The 24th Horse

by Hugh Pentecost

  “Got any idea why Prayne went to Guy’s?” Bradley asked.

  “No. It was the truth, Bradley, when I said he never mentioned it.”

  “Were he and Severied friendly?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t often see them together. They acted just like you’d expect a man and his prospective son-in-law to act.”

  “Then you wouldn’t expect Prayne to pour out his troubles to Severied?”

  “Well, in this case … I mean it doesn’t seem unnatural.”

  “Perhaps not. Let’s get down to you. You and Pat have a theory about Gloria’s murder. How does it stand up now Mr. Prayne is dead?”

  “I don’t know. I … I haven’t been able to think very clearly. But it doesn’t change the basic possibilities. We still could be right.”

  “I’ve got time to listen to it now,” said Bradley.

  Johnny told him about Pat’s suggestion that Gloria had taken her writing materials with her to the shooting lodge in Delaware. “We thought if we could get a list of the people at the lodge and then whittle it down by checking with those who were at the Garden and at Linda’s we’d be able to show you how some outsider could be involved. It’s not such a dumb idea, is it?”

  Bradley smoked in silence, “No, because it could have happened,” he said finally. “But I don’t think it did. For several reasons. There was nothing chancy about Gloria’s murder, Curtin. It was carefully thought out and executed. The murderer couldn’t count on Gloria’s taking those writing materials with her anywhere. He, had to get ’em from where he knew they were, in Gloria’s room.”

  “But …”

  “There’s an outside chance you’re right,” Bradley went on, “if Severied is our man. He might know in advance that Gloria would have with her what he wanted.”

  “You suspect Guy?”

  “Not talking,” he said, and smiled. “So you went to Severied’s apartment this morning to get a list of the people who were on that shooting party last week end?”

  “That’s gospel, Inspector.”

  “My guess is that you’re just plain lucky, Curtin. If you’d turned up a bit sooner, we’d have had two corpses instead of one; and I think that’s gospel!”

  The phone rang. It was Rube.

  “I got the three, from uptown, Red,” he said. “I’m at Miss Marsh’s shop now, but she don’t want to come. She wants to talk to you.”

  “Put her on.”

  “Inspector Bradley? Your sergeant has just told me the terrible news!”

  “It’s not nice,” said Bradley.

  “He says I’m to come to headquarters with him, Mr. Bradley. I want to help, but my foreign buyer is sailing tomorrow. It’s absolutely necessary that I have this day clear. If I knew anything, it would be different. But I haven’t seen or talked with any of the Praynes since last night. Perhaps I could rush things, and late this afternoon — ”

  “Put Snyder on the wire, Miss Marsh,” said Bradley pleasantly.

  “Hello, Red. Okay for her to stay here?”

  “Bring her down,” said Bradley, “now!” He put the receiver back in place and looked up at Johnny. “Did you know Dorothy Pelham?” he asked.

  Johnny frowned. “No. Pat’s told me about her, of course. I never knew her.”

  “All right, Curtin, that’s’ all for now. I’m keeping you here, however.”

  “But, Inspector, Pat — ”

  “Will be here in about twenty minutes. Keep your shirt on, Curtin. I won’t bite her!”

  ***

  Bradley was alone for only a moment. The door opened and a man in a sloppy suit came in. He was carrying a small piece of Kleenex in his hand, which he put down on Bradley’s desk and unfolded. In it was a small piece of metal, flattened out on one side.

  “You’ve got a report for me on the bullet so soon, Erhardt?” said Bradley.

  Erhardt shook his head. “I haven’t made tests yet. Without the gun I can’t do much. This is a .45 caliber slug … they tear quite a hole.”

  “I noticed,” Bradley said.

  “Anybody in this case with army connections … maybe during the last war?”

  “So that’s how it is!” said Bradley softly.

