by Craig Rice
“Say, Bingo,” Handsome said. He looked worried. “I know why Mr. Halvorsen’s so scared.”
Bingo and the deputy stared at him.
“It’s because somebody searched his house,” Handsome said. “He was all right until he came back and found somebody’d searched his house. Maybe he’s got something hid there that nobody knows about.”
“Of course!” Bingo said excitedly. “And that’s why he wanted police protection. Because he’s afraid they’ll come back. That looks as if whoever searched the house didn’t find what they were looking for.” He was silent a moment, thinking. “Maybe you and the sheriff ought to do some searching out there, and find out what it is.”
“Couldn’t do that,” Herb said. “In the first place, we’d have to get a warrant. Second place, Chris wouldn’t like it. And—” He paused and glared at Bingo.
And, he’s Christine’s father, Bingo thought. He decided to be tactful and drop the subject.
“How long is the sheriff going to be busy?” he asked. “We’ve got important business with him and it’s getting late—” His voice stopped suddenly. He felt a sudden chill. Handsome’s eyes met his across the room, and he knew that Handsome had remembered the same thing at exactly the same moment. He went on, “We had an appointment with Mr. Will Sims at eight o’clock, and it’s nearly nine now.”
Could they throw you in jail in Thursday County for being late to an appointment with the district attorney?
“He won’t mind,” Herb said. “He’s busy, too. In there.” He jerked a thumb toward the closed door of Sheriff Judson’s private office. “The fella that’s in there with ’em got hold of Will Sims first. Then they came down here and woke up Henry.”
Ollie looked up from the delicate task of adjusting a wing on one of the paper airplanes. “The gentleman with Sheriff Judson and Mr. Sims,” he said, “is looking for a girl, too. He believes that she may be a victim of amnesia. She appears to be a mental case. Luckily, I do not suffer from amnesia. My memory is unimpaired. I am sorry for this unfortunate girl. The gentleman with Sheriff Judson and Mr. Sims is her uncle.”
He carefully fitted a rubber band on the paper airplane, and said, “Watch. I believe this one will fly.”
Bingo didn’t watch. He walked to the door of the sheriff’s private office and said to Herb, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to join their party.”
“Hey, wait,” Herb said. “You can’t go in there.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” Bingo said. “Because we’re looking for the same girl.” He reached for the knob.
Ollie snapped the rubber band just as Bingo opened the door. The paper airplane circled gracefully around the room. It sailed in through the open doorway and came to rest in front of the man who, Bingo realized, could be nobody in the world but Uncle Fred.
CHAPTER NINE
Sheriff Henry Judson was the first to pull himself together. He shook his head, grinned, and said, “That Ollie, and his paper airplanes! Still, it ain’t as bad as when somebody give him an electric train.”
Will Sims looked up, recognized Bingo and Handsome, and turned pink. “Say,” he said, “I didn’t forget our appointment, believe me. It was just that—this matter came up and—”
“That’s O. K.,” Bingo said. He wasn’t interested in Will Sims right now. He was too busy looking at Uncle Fred.
From what Henny had said about Uncle Fred, he’d somehow pictured a tall, cadaverous man, dressed in black, with a stern, gloomy face, and a mean look in his eyes.
Instead, he saw a plump, short-legged little man in a neat navy-blue business suit. Gray hair, a little thin on top. Rimless glasses. A worried look on his round, rather florid face. And a scowl, when he looked at the intruders.
“We’re busy,” Sheriff Judson said mildly.
“Henry, I tried to keep ’em out,” Herb said anxiously, from the doorway.
“We’re busy, too,” Bingo said, ignoring Herb. “That’s why we’re here. I understand this gentleman is looking for a missing girl.”
Uncle Fred nodded. “My niece,” he said. His voice was deep and sonorous and beautiful.
“Would you mind,” Bingo said, “giving us a description of her?”
Will Sims said, “Why? Have you seen her?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out,” Bingo told him.
“About five foot four,” the plump little man said. “Weight a hundred and ten, dark hair and eyes, complexion fair, two small moles in the small of her back and one left upper molar missing.” He reeled it off like a police description, and added, “She is considered rather attractive.”
