Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 99: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE DECOY. wildered air. He was something of a judge of human nature; but under no circum- stances could he imagine any live concern intrusting to James Putter any mission more vital than the inspection of its waste paper baskets, or the ejection of undesirable visi- tors. Honest? Unquestionably. But dumb! All celluloid above his ears. No wonder crime waves went unchecked! It was only five o’clock; too early to dine. But Putter felt the need of a nibble to as- suage the protest of a stomach which had gone neglected since a hearty lunch about noon. He found a little grill, and stood at the bar while a couple of dozen littlenecks were opened for him as he absent-mindedly emptied the cracker bowl. Through the single window peered the faces of a group of boys who had trailed him from his hotel, whispering excitedly. This, they knew already, was the sleuth who had come to win the thousand dollar re- ward offered by the mayor with the consent of the common council! Putter was aware of the silent homage, but not in the least disturbed that news of his identity should in some mysterious manner have leaked out. He knew that it was impossible for him to spend two hours in any city of the world without setting tongues to wagging. The least observant could not fail to notice that he was somebody! Emerging, he came face to face with a lieutenant of police who was bidding the gang “ move on.” He paused, thrust out a thick, plump hand. , “Howdy, loot! I’m Putter — James Putter from Keene’s. Sent to clamp the lid down on your burg. Pleased to meetcha! You mustn’t have any feeling about us but- ting in. I know how much you have to do — traffic violations, bootlegging, un- licensed beggars, lost kids, ’n’ everything. This crime stuff is a little out of your line —and we’ve made it a study for half a century. Yeah. Longer ’n that! We'll not pull against each other. Ill keep my trap shut, and you tip me off to anything you stumble onto. Any new dope?” The lieutenant, Reilly, whoa had risen from patrolman through twenty years of arduous service, let his hard blue eyes roam up and down the six feet of Putter from —{—" the fawn spats to the costly Stetson. He knew all about the Keene people; what they stood for, the big cases they had suc- cessfully handled. He couldn’t “ make” the genial James, and it irritated him. What was it all about? Why, this bird advertised himself like a lighthouse, or a jazz band! “Nothing new,” he grunted. ‘“ But you gotta work fast, friend, or we’ll beat you to it! We're about ready to make a—” Putter waved a languid hand on which gleamed a large yellow diamond ring. “Sure! I know. Old stuff. If you land the boys, nobody will be more tickled than me. There’s two big cases I’m needed on right now. Keene hates to see me wasted on a mere police job, but the local ice dealers put it to him so strong he fell for it. Then, too, I can use that grand they’re offering as a reward! Have a cigar?” He ignored Reilly’s protest, stuffed three or four expensive smokes into his breast pocket, and moved on with a friendly smile. Nothing like standing in with these hick constables! They were dumb — couldn’t really help a good man much. But at the same time they could hinder him. Putter made it a point to win their esteem. For one thing, his nature was genial and kindly. He liked to be liked, even by a stray dog! He looked into three or four of the shops which had been victimized. Talked with the proprietors. He was received warmly; they were ready to clutch at a straw. And James Putter was a large, fat, important looking straw. 3 , On the way back to the hotel for dinner he passed two men who looked at him sharply without appearing to do so. One was a buyer of gold and silver scraps, bridge work, dental crowns and fillings, all sorts of salvaged precious metals.. The other was a hard-looking guy whose soft collar was soiled and lacked a cravat. Both were Keene operatives, from the Boston office. Putter did not know this. He would have been deeply hurt if he had. But in order to deceive him no more elaborate disguise than a two-days’ beard, a pair of shell cheaters, or a dirty cap pulled over the eyes, was necessary. Yet, he was not unobservant, at times. O GComichbooks 569 (S@)