Murder in the Bookshop

by Carolyn Wells

  ‘I doubt very much, Ramsay, if the police would let you go. Quite aside from this motive you tell of, they do suspect you, though without any real evidence. Reserve your decision and planning until after this morning’s session. Await developments. We can confer at any time, if not here, then down at my place.’

  Then they went out to attend the inquiry and found the Inspector and Captain Burnet awaiting them.

  Manton and Fleming Stone exchanged greetings, as they were old friends, and Manton never looked upon Stone as an intruder.

  Also present was Henry Scofield, the lawyer of Philip Balfour.

  Sewell and Gill were there and Guy Balfour, sitting beside his stepmother.

  After some preliminaries, Inspector Manton asked the lawyer to read the will of the late Philip Balfour.

  From the reading it was learned that Guy Balfour, son of the testator, received one hundred thousand dollars.

  Other legacies included a few relatives, all of his employees, his Club staff, a generous bequest to John Sewell, a moderate sum to Keith Ramsay, gifts to a number of charitable organizations and the rest of his estate was left entirely to his beloved wife, Alli Balfour.

  No one was greatly surprised, though Guy stormed inwardly, thinking that from an estate of millions he fared poorly. He well knew it was his own fault, but that didn’t help matters.

  The library was left unrestrictedly to Alli with the suggestion that she should eventually present it to some institution and that she engage some competent librarian to keep it in running order. The apartment, which he owned, was also left to his widow and she was in all respects residuary legatee.

  All of which, listened to most eagerly by Inspector Manton, gave him no new suspect. Unless Guy, impatient for his legacy—but a parricide, no, there was no slightest evidence to point to that.

  Fleming Stone, too, listened intently. And he, also, found no new direction in which to look. He realized, more than ever, were the truth known about the affair of the librarian and his employer’s wife, they would be put through an ordeal. An ordeal that would, he felt sure, lead straight to accusation and trial.

  But his close scrutiny and his careful listening to the Inspector and the Captain of the Homicide Division made him feel positive that up to the present, at any rate, they had no inkling of the matter. No word, no expression on their faces, showed the least idea of such a suspicion.

  That they did suspect Ramsay was clear enough, but that it implicated Alli was not at all evident.

  ‘And so, Mrs Balfour,’ Manton said, ‘you are heir to this great estate, library and all, and it is to you we must address our inquiries and state our plans. We have had considerable information from those present at or near the time of Mr Balfour’s death and I want some further details from you. But first, will you tell me if there was any ill-feeling or estrangement between your husband and yourself?’

  Alli Balfour looked at him steadily.

  ‘No, Inspector,’ she said, ‘there was not. We were devoted to one another and I think I can say we never had a real quarrel, though naturally, we differed in opinion now and then. Mr Balfour was generous and kind, and I appreciated his sterling worth. In spite of the difference in our ages we were congenial and lived happily together. Is this what you wanted to know?’

  ‘Yes, in a general way. Your husband must have been devoted to you to leave you this large estate and also his famous library.’

  ‘He was,’ Guy Balfour declared in dissatisfied tones. ‘Mrs Balfour hynotized him, that’s what she did! Alli, you know Dad should have left me more of his estate than he did. Will you supplement his bequest?’

  ‘We’ll talk that over by ourselves, Guy,’ she returned with a kindly smile. ‘Pay attention now to the Inspector’s questions.’

  ‘You and your father were on friendly terms?’ Manton asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ and Guy looked bored. ‘I thought I told you that before. Dad and I were really fond of one another. I lived out because I wanted to throw a party now and then and the parties I liked best were not in accordance with the ideas of Philip Balfour. So we went our own ways. But when I came here, my father always welcomed me and so did Mrs Balfour.’ He looked at Alli and smiled in comradely fashion.

  ‘Are you surprised that your father did not leave you his library?’