“Sounds like her,” Bingo said, “Except I didn’t notice the small of her back or her molars.”
“You mean, you know where she is?” Sheriff Judson said.
“No, but I’d like to,” Bingo said. “Because this morning I woke up and found she’d stolen a hundred and seventy-two dollars I’d hidden in my shoe, and scrammed.”
Uncle Fred’s face turned scarlet with rage. At first, Bingo thought it was because of the accusation of theft. He discovered almost immediately that he was mistaken.
“Do you mean,” Uncle Fred said, his voice hoarse with righteous wrath, “that she—” He paused; his little eyes glittered behind the rimless glasses. “It is true that her father was a wicked man. And her mother was—bad. And she has earned her living by allowing herself to be photographed in—immodest costumes. But I didn’t believe—” He paused again. The sonorous note came back in his voice. “The poor, misguided child!” He turned to Will Sims. “This only bears out what I have been telling you. How fortunate that she has me to look after her! Since obviously she is not responsible for her behavior.”
There wasn’t any doubt about it, Bingo told himself. This was Uncle Fred, all right.
“Now, look here,” he said. “I guess I gave you a bad impression when I said I woke up and—” He suddenly realized he wasn’t making that impression any better, from the look on Uncle Fred’s face. “I mean—she spent last night with us—my partner and me—but—” Evidently that was the wrong thing to say, too.
Uncle Fred groaned. He glanced from Bingo to Handsome and back again. He looked shocked, and more, as though he secretly enjoyed being shocked.
Sheriff Judson chuckled. He said, “Wait a minute, Par son. I think you got the wrong idea. I think these boys are trying to tell you they just gave your niece shelter overnight. Yes?”
“That’s it exactly,” Bingo said.
“In other words, she spent the night in the guest room, so to speak,” Sheriff Judson said.
“Well, it was pretty late and she didn’t have any place to go,” Handsome said. “And I didn’t mind sleeping on the floor. I’ve slept on floors a lot of times in my life.”
“And then she stole the hundred and seventy-two dollars out of my shoe and ran off with it while we were still sleeping,” Bingo said angrily.
“I’m not surprised,” Uncle Fred said. “Her father was a thief. Naturally, the hereditary blight would appear in poor, dear Marian.”
“Marian?” Bingo said, surprised. “Who’s Marian?”
“My niece,” Uncle Fred snapped. “Marian Williams.”
Bingo thought fast and said. “Oh, yes, of course.”
“But, Bingo,” Handsome said. “She—”
“Never mind,” Bingo said hastily. Elayne LaRue. Henrietta Siller. Marian Williams. Something was badly mixed up here. “Say, are we talking about the same girl? Are you Uncle Fred?”
“I am the Reverend Frederick Hammerville Williams,” the plump little man said in his most mellifluous tones. “And I am looking for my niece, Miss Marian Williams, recently of New York, whom I believe to be of unsound mind.”
Sheriff Judson said, “I think we’re getting a little mixed up here. Let’s sort of try to get the story straight.” He turned to Bingo. “Suppose you tell what you know about this girl.”
“Well,” Bingo said, “last night she—” Suddenly he rea
lized there were some things he could tell, and some that he couldn’t. “She came to our place. We’d decided to stay there overnight—my partner and I. It was late. She seemed tired. Obviously she didn’t have a place to stay. So we let her sleep there.”
“If she was looking for a place to sleep,” Will Sims said, “how did she get way out there? Why didn’t she go to Mrs. McComb’s Tourist Cabins?”
“Or the O’Callaghans’,” Herb put in, from the doorway. “They take in boarders.”
“Because she was looking for her father,” Bingo said, before he thought.
Everyone in the room looked at everybody else. Then Uncle Fred said sadly, “You can see that she’s obviously of unsound mind. Her father deserted her mother before she was born.”
Then everyone looked at Bingo. He could sense the suspicion in their eyes. “Unsound mind or not,” he said, in sudden fury, “she ran off with my hundred and seventy-two bucks, and I want it back.”
“I’m only concerned about my niece’s welfare,” Uncle Fred said stiffly.
“Thursday County,” Will Sims said, with great dignity, “is concerned about a possible crime.”
