Bryce sat silent. All the questions he had entertained concerning Morton had been summarily disposed of. Most disarming had been the casual offer of his deposit box key by Morton. However, the inspector had so confidently built in his mind upon the apparent mass of facts pointing toward Morton that he was reluctant to see his case crumble. He clutched at one last straw. “Would you mind telling me,” he asked, “where the briefcase now is which you carried on Thursday?”
Morton answered readily enough: “It’s in the back of my car, or was an hour ago, in a parking space under the Elevated station at Hanover Square. I intended taking it back to the office this morning but forgot to.” He turned wearily to Fenner. “Now, if you don’t mind, I should like to be taken to Miss Knoeckler. She must be frightfully upset.”
Bryce stepped to the door and called in a man who had been stationed outside. “Show Mr. Morton to the station. I’ll call the captain while you’re going over,” he explained to Morton.
He closed the door after them and returned to the desk where Fenner and Hanley were still seated. The latter seemed frankly dejected but Fenner appeared composed and not unsatisfied.
“We’re just about back where we started from, it seems to me,” the manager complained.
“Not quite so bad as that,” Fenner denied. “The facts are filling in. Now the next step is to arrest young Donegan.”
Both Hanley and Bryce showed their surprise.
“But you haven’t a ghost of a case against him,” the former protested.
“That’s all the more reason why it’ll do him no permanent harm, and I believe it will stir things up a little. At least, we can try it.”
“O. K. with me.” Bryce with his own pet theory just demolished was in no frame of mind for questioning his colleague.
Hanley was not so easily convinced. “It’s sort of rough on the boy, isn’t it?” he argued.
“Rough for a few days, perhaps, but if he’s publicly cleared in the end there’ll be no permanent damage; and it may make all the difference between clearing this up in a week and taking six months, or even a year.”
“I suppose you know what you’re about,” Hanley conceded, “though I don’t mind admitting I’d like to see the thing avoided. When do you want to tend to it?”
“Not me; you and Bryce—right now,” Fenner replied, grinning. He instantly sobered. “You must be sure to make it seem genuine. I can see right now”—he was addressing Hanley—“your inclination will be to drop him a hint that the arrest is with an ulterior motive and in that way to spare his feelings. You must be very careful to do nothing of the sort.” Fenner was very emphatic on the point.
Hanley and Bryce exchanged glances.
“The sooner, the better,” Fenner hinted.
Hanley looked sheepish, Bryce grim, as they left upon their unpleasant errand.
Fenner settled into an easy chair in Hanley’s office, lit a cigarette and allowed his gaze to wander idly out of the window. His mind kept harking back to Elsa Knoeckler. She was a comely creature, he reflected, somewhat inarticulate but a restful person and fascinating in an indefinable way. He pitied Elsa; for Morton he felt a dim envy.
His thoughts traveled back to his talk with her that morning. Morton had let her out of his car a half block from the shop at the corner and she had walked from there home, he had learned. The poor girl must have been frightened and surprised when she entered the store and found the plainclothes officer lounging against the counter instead of her father. She had been brought to the station house where Bryce and a matron had informed her of her father’s death. The news had certainly completely overcome her. Fenner was glad he had been able to get over to headquarters before she was questioned. First impressions were always important.
As a matter of fact Elsa had been able to add very little to what they already knew, except, of course, the fact of her relations with Morton. Her father, she was sure, had had no enemies. He had had few friends, either, or acquaintances of any kind. He had been a poor man barely able to eke a meager subsistence out of his dwindling business. She could think of no reason why anyone should wish him harm.
