The 24th Horse

by Hugh Pentecost

  “Now, now, you’re being unusually pettish, any friend. Suppose I got such a time sheet. I’d have to check it. What then? Pelham says, for example, he was with Joe Zilch, an old pal, at a certain time. I go to Joe Zilch … and good old Joe has been tipped off. Everything checks. I can’t lock these people up, you know, and keep them from communicating with their friends. There isn’t one single direct piece of evidence against anyone but Severied. His knowledge of the letter and then taking a powder might justify my holding him on suspicion.

  “All right,” said Mr. Julius, “you might have trouble checking. People aren’t inclined to be expansive with detectives. Can’t say I blame ’em. But I could check … and Pat and Johnny would help.”

  “I doubt if you could get an exact enough account from each one of them to make it worthwhile,” said Bradley.

  “Any objections to my trying? You all laughed at me when I set out to visit every stamp collector in New York to find that kidnapped boy. Well, I found him, didn’t I?”

  “I haven’t any objection,” said Bradley. “Might keep you out from underfoot.” Then his face grew troubled. “But, for heaven’s sake, keep your information to yourself. The minute one of you amateur sleuths gets near the trail, the murderer may slap you down.”

  “Who, me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “I’ve managed to take care of myself for seventy years, without anyone slapping me down.”

  “It’s a miracle,” said Bradley, his good humor returning. “Go ahead with your time table. If you find something, I’ll be the first to start the applause.”

  “I doubt it,” said the old man sourly.

  ***

  Monahan was sheepish, and being sheepish made him angry. Monahan had trailed some of the wiliest crooks in the country during his career, and to have met his Waterloo at the hands of a drunk with no criminal experience whatsoever was galling. He stood in the foyer of Severied’s apartment building, explaining to a faintly smiling Bradley.

  “But damn it, Red, I didn’t have orders to make an arrest. I was just supposed to tail him. Right from the start he seemed wise to the fact I was there, so I didn’t bother to keep out of sight. But he give me the works, all the same.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “He takes a cab from here. It’s not ten minutes after that young Curtin dumps him. From what you said I didn’t expect no move from him for quite a while. But when he come down in the elevator I bustled out and by luck got myself a cab. Then he starts pullin’ the old army game. Round the block … quick spurts uptown and then tryin’ to heat me on the lights. Hell, we didn’t pay no attention to lights. There wasn’t hardly any traffic.”

  “You hung onto him, eh?”

  “Sure. Finally he heads into Fifty-Second Street and stops in front of a dive called the Blue Moon. He pays off his driver and goes in. I hold my own cab, not wantin’ to be caught flat-footed, and I follow him in. Well” — and Monahan was growling — “that was that. The place is jammed. I hunt for a while, and then I see he ain’t nowhere in sight. I start askin’ questions, but no one has noticed him.”

  “You think the people at the Blue Moon were slipping it to you?” Bradley asked.

  “No, I don’t, Red. Severied had been in there earlier, makin’ trouble. They’d been damn glad to get rid of him. But there’s half a dozen fire exits, and you know how dim the lights are in a joint like that. With a crowd millin’ around he could’ve oozed out of one of them without nobody payin’ attention.” Monahan shrugged. “Bein’ alone, I had to take a chance. I ducked out the exit nearest to where he went in, but no soap. Besides, he’d had about ten minutes’ start while I was tryin’ to locate him inside.”

  “Well, don’t lose sleep over it,” Bradley said. “If I’d thought he was likely to play so cagey, I’d have had someone to help you. It’s my fault.”

  “Thanks, Red. You’re a good guy to work for. But I promise you if I ever catch up with that ape he won’t get away again.”

  “I’m sure of it. Look here, I want you on this job, Monahan. Isn’t there some place in the building you can knock off a little sleep? If Severied comes back, the elevator boy or the switchboard operator can tip you off.”

  “I guess I can dig up a place. Incidentally, the night man bunks here in the building. He had a talk with Severied that might interest you. I’d like you to hear it from him anyhow.”

  A few minutes later a sleepy-eyed Mike was hauled up before the inspector. He wasn’t at all averse to finding himself in the limelight. He had seen the morning tabloids before turning in.

  “Gee, Inspector, you figure Severied bumped off this gal he was gonna marry?”

  “Why should he?”

  “She was a swell-lookin’ doll,” Mike said, “She could’ve warmed her feet in my bed any time she liked! I wouldn’t have done her no harm.”

  “I can imagine,” said Bradley. “Monahan says you had a talk with Severied before he went out.”

  “Well, you know, just a couple of cracks as I brought him down. I was surprised to see him, on account of when his friend and a taxi driver brought him in his legs would hardly hold him up. Ten minutes after the friend leaves he’s as spry as a chicken. Well maybe not that spry. He was a little shaky, but he knew what he was doin’ all right.”

