The 24th Horse

by Hugh Pentecost

  “In what opium den?” asked Guy, soaping his hands.

  “Okay, pal, take it on the chin,” said Johnny. “She’s dead. Murdered.”

  Guy spun around, lost his equilibrium, and fell back against the wall. He leaned there, his hands, held out in front of him,. dripping soapy water.

  “That’s a hell of a way to sober a man up,” he said.

  “It’s straight, you mug. She was strangled. I found the body in the rumble of Pat’s car. The police have sent me to find you. They want us all at the Praynes’ apartment.”

  Guy shook his head, like a punch-drunk fighter. “Murder? Johnny, this isn’t a gag?”

  “I wish it were, but…It’s the works.”

  “Damn!” Guy dried his hands and glanced at the mirror. Then he pulled down his lower lids and looked at his bloodshot eyes. “What a mess,” he muttered. “This was meant to be a private binge, Johnny…strictly private…But, let’s go, Johnny. We got things to do.”

  They were overwhelmed with assistance when they got back upstairs. The headwaiter whisked Mr. Severied’s coat and hat from the checkroom; Gus helped Mr. Severied into his coat; Gus would not hear of Mr. Severied’s writing a check for his bill; some other time. Mr. Severied’s credit was aces. Anything, in short, to get Mr. Severied rolling.

  “I never saw him like this before,” Gus whispered to Johnny. “He must of cleaned up at the races or something.”

  The doorman escorted Mr. Severied into a taxi.

  “Ninety-first and Madison,” Johnny said, and climbed in beside Guy.

  “No!” Guy contradicted. “Twenty-one West Fifty-six…an’ don’t spare the horses.”

  “Ninety-first and Madison, driver.”

  The driver was patient. “Make up your minds, gents.”

  “You go where I told you,” Guy said. “And if that isn’t okay with you, young Lochinvar, you can always take another cab.”

  “Isn’t that where Linda Marsh lives?” Johnny asked.

  “On the nose,” said Guy.

  “She’s not there,” said Johnny. “She’s with Pat, at the Praynes’.”

  “One will get you three she isn’t.”

  “For God’s sake, Guy, I tell you Linda’s with Pat!”

  The cab had stopped for a red light at Fifth Avenue. “Don’t come if you don’t want to,” Guy said. “Change horses in midstream if yon want to.”

  Johnny shrugged and settled back himself. It was important to get Guy uptown. Bradley had played ball. He had given Pat a chance to break the news to her family alone. He had given Johnny the chance to find Guy without sending out an alarm. And apparently he had kept the news from the press so far.

  Two minutes later they were at 21 West Fifty-sixth.

  “Hold. it,” Johnny told the driver, “we’ll be going on.” He and Guy walked into the foyer of the apartment building.

  The night man regarded Guy, who was waving like a stately pine in a stiff breeze, with suspicion.

  “Miss Linda Marsh,” Guy said.

  “Miss Marsh isn’t in.”

  “Impossible. Call her apartment.”

  Johnny nodded to the night man. Anything to wheedle a drunk, his look said. The man plugged in a cord on the switchboard and held his finger down on a button.

  “He’s stalling,” Guy accused. “I’ll break his goddamn neck for that. He’s stalling!”

  “Ring the bell yourself, chief,” said the man.

  Guy rang it, long and vigorously. “Owe you an apology,” Guy said. “If you feel it is an insult for which an apology will not suffice, I’ll be glad to receive your seconds at the proper…”

  “Guy! Let’s go.”

  “Oh. Check.”

  They got into the cab again.

  “Linda Marsh, Inc., Forty-fifth Street and Fifth Avenue,” Guy ordered.

  “Listen, dope,” Johnny said, “it’s after three! No one’s at Linda’s shop.”

  “Except Linda,” said Guy.

  Johnny’s eyes measured the distance from his right fist to the point of Guy’s jaw. “Look,” he said. “If Linda isn’t there, will you to the Praynes?”

  “Word of honor,” said Guy. “But she’ll be there; that’s a certainty, like the rising of the sun, or the…or the…” He subsided.

  The taxi drew up behind a black sedan at the curb in front of Linda Marsh, Inc. Guy got out and moved under full sail toward the locked and bolted entrance of the dress shop. Johnny followed. He was halfway across the sidewalk before he heard the sedan door slam and someone came up behind him.

