhere,” he said.

  “Well,” said Sidney Zoom, “we might as well look the house over a little bit. Come on and march around. Remember that I’m behind you with a gun. If you make any funny moves, I’m going to smack the barrel of this gun down on the top of your head, unless I should think the situation calls for sterner reprisals.”

  “Where do you want to go?” asked the other.

  “Oh, just lead the way around the house,” said Sidney Zoom.

  The man started walking, his slippered feet shuffling along the floor. Behind him came Sidney Zoom, gun held ready, hawk-like eyes sweeping the premises in glittering appraisal. Sidney Zoom, however, said nothing. His every faculty was concentrated upon looking over the house, inspecting the various rooms through which they passed.

  It was when they entered a room on the third floor that Sidney Zoom suddenly showed interest.

  “What’s this room?” he asked.

  “The master’s bedroom.”

  “Why does he sleep on the third floor?”

  “I don’t know — because he wants to, I guess.”

  Zoom looked the room over.

  He glanced about him for a moment. Then he started talking, and his voice was the expressionless monotone of one who is thinking aloud.

  “As I size up your master,” he said, “he’s a man who would want to have the money near him at all times. He’s a man who would be very much inclined to hide any valued possession dose to his sleeping quarters.”

  His answer was a sarcastic laugh.

  Zoom paid no attention to the laugh, but stood in the center of the room, looking around it.

  “Obviously,” he said, still speaking in the same monotone of one who is thinking aloud, “the obvious and likely places have been searched. Therefore, it remains to look for some place that would have naturally escaped search.”

  “They took this room to pieces,” said the man, and there was a trace of bitterness in his voice.

  “And found nothing?”

  “And found nothing.”

  Sidney Zoom stepped to the window, looked out into the well kept yard. The sun had gilded the roof and tree tops. Birds were fluttering about, chirping and singing.

  Abruptly, Zoom stiffened to attention.

  The room was in a tower which looked out upon the lower portions of the roof. Some ten feet away was a rigid mast, some eight or ten feet in height, and on the top of this mast was a little platform decorated by a bird house.

  “Who put that up?” he asked.

  “Mr. Stapleton,” said the man.

  Sidney Zoom stared steadily at the bird house.

  “Now Stapleton,” he mused, “is the type of man who ordinarily wouldn’t be interested in birds. His temperament is cruel, cold, supercilious and mocking. He’s the type of man who is intensely cold-blooded and self-centered. Yet he’s very intelligent. Therefore, I wonder...”

  Sidney Zoom’s voice trailed away into silence. He looked about him, staring once more at the bedroom itself.

  The eyes of the handcuffed man were fastened upon Sidney Zoom with intense interest.

  Abruptly, Sidney Zoom pointed to a long bamboo pole which was suspended on pegs along the side of the room.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “A fishing pole,” said the man. “Can’t you see?”

  Sidney Zoom nodded, but his nod was preoccupied. He strode to the pole and inspected it.

  There was a reel on the pole. The line was heavy. The guides for the line were placed closely together, and were of the best material. The thing which was most noticeable, however, was the fact that the pole did not come to a tapering tip, as is usually the case, but had been cut off where the rod was still quite thick.

  “That’s not a casting rod,” said Sidney Zoom.

  The handcuffed man said nothing.

  Sidney Zoom took the rod from its pegs and balanced it in his hand.

  “Too stiff,” he said, “for fishing with bait. Not built right for a casting rod. I wonder...”

  He took the hook on the end of the line between his thumb and forefinger, and inspected it.

  “A hook,” he said, “that’s heavy enough to land a shark.”

  He walked to the window, peered out once more and abruptly chuckled.

  “My dear James,” he said, “do you, by any chance, happen to notice the ring in the top of the bird house?”

  The handcuffed man forgot his hostility in order to peer in sudden curiosity.

  “I think,” said Sidney Zoom, “that I will show you a little high class fishing.”

  He pushed the end of the fishing pole out of the window, shortened the line on the reel until the hook hung down but a few inches below the tip of the pole. It took but a moment to drop the hook inside of the ring on the bird house.

  Sidney Zoom held the reel with the fingers of his right hand. With his left hand he lifted the pole. The pole bent slightly. Then the entire bird house lifted from the wooden platform. Thus he brought it into the room, disengaged the ring from the hook, and set the bird house on the table.

  He inspected the miniature structure for a moment, then manipulated two clasps, and the entire roof lifted dear. It was entirely filled with sheafed currency.

  The handcuffed man lurched forward, his breath coming in a hissing exclamation.

  Zoom whirled and the gun jabbed into the man’s stomach.

  “Careful,” he warned, “Get back there!”

  The man stared at the treasure in the bird house with bulging eyes and a sagging jaw.

  “Cripes!” he said. “And I put in three days searching every place in the house I could think of, to try and find it.”

  Zoom nodded.

  “Quite so,” he said. “I figured you for that kind.”

