According to the building directory, Jones and Knight Investment Company was on the fourth floor. A colored girl took me up in an elevator, informing me as I got off that the elevators stopped running at six.
Though the office building in which it was housed was old and beginning to look run down in a genteel sort of way, the office of Jones and Knight had an air of prosperity about it. Thick carpeting covered the floor of the reception room, the furniture was solidly expensive and Venetian blinds hung at the windows.
A middle-aged woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses sat at a desk in the reception room. Apparently I would have missed her had I been five minutes later, for she was just powdering her nose in preparation to go home.
“Mr. Jones or Mr. Knight in?” I asked.
“No, sir,” she said politely. “We close at five. Did you have an appointment?”
I shook my head. “I’m a private investigator inquiring into the Lancaster killing.” I let her look at my license and took a soft leather chair while she was examining it.
She looked it over so long a time, I got the impression she was using it as an excuse to gather herself together after the shock of my announcement. And since my announcement had not seemed particularly shocking to me, her reaction intrigued me.
“My name is Matilda Graves, Mr. Moon,” she said finally. “I’m secretary and bookkeeper of the firm. You know, of course, the police have already been here.”
“Yes, but something new has come up since their visit. Are you the only employee aside from the partners, Miss Graves?”
She nodded, not quite seeming to trust her voice.
“Are you sufficiently in Jones’s and Knight’s confidence to know what Mr. Lancaster’s meeting with them was about yesterday?”
Quickly she shook her head. “Mr. Lancaster wasn’t an account of ours, Mr. Moon. He was merely an old friend of Mr. Knight’s. Naturally I would have known, or at least been able to guess what his business with Mr. Knight was had Mr. Lancaster been one of our accounts.
It would be hard for an investment company bookkeeper not to know the business affairs of most of the company’s clients. But this was a personal business matter between Mr. Lancaster and Mr. Knight.”
“How do you know it was a personal business matter if you don’t know what it was? Couldn’t it have been a personal social matter?”
I asked the question in an easy tone, with no intention of upsetting her, but she surprised me by turning dead white.
“The police never questioned me at all,” she said in a faint voice. “I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to decide whether or not I ought to contact them. But if I caused Mr. Knight trouble and there was nothing to it, I might lose my job. Anyway — ”
“What about Mr. Knight?” I prompted.
“I thought about talking it over with Mr. Jones and asking his advice, but he doesn’t know anything about it, and that would put him in the same position I am. Making trouble for Mr. Knight, I mean. And after all, they’re partners, so you see it would be uncomfortable for him. He’s such a nice man. Mr. Jones, I mean, not Mr. Knight.” She added hurriedly, “Not that Mr. Knight isn’t nice too, but I mean — ”
I said, “Just a minute, Miss Graves. Take a deep breath and start at the beginning.”
She took me literally. She took a deep breath and started at the beginning. It took her a long time and I had to interrupt with questions about every third sentence, but I finally pieced together what was bothering her.
She said Walter Lancaster had met with Knight in Knight’s office at about three P.M.., and the two had argued for two hours. Jones had been using a dictaphone in his own office, which was right next to Knight’s, and had not been present at the conference.
I stopped her long enough to ask if she had gotten the impression Jones was deliberately excluded from the conference, or simply had not bothered to attend.
“Why neither, I think,” she said. “Since it wasn’t a company matter, but a personal thing between Mr. Lancaster and Mr. Knight, I suppose Mr. Jones had no reason to sit in. He did go in for a minute once, when Mr. Knight started shouting. I guess to calm Mr. Knight down. But he came right out again and went back to his own office. Mr. Knight didn’t shout any more, but he had left the key open on his call box, and I heard everything he and Mr. Lancaster said.”
It developed there had been quite an argument. Miss Graves did not catch it all (she explained her mind was too occupied with her own duties to listen closely, though I suspect the real reason she missed portions of the argument was that it is difficult to hear over an interoffice communication system unless the speaker speaks directly into the box), but she gathered the reason for Walter Lancaster’s visit was to learn if his old school chum had actually invested in a stock he had discussed with Lancaster some weeks previously.
Apparently Knight had, for when the lieutenant governor announced he had unearthed some kind of irregularity in the corporation which issued the stock, and intended to make it public the next day, Knight blew up. He insisted Lancaster had induced him to buy the stock, an accusation Lancaster flatly denied, declaring that while he had no intimation at the time of their discussion that the corporation was shaky, Knight knew very well he never gave market advice to anyone, and certainly he would not have presumed to give it to a professional investment broker.
Grudgingly Knight admitted that while Lancaster might not have recommended the investment, he had given the impression he considered it a sound one, and the least he could do was hold off his announcement twenty-four hours so that both of them could unload.