Fenner mulled over the details of their conversation as he could remember them. The girl had certainly done her best to give Morton a clean bill of health. He wondered if Morton appreciated her loyalty. According to Elsa, Morton had gone into the shop on the off chance of seeing old Knoeckler about her. According to Morton’s own words he’d gone “to get a lot of unpleasant arranging over with!” Precisely what the devil did he mean by that? Odd way to put it, at best. Well, the necessity for that sort of unpleasant arranging was for good and all obviated now. Fenner wondered what, exactly, Morton’s feelings for the girl amounted to. From his reception of the news of her father’s death it would appear that his affection was deeply enough rooted. But you never could tell—
From pondering on Morton and Elsa, Fenner’s thoughts veered round, and with no little chagrin, to an aspect of the case which had annoyed him in the few free moments he had had since learning of the relationship of Morton and Elsa Knoeckler. It was that he could have been so stupid as to have omitted asking Coles about the other employees in Morton’s office. The mere mention of Miss Knoeckler’s name, her address, the fact that she also had been away from Thursday on, must have inevitably put them on the right track. It would have saved Bryce a great deal of mental strain, Fenner thought, smiling, if he had been aware earlier of the real motive for Morton’s absence. Fenner’s musing was cut short by the return of Bryce and Hanley to the bank manager’s office.
“Well?” Fenner asked.
“The dirty work’s all done,” Bryce informed him.
“Took it like a man, too,” Hanley supplemented.
“He’ll get over it,” Fenner said. “Let’s only hope it bears fruit quickly.”
Fenner and the inspector left to return to the station house to finish their talk with Elsa Knoeckler. “Their stories tallied pretty well, didn’t they?” Fenner said when they got outside.
“Morton’s and the girl’s, you mean? Yeah; they did.”
“Too well, maybe.”
“What do you mean? They didn’t have any chance to compare notes,” Bryce argued.
“No; except all weekend.”
Bryce looked at Fenner incredulously. “You mean they agreed on a story? They knew about the old man? Impossible!”
“Oh, I agree with you; though I can’t refrain from moralizing that nothing’s impossible in this racket. I only wanted to be sure our reactions tallied. You’re satisfied the girl was surprised this morning?”
“Yeah; sure.”
“Well, I’m quite satisfied it was news to Morton when we sprung it on him a while ago. If it wasn’t, the man has certainly missed his calling. He belongs on the stage.”
4
Sharing the limited view from the high, barred window, Randolph Morton and Elsa Knoeckler hovered close together in the cheerless anteroom of the police station. Morton was talking to her in a low tone, earnestly, while Elsa stared vacantly out into the gray courtyard. Morton became silent and they drew quickly apart when Fenner and Bryce entered the room. The engineer greeted the two coldly and waited for them to open any conversation.
“We should like to ask Miss Knoeckler a few more questions about her father, if you will be good enough to excuse us,” Fenner said to Morton.
“Certainly—of course.” Morton drew out his watch and added: “I’ve got to be getting back to my office anyway.” He looked at Elsa. “You will come over?” It was more a suggestion than a question.
Elsa nodded without speaking and Morton left. Fenner knew not what Morton had told Elsa but he decided that, whatever it was, it had certainly produced a remarkable change in her. She was serious—sad, still—but not in the forlorn abandoned way in which he had found her earlier in the day. When he talked with her he found her quite composed. He drew up a chair for her and another for himself and sat down with his back to the window. Bryce, too
, sat down, but somewhat in the background.
“I’m glad to see you feeling better. You’ve had a terrible shock,” he opened sympathetically. “I regret disturbing you with questions at a time like this, but we’re compelled to do our utmost to get to the root of these matters. Tell me, did your father have any money over and above the returns from his business there?”
“Not that I know of. He was pretty hard up—especially the last year or so. I helped him with the rent and food as much as I could.”
“Was he ever engaged in any other ventures except the store and shop in Fulton Street?”
“No; I’m pretty sure he wasn’t. You see, he didn’t mix with people very much. He always preferred to stay to himself.”
“Do you know the newsdealer, Schmidt?” Fenner next asked.
“Why, yes; I know him. Not well, though; not nearly so well as Father did.”
“He and your father were very friendly?”
“Oh, yes. They argued about a lot of things; oh, you know, German politics and things like that, but never seriously. Father used to eat with him when I was out.”