  Almost casually he pocketed the bank notes. When he had finished, he fitted the fish hook into the ring, put the bird house back into position, shook the hook free, pulled the fishing pole back, and placed it once more on the pegs.

  “When you see your master,” he said, “you might tell him that his cache was robbed. However, I don’t think that you’ll do it, because as soon as you do, your master is going to think that you were the guilty party. Moreover, I think it’s going to be some time before you see your master. I fancy he’s going to be detained by the police on a murder charge. However, if you should see him, and if you should tell him, I rather fancy he’ll choose to remain silent about the entire matter.

  “If,” said Zoom, “Paul Stapleton should complain that he had been robbed, and if he should, by any chance, divulge the identity of the robber, and if the police should obtain any proofs of my complicity, they would at the same time secure the proof of bribery and corruption on the part of Stapleton that they have been searching for.

  “You might call those matters to Mr. Stapleton’s attention, in the event you should advise him of his misfortune, although, as I’ve said before, I don’t think you will, because Stapleton would immediately jump at the conclusion you had been the one to rob him.”

  Zoom bowed affably to the enraged individual.

  “As I go out the front door,” he said, “I will drop the key to the hand
cuffs on the hall carpet. You can find it and eventually free yourself. It will take a bit of patient manipulation to get the key into the lock. I would suggest that you hold it in your teeth and try turning it, by twisting the arms.

  “In the meantime, I have the honor to wish you a very good morning, my dear James.”

  Sidney Zoom sat in his stateroom on the yacht.

  Across the table from him, Ruby Allison stared at the pile of bank notes with bulging eyes.

  “But,” she said, “it wouldn’t be right.”

  Sidney Zoom laughed sarcastically.

  “You know that it’s right,” he said. “What you mean is that you’re afraid of man-made laws. As a matter of fact, you are the one who is entitled to this money. You admit that it’s bribe money. It could never be returned to the persons who had put it up. Obviously, Paul Stapleton shouldn’t be allowed to keep it. Moreover, Stapleton has done you a great wrong. He has, as it happens, walked into his own trap, but that was due to the fact he fell for the bait which I held out to him. If it hadn’t been for that, you would have been a fugitive from justice right now, charged with murder.

  “Law is but a man-made attempt to secure justice. In many instances, laws fall down because it is impossible to anticipate all of the complexities of human conduct. Those are the cases in which I interest myself. I endeavor to do substantial justice, without regard to laws.”

  He pushed the currency toward her.

  “But how about you?” she asked.

  Sidney Zoom smiled patiently.

  “I,” he said, “have had a very interesting night’s adventure, and now, if you’ll pardon, I’ll retire.”

  He arose from his chair, moved swiftly to the door of the stateroom, turned to smile at the young woman, nod at Vera Thurmond, then jerked the door open, stepped out of the stateroom and slammed the door behind him.

  Ruby Allison looked in stupefied wonder at Vera Thurmond.

  “But,” she said, “I don’t understand the man.”

  Vera Thurmond’s laugh was wistful.

  “You could,” she said, “be with him for years, without doing that. You could respect and admire him, but you’d never understand him.”

  Her eyes were bright.

  Stolen Thunder

  Chapter I

  Samson’s Strange Job

  Sidney Zoom hated routine with a bitter hatred.

  Night after night, his police dog at his side, he prowled through those sections of the city where human misery came crawling forth with the hours of darkness. His eyes, which could be cold and savage at times, were filled with ready sympathy as he peered into the dark shadows of the city where human flotsam was deposited by the tide of economic struggle.

  The park was lighted by blazing incandescents which attracted the first moths of spring and glittered in shining reflections from the green foliage of the trees.

  But the lights cast shadows over some of the benches, and on these benches young couples sat in dose proximity, conversing in low voices.

  Sidney Zoom wasted no time upon such couples. His peering eyes sought out those dark shadows where lone derelicts sat in black despair.

  Here was a man whose pasty features and twitching nerves told of dope; another was sodden with cheap alcohol; a third was a drifter, one of those men who refuse to accept opportunity when it is offered; a fourth was a young man whose gaunt face and haggard eyes showed the pallor of malnutrition as he sat hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands.

  Sidney Zoom paused in his walk.

  “A nice evening,” he said.

  The man apparently did not hear him. It was only when Zoom repeated the comment that the man stared upward with strained, incredulous eyes.

  “Yes,” he said at length in a thin voice, then added, after a pause: “A nice dog you have.”

  Sidney Zoom nodded.

  “Getting the air,” he asked, “after a hard day’s work?”

  The man’s laugh was mocking.

  “A hard day’s work is right,” he said. “I had a hard day’s work two weeks ago. It’s the last I’ve been able to get.”

  Sidney Zoom stared steadily at him.

  The man spat contemptuously.

  “Go on,” he said, “I’ll take care of myself.”

  Sidney Zoom turned and walked away, the police dog padding at his side.

