“What idea?”
“Suspecting you of murder.”
“Good heavens, man, didn’t I make it quite clear to you last night that I was willing to co-operate? I don’t think it was insane of me to expect a little consideration in return. I feel as George does. We’ve told you all we know. If you suspect us, place us under arrest. If you don’t, stop pushing us around.”
“I could arrest you, you know,” said Bradley.
“What?” Linda’s eyes widened.
“Sure I could. You were in all the places the murderer had to be. And certainly substituting the letter would have been duck soup for you, Miss Marsh. You would have been very smart, under those conditions, to have sent for me at once. That would have thrown suspicion entirely away from you.”
“You’re not being serious?” said Linda, who seemed to have forgotten about lawyers.
“Of course I’m serious. You had the opportunity. In one phase of the crime you had the best opportunity of all. You make a grade-A suspect, Miss Marsh.”
“But, Mr. Bradley, I …”
“What were you doing this morning, say from quarter of nine on?”
“Why … I had breakfast about eight and got ready to go to the shop. Even though it’s Sunday, I had arranged to see my foreign buyer there. I left my apartment about … well, a few minutes before nine and walked down Fifth Avenue. I guess I did a little window-shopping, because it was going on quarter to ten when I let myself into the office. My appointment was for ten.”
“Meet anybody on the avenue you knew?”
“No.”
“See?” said Bradley, with a smile.
“See what?”
“No alibi,” said Bradley. “How do I know you were window shopping? How do I know you didn’t take a taxi to Severied’s apartment, knock off Douglas Prayne, and then get back to your store in time to keep your appointment?”
Linda’s mouth opened in astonishment. “And how am I supposed to have gotten into Guy’s apartment?” she said,
“Oh, that’s simple. Gloria Prayne probably had a key. We didn’t find it among her belongings. When you killed her you took the key, thinking you might want to use it later.” Bradley regarded her stunned expression with pleasure. “Makes a nice little case, doesn’t it?”
“But … but it’s completely circumstantial!” Linda said. “Do people actually get railroaded on that kind of evidence?”
“Not often. I was just trying to show you how nice I’ve been not to arrest you.”
“Inspector, I’m afraid I was a hit touchy when I first walked in here. I apologize.”
“That’s better,” said Bradley. “Now sit down and tell me how long you’ve been in love with George Pelham.”
“Mr. Bradley!” Color welled up from her throat and into her face.
“It’s like pulling teeth,” said Bradley, “to get you to give me credit for any intelligence.”
Linda sat down. “I think,” she said, “that I’m rattled.”
“Best approved detective method,” said Bradley. “Get ’em off balance and they tell all.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What sort of a fellow is George Pelham?”
“I should have thought you’d know by now?”
“Perhaps I should,” said Bradley. “I’ve seen him ride a horse. I’ve seen that he has patience and perseverance. Those are qualities our murderer had to have. But the captain wears a false face in public, Miss Marsh. The disappearance of his wife has changed him. The real man isn’t quite as easy to get at as I could wish.”
“George is one of the grandest guys in the world.”
“Are you going to marry him?”
“Really!”
“Well, it’s not such a foolish question. When I see an attractive young woman with decided maternal instincts for an interesting, tragic, and very eligible widower … two and two make four.”
“I think,” said Linda after a slight hesitation, “that if George asked me to marry him I would. But he never has, Inspector, and he never will. Dorothy was his one woman. The rest of us haven’t much chance.”
“You’ve been to Pelham’s apartment often, I suppose.”
“Of course. George and I are great friends. Why shouldn’t I visit him?”
“No reason at all. I just wondered if you’d had the opportunity to find out if he owns a gun — an automatic, preferably.”
“I … I think he does,” Linda said. “Yes, I know he does. He had it in the war. He … he kept it along with his other trophies.”
“That’s all for now, Miss Marsh,” said Bradley.
