The 24th Horse

by Hugh Pentecost

He watched her fill a glass and bring it to him. She sat down opposite him and automatically reached for the knitting bag that hung over the back of the chair.

  “So you knew about our dairy farmer?” Bradley said.

  “Oh, yes. Guy drove me out to the farm once. It seems he became interested in the man — Williams, isn’t it? — while he was investigating Dorothy’s disappearance.” Miss Devon’s eyes lowered to the knitting. “I think Guy helped him financially. He’s really very generous.”

  “I remember. He kept Gloria equipped. Under pressure. Was Williams turning a screw, too?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “Perhaps you can tell me something about Dorothy. Did she run around a lot with other men?”

  “Decidedly not.”

  Bradley frowned. “A very reliable source has told me that she was ‘fond of the boys.’”

  “Perhaps you had better check on your ‘reliable source,’ Mr. Bradley.’ Not a sensitive person.”

  “I don’t follow you. You have all told me the Pelhams were extremely happy together. Yet a trained observer …”

  “The Pelhams were happy. But do people always love each other equally, Inspector? Is marriage always synonymous with a grand passion?’

  “I suppose not. What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m trying to say that your observer made a mistake. He mistook Dorothy’s attitude toward one man as being symptomatic of her attitude toward all men. A conclusion jumper, Mr. Bradley.”

  Bradley’s eyes narrowed. He drained the jigger of brandy and put it down. He stood up.

  “Thank you again,” he said. He stared over her head at the wall, fumbling for his pipe and the red tobacco tin. “When do you expect Johnny back?”

  “Sometime early in the morning. He thought he could make the trip in twelve or fourteen hours. Why?”

  “I want to see him, In fact, I want to see you all — you and Pat and that voting man — at my office at nine o’clock.”

  “Another grilling, inspector?”

  “No,” said Bradley. He looked down at her. “If I get there myself, I’m going to arrest the murderer.”

  Miss Devon lowered the knitting to her lap. “You think he will …”

  “I think he will not like the idea,” said Bradley.

  Chapter 20

  George Pelham parked his car outside the building where he lived. He got out, locked the car door, and walked across the pavement toward the building entrance. His walk was unsteady, as if he were drunk. His overcoat was wet; his brown hat was sodden. He leaned against the door, lacking the strength to push it open with his hands.

  The foyer was dark, except for the reflection of a light over the switchboard at the far end near the elevators. Pelham started forward, heels clicking noisily on the tile floor.

  In a dark alcove which opened into a doctor’s office, a figure stirred. Pelham didn’t notice it. A hand reached out and caught his sleeve.

  “George!”

  Pelham stopped dead in his tracks. The nerve at the corner of his mouth twitched violently.

  “Linda!” he said in a hoarse voice. “You … you startled me.”

  She came out of the darkness, “Oh, George, where have you been, sweet? I’ve been frantic about you … hunting for you for hours. Calling all the places I could think of.”

  “I was just … just looking,” he said.

  “George you’re shaking!”

  “Bushed,” he said.

  “I’ll come up with you and fix you some coffee while you get out of those wet things.”

  “I … That would be swell,” he said. “I guess I could go for something.”

  The elevator man was studiously uninterested as he ferried them up to Pelham’s floor. Pelham tried to get his key in the lock, but his fingers were so unsteady that Linda had to take the key from him. His face looked gray when she switched on the light inside the door.

  “Cold,” he said. “It’s cold as hell.”

  “Where have you been, George?”

  “Around … hunting for Guy. Long Island … the Yacht Club … night spots. No one has seen him.”

  “Your feet are soaked, darling. And you’re wet to the skin, Get into pajamas and a warm bathrobe. I’ll rustle something in the kitchen.”

  “Coffee would be best,” he said wearily.

  Ten minutes later they were sitting on the couch to percolator chugging on the table in front of them.

  “I’ve sent to the drugstore f or some bromides for you, George. You’ve got to get some sleep.”

  “Sleep!” he said, “Cripes!”’

  “You shouldn’t have gone off by yourself, George.”