  ‘Oh, no; I didn’t really think he would. I should probably have made ducks and drakes of it, selling the choicest books, like as not, for a fraction of their value. It’s better Alli should have it, but of course she’ll need help with it. I can give her some help, but she’ll need a regular bibliographer, too. Ramsay’s the one for that, but I hear he is leaving.’

  ‘Is that right, Mr Ramsay?’ Manton inquired. ‘Are you going away?’

  ‘Depends on circumstances, Inspector. If you’ve no objections to my departure, and if Mrs Balfour can find a suitable librarian, I shall go. But I would like to see the missing book found before I leave.’

  ‘I think you’d better not plan to go quite yet,’ Manton said, unsmilingly. ‘I think you know we have a desire to question you further before we dismiss your case entirely. You were closely allied with Mr Balfour in the consideration of the purchase of that expensive volume and now that it is missing we want your help in our efforts to find it.’

  Ramsay’s face grew stern.

  ‘If that is your attitude, Inspector,’ he said, ‘I am more than willing to help in your search. But if you are using that as camouflage for your wish to keep me near you for other reasons, I would rather be told frankly that you suspect me of one or both of the crimes you are investigating.’

  ‘That’s right,’ and Captain Burnet spoke with emphasis. ‘We do suspect you, Mr Ramsay, of implication in the disappearance of the book and possibly of being in some way connected with the death of your employer. If you can tell us anything that will turn our suspicions in another direction, we shall be glad to listen.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ and Keith Ramsay seemed to collapse like a burst balloon. ‘I have no way to prove my innocence. In fact, I can think of no way to prove it except by finding the real criminal. This, I cannot do alone, but I am hoping, by the help of Mr Stone, to find the man who stabbed Philip Balfour and deliver him over to justice.’

  ‘No one can blame you, Mr Ramsay, for the hope of that, and I should be glad to see it come about. But meantime our work must go on and we have to follow up our own suspicions by our own methods. And for these reasons, we are advising you that you cannot leave the city at present. Developments may come quickly or they may be delayed, but it is too soon yet to accuse anyone definitely. If it suits your convenience and that of Mrs Balfour, I advise that you remain here for a time and work in the library, if so inclined. Unless you agree to something of this sort, I must detain you as a material witness or perhaps even go further.’

  ‘Arrest me, you mean,’ and Ramsay spoke bitterly. ‘I give you my word not to run away, and as you have no direct evidence against me, I trust I may remain unmolested.’

  ‘For the present, yes. I feel sure further developments will soon occur that will give us a way to look. If you had any sort of witness or verifier of your story of what happened last evening, we could check up; but your masked man is untraceable and may be imaginary.’

  ‘Why untraceable?’ Ramsay spoke in deep anger. ‘Many masked murderers have been run down and the fact that I have no one to corroborate my story does not lessen the necessity of investigating it.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ Fleming Stone observed; ‘I think Mr Ramsay is entitled to a full and complete investigation of his story and I feel that such a course might bring out unexpected evidence.’

  ‘I’ve no wish to be unjust, Mr Stone,’ and Manton shook his head, ‘but it is hard to set about proving a story that I can’t believe myself. I know of no other potential criminals than those we now have before us.’

  ‘But your not knowing them is far from proving that there aren’t any,’ said Stone, seriously. ‘
Granting an intruder, masked and desperate, who kills one man and stuns another, it is not to be supposed that he is an individual who would at once occur to any of us. Not likely that the vague description given would cause us to say, “Oh, that must be John Doe, he always wears a mask when he commits a crime.” No, the man in the mask may not be quickly found, but he must be found. If he is imaginary, as you suggest, then that fact must be proved; if he is real, he must be discovered. It won’t do to say, “I don’t believe there was any masked man,” and let it go at that. I want to find out more definitely just where all this present audience spent last evening. It’s a strange thing that so often when a man is asked to tell where he was at a given time, he refuses—often insisting that it has nothing to do with the case, is of no importance, but—he doesn’t want to tell. Mr Balfour and Mr Gill have already taken this stand and I, for one, would like to insist that they tell us. If irrelevant, we will, of course, keep it confidential, but it is really to their own interests to be frank about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Manton agreed, ‘it is advisable to know these things whether they prove helpful or not. Mr Gill, where were you last evening?’