Linda didn’t move. “Just a moment, Inspector. There is only one reason why George would ever kill a man or a woman. If he found out that someone was responsible for Dorothy’s disappearance, he would take the law into his own hands.”
“I can think of another reason,” said Bradley.
Miss Devon settled herself in the chair by Bradley’s desk. A ball of blue yarn rolled away across the floor, and the inspector retrieved it for her. Then the steel needles went to work.
“Most interesting Sunday morning I’ve spent in years,” she observed, “Such unusual types in your waiting room.”
“All cops,” said Bradley. “I had a young man in there trying to pick out visitors to Severied’s apartment.”
“Success?” Miss Devon’s tone was completely casual.
“He gave me a bad turn. I thought he’d picked on you. It turned out he had selected one of our people who, of course, was never there. Not helpful.”
Miss Devon yanked a length of yarn loose from the ball. She spoke without looking up. “I think I can guess what you’re going to ask me. What time I went shopping, why it took me nearly an hour, why I hadn’t prepared for Sunday’s housekeeping in advance, and if I know why Douglas went to Guy’s apartment,”
“They’ll do for starters,” Bradley smiled.
“I went out about ten minutes after Douglas. It took me an hour because I went for a walk. I prefer thinking alone! The reason I had to shop was that we had meant to go on a bust today. Celebrate the Horse Show. The plan rather petered out, as you can imagine. I got what I could from the delicatessen, after I’d taken my walk!” She looked Bradley in the eye. “I could easily have gone to Guy’s apartment, killed Douglas, and then done my shopping in the time I was out.”
“I’ll make a note of it,” Bradley said.
“As to why Douglas went to Guy’s apartment, I haven’t the remotest idea. Or perhaps I’m not being truthful. Douglas didn’t give any hint as to why he might want to see Guy, but perhaps I have had notions about it.”
“Such as?”
“Damn!” said Miss Devon. “Did you ever turn a heel? If you don’t count properly you’re lost!” she began counting.
“Your notions,” Bradley prompted.
“Oh, that!” Miss Devon let the sock drop to her lap. “Has the idea of blackmail ever entered your head in connection with this case, Mr. Bradley?”
“Lady, you’re wasting your time keeping house,” Bradley said. “There’s a job open for you here any time you want it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. The way things are going, I may not have any family to keep house for soon.”
“There are only two people, so far involved in the case, who are well enough heeled to be worth blackmailing,” Bradley said. “Severied and Miss Marsh.”
“How right you are, Inspector.”
“Following this blackmail theory,” said Bradley, “and I have thought about it seriously for reasons that seem also to have occurred to you, Severied is our murderer.”
“Why?”
“We assume Gloria was doing the blackmailing, don’t we?”
“Of course!”
“Gloria got frightened into writing a letter incriminating her victim, and left it with Miss Marsh. Now, if Miss Marsh were the victim, she wouldn’t have been given the letter to keep.”
“Which narrows it
down to Guy,” said Miss Devon. “I’m quite certain, Mr. Bradley, that Guy was being blackmailed … and the price was high! He had to marry the girl!”
“That’s the way it looks.”
“But you haven’t sent out an alarm for Guy,” said Miss Devon shrewdly. “And you’re still questioning us. I should think any policeman in his right mind would concentrate on finding Guy.”
“Maybe I’m not in my right mind,” said Bradley.
“Oh, yes, you are! And I see it just as you do. Guy was being blackmailed, but not on his own account. He was paying out to protect someone else.”
“That job is definitely yours,” said Bradley.
“And who would Guy be likely to protect so earnestly in this setup?” Miss Devon went on relentlessly. “Why, George—his best friend!”
“And what has the captain got to hide in his life?” Bradley asked.
“Ah, there you have me! But” — and she paused for effect — “Guy was in no personal danger at Gloria’s hands. The person he was protecting was the one who had something to fear.”
“Quite,” said Bradley.
Miss Devon’s steady eyes met his. “It’s been nice solving the case with you, Inspector,” she said.