  “A guess, Inspector ... but p’raps it will stand up. I figure this bullet was fired from a type of automatic issued to officers early in the World War. There are a lot of them still floating around. If you’ve any soldiers mixed up in your case …”

  “We’ve got a ducky ex-service man, Erhardt, with a bad case of nerves and a life with too damned many coincidences.”

  Erhardt grinned. “Then keep your eye on him.”

  Chapter 13

  She’s pretty sore,” Rube said. His shoulders were hunched and his face was red. “She’s goin’ to complain to the commissioner, the mayor, the governor, and maybe the White House.”

  Bradley chuckled. “I had an idea she might not be pleased.”

  “She had this buyer dame callin’ her lawyer when we left the shop,” Rube said.

  “Mercy, lawyers are popular this morning. Prayne was supposed to be hunting his too. Well, fortunately we don’t need a grand-jury indictment to hold people for questioning.”

  “You gettin’ anywhere, Red?”

  “I’m lousy with information,” Bradley said. “I’ve got a job for you.” He picked up a document from his desk. “Search warrant for the apartment of Captain George Pelham. Get up there.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “A gun,” said Bradley. “Make it snappy, because I don’t want to talk to him till I know whether he’s got one and what kind it is.”

  “I’m on my way,” Rube said.

  “Just a minute, Rube. How did the rest of them take the news?”

  “Kind of dazed … that is, the Prayne girl and this Pelham. They both acted like I’d poleaxed ’em. The old girl is somethin’ different again. I wouldn’t like to play no poker with her, Red. That pan of hers don’t tell you nothin’!”

  “Interesting type, Miss Devon. Okay, on your horse. Phone me the minute you’ve covered the place.”

  “You think I’ll be likely to find this rod?”

  “I’ll be dumfounded if you do,” said Bradley. “I just want to know that it isn’t there.”

  “You figure he got rid of it after he shot Prayne?”

  “Who got rid of it?”

  “Why, Pelham of course. Isn’t that the way it lines up?”

  “Somebody could have borrowed it,” said Bradley.

  Rube looked aggrieved. “Too many people snoop around in too many places in this case to suit me.”

  “Ain’t it the truth!” said Bradley. “Roll, my friend!”

  ***

  “Miss Prayne,” said Bradley into the communicator. Then he poured himself a drink at the water cooler in the corner, dropped the paper cup in a wire trash basket, and walked past the green steel filing cabinets to the door. He was there when the uniformed cop brought Pat in.

  Rube’s description had been accurate. Pat moved like a sleepwalker.

  Bradley took her arm and led her to the plain oak chair beside his desk.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Prayne,” he said gently. “I ought to have been able to save you this.”

  She avoided his look of sympathy. “Don’t be nice to me, Mr. Bradley,” she said. “Just ask your questions without thinking about my feelings. It’ll be easier that way. Please.”

  “Right. We’ve got a fight on our hands with a very tough guy. I wasn’t wrong last night when I said there is danger. And it’s not over yet.”

  She stared past him at the crook-necked desk lamp with a green and white shade.

  “I’m not going to ask you much about your father,” Bradley said. “As I understand it, you sat up all night with young Curtin talking over a theory designed to upset my chain of reasoning.”

  She nodded.

  “You had breakfast. After that your father went out, saying he was going to see his lawyer. That correct?�
�

  “Yes. That must have been about a quarter to nine.”

  “Curtin stayed on with you, and then went off to see Severied?”

  “He stayed quite a long time, Inspector. More than an hour. We thought Guy would need plenty of sleep after the night before.”

  “I see. Your father didn’t mention going to Severied’s himself?”

  “No. He just spoke of his lawyer, Mr. Partridge. He thought we all needed advice.”

  Bradley rocked back and forth in his swivel chair, the tips of his fingers pressed together. “Have you any idea why your father wanted to see Severied?”