  Johnny turned to face a man with a derby hat pulled down square on his bullet-shaped head.

  “Okay, pals, what d’you want?” said the man.

  Guy gestured to Johnny. “Give him a dime for his cup of coffee and tell him to scram.”

  The man’s head seemed to sink between his shoulder blades like a turtle’s. Then he exploded.

  “I’m Sergeant Snyder of Homicide,” he said, “and if you don’t wanna cool your fanny in the hoosegow, start talkin’.”

  “Homicide? Connected with Inspector Bradley?” Johnny asked.

  “You’re damn right I’m connected with him. I’m his assistant.”

  “Oh. My name is Curtin.”

  “You the guy discovered the Prayne dame’s body?”

  “Right. This is Mr. Severied. I’m taking him to the Praynes’, but he’s got a notion that Miss Marsh is here and that he must see her first.”

  “Oh, Yeah? Well, she’s here all right. But it’ll be up to the inspector if anyone sees her. He’s with her now.”

  Meanwhile Guy had been ringing the night bell. Johnny saw a light appear at the far end of the shop.

  “How’d you know Linda was here, Guy?”

  Guy looked wise. “Told you it was as certain as…well, certain, didn’t I?”

  “But how did you know?”

  “I get around, young Lochinvar. I get around.”

  The door of the shop opened and Bradley stood there, pipe between his teeth, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. His eyes questioned Johnny.

  “This is Severied, Inspector. He …”

  He broke off as Guy brushed past the inspector and made a beeline for the back of the shop, colliding only once with a sheet-covered counter.

  “I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “He’s boiled to the ears.”

  “How did he take the news?” Bradley asked, watching Guy disappear into the office at the rear.

  “He’s too drunk to react to anything,” Johnny said. “But he insisted he had to see Linda. The only way I could get him moving was to stick with him. How he knew she was here I can’t tell you.”

  “I’d like to find out myself,” said Bradley “Come on in.”

  “If you have any trouble with that monkey, Red, holler,” said Sergeant Snyder.

  Chapter 6

  In the setting Linda Marsh had designed for herself there was no hint of business. Johnny blinked at the thick rug, the deep chairs, the glowing fire. He noticed a magnificent Goddard desk and a tray on a table by the couch carrying glasses, a bowl of ice, and several bottles.

  Johnny and the inspector were close enough on Guy Severied’s heels to hear him ask Linda, “Have you given it to him yet?”

  Linda was standing with her back to the fire, a green chiffon handkerchief stretched between her lingers. “Guy! Oh, my dear, then you know?”

  “Have you given it to him?” Guy repeated.

  “Not yet, Guy. But I must.”

  “Not necessarily.” Guy wheeled, bracing himself on the back of a chair. “This is all rot,” he said to Bradley. “Melodramatic rot. Just raise a stink and get you nowhere.” In spite of a supreme effort he was swaying slightly.

  “So you know about the letter, Mr. Severied?” Bradley said, his face thoughtful.

  “Of course. Why else would I be here?”

  “I’m just a stranger here myself,” Johnny said angrily. “I’ve been dragged around by the nose for the last h
alf-hour without being told why.”

  For the first time Linda looked at him. Her dark eyes grew warm. “Johnny, this has been dreadful for you. Pat told me.”

  “Forget it,” Johnny said. “What the hell’s going on? I thought you were with Pat. I counted on that. She shouldn’t be alone.”

  “I was just about to get the answers to those questions myself,” said Bradley, “when you arrived, Curtin. Suppose you begin again, Miss Marsh.”

  “Look,” Guy said. “This is all rot, I tell you. Workings of an overdeveloped imagination. Just make trouble for innocent people. Go hunt clues, Inspector. Get out your magnifying glass and your bloodhounds, but forget about this. Gloria was nuts! Well, just ask any of her friends.’’

  “You and Gloria Prayne were about to be married, weren’t you, Mr. Severied? You should be able to tell us a good deal.”

  “Sure I could.” Guy pressed fingers against his perspiring temples. “If I told you I was relieved when Lochinvar here brought me the news, I suppose you’d get out your handcuffs?”