***
After Miss Devon had returned to the waiting room Bradley crossed to the windows and stood scowling down at the street, hands sunk deep in his pockets. After a time he came back to his desk and picked up the phone.
“Locate the telephone number of Captain George Pelham’s apartment,” he ordered, “and call it. Snyder is there. I want to talk to him.”
He prowled up and down the room; but when the phone rang, it was still the headquarters operator.
“We’ve kept calling the number, Inspector, but there’s no answer.”
“Damn!” said Bradley. “Rube probably thinks it’s someone for Pelham. See if the apartment house has a switchboard. Get hold of someone there to go upstairs and tell Rube to report in at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
This time the wait seemed endless. When the call came, Bradley spoke impatiently.
“Hello, Rube?”
“Yeah, this is Rube.” The sergeant’s voice sounded queer. “Thanks for phonin’ the super, Red.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Listen, Red, Pelham’s still at headquarters, ain’t he?”
“Of course he is.”
“Well, get a load of this,” said Rube bitterly. “I get the key for this dump from the super, and I come upstairs. I walk into the apartment and … wham! Someone clouts me over the back of the head!”
“Who, Rube?”
“How should I know? I never get a look at him. Fireworks go off in front of my eyes, and the next thing I know the super is bendin’ over me and I’m lyin’ on the floor with my head on a pillow.”
“With what?”
“That’s right. After he knocks me cold this guy puts a pillow under my head, the polite — ”
Bradley was choking with laughter.
“Okay, giggle your fool head off!” Rube said heatedly. “But it’s ten to one there ain’t any gun here now.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Rube. Take a quick look and then come on downtown. I’m about to have a talk with the captain. Maybe he’ll be a nice boy and tell me the truth about his toys.”
***
PeIham stood in front of the desk looking at Bradley.
“Sorry, but I’ll have to keep you waiting a moment, Captain. Sit down.” Bradley was thumbing through a sheaf of papers.
Pelham sat down. The nerve at the corner of his mouth would not stay still. He would have been astonished if he could have seen the paper which Bradley was studying with such evident concentration. It was a notice of the annual precinct Christmas party for the benefit of the families of sick policemen.
The captain was getting the “silent treatment.” As the minutes passed, he kept crossing and uncrossing his legs and tugging at the end of his mustache. Finally Bradley folded his papers neatly and put them to one side. He gave Pelham a level look.
“All right, Captain, let’s get down to brass tacks. Why did you murder your wife?”
Before Bradley could lift a hand, Pelham had lunged across the intervening space and was at his throat.
Chapter 15
Bradley’s swivel chair crashed against the wall. For a second he was in a decidedly tough spot, as Pelham’s fingers dug into his windpipe. Then he managed to get one leg raised and to plant his foot squarely in the middle of Pelham’s stomach. He shoved off, and Pelham went spinning across the room.
“Cut it!” Bradley said. The forward impetus of the shove had brought him to his feet.
The captain rushed him, and the result was short but sweet. Bradley side-stepped and his right fist came up under Pelham’s chin, snapping his head back and ending the rush. Pelham’s knees wobbled, and he went down and lay still.
Bradley, feeling gingerly of his throat, walked to the office door.
“Joe!” he called.
The uniformed cop bustled in. He gaped when he caught sight of Pelham, “Holy Mother, Red, what happened?”
“I guess I didn’t smile when I said it, Joe.”
“He jumped you?”
“And not just for the records,” said Bradley. “He really did. Take his feet. We’ll sit him over there on that chair.”
Bradley loosened Pelham’s collar and got water from the cooler. Pelham was stirring as Bradley held the cup to his lips. Then Pelham opened his eyes, and Bradley saw the dark rage burning in them.
“I’ll stick around, Red,” said Joe.
Pelham gripped the arms of the chair and tried to pull himself erect. Bradley rested his fingers against Pelham’s chest. Pelham sat down.