  The foot and ankle of a woman caught his eyes. He had seen it half an hour before when he had first entered the park. The woman was reclining on one of the park seats. Her head and torso were in the deep shadows. Her left foot and ankle caught a shaft of light which filtered through the trees.

  Presently, the officer on the beat would awaken her. Sleeping upon the park benches was prohibited, but of late the rule had been relaxed so that many of the city’s homeless found a certain inadequate resting place on the hard, cold benches. These unfortunates, by some unwritten understanding with the police, did not descend upon the benches until after midnight.

  Sidney Zoom moved to the side of the young woman, touched her shoulder.

  He could see that she was well formed, that she was in her early twenties, that she was sleeping in an uncomfortable position and that she was sleeping soundly.

  He touched her again.

  The dog at his side gave a low whimper.

  Sidney Zoom took the woman’s shoulders and shook her. A small glass bottle dropped from the limp fingers of her right hand, but she made no motion.

  Sidney Zoom picked up the bottle. A skull and cross-bones caught his eyes. He held the label to the light, then dropped the bottle to his pocket, knelt and smelled of the young woman’s lips. Abruptly, he turned and retraced his steps to where the young man sat hunched upon the park bench.

  “My friend,” he asked, “would you like temporary employment?”

  The man didn’t look up.

  “Take your sympathy,” he said bitterly, “and go to hell with it.”

  Sidney Zoom’s voice was patient.

  “My friend,” he said, “this is not sympathy. Every night I make it a rule to find some worthy individual who is out of employment and give him work. The work is not orthodox, nor are my methods, but the employment certainly is not charity. If you want the job, say so; if you don’t want it, there are probably others who do.”

  The haggard features raised to his. There was the glint of dawning hope in the eyes.

  “You mean it?” the man asked.

  “Your name?” asked Sidney Zoom.

  “Burt Samson,” he said.

  Zoom nodded.

  “The wages,” he said, “will be adequate. They will be on a basis of profit-sharing. The work will be probably within the law.”

  The man’s laugh was rasping.

  “I didn’t ask any of that,” he said.

  “Come with me,” Zoom told him.

  They approached the bench where the young woman lay.

  “I want,” said Sidney Zoom, “to get her to a taxicab.”

  Samson flashed Zoom one swiftly searching look.

  “How long have you known she was here?”

  “I just found her,” Zoom said.

  “Do you know who she is?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you want to get her to a taxicab?”

  Zoom stared at him with steady, uncordial eyes.

  “My friend,” he said, “if you are going to work for me, you are going to follow instructions without a lot of questions. No matter what a job is, there’s only room for one boss.”

  Samson stooped wordlessly, placed his hands under the girl’s shoulders. Sidney Zoom caught one of her arms. They lifted her to her feet. She was motionless, inert, lifeless.

  “A drug?” asked Samson.

  Zoom made no comment.

  “A taxicab,” he said after a moment.

  They supported her between them, cut across the grass of the park, keeping to the shadows.

  “I’ll hold her,” said Zoom. “Get a cab. Say that th
e woman passed out after a couple of drinks. Don’t offer too many explanations.”

  The young man nodded, stepped out from the shadows of the park shrubbery to the lighted sidewalk, hailed a passing cab. The driver gave him a searching look, slowed, then speeded on. A second cab answered his hail and stopped. Samson talked for a moment with the cabbie, who opened the door and stared suspiciously toward the park.

  Sidney Zoom waited for an auspicious moment, then he strode across the sidewalk, the woman in his arms. He deposited her on the cushions of the cab, nodded to the police dog. The dog leapt into the cab, crouched on the floor. Samson climbed in, hesitated for a moment, then pillowed the young woman’s head on his shoulder. Sidney Zoom fastened the insolent eyes of the cab driver with a steady stare.

  “Drive down this street to the waterfront,” Zoom said. “Turn to the left. I’ll tell you when to go out on the docks. I want to get aboard the Alberta F.”

  “You mean that millionaire’s yacht that’s moored...”

  “Exactly,” said Sidney Zoom, climbed into the cab and slammed the door shut.

  Chapter II

  The Girl Who Wanted to Die

  Vera Thurmond was a most efficient nurse. Years of experience with the strange character whom she served in the dual capacity of assistant and secretary, had fitted her to cope with all sorts of people and conditions.

  She moved back and forth from the dining salon, in which Zoom and Samson sat waiting, to the room where the young woman moaned and retched.

  A pot bubbled on an electric stove, and the smell of coffee filled the air.

  “She’ll be all right now,” Vera Thurmond said, “the emetic has done its work, and I’m going to get some coffee down her. You’d better help me.”

  Sidney Zoom strode into the bedroom, looked at the features of the young woman, features that were now white with misery. Her eyes were red-rimmed from the nausea which had been induced by the emetic. Her lips were pale and bloodless.

  She stared at Sidney Zoom with wide blue eyes, looking at him as though he had been a creature from another world.

  “So you took laudanum?” said Sidney Zoom.

  She moved her lips but there was no sound. Her eyes filmed over with drowsiness even as he looked at her.