  ‘Well, as you’ll doubtless find out, anyway, and as I’ve nothing to conceal, I’ll tell you that I went to see Hemingway, a dealer in rare books who lives in Washington Square, and then I came up here to this house to make a call on Pete Wiley.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘The racket I’m always on, I wanted to sell him a book or two.’

  ‘Did you do so?’

  ‘Oh, Lord, no! We assistants don’t sell books, you know, we only try to. But I stayed there for a while and we had a good time.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Dunno. I went from Pete’s place right down to Mr Sewell’s shop, and I got there about half-past eleven. I walked fairly fast so I reckon I left this house about eleven-fifteen or so.’

  Manton turned to Alli Balfour.

  ‘Is this Mr Wiley the man who called on you last night?’

  ‘Yes. He came after Mr Sewell and Mr Swinton had gone. Something after eleven, I think it was. He stayed, I suppose, about ten minutes.’

  ‘He wanted to see Mr Balfour about a book?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What book?’

  ‘He didn’t mention it to me by name. When he found Mr Balfour was not here, he just made a little polite conversation and then went away.’

  ‘What did he talk about?’

  ‘Books, mostly. He said he contemplated a visit to England soon, where he expected to achieve some rare finds. I answered him politely, but I was not very sociable and he soon left.’

  ‘He was a friend of your husband’s?’

  ‘Oh, yes, but always begging for information, even though he assumed great knowledge of his own.’

  ‘Yes, that’s Wiley all over,’ Gill said.

  ‘And what books did you try to sell this man?’ Manton asked Gill.

  ‘Not very important ones; a couple of unimportant Lewis Carroll items.’

  Ramsay looked up quickly, remembering the two books Gill had brought to the shop when he was there. But he said nothing, nor did Sewell.

  Manton turned to Guy Balfour, who sat moodily looking out of a window.

  ‘Now, Mr Balfour, you will please tell us where you were last evening. You refused to answer when I asked you before.’

  ‘My reason for refusing was simply because I was at a place where I am ashamed of having been. I was at The Medicine Cabinet, a resort that doesn’t bear the best of characters. I didn’t want to tell because it is not my custom to go to such places, but last night was made an exception because of the urgent request of a friend.’

  ‘Who is the friend? Name and address, please.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Inspector, I don’t want to drag in a rank outsider!’

  ‘Name and address, please.’

  ‘Oh, well, then—Jack Rollinson—’ and he added the address.

  ‘Of course, we shall check up on these statements,’ Manton told them, and he then asked to have the servants of the house brought in.

  Fleming Stone rose, and saying he must go on one or two short errands, bade the Inspector to have careful notes of his further inquiry kept for him against his return.

  Leaving the Balfour apartment, Stone went down in an elevator but got off at the fourteenth floor.

  Asking the elevator attendant for Mr Wiley’s number, he received it because of his air of authority.

  He rang the bell and was admitted by a canny-looking Chinaman.

  He asked for Wiley and soon that personage appeared. Personage describes Pete Wiley better than any other word. Of medium height and unimportant face, he strutted into the room where Stone awaited him and assumed what he meant to be a majestic air, which was a bit suggestive of a little king in a series of popular pictures.

  He held in his hand the card Stone had given the man and, glancing at it, said, ‘Mr Stone?’ in a tone of condescension.

  ‘Yes,’ said Stone, cheerfully. ‘Mr Wiley?’

  The other nodded, offered a chair, and they sat down.

  ‘I am here in the interests of Law and Order, Mr Wiley,’ and Stone’s inflection now sounded the note of authority. ‘I will detain you but a moment but I must ask you a few questions. About last evening. Did you call at Mr Balfour’s apartment?’

