Читать книгу A Cool Million: The Dismantling of Lemuel Pitkin - Nathanael West - Страница 7

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“I wonder who did it?” asked Steve.

“I can’t imagine,” answered Lem brokenly.

“Did they get much?”

“All I had in the world.... A little less than thirty dollars.”

“Some smart leather must have gotten it.”

“Leather?” queried our hero, not understanding the argot of the underworld with which the train boy was familiar.

“Yes, leather—pickpocket. Did anybody talk to you on the train?”

“Only Mr. Wellington Mape, a rich young man. He is kin to the Mayor of New York.”

“Who told you that?”

“He did himself.”

“How was he dressed?” asked Steve, whose suspicions were aroused. (He had been “wire”—scout—to a “leather” when small and knew all about the dodge.) “Did he wear a pale blue hat?”

“Yes.”

“And looked a great swell?”

“Yes.”

“He got off at the last station and your dough-re-me went with him.”

“You mean he got my money? Well, I never. He told me he was worth a cool million and boarded at the Ritz Hotel.”

“That’s the way they all talk—big. Did you tell him where you kept your money?”

“Yes, I did. But can’t I get it back?”

“I don’t see how. He got off the train.”

“I’d like to catch hold of him,” said Lem, who was very angry.

“Oh, he’d hit you with a piece of lead pipe. But look through your pockets, maybe he left you a dollar.”

Lem put his hand into the pocket in which he had carried his money and drew it out as though he had been bitten. Between his fingers he held a diamond ring.

“What’s that?” asked Steve.

“I don’t know,” said Lem with surprise. “I don’t think I ever saw it before. Yes, by gum, I did. It must have dropped off the crook’s finger when he picked my pocket. I saw him wearing it.”

“Boy!” exclaimed the train boy. “You’re sure in luck. Talk about falling in a privy and coming up with a gold watch. You’re certainly it. With a double t.”

“What is it worth?” asked Lem eagerly.

“Permit me to look at it, my young friend, perhaps I can tell you,” said a gentleman in a gray derby hat, who was sitting across the aisle. This stranger had been listening with great curiosity to the dialogue between our hero and the train boy.

“I am a pawnbroker,” he said. “If you let me examine the ring, I can surely give you some idea of its value.”

Lem handed the article in question to the stranger, who put a magnifying glass into his eye and looked at it carefully.

“My young friend, that ring is worth all of fifty dollars,” he announced.

“I’m certainly in luck,” said Lem. “The crook only stole twenty-eight dollars and sixty cents from me. But I’d rather have my money back. I don’t want any of his.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the self-styled pawnbroker. “I’ll advance you twenty-eight dollars and sixty cents against the ring, and agree to give it back for that sum and suitable interest if the owner should ever call for it.”

“That’s fair enough,” said Lem gratefully, and he pocketed the money that the stranger tendered him.

Our hero paid for the piece of fruit that he had bought from the train boy and ate it with quiet contentment. In the meantime, the “pawnbroker” prepared to get off the train. When he had gathered together his meager luggage, he shook hands with Lem and gave him a receipt for the ring.

But no sooner had the stranger left than a squad of policemen armed with sawed-off shotguns entered and started down the aisle. Lem watched their progress with great interest. His interest, however, changed to alarm when they stopped at his seat and one of them caught him roughly by the throat. Handcuffs were then snapped around his wrists. Weapons pointed at his head.