  “Why not?”

  “Bradley’s watching us all. He’ll want you to explain.”

  “Then I’ll explain! I have a right to hunt up Guy. He’s my friend. Damn it, Linda, what’s Guy up to? Why is he hiding?”

  “Guy knows what he’s doing.”

  “Sure he does. But what is he doing? Linda, is there something about this I don’t know? Guy’s concealing something. Are you in on it too?”

  “George!”

  “Something’s going on behind my back. Bradley didn’t pick Dorothy out of thin air. I’ve been trying to tell myself he’s a fool; but, God damn it, he isn’t! He had a reason. Somebody told him something. I’ve got to know what it is! I’ve got to!”

  “Darling, please!”

  “If there’s something about Dorothy I haven’t been told …” He covered his face with his hands. “I can’t go on without knowing, Linda. I can’t!”

  The doorbell rang. Linda went to answer it. “That’ll be the boy from the drugstore,” she said.

  It was Bradley. Behind him, glowering, was Rube Snyder.

  Bradley looked past Linda to Pelham, huddled on the couch.

  “Captain, I’d like to borrow your car keys.”

  At the sound of Bradley’s voice Pelham jumped to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your car keys!” said Bradley.

  “They’re in my bedroom … on the bureau. I … ”

  “I’ll get them,” Linda said.

  “What do you want with the keys?” Pelham asked.

  “I want to look for a gun.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!”

  “Severied was shot tonight ... with your gun, Pelham.”

  “Guy shot!”

  “You wouldn’t know anything about it, I suppose,” said Bradley grimly.

  “When did it happen? Where?”

  Linda came out of the bedroom with the keys.

  “Guy’s dead!” Pelham said.

  “What! George, I don’t believe it! Inspector Bradle y — ”

  “He’s not dead,” said Bradley. “The murderer missed killing him. Blew quite a hole in him though.”

  Pelham swayed on his feet. “I’ve got to go to him. He’ll need someone. Where is he, inspector?”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay here for a while, Captain. I want to know where you’ve been this evening.”

  “George and I have been here together for quite some time,” Linda said quickly.

  “I know. All of twenty minutes. The keys, please.” He took them and passed them to Rube. “Search,” he said. “Don’t get intrigued with some radio program.”

  “Aw, Red, cut it out.” Rube pocketed the keys and disappeared.

  “Well, Captain?”

  “I’ve been hunting for Guy since about six o’clock,” Pelham said, sinking back on the couch.

  “And you, Miss Marsh?”

  “I’ve been at the shop most of the evening,” Linda said. “But I was worried about George. He was in a state. I kept calling here and getting no answer. Finally I came here and waited for him.”

  “How long ago?”

  “About an hour.”

  “Was anyone with you at the shop before that?”

  “No.” Linda’s voice was angry. “You had pretty successfully di
srupted my day, Inspector. I had to catch up with the work on my desk.”

  Bradley turned to Pelham. “I suppose you saw people in the course of the evening who could check your alibi?”

  “I suppose so,” Pelham said.

  “Who?”

  “God, I don’t know who I saw! There must have been plenty of people. I … ”

  Bradley interrupted. “Do you remember a man named Williams who handled your wife’s case? The murderer took a shot at him tonight, too.”

  Pelham wavered to his feet again. “Why?” he cried. “Why?”

  “I thought perhaps you could tell me.”

  For the second time in twenty-four hours Pelham went off his head. He took the front of Bradley’s coat in his hands and shook him. “You can’t do this to me! You’ve been worrying at me from the start … prodding, poking, yanking at me! I’m the one to be asking questions! You know what happened to Dorothy. Tell me, or by God I’ll—”

  “Sit down!” Bradley said. He said it so quietly that it checked Pelham in full flight. “I’ll tell you what happened to your wife,” said Bradley deliberately, “tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. I want you at my office then. You too, Miss Marsh.”

  Linda’s voice was very low. “Then you … you know something, Mr. Bradley? Guy told you something?”