“What do you know of your father’s health?”
“It hadn’t been very good. He’d been complaining a lot and finally I made him go to a doctor. He had a sort of weakness in his left side. It had become a lot worse the last few months.”
Fenner nodded understandingly. He thought a moment, then launched a different line of questioning. “How long have you been in the employ of Mr. Morton?”
Elsa fidgeted uncomfortably at this turn of the inquiry. “About a year; perhaps a little longer,” she replied.
“Did Mr. Morton in that time ever have occasion to meet your father?”
“No.”
“Did he ever meet him in a business way?”
“No. At least, I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”
“Did your father know of your friendship with Mr. Morton?”
“I don’t believe so. Mr. Morton had never been to my home.”
“Until last Thursday evening, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“This morning you said Mr. Morton came into the store because he wanted to see your father about you. Is that right?”
“Yes.” Elsa’s eyes were cast toward the floor.
“Did he see him?”
“No; Father hadn’t come back from supper when we left.”
“How do you know?”
Elsa looked up sharply at the last question. She caught her breath when she realized its implications but refused to recognize them and answered evenly: “Mr. Morton or I would have seen him.”
“When you came down with your bag Mr. Morton was standing by the desk, you told me this morning?”
Elsa nodded.
“According to old Schmidt,” Fenner went on, “Mr. Morton was in the store ten or fifteen minutes before you both came out. Could your father not have come in during the time you were upstairs packing, without your hearing him?”
“No; he couldn’t have.”
Fenner started to speak but Elsa broke out wearily: “Oh, I see what you’re driving at! I don’t know how you can think such a thing.”
“We have to think of everything.”
“I tell you,” Elsa gasped, “I never saw my father after Thursday morning; and Ran—Mr. Morton never saw him at all.” The girl started weeping quietly, twisting and untwisting her handkerchief, biting her lips, and controlling herself as best she could.
Fenner waited a moment, then said: “Now, just one more matter; then you may leave. The fellow, Schmidt, tells us that only a short time before you stopped for your things on Thursday evening a man loitered about and finally went into the store. He describes him as a fairly young man and says he has a faint recollection of having seen him there before. Can you tell me who that’s most likely to have been?”
Elsa raised her head wearily, stared vacantly about while she racked her brain. Finally she said: “I can’t think of anyone. You see, my friends never came to the store. Father didn’t like me to go out with men.”
Though its content disappointed Fenner, the simplicity of the reply touched his heart. The few words and their tone spoke volumes and gave him a complete and vivid picture of a lonely girl, growing into starved womanhood, denied the normal friendships and companionships of youth, living her whole life under the roof that had sheltered her birth and, withal, homeless!
He looked away, then turned back. “Think carefully. Didn’t you know any of your father’s friends?”
Elsa waited a long moment. “No; I’m afraid not. He did business with a lot of youngish men, though—selling them instruments and making repairs. You could look at his books and get a lot of names.”
“We thought of that but hoped you might save us the necessity.” After a moment Fenner got to his feet and Bryce did likewise. “You’re at liberty to go where you please,” he said gently to Elsa—looking at Bryce for confirmation—“but I think it would be best if you kept Inspector Bryce posted as to your whereabouts. We shall soon have the coroner’s report—perhaps yet today. If I can then be of any help in connection with the funeral arrangements or anything of that sort I shall certainly be at your service.”
Elsa thanked him and told them that she would go home first and then to Morton’s office. She went out.
It was noon. Fenner said to Bryce: “Come on—I’ll buy you a lunch. We can talk.”
“O. K., but let’s see Dr. Pollard on our way out. Maybe he’ll have something new for us.” They stopped at the coroner’s office. They did not expect much, so were not disappointed. He had completed his work, but the only thing he could tell them which they did not already know was that Adolph had eaten nothing after the noon of the day of his death.
5
At lunch they went over the morning’s yield. Fenner was optimistic.
“Things seem to be opening up a little,” he said.