  Pat’s eyes fastened on her strong brown hands clasped in her lap. “I’ve thought about it, Inspector. I … I guess I haven’t thought about much else since Sergeant Snyder brought us the news. There’s one thing … but it’s probably crazy.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Long after Father and Aunt Celia had gone to bed, Johnny and I were still planning to prove to you that the murderer could have gotten the letter paper somewhere else besides our apartment. We decided to ask Guy for a list of people who had been in Delaware. And right in the middle of it someone knocked a vase off a table by the door. We were both startled. It was father. He said he hadn’t been able to sleep. He hadn’t undressed. I … I couldn’t help thinking that he’d been listening.”

  “So?”

  “Father was upset by what you said about our all being in danger,” Pat said. “I … I think he didn’t want Johnny and me to go on with the investigation, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue with us. Perhaps he went to Guy’s to get him to persuade us not to meddle.”

  “I see. Then you think …”

  “I think the murderer was waiting for Guy at his apartment. When Father got there, well, the murderer had to shoot him in … in self-defense.”

  Bradley’s eyebrows went up. “So you don’t think Severied killed your father?”

  “I know he didn’t!”

  “Because?”

  “Because I know Guy!”

  “You’re a great girl,” Bradley said. “I wish you were my friend. Tell me about Dorothy Pelham.”

  For the first time Pat looked straight at him, and there was no doubting her astonishment.

  “I know the general story of her disappearance,” said Bradley. “But I’m curious. What was she like?”

  “But, Inspector, what’s that to do with what’s happened now?”

  “It’s just a hunch of mine. May give me a line on how to deal with Pelham.”

  “When Dorothy disappeared,” Pat said, “I was fifteen. I thought she was marvelous. I wanted to be like her, to look like her, to talk like her.”

  “Mercy! So she was that attractive?”

  “She was.” Enthusiasm sounded in Pat’s voice. “Do you remember Ruth Chatterton in the movies a long time ago?”

  “Very well.”

  “Dorothy was like that, only she seemed younger. She talked with a slight British accent, and I used to imitate her. On a horse she was like Diana. That was what got me working with horses. I knew I could never really look like Dorothy, or act like her, but I could learn to ride as well as she did.”

  “Were she and Pelham happy?”

  “I never saw two people so happy,” Pat said. “They had the same tastes, and they both did everything so well. George was different then. Gay, witty, always joking and laughing. And he looked years younger than he does now. If you’d known Dorothy, you’d understand what losing her could mean to him.”

  “Wasn’t there ever any guessing as to what happened to her?”

  “A great deal, Mr. Bradley. But we all came to believe that she met with some sort of accident and couldn’t be identified.”

  “But they must have canvassed hospitals and that sort of thing?”

  “I guess they did,” said Pat. “I was too young to be much help. And I was too broken-hearted to pay attention to what people did. But I know that the police, and private detectives, and George and Guy did everything that could be done.”

  “And that’s all that anyone knows about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did your sister Gloria ever talk about it to you … recently?”

  Pat frowned. “Why … perhaps,” she said. “We still do talk about it occasionally. When something about George comes up. I mean how he’s changed, and doesn’t get any fun out of anything. Gloria may have said something like, ‘If Dorothy were here George wouldn’t do so-and-so.’ But if you mean really discuss the case, she didn’t.”

  Bradley sat forward, and the spring on the swivel chair creaked. Miss Prayne, that’s all I’m going to bother you with now … except to ask you please not to play detective! Your Uncle Julius is trying to tabulate a set of alibis. You can help him with that, and it may go to prove your theory about an outsider. But don’t start investigating on your own.”

  She looked at him steadily. Then: “I guess we’ve got to trust you, Mr. Bradley,” she said.

  “Good girl. You’ll find Curtin in one of the waiting rooms. But you’ll have to stay here for a while until I’m sure I don’t need you.”

  ***

  Monahan came in then.

  “Everything quiet up the line,” he told Bradley. “No one’s been to see Severied, and he hasn’t turned up himself. I brought the elevator boy with me like you said.”

  “Good. We can let him give this gang the once over and then send him back to his job.” Bradley pressed a buzzer.