  “He wouldn’t, and now he can’t,” said Bradley. “No, Miss Marsh, I don’t know the answer yet, But I will at nine tomorrow.”

  “But how — ”

  “The murderer is going to tell me,” said Bradley. He looked at Pelham, who had sunk down on the couch, the image of despair. He seemed not to be hearing the conversation. Linda drew Bradley aside.

  “Does he … does he have to know, Inspector, if it is something that would hurt him?”

  “It will supply the motive,” said Bradley.

  “But if you know, does it have to be used?”

  “The murderer will be tried before a jury, Miss Marsh. You don’t get convictions without supplying them with a motive.”

  “Then you can’t make it easy for — ”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Marsh. After going back to the Praynes’ to wait for young Curtin. There’s just a chance he may have stumbled onto something. I advise you to go home and get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a tough day.”

  Chapter 21

  Rube Snyder was waiting for Bradley on the sidewalk.

  “No gun,” he reported.

  “Give the keys to the elevator man and we’ll get moving,” Bradley said.

  Rube gave Bradley a sidelong glance when he rejoined him, and they started downtown, He had seen that tight, pinched look on the inspector’s face before and he knew what it meant. They were coming to the end of a case, and victory or defeat was hanging in the balance. Something had to work … something Bradley had planned.

  “You phoned Julius?” Bradley asked.

  “Sure, Red. He’ll be at the Praynes’ about five. That’s what I think he said. He was so damn sore at bein’ woke up I couldn’t hardly make out what he was sayin’. But I’m pretty sure it was ‘yes.’”

  Bradley smiled faintly. “He’ll come. He can’t help himself.”

  “Say, look here, Red … what are you up to? You can’t put nothin’ over on me. You’re foolin’ around with loaded dice. You’re worried.”

  “Huh!” grunted Bradley. He drove several blocks in silence. “Wouldn’t you think, Rube, after all these years I’d stop feeling sorry for people?”

  “Yeah, I would. Don’t tell me you’re sorry for the guy who’s knocked off two people and tried to get two others.”

  “Yes. In a way I am, Rube. But I’m sorrier for someone else.”

  “You know,” said Rube, “it would be better if you didn’t say nothin’ unless you’re gonna tell me the works. You know who done this?”

  “Beyond a shadow of a doubt. Rube. But I haven’t got evidence. That’s where the gamble comes in. I hope to get it before morning.”

  “Where we goin’ now?”

  “To look at old newspaper files,” said Bradley.

  ***

  He went through the files at headquarters while Rube stood by.

  “If you’d tell me what you’re lookin’ for, Red, I could help.”

  “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Bradley said.

  In the end he apparently found something he wanted. He cut a handful of clippings from one of the newspapers, put them in his inside pocket, and got wearily to his feet.

  “That’s that,” he said. “Now for Julius.”

  “What about me?” Rube asked.

  “I don’t care what you do, Rube. Better get some sleep.”

  “Look, Red, if you’re pullin’ somethin’ screwy … ”

  Forget it,” Bradley said.

  ***

  Bradley took a taxi uptown to the Praynes’. There was a tiny night light burning over the door which led into the school, left for Johnny in case he returned with the car before morning.

  Bradley went into the riding ring. A few feet from the door the place was cavernous and dark as a deserted cathedral. He walked over to the stand where he had sat the day before watching Pelham ride, and appropriated one of the wicker chairs. Automatically he stuffed the bowl of his pipe and struck a match to light it. As the flame illuminated his face, a crotchety voice spoke behind him.

  “You might have asked me to meet you at the bottom of a well,” said Mr. Julius. “You might have, but you chose this instead.”

  The old man, wrapped from eyes to ankles in his long black coat, came across the platform to where Bradley sat.

  “What kind of hocus-pocus is this?” he demanded. “Get a man up at four-thirty in the morning! Keep him waiting in this mausoleum! Your idea of a joke, Bradley? Because, if it is, it’s not funny. Not a damn bit funny.”

  “Mercy,” said Bradley, “you’ve worked up a fine head of steam.”