Handsome cleared his throat and said, “Say, Bingo. That gentleman who was murdered. Do you s’pose this gentleman, the Reverend, could identify him?”
That was a new thought to everyone in the sheriff’s office. Bingo almost gasped. Of course! The murdered man had been Elayne—Henrietta—Marian’s father. The Reverend Williams would know him.
Will Sims beamed and said, “A very welcome suggestion, young man.”
Sheriff Judson said, “There’s one sure way to find out.”
And Uncle Fred looked surprised and said, “Murdered?”
Sheriff Judson said, “There was a murder here yesterday,” as though Thursday County had one every day. “Nobody knows who he was. Figger maybe if we knew who he was, we could find out who wanted to murder him. Maybe we all better go over to Charlie Hodges’, that’s where he’s at.”
Bingo and Handsome accepted, with almost indecent haste, the invitation to go along.
“This is it,” the sheriff said, sliding his car up to the curb. “Swellest undertaking parlor in three counties. Even got a Hammond organ. Nobody in Thursday can play it, though. C’mon in, folks.”
Charlie Hodges’ undertaking parlor lived up to Sheriff Judson’s enthusiasm, complete with imitation stained glass, jars of enormous paper flowers, and royal-blue upholstered furniture. Charlie Hodges himself was a plump, cheerful little man, clad in the conventional black and white, and with a strong smell of beer on his breath.
“Come right on into the chapel,” he said hospitably. “I got him laid out beautifully.”
The murdered stranger looked handsome and serene, his hands folded on his chest, a pleasant look on his face in spite of the bullet hole in his forehead.
“Wonderful what can be done, isn’t it?” Charlie Hodges said proudly and happily. “Only, you have to have a real talent. Too bad about the bullet hole, but Sheriff wouldn’t let me touch it.”
No one paid any attention to Charlie Hodges. Everybody was looking at Uncle Fred.
He stood looking down at the murdered man, his hands clasped behind him, an expression of concern and grave responsibility on his face.
“The poor, unfortunate soul,” he murmured musically.
“Sure was,” the sheriff said agreeably. “But do you know him?”
Uncle Fred sighed deeply and reverently, continued to look searchingly for another minute, and then shook his head sadly. “I regret to say—I have never seen the poor man before.”
“You’re a damn liar!” Bingo said, before he thought.
“Please!” Charlie Hodges squeaked, outraged. “No profanity here!”
“Look, mister,” Handsome said politely. “Try to imagine him without his beard. And younger. Would you know him then?”
Uncle Fred stared at Bingo and Handsome as though saying, “Is it any business of yours?” Then he looked at the murdered man. “I assure you,” he said a little stiffly, “I have never seen this man in my life.”
That was all Bingo could stand. He said furiously to Sheriff Judson, “See? I told you he’s a—a liar. Because. This guy is his niece’s father. This guy came to some little town and seduced Mr. Williams’ sister-in-law, and then married her. He lived there for a while and then ran off.” He turned and glared at Uncle Fred and said, “You’ve seen him a lot of times in your life, and you know it!”
Everyone looked at Uncle Fred, who turned a trifle pale, but didn’t lose any of his aplomb. “It was a natural mistake,” he said. “I hadn’t seen him in so many years. I had no idea that he was even still alive. He was a wicked and irresponsible individual, and after he deserted my unfortunate sister-in-law I made no attempts to find him.”
“That’s another lie,” Bingo said.
Uncle Fred turned to Will Sims. “Will you kindly inform me why I should be subjected to such indignities?”
“Please, Mr. Riggs,” Will Sims began unhappily. “This gentleman—”
“This gentleman,” Bingo said indignantly, “is a liar, and I suspect he’s a crook, and he may be a murderer, for all that we know.”
“I refuse to remain here to be insulted,” Uncle Fred said.
“Now, wait a minute, Parson,” Sheriff Judson said mildly. “There’s a few things need to be cleared up. Is or is not this here corpse the father of your missing niece?”
“Well—” Uncle Fred said and stopped.
“Do you or do you not recognize this here corpse,” Sheriff Judson said, not quite so mildly this time.
“I—well—yes, I do,” Uncle Fred said.
“Then why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place?” Bingo roared.