  “Get all those people here for questioning into the main waiting room,” Bradley ordered the policeman who answered. “Have a couple of stenographers put on their hats and coats and mingle; also one or two plain-clothesmen and any policewoman you can find on duty. I want about a dozen people in there.”

  “Okay, Inspector.”

  “Bring the boy in, Monahan.”

  The day elevator boy was not as confident a specimen as Mike. He was frightened, and kept blotting at his face handkerchief.

  “Take it easy, son,” Bradley said. “There’s nothing very tough about this. In a couple of minutes you’re going into the waiting room and sit down. There’ll be a dozen or so Take your time and look ’em over carefully. Then come out and report to me whether you recognize any of ’em as having been at your building.”

  “Gee, Inspector, I hate to put the finger on anyone,” the boy said.

  Bradley consoled him. “There may be someone there who called on Guilfoyle. They wouldn’t have anything to do with the murder. You’ll be saving us a lot of time and useless questioning.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “Sure you will. All set, Joe?” Bradley glanced at the cop in the doorway.

  “Come along, kid.”

  They went into the hall. In the wall outside the waiting room was one of those glass slits of the kind that used to decorate speakeasy doors. One-way vision. Bradley looked through into the room beyond.

  “All right, young fellow. Just walk in and sit down. Stay as long as you want. Be absolutely sure that you do or don’t recognize one or more of them before you come out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bradley stationed himself by the peephole. He watched the boy go in and sit down, rolling his hat nervously in his fingers. Johnny and Pat sat in one corner of the room together. Linda Marsh, looking annoyed, was talking earnestly with George Pelham. Miss Devon apparently didn’t believe in wasting time, even during a murder investigation. She had brought along the blue sock.

  The rest of the room was peopled with stooges supplied by Joe.

  “He’s a conscientious guy,” muttered Monahan at Bradley’s elbow. “I’d either know or not know in about ten seconds.”

  “Better to have him sure,” said Bradley.

  At last the boy rose and walked out of the room. He joined Bradley and Monahan in the hall.

  “Well, kid?”

  The boy was sweating. “There’s one of them there all right,” he said. “I couldn
’t be wrong about her.”

  “Now we’re getting places, Monahan said.

  “Which one is it, son?”

  “The old lady,” said the boy. “I’d know her anywhere.”

  Bradley’s eyes were bleak. “Let’s be certain about this,” he said. “Which one?”

  “The one in the dark blue hat with the red berries on it.”

  Bradley’s eyes shifted again to the peephole, and the sound he made under his breath was not happy.

  “Take a look through here, son. Is it the one who’s reading the newspaper now?”

  “That’s her,” said the boy. “I’d know her anywhere.”

  “Okay, son, Run along back to your job.”

  “So it’s Miss Devon!” Monahan said.

  Bradley turned away from the peephole and started for his office. “Whenever I have nightmares,” he said to Monahan, “the central figure is always an eyewitness. Our young friend has selected with great positiveness Mrs. Fogarty, best policewoman on the force, who wasn’t within miles of Severied’s apartment this morning.”

  Chapter 14

  I would like to say just this much, Inspector,” said Linda Marsh. She stood facing Bradley across his desk. “I don’t believe you have the right to drag people around the city against their will. Unless you had grounds on which to arrest me, which obviously you hadn’t, you have exceeded your authority. I intend to see to it that you are disciplined.”

  “If you felt your rights were being violated,” said Bradley, “you needn’t have come.”

  “And have that fat-headed assistant of yours carry me bodily out of the office?”

  Bradley chuckled.

  “He’s the kind who takes orders literally,” Linda said. “You told him to bring me, and he’d have done it!”

  “Well, now that you’re here, Miss Marsh …”

  “Now that I’m here, I’m not talking without the advice of my lawyer. If I’m to be treated like a suspect, I should have the privileges of a suspect.”

  “You sound as though you thought the idea was ridiculous,” said Bradley.