  “So would you.” The old man peered through the gloom at Bradley. “You’re tired!” It was an accusation the way he said it.

  “I’ve been moving around.”

  “And getting nowhere, I wager.”

  “Maybe not,” said Bradley. “Did you bring the notes on those alibis with you?”

  “Naturally … That’s what you dragged me out of bed for, wasn’t it? But I’ve not checked ’em yet. It’ll take days.”

  “I don’t care whether they check or not,” said Bradley. “I’m mainly interested in the critical hours. Gloria left Johnny Curtin at El Morocco on Wednesday night. She wasn’t seen after that. I think she was murdered between then and morning. Otherwise we’d have some clue as to where she eventually spent the night. I want to know where our friends say they were between midnight Wednesday and breakfast Thursday.”

  “That’s simple,” said Mr. Julius, “if they were telling the truth,” He took his notes from his pocket and shuffled them into order. “Can’t read in this light. But my mind still works.”

  “Pat: At Horse Show till about one o’clock. Drove home in murder car. Parked in the Crop and Spur. Went to bed.”

  Bradley nodded. His eyes were half closed, watching the smoke drift up from his pipe.

  “Celia,” the old man continued. “Spent evening at home. Says Prayne was there. He went to bed early. She sat up for Pat. Fixed some hot chocolate or some such slops for her when she came in. Went to bed.

  “Curtin: At Horse Show early in evening. Picked Gloria up around eleven and look her to El Morocco. Quarreled. She left him after midnight. He went other places, hoping to find her and square things. No luck, he says. Went back to his hotel on the East Side. This one is full of holes, Bradley.”

  “So I see. Go on.”

  “Linda: At her shop late. Can’t say exactly what time she left. Didn’t pay attention to time. When she’d finished, went home to bed. There was no one at shop. Elevator man at her apartment may be able to tell what time she got home.

  “Pelham: At Horse Show all evening. Left same time Pat
did, but walked home. Said needed fresh air. Pat usually drove him. Not that night. Stopped for a drink. Doesn’t remember where … just some bar on the way home.

  “And that’s that,” concluded Mr. Julius. “Nothing on Severied, naturally, because I couldn’t find him to question. Only Celia’s word on Douglas Prayne … but then you don’t suspect him now, unless you think it’s a gang killing.”

  “Interesting suggestion,” Bradley said.

  “Make anything out of it?”

  “Since an attempt was made on Severied’s life tonight, I’ll include him out.”

  “What’s that!”

  “The murderer took a shot at Severied early tonight. Nearly got him too.”

  “Great Scott! Look here, Bradley, have you ideas about this?”

  Bradley nodded.

  “Well?  Well? Well?”

  Bradley puffed at his pipe for a moment. “You know how this school is run?”

  “No. I don’t. And what the devil has that got to do with this?”

  “Nothing,” said Bradley. “Except I talked with Shea, the groom, and something he said caught my fancy. When you’ve ridden the twenty-fourth horse, you know all the answers.”

  “What kind of rubbish are you talking?”

  “You start with horse number one and keep progressing till you get through with horse number twenty-four. Then you get your diploma. Well, I’ve ridden the twenty-four horses in this case, and I know the answers — all of ’em.”

  “What are the answers?”

  “If I told you about the twenty-four horses, you’d know yourself.”

  Mr. Julius banged his ear trumpet on the arm of his chair.

  “All right, all right! If you want to play games, go ahead; tell me.”

  “Twenty-four clues,” said Bradley. “Hang onto your hat.

  “One: Guy Severied and George Pelham have been close friends for years.

  “Two: Guy Severied did not love Gloria Prayne … but they were engaged to he married.

  “Three: Linda Marsh is thirty-four years old.”

  “What the hell kind of a clue is that?” Mr. Julius exploded.

  “Hush,” said Bradley, grinning.

  “Four: Gloria had an extensive and expensive wardrobe, purchased by Severied.

  “Five: Gloria was afraid she was going to be murdered and wrote a letter which would expose the murderer.