“Listen,” Charlie Hodges said. “I told you before. If you’re gonna cuss, you’ve gotta go into the front parlor. This is my establishment and I won’t stand for any disrespect for this corpse, even if he was murdered.”
“Charlie’s right,” Sheriff Judson said. “We better go in the other room.”
They went into the parlor and sat down gingerly on the blue upholstered furniture.
“I believe that I owe you an explanation,” Uncle Fred said to the sheriff and Will Sims, and trying to act as though Bingo and Handsome weren’t there. “I had hoped to save my unfortunate niece from any unnecessary scandal and grief. That is why I was guilty of a—slight misrepresentation—when I stated that I did not recognize the man. Why should she, poor girl, be involved in the murder of this man who deserted her mother before she was born, and has not been seen or heard from since?”
“That explanation, chum,” Bingo said, “is strictly a stinker-dinker.” He was good and mad now. “Look here. Are you a real—I mean, a properly ordained reverend?”
“I—no. I have organized a—Will you please tell me what that has to do with it?”
“Just this,” Bingo said grimly. “If you don’t keep your trap shut until I’m through with what I have to say, I’m going to give you a poke in the nose. I couldn’t do that if you were a real reverend.”
Uncle Fred turned to the sheriff and the pop-eyed Will Sims. “I appeal to you gentlemen—”
“Never mind,” the sheriff said. “If he pokes you in the nose, he’ll get fined five bucks for assault. Go on, Mr. Riggs, what did you have to say?”
“Bingo—” Handsome began anxiously.
“Never mind, Handsome,” Bingo said. “I’ll handle this. That guy there”—he jerked a thumb toward the back room—“was the guy that helped rob the bank at Dales-port. The phony reverend here found it out. He offered to let the guy take his daughter away with him, in exchange for telling him where the dough was buried. But the guy wouldn’t tell. Then the daughter beat it off to New York and got a job as a model, on account of being treated like a slave.”
“But, Bingo,” Handsome began again, as Bingo paused for breath.
“Don’t interrupt me,” Bingo said. “Th
en. He”—he gestured toward Uncle Fred—“trailed her to New York and tried to find out if she knew where her father was. And then her father got in touch with her in New York and arranged for her to meet him out here, and somehow her kind, loving uncle found out about it and trailed her out here.” He paused, glared at Uncle Fred, and said, “Now explain your way out.”
Uncle Fred didn’t look alarmed, or even impressed. He said very coldly, “I trust, young man, that you can substantiate these rash statements. Because if not, I imagine that the state of Iowa has laws against slander and false accusation.”
There was a sudden silence. Everybody looked at Bingo.
“In other words,” Uncle Fred said, “prove it.”
Bingo felt a chill that ran all the way down to the backs of his heels. Because he couldn’t prove one word of it. And Uncle Fred was just the type to take advantage of that little fact.
Of course, if the girl could be found—
But meanwhile—
“Well?” Will Sims said.
“Bingo,” Handsome said timidly. “If you don’t mind. I can prove it.”
Then everybody looked at Handsome.
“Call up New York, long distance,” Handsome said. “The number is Bradbury 7-2667. Ask for Arthur Thompson. He’s editor of Strange Crime Stories. He ran a story about the bank robbery and about the beautiful New York model who was the daughter of the man who helped with it.” He paused.
“Go on,” Bingo said, with a sudden, desperate hope. “What page was it on?”
Handsome closed his eyes for a minute. “It was the June 15th issue, last year. A double-page spread. Pages sixteen and seventeen. The text was continued on page thirty-nine. There was a picture of—him.” He pointed to the back room. “It was on the left-hand page. And a picture of this gentleman’s niece. It was the one that had been used in the face cream ad. Lace and chiffon negligee. It was in Harper’s Bazaar on the page facing—”
“Stick to Strange Crime Stories,” Bingo said hastily.
“Oh, yeah,” Handsome said. “It wasn’t very good makeup. Page sixteen had his picture and hers. Page seventeen had the main story and some staged photographs that illustrated the story of the crime. So, you just call up Arthur Thompson, Bradbury 7-2667, and ask him if the Reverend Williams here didn’t tip him off to that story.”