  “Are you telling me that?” Bradley’s eyes were steady.

  “Why not? I wasn’t in love with Gloria…and Gloria wasn’t in love with me. Mutual non-admiration society. Very funny, if it wasn’t very unfunny. But Gloria loved yachts. Catch on?”

  “Guy, you don’t know what you’re saying!” Linda protested.

  “Always know what I’m saying. I hate to shatter the ideals of young Lochinvar, but all that glitters in the eye is not love. Easier to go through with it and work out some kind of a life afterward. Things were complicated.”

  “You’re not going to confess to murder and save us a lot of trouble, are you, Severied?” Bradley’s tone was hopeful.

  Guy waggled a finger at him. “Now, now, Inspector. There are no short cuts to success.”

  “You damned drunkard!” Johnny blazed. “What the hell do you think this is, some kind of a game? Let’s get to the point. Pat needs us…some of us, anyhow.”

  “Yes, Miss Marsh, let’s get to the point,” said Bradley.

  Linda found her voice. “I was telling Mr. Bradley about a visit I had from Gloria two weeks ago,” she said, addressing herself to Johnny. “I was explaining to him that I grew up with the Prayne girls…lived next door to them and all that; that they’ve taken the place of my own family.”

  “Known privately as ‘the problem family,’” Guy put in. “Only one who ticks is Pat. Swell girl. Ever see her on a horse, Inspector?”

  “Shut up,” Johnny said.

  “Sorry,” Bradley said, “but how can I get it across that this is my party? Miss Marsh?”

  “The day Gloria came to see me,” Linda said, “she was nervous, almost incoherent. She talked about making the headlines one of these days. ‘Feet first’ was the way, she put it. She was afraid of someone afraid something was going to happen to her.”

  “Who was she afraid of? Did she say?”

  “Pipe dream,” Guy began.

  “No.” Linda ignored him. “Frankly, Inspector, I didn’t take her very seriously. She loved to dramatize herself and she always exaggerated.”

  “Still you felt she was really frightened?”

  “Yes. But it’s difficult to explain.”

  “Take your time.”

  The green handkerchief was wound into a tight knot. “She was terrified, but I thought she was imagining the danger. There was no reason for her to be afraid of anyone.”

  “Check,” said Guy. His voice had thickened. His eyelids drooped.

  “I was too busy for any soul swabbing, even for Gloria,” Linda said.

  “And the purpose of her visit?” Bradley prodded her. “She wanted you to do something for her?”

  “Yes. She had a letter with her, Mr. Bradley, in one of her own blue envelopes, sealed with wax, and no writing on it.”

  “No writing?” Guy’s eyes opened. “Positively no writing?”

  “That’s right, Guy.”

  Guy crossed his fingers elaborately. “Must remember that. Excellent legal point.”

  “What about the letter?” Johnny said.

  “She asked me to keep it and, if anything happened to her, to turn it over to the police.”

  “You agreed?”

  “Yes. I took it, put it in my desk drawer, and forgot about it.”

  “Good God!” Johnny cried. “You had that letter for the last three days and you didn’t say anything?”

  “Smart girl,” said Guy. “Very, very smart girl. Sense values.”

  “Damn you, Guy, shut up!”

  “You know Gloria, Johnny,” Linda said. “Even when I heard she was missing I didn’t think it was serious.”

  “If you’d turned the letter over to the police, you might have prevented this thing!” Johnny insisted.

  “I think not,” said Bradley quietly. “I’ve had the medical examiner’s preliminary report. He thinks Gloria’s been dead for several days. She was probably killed” — and his eyes moved to Johnny’s face — “not long after she left you at El Morocco on Wednesday night, Curtin.”

  “But, Bradley, that means …”

  “Gives a rather unpleasant picture of the killer, doesn’t it?” said Bradley. “A man with no nerves. He kept a dead body concealed for at least two days before he transferred it to the Praynes’ car tonight.”

  “I keep trying to explain why I haven’t done anything before now,” Linda said. “Gloria was always in some sort of a mess. The Praynes, Mr. Prayne especially, were very sensitive about it. It brought them publicity. Just now, when she and Guy were on the verge of getting married, they were particularly anxious to avoid any fresh scandal.”