Bryce was not so sure. “They may be, but I’m damned if I can see any light yet.” He had attached a great deal of importance to Morton’s abnormal conduct and suspicious disappearance, and when that gentleman reappeared according to schedule and disarmed these suspicions with a plausible account of his actions, and with decidedly human if not strictly moral motives, Bryce was confronted with the necessity of starting all over again from scratch.
Similarly, he had pinned considerable hope on what Knoeckler’s daughter and her companion could reveal when they were apprehended, and now it appeared that they could reveal nothing whatever.
“It looks as if Knoeckler didn’t go out to supper after all,” Fenner continued, ignoring Bryce’s last remark; “or at least if he did, he didn’t eat anything.”
Bryce halted, a forkful of food poised halfway to his mouth. “You mean he was dead before Morton and the girl got there?”
“Not necessarily, but he was a man of regular habits. I think Miss Knoeckler counted on that when she went for her things at the time she did. It is not likely he would have delayed his supper much past his usual hour. It’s not likely, either, that he could have gone out and come back without Schmidt seeing him, even though Schmidt says he was not out in front of his stationery shop continuously. The probability, then, is that he didn’t go out at all.”
“I suppose there’s no question’t about Schmidt, eh?” Bryce suggested.
“There’s no reason for doubting him. We’ve found nothing to connect him with the affair at all.”
“Except that he found the body and seems to know so confounded much about what went on Thursday evening. Sometimes when a bird sees too much and knows too much it’s not accidental.” Bryce was born a skeptic.
“It isn’t impossible; but somehow Schmidt doesn’t fit into the picture. He’d no motive, in the first place; and would probably have let someone else discover Knoeckler and call the police if he had been himself involved.”
“Maybe so,” Bryce admitted.
“The last we really know of Knoeckler is that Borden le
ft him in the shop a little after five,” Fenner went on. “He had a caller; or at least Schmidt saw someone, whom he vaguely recalls having seen there before, go into the store a little before seven. A little after seven Morton and Elsa Knoeckler were there for a quarter of an hour and say they saw nothing of him. That’s the layout. What happened between five and seven and who was the caller? That may be the key. I’d hoped the girl could help us there, but now I’m afraid not. We’ll have to go through his desk and see if we can pick up a few leads. We’d better get after Schmidt again, too.” He paused ruminatively.
“Here’s another thing,” Bryce cut in. “How do you suppose a fellow like Morton could’ve gone from Thursday noon to Monday morning without seeing a newspaper? Seems damned odd to me!” Fenner shrugged his shoulders. “I think he could have, all right. His mind hasn’t been bothered with current events the past few days. But all the same, Morton’s in a spot any way you look at it—perhaps not a dangerous one, but with possibilities for enormous embarrassment. Suppose Dr. Pollard turned in a report which cast any doubt on Knoeckler’s tumble and then we told what we know of Thursday evening. I believe the district attorney would hold the pair, or at least Morton, on suspicion. Adolph Knoeckler could have come in while Morton was waiting downstairs. He’d probably be pretty mad at a man who was endeavoring to take his daughter away; especially a married man in Morton’s circumstances. He wasn’t dumb, and it wouldn’t be surprising if he was more aware of what was in the wind than Miss Knoeckler thought. They might have had an argument that led to blows. If Morton had killed him, even accidentally, he’d have had time to carry him to the foot of the stairs. He might have simply opened the door and shoved him through. The cellar light was off; remember that.
“It could all have happened without the girl having heard anything if her bedroom door had been shut. I don’t say it did; it’s just a physical possibility. I wager the district attorney would figure it enough to hold them on. A good stiff grilling might bring out something, too, that we don’t know, though I’m not very sanguine about that.”
Bryce shook his head. “I wouldn’t be, either. I’d swear that girl doesn’t know anything. She was genuinely surprised this morning and nothing’ll make me believe she wasn’t; and if Morton had anything to do with it, it’s a cinch she doesn’t suspect it.”
The Bank Vault Mystery Page 10
