Chapter IV: Zowie!

Dejectedly Cates returned to headquarters to make his report to Captain Henessey. The captain laughed. “Don’t take it so much to heart, lad,” he encouraged. “Sometimes it requires weeks, months, years to untangle one of these things.”

“I suppose so,” nodded Cates despondently. “Say, captain, what makes a crook, anyway?”

Captain Henessey eyed his little radio officer uncertainly.

“So help me, you can ask some of the damnedest questions I ever heard of!” he ejaculated.

Then, seeing that Cates was in earnest, he went on more kindly: “If you must know, Dave, there’s probably a million different things, as you’ll find out when you’ve been in this business as long as I have. Environment, moods, impulses, hatred, hunger, needs excitement, mental--why, what’s the trouble? Got an idea?”

For Dave Cates had suddenly sat bolt upright his blue eyes eager.

“I’ll say I have! How good it is I don’t know, but I’m going to sock it for all it’s worth. Listen.”

Captain Henessey didn’t scoff at the plan. He was much too experienced in police work for that.

“Not bad at all, lad,” he acknowledged. “It may not work, but then again it may. Anyway, I’ll see that a microphone is installed where you want it.”

Cates looked at his watch.

“Time for the broadcast, captain,” he said. “Give me the stuff you’ve got ready. Afterward, I think I’ll take a run out to the Salon Quintesse and listen to Leo Archer. I’m getting to know quite a lot about music.”

Syndicate Park, where the Salon Quintesse was located, was a-glitter when Cates arrived. It was a warm evening and couples were sauntering through the grove during the intermission between dances.

A big car came roaring up the drive to give forth its cargo of laughing, voluble, noisy youngsters. Down by the river some one was playing a ukulele and the mellow chords blended oddly with the booming music of Leo Archer’s band.

Cates went quietly into the big hall and sat down at a corner table. He was an unobtrusive little figure and nobody paid the least bit of attention to him.

The room was filled with amusement seekers, most of them in evening dress. There were laughing faces, flushed faces, sad, serious, and vindictive faces but Cates gave them little thought.

He was watching the tall lean figure of Leo Archer as the band leader put his men through their paces.

It was a wonderful band, Cates thought. Hot music, probably none hotter in the country. Funny that Archer could get such effects when he was such a bored, cynical guy. Almost beyond understanding, but not quite.

Dave Cates became a bit wistful. He wished he had such talent as Archer’s. It must be great to be up there leading a band like that. Even music that boomed and crashed seemed connected with that vague green-shuttered bungalow with the garden plot out back.

Then a slim, graceful little figure slipped out on the floor and began to dance. Cates sat forward, his eyes sparkling with pride. If anybody could beat Anabelle Talbot’s dancing, he’d like to know it!

It was one of the world’s prize mysteries, why she accepted his attentions, but since she did he’d not question his blessings. She was a dream girl suddenly come to life--his dream girl.

Whirling, pivoting, gliding, she moved about the floor, smiling steadily as one who dances must smile. Then she saw the little radio cop sitting alone in the corner, and her smile became radiant.

Lightly she blew him a kiss, finished her dance to a mad burst of syncopation, and skipped into her dressing room.

“Gee!” exclaimed Dave Cates softly. “Gee!”

In a few minutes she came out of the dressing room and hurried over to Cates’ table. Grinning broadly, he rose to greet her.

“You sure can dance, Ann!” he told her. “Boy, how you can dance!”

Hazel eyes sparkled up at him and a red little mouth crinkled at the corners.

“I’m glad you think so, Dave,” she said. “Just the same I wish I didn’t have to do it. Oh, did I tell you that Leo Archer wants me to sign a contract to dance exclusively to his music?”

Cates shook his head. “No, you didn’t,” he said slowly. “Are you going to sign?”

“I don’t want to, Dave. But you know a girl must do something.” She stopped and studied his face. “Anyway,” she finished, “he gave me until the Charity Ball to decide.”

“Which is just a couple of days anyway,” mused Cates. “Say, Ann, when did he offer you this contract?”

“Yesterday,” she answered. “He called me up to his office at the Renhurst.”

“At what time?”

She looked wonderingly across the table. “Why all curiosity about it, Dave?”

“I’ll explain some time, Ann. What time was it?”

“Why, shortly after four o’clock, I think.”

“How long were you there?”

“Only a few minutes. He was working feverishly on a new number he expects to introduce at the Charity Ball. He offered me this contract, and told me I could take it or leave it. Then he gave me till the Charity Ball to decide.”

Suppressed excitement was in Dave Cates’ voice. “Did any one come in while you were there?” he asked.

She considered.

“N-no,” she said presently. “That is, nobody but a bell boy who had a little package that he gave Archer.”

“Wow!” Cates smacked his fist jubilantly into the palm of his hand. “I’ve got it now; sure as the deuce I have! What a break this is! Zingo!”

He reached across the table and took both her hands, caring not what people around might think. “Gee, you’re a dear, and a sweetheart, and how you’d fit into that little bunga----”

“Dave, behave! What in the world ails you!”

“Nothing, honey. I can’t tell you yet, but the first thing I’m going to plant is tomatoes. Zowie!”

* * * * *

Greatly as the city was interested in the Van Goss-Meusel jewel robberies, the interest in the Charity Ball overshadowed all else. It was an annual affair and tradition and skillful publicity had built it up to a point where attendance was a matter of civic pride. A hundred social leaders served as patronesses; the best show talent in town was secured for the acts; and the general populace prepared for a gala night.

As chairman of the general committee, Terhune bustled around attending to this and that, a smile of smug importance on his florid face. Had he not been so preoccupied he might have noticed that he was trailed by a small, stocky figure, homely and determined of face.

At this last hour Dave Cates was overlooking no bets. Not only did he watch Terhune, but he kept an eye on Miss Meusel and Leo Archer. To Hughes he paid no attention.

“It’s got to break right,” was his constant thought. “When anything means as much to a guy as this does to me, it’s got to break right.”