  ‘May I ask why I am obliged to recount to you my comings and goings?’

  ‘I represent the police,’ Stone said, carelessly, ‘but I am myself a private investigator. Unless you care to talk to me, an Inspector will call. I don’t propose to ask you anything troublesome.’

  CHAPTER VI

  STONE AND HIS SUSPECTS

  ‘OH, well, go ahead. I’ve nothing to conceal. Yes, I called at Mr Balfour’s apartment. It was a bit late, well after eleven. Mr Balfour was not at home, so I chatted with Mrs Balfour, maybe about five minutes, and then I came away.’

  ‘What was the purpose of your call?’

  ‘I wanted to ask Mr Balfour a question concerning a rare book. I assure you I know quite as much about old books as he did, but there was one point I wanted corroborated.’

  ‘Not finding him at home, you came directly back here to your own apartment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Had you been out, during the evening, before you went to Mr Balfour’s?’

  ‘Let me see—had I? No, Mr Stone—I recollect now. I was right here all the evening, looking over my books. You know we collectors can always find something to do, some absorbing bit of collating or comparing.’

  ‘Comparing what? Books?’

  ‘Well, in this case, I was comparing signatures.’

  ‘Whose signatures?’

  ‘The author of the book. You know a volume inscribed by its author is much more valuable than one without his autograph.’

  ‘Yes,’ Stone agreed. ‘And what book were you considering?’

  ‘Oh, various ones. Just looking them over.’

  ‘Mr Gill had been here to see you, and wanted to sell you a book.’

  ‘Now, how did you ever know that? Yes, you’re right; Mr Gill had an autographed book of Lewis Carroll’s that I wanted. I have it here, on approval. It’s called The Hunting of the Snark.’

  ‘I see. And why was Mr Gill coming to see you about it when you have the book here?’

  ‘Well,’ Pete Wiley looked a bit embarrassed, ‘I was afraid the signature was not genuine—maybe forged, you know. I’m pretty cute about these booksellers and their tricks.’

  ‘Surely you didn’t think that a shop like Sewell’s would sponsor a fake inscription?’

  ‘Not knowingly, of course, but they might have been cheated. Anyway, I’m on to those things! They have to get up early to get ahead of me. So I asked Mr Gill to bring me some more books signed by Lewis Carroll and let me collate the names. And he did.’

  ‘And then you were satisfied?’

  ‘Yes—that is, practically so. Here, you lo
ok at the book, I’d rather have the opinion of a detective than a bibliophile.’

  Stone studied the inscription.

  ‘Looks all right,’ he said. ‘But I can’t decide a matter of that kind. Now come back to cases. You were always friendly with Mr Balfour?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. He often consulted me—’

  ‘Why, when he had Mr Sewell’s wide knowledge at his disposal?’

  ‘Oh, well—in a multitude of counsellors, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Then you didn’t go out at all last evening, except for that short call at the Balfour apartment?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘The elevator boy says you did. He must be mistaken.’

  ‘Oh, wait a minute—yes, I did step out once before I went up to the Balfours’.’

  ‘Be careful what you’re saying, Mr Wiley. Where did you go?’

  ‘Well, I stepped around to the Sewell shop—thought I’d ask Sewell himself about it. Though Gill knows such things.’

  ‘What time did you go on this forgotten errand?’

  ‘I haven’t the least idea. I never know the time. But it was something like nine, I’d say.’

  ‘Before you went to see the Balfours?’

  ‘Oh, my, yes.’

  ‘Did you see Mr Sewell at his shop?’

  ‘No; the place was all dark and shut up.’

  ‘Did you go anywhere else?’

  ‘No, came right back here. What’s all this about, Mr Stone? Do you think I had anything to do with Mr Balfour’s death?’

  ‘I’m not thinking, I’m just asking questions.’

  ‘You sure are doing that! Any more? I’m getting restless.’