“You’re outnumbered Pelham,” Bradley said. “Take it easy.”
Pelham wet his lips. His voice was cracked and hoarse. “So help me God, Bradley, if it’s the last thing I ever do I’ll make you pay for that crack, you dirty ward-heeler.”
Bradley looked pained. “Whenever anyone has it in for a cop, they accuse him of being a politician,” he said to Joe.
Pelham stood up. Bradley had dropped back into his own chair and he made no effort to stop him, but Joe closed in.
“You better not start anything, Mister,” Joe said.
“You accused me of murder,” Pelham said.
“If you’d let me finish,” said Bradley, “I might have accused you of several.”
“In view of that charge,” Pelham said, “I’m not talking. I’m going to …”
“Don’t tell me,” said Bradley, “let me guess. You’re going to send for your lawyer. Prayne had that idea. Miss Marsh had that idea. I’m getting tired of it, Captain. It’s like a factory owner getting a night watchman to watch his night watchman! I’m a public servant, Pelham, paid by you and a few million other taxpayers. I’m supposed to be on your side. If you’re guilty, by all means send for your lawyer. I wouldn’t want to talk to you under any other conditions. But if you’re not guilty—”
“You seem to have made up your mind on that point,” said Pelham.
“If your wife wasn’t murdered, what did happen to her?”
“Why, damn you, Bradley, I’m not here to answer questions about Dorothy! I went to the police when I was in trouble, and a hell of a lot of good it did me. They stalled and fooled around and finally gave up the case. Why should I help you disguise the fact that you’re not competent to handle the present situation?”
“Where is your old army automatic?” Bradley asked.
“If you’re so damned anxious to know, get a search warrant and go over my apartment.”
“I have. It isn’t there!”
Pelham’s eyes flickered, and then his lips clamped together.
“Prayne was murdered with the same type of gun as yours.”
“How do you know that?”
“A Colt automatic.”
“Then, for cripe’s sak
e, arrest me!”
“What time did you leave your apartment this morning?”
“After breakfast.”
“Did you go directly from your apartment to the Crop and Spur?”
“What good will it do me to say yes or no? I can’t prove it.”
Bradley sighed and leaned back in his chair, breaking the tempo of the inquisition.
“I’ve got a lot of time, Pelham,” he said. “I can wait indefinitely for you to cool off. I’m convinced your wife’s disappearance and these two murders are connected. I repeat, if your wife wasn’t murdered what did happen to her?”
“Ask the brilliant officer who was in charge of the case for the police! He put mc on that rack at the time. Perhaps you can drag some facts out of thin air that he couldn’t.”
“Was your wife in love with somebody else, Pelham?”
“I ought to kill you for that,” said Pelham in a low voice.
“Maybe you killed her for it!”
Pelham started forward, fists clenched but Joe pushed him back into the chair. “And what about her body?” Pelham raged, “I suppose I flushed it down the drains!”
“It’s been done,” said Bradley coolly.
“You —”
The swivel chair hinge creaked as Bradley continued rocking gently. “How was it? Did Gloria and her father have some inkling of the truth? Is that why you had to get rid of them?”
Pelham laughed, a mirthless rasping sound. “I’m a mass killer, Inspector! I’m out to get the whole family! They know where the … the skeleton is in my closet. They …” His voice rose hysterically.
“Get him some more water, Joe,” said Bradley. He fished his pipe from his pocket and filled it from the crock on the desk. He kept his eyes on Pelham, who drank the water Joe brought him and then crumpled the paper cup.
“Has Guy Severied got a key to your apartment?” Bradley asked.
“What of it?”
“Nothing … except that he’s just been there and slugged one of my men over the head.”
“Seriously, I hope!”
“Now, now, Captain, that’s not up to snuff. Definitely not funny.”
“Am I supposed to be overwhelmed with sympathy for you bunglers?”
“How are you on sympathy for Gloria and Douglas Prayne?”
The 24th Horse Page 11