Lancaster declared he would not allow the public to be cheated any more than it already had been. He said that while no one but himself as yet knew of the stock’s false value, a rumor about a possible boom in its value (which rumor apparently had induced Knight to invest) had the other major stockholders watching it closely. A sudden dumping by two of the large stockholders would cause others to dump too, he said, and result in the usual situation of letting small stockholders take the rap while those who could best afford the loss scurried to safety. Patiently he explained a fact which must have been obvious to Knight as an investment broker: that saving themselves was possible only by sticking someone else. He held the revolutionary theory that it was as dishonest for a stockholder to dump stock he knew was worthless as it was for a corporation to issue such stock. In both cases, he pointed out, you are offering the public an investment you know may ruin the investors, and the fact that it was not only legal, but was not even regarded as unethical in market circles, did not alter his opinion that morally it was outright fraud.
He felt it a moral duty for the current stockholders to bear the loss, Lancaster concluded. He himself had no intention of unloading his own stock, even though it meant immediate loss of three fourths of his fortune.
I found myself mentally giving Lancaster points for unselfishness, but at the same time it occurred to me that if Laurie Davis’s estimate of his protégé’s worth was accurate, a seventy-five percent loss would still leave him a rich man. Knight, on the other hand, probably lacked the cushion of two million dollars to fall back on.
Matilda Graves verified my thought when she went on to tell that Knight angrily assured Lancaster he had no intention of being ruined by the latter’s misguided sense of honesty, and he would “find a way” to prevent the announcement being made.
At that point the lieutenant governor had walked out of the office and slammed the door.
“What was Jones’s reaction to all this?” I asked curiously.
“Oh, he didn’t know it,” the woman said. “You see, he left shortly after four, while they were still arguing. At five he phoned from home and asked if Mr. Knight was still tied up in conference. I told him Mr. Lancaster had just left, but Mr. Knight was still here. He said to tell Mr. Knight he was flying to Kansas City at six and would be back in the morning. I didn’t tell him anything about the argument.”
“And you haven’t ment
ioned it since?”
“No. I hated to upset Mr. Jones. He’s such a nice man. You see, when the police talked to Mr. Jones this morning, he told them Mr. Lancaster had left the office alone at five and he didn’t know where he went from here. I guess they got the impression Mr. Jones had seen him leave, whereas actually he was merely repeating what I told him over the phone. And they never asked me anything.”
“Didn’t the police talk to Knight also?”
She shook her head. “Mr. Knight didn’t come in today. When he failed to arrive this morning, Mr. Jones had me phone his home and Mrs. Knight said he was out of town visiting a customer.”
“Where?” I asked.
“She didn’t say.” Her lips trembled a trifle and she blurted out, “I think he’s hiding!”
“Hiding? Why? Even if he killed Lancaster, presumably he would figure no one had reason to suspect him. Unless you told him the key to his call box was open.”
“I did,” she said.
“What?”
“I did tell him. Right after Mr. Lancaster left, Mr. Knight called me over the intercom. He said, ‘My key seems to be open, Miss Graves. Has it been all along?’ I said, ‘Yes, sir.’ He growled, ‘Hope you got an earful,’ and shut it off.”
“Sounds like a pleasant guy to work for,” I said. “Do you have access to all company records?”
She nodded. “I keep the books.”
“Think you could figure out what company Lancaster was talking about to Knight?”
She pursed her lips dubiously. “I doubt that it would appear in our records. Both partners handle their own personal financial transactions, so they don’t run through our books. I doubt that this office even has a record of the stock Mr. Knight owns. He would have that at home.”
“Look anyway, will you, and I’ll phone you tomorrow. I can narrow the search somewhat for you, because Lancaster held stock in only five corporations: Illinois Telegraph, Rockaway Distributors, Ilco Utilities, Eastern Plow, and Palmer Tool.”
“I’ll do my best,” she promised.
One good turn deserves another, and since she was willing to go to some trouble for me, I felt the least I could do in return was try to ease her worry over possessing knowledge she felt the police should have.
Rising, I said, “Thanks very much for your information, Miss Graves. And don’t fret about the police any more. I’m working with them, and I’ll pass everything along.”
She seemed as pathetically grateful as a death-row prisoner who unexpectedly receives a pardon.
6
My next stop was the scene of the crime. By arriving at El Patio so early, I missed the pleasure of having my back bruised by Mouldy Greene’s greeting, as he did not assume his post inside the entrance until seven.
I found Fausta in the office beyond the dining room, which at the moment was only half full, but by seven would be crammed to the walls with people eager to pay El Patio’s outrageous prices. She was seated at the desk, which always looked too large for her, frowning at a newly printed menu.
The previous evening, Lancaster’s murder and the attendant excitement had dampened Fausta’s normal exuberance, but tonight she was back in usual form.
“Manny!” she cried, running around the desk, flinging herself into my arms and planting an impassioned kiss on my chin.
After this spontaneous display of affection, she pushed me away just as though I had been the aggressor, narrowed her eyes at me and lightly slapped my face.
“You rat,” she said. “Where have you been all day?”
“Did you expect me earlier?” I asked. “You know what a social whirl I whirl in. Other women expect some of my time.”
“Pooh!” she said. “No woman but me would want a man of such ugliness.” Jumping up to seat herself on the desktop, she folded her arms and regarded me like a traffic-court judge. “I can give you only a few minutes. You are not the only one chased by the opposite sex. I expect a man who loves me at any moment.”