  “Joke,” Guy muttered.

  “She’d been off on binges before, and I’d covered up for her,” Linda finished, “by telling her father she was staying with me. Pat and I didn’t want him to worry.”

  Bradley said, “But aren’t we wasting time? The letter, Miss Marsh. From what you say it may contain the murderer’s name.”

  “That is pure, unadulterated hooey,” said Guy. “Listen …”

  “The letter,” Bradley said.

  Linda went to the desk and pulled out one of the small upper drawers. She brought a thick envelope to Bradley. It was as she had described it; blue, unaddressed, the flap secured by three blobs of purple wax into which a signet had been pressed.

  Guy groaned. “Sealing wax! The old Miss Walker’s touch!”

  Bradley turned the letter slowly in his fingers. He glanced up at Linda. “Most women couldn’t have resisted opening this,” he said with a smile.

  Her laugh was high. “I’ve told you, Inspector, it didn’t seem important…not till Pat came home tonight with the news. Then I thought you should see it.”

  “Quite right,” said Bradley. He took a penknife from his pocket and snapped open the blade.

  “Wait,” said Guy. “Now we come to my entrance line. I know what’s in that letter, Inspector.”

  “Mercy,” said Bradley.

  “I know what’s in it, and I know it won’t do you any good. But it’ll do harm. Gloria had a nasty mind…oh, very nasty,”

  “We’ll have a look, anyway.”

  “Hold everything. Word of honor, it’s a false alarm. Nothing to help you, Inspector, but plenty to raise hell with innocent people. Throw it in the fire. Promise you won’t lose. Be a decent thing to do.”

  “Mr. Severied, I am neither a publicity agent nor a reporter. If this letter, meant for the police, is not relevant to the case, that’s that. You can burn it to your heart’s content.”

  Guy looked down at his fingers. “Legal point,” he reminded himself. “Oh, yes. How do you know it’s meant for the police? No writing on it.”

  Bradley had already slit the flap at the top, leaving the seals undisturbed. He drew out three sheets of matching note paper, unfolded them, and stood staring for a time. Guy slumped into a chair, his legs seeming to grow weak under him. Bradley reversed the pages and examine
d the backs.

  “Care to see?” he asked in a flat voice. He handed the pages to Linda.

  “But, Inspector! This doesn’t make any sense. They’re blank!”

  Guy sprang to his feet, knocked against the table where the drinks rested, and sent a glass shattering on the hearth. “Nothing written on them!” he shouted, and burst into wild laughter. “The little bitch!” he choked, dropping back into the chair. “She was bluffing! Oh, my God, she was bluffing!”

  “Perhaps I’ll have that drink you offered me,” Bradley said, eying Severied calmly. “Scotch and water. No ice.”

  “Must we celebrate as soon as a murder’s committed?” Johnny said. “I’m getting right out of here. Pat needs me.”

  “Not yet,” said Bradley, without taking his eyes from Guy. His look was so intent that Guy was forced to raise his head. “You said you knew what was in that letter, Mr. Severied?”

  “Wrong, Inspector. Oh, very wrong,” said Guy. “I thought I knew. I knew what Gloria said was in the letter. But blank pages!” He struggled to control another gust of laughter. “I will speak well of the dead, Inspector. She wasn’t quite the little louse I thought she was. It was a gag.”

  Bradley took the glass Linda held out to him. “You didn’t think this was a gag, did you, Miss Marsh?”

  “No, Inspector. As I said, although I didn’t take it seriously there was no doubt that Gloria did.”

  “Did you tell anyone about this letter?”

  “No.”

  “And it’s been in that desk ever since she gave it to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “The drawer wasn’t locked?”

  “No.”

  “Then plenty of people had access to it?”

  “Why…I suppose so…My secretary…”

  “And visitors…customers?”

  “Well, not so good a chance, Mr. Bradley. They’re not often left alone in here.”

  Johnny moved restively. “What are you getting at?”

  Bradley shrugged. “This may not be the letter Gloria gave to Miss Marsh.”

  “You mean that somebody substituted those blank pages for the ones Gloria had written?”

  “Without breaking the seals?” Bradley shook his head. “Not possible. But a complete substitution, yes. That would take about five unobserved seconds. Quite easy.”