“Well, if you’ve got a date, I’ll come back later.”
But she was past me with her back to the door before I could even turn around. “Not so fast, my love. What do you want?”
“Why, I just stopped to see you, Fausta.”
“Pooh! Your heart is an adding machine, only good for adding up fees. You never come just to see me any more. You are here on business.”
“Partly,” I admitted. “But mainly to tell you to stop broadcasting the lie that you were an eyewitness to the murder.”
She looked puzzled. “Broadcasting?”
“You told Laurie Davis. I appreciate your motive was to make sure he didn’t suspect me, but you’ve got to cut it out. I don’t want to be picking bullets out of your lovely skin.”
Fausta looked interested. “You are worried about me, Manny?”
“Enough to straighten you out for good if I hear of you telling anyone else,” I said grimly. “You so much as mention you’re Day’s key witness again, and I’ll arrange to have the inspector stick you in protective custody. You want to sit in jail till we catch this killer?”
She shook her head. “You would not be so mean. And if you were, I would not tell you what I kept back from Inspector Day last night.”
“You kept something back?” I asked cautiously.
“Yes. You may have it for taking me out just once.”
I laughed with false heartiness. “You don’t have to blackmail me, Fausta. You know I’d rather take you out than do anything.”
I would too, but it only starts me wondering whether it really matters which partner has the money, and by the time I decide it does and back off, the pain is likely to be as acute as that of a man suddenly pulled off the dope habit.
Fausta said, “Will you take me out tomorrow night?”
“The next night.”
“Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “Or I phone Inspector Day and tell him what I forgot.”
I gave up, as I always do. “All right. Ten o’clock.”
“Nine.”
“Nine,” I agreed. “Now give.”
The bargaining expression disappeared and she smiled. “Barney Seldon was here last night.”
I said, “Both the inspector and I already know that.”
“Be silent until I finish. He entered just after Mr. Lancaster and took a table facing his. The reason I noticed is because Barney has been paying me attention. In fact he is the man I am awaiting now.”
She paused to smile expectantly.
“I’m insanely jealous,” I growled. “Get on with it.”
“All during the meal Barney watched Mr. Lancaster. I noticed because Barney is such a handsome man, and I like to look at him. He is not ugly like you, and also he loves me more than you do.”
She looked at me inquiringly.
“No doubt,” I said.
Fausta frowned. “I also love him,” she said recklessly.
“Sure. That’s why you’re ratting on him. Listen, I love you madly, and I’ll kill Barney Seldon with my bare hands if he so much as caresses your fingers. Now get on with it.”
“You do not mean it,” she said sulkily. “Mr. Lancaster finished his dinner before Barney, and left while Barney waited for dessert. His dessert was delivered just as the shot came from out front.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You told me you had just stepped outside from the ballroom’s side door when the gun went off. How’d you manage to be two places at once?”
Without pause she said glibly, “I watched Barney up to the moment I entered the ballroom. His waiter told me what happened afterward.”
“All right,” I conceded. “Go on.”
“Barney was not at the table when his dessert was delivered.”
For a long time I looked at her. “Where was he?” I asked finally.
She shrugged. “There is a cigarette machine by the side door. A minute or two after the shot Barney returned from that direction with a package of cigarettes in his hand.”
“Could be coincidence,” I said slowly.
“Maybe. But there is also a cigarette machine in the cocktail lounge, which was much nearer Barney’s table. Also he did not open the pack, but after his dessert took a cigarette from his case, which was full.”
“So he could have stepped out the dining room’s side door, ducked across the drive in the dark, plugged Lancaster and got back in again in a matter of seconds,” I said thoughtfully. “I suppose the cops searched him though.”
“Perhaps he threw away the gun.”
“It wasn’t found. Besides, I heard the killer, or at least somebody, run off after the shot and scoot away in a car. Barney isn’t accustomed to doing his own killing anyway. If he’s our lad, I like it better that he used the side door to signal a confederate Lancaster was leaving by the front.”
“Figure it any way you want,” Fausta said. “Just so you do not forget to come for me at nine tomorrow night.”
“You say you expect Seldon again tonight?” I asked.
“I expect him every night. Twenty miles he drives just to see me.”
“Maybe it’s the food,” I suggested. “There’s something I don’t understand. What made you stand around watching Seldon so closely?”
“I told you he is a handsome man.”
“Nuts,” I said. “You’re holding something back. If Barney is as hot after you as you say, he’d have had his eye on you too. And if he thought you had nothing better to do than stand around looking at him, he’d have had you over at his table.”
She frowned at me. “I am a very reserved woman. I do not wish Barney to know how much I admire him, so I watched him from behind one of the potted palms.”
Before I could express my opinion of this obviously barefaced lie, a knock sounded at the door, then it immediately swung open before Fausta could call an invitation to come in. Mouldy Greene entered.
I said, “Hello, Mouldy,” then quickly side-stepped when his face beamed with friendliness and he raised a hand the size of a pancake griddle to bring down on my back.
Tweak the Devil's Nose Page 5