  “The conversation,” Bradley prompted.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, lately he’s been goin’ out early in the morning … that is, when he stayed here in town which wasn’t often. Duck huntin’. He was crazy about it. I figured, drunk as he was, he was headin’ for the country. ‘Goin’ huntin’? I ask him. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Ducks?’ I ask him. ‘No,’ he says. He gives me a funny look. ‘I’m goin’ man huntin’,’ he says. ‘You ought to try it,’ he says. ‘It’s so unpredictable!’ he says. Well, cripes, Inspector. I figured he was real soused alter all.”

  “It could be,” Bradley murmured. “So he was going man hunting!” He shook his head sadly.

  “Maybe he had a hunch who done in his girl,” Monahan suggested. “If somebody knocked off my old lady and I thought I knew who, I’d be kind of likely to settle accounts myself.”

  “From the way Severied talked about his intended bride,” said Bradley, “I think he’d be more likely to pin a decoration on the guy.” He belted up his trench coat. “I’ve a man out at his Long Island place, and I’m having his boat watched. I guess it’s the best we can do. Monahan, you arrange to stay here. If Severied shows, sit on him.”

  “It’ll be a pleasure,” said Monahan.

  Bradley started to turn away, and then be asked Mike another question. “Does Severied have a regular cleaning woman?”

  “No, sir. You see, he doesn’t use this apartment regular. I mean he don’t really live here. This time of year, when there’s late parties in town, he’s around more often. Pretty soon he’ll be goin’ South and we won’t see him at all.”

  “What about the cleaning?”

  “Oh, the superintendent’s wife does for him, Inspector. But she don’t go up unless Mr. Severied sends for her special.”

  “She live here in the building?”

  “Sure.”

  “Call her on the house phone and ask her when she last cleaned the apartment.”

  “Okay.” Mike went to the switchboard.

  “What’s the angle, Red?” Monahan asked.

  Bradley rubbed the end of his chin. “Here’s the way it is,” he said. “The murderer must have kept Gloria Prayne’s body for at least two days in a place where no one would barge in and find it. Now an apartment … with no cleaning woman or maid to worry about …”

  “I get it,” said Monahan. He looked eagerly at Mike, who was returning.

  “Mrs. Rasmussen says she ain’t been up there in over a week,” he reported.

  “That does it!” declared Monahan. “The sneaking tramp killed his own girl, kept the body hid up there till he could get rid of it, and then took it on the lam. Fooled you by playin’ drunk. It’s clear
as the nose on your face.”

  “Umm,” said Bradley. “That’s what I don’t like about it, Monahan. Why would a man who’s been so damned slick up to now blow the whole game by running out?”

  Bradley had just stepped from his taxi onto the pavement in front of the building on Ninety-first Street when he was surrounded by a horde of noisy reporters.

  “Where the hell have you been, Inspector?”

  Bradley smiled. “Waiting for the dough to rise,” he said.

  “Okay, pal, give!”

  “Let’s see,” said Bradley, jingling the change in his pocket. “Miss Gloria Prayne, daughter of Mr. Douglas Prayne of East Ninety-First Street, was found strangled to death in the back of her own automobile at one o’clock Sunday morning. The car was parked outside Madison Square Garden. The gruesome discovery was made by Mr. John Curtin, friend of the family, who at once — or almost at once — notified the police. Inspector Bradley of the Homicide Division promises an early arrest.”

  One of the reporters groaned. “He’s in a light mood!”

  “You can’t get away with that, Red. Give us the low-down.”

  Bradley began the ritual of loading his pipe from the red tin. “Taxpayers indignant,” he said. “Police make no progress in Prayne case. Urge liquidation of detective in charge. That do, boys?”

  “Red, for God’s sake, we mean business. Nobody in this place will give us anything. We’ve tried to get a statement from Guy Severied, but we can’t locate him.”

  “If you do,” said Bradley, “let me know!”

  “You mean you don’t know where he is?”

  “I mean I don’t know where he is … and I’d like to,” said Bradley.

  “Oh, boy! Has he skipped out on you, Red?”

  Bradley shrugged. “Dunno, boys. I just haven’t been able to locate him either.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t heard the news! Maybe he’s off in the country somewhere!”

  “Maybe,” said Bradley. He wasn’t giving.

  “But you got any leads, Red, any clues?”

  Bradley hesitated. “Yes, I’ve got a clue,” he said.

  They crowded around him, pencils poised. “Let’s have it!”

  “The murderer was at Madison Square Garden last night,” said Bradley, “along with about twenty thousand other people. By a process of elimination we should be able, in six or eight months, to — ”

  “You bastard, Bradley!”

  Bradley went serious. “Sorry, boys, there isn’t a thing. Not for the general public. I’ll tell you this much. I’ve held conversation with the murderer since last night.”

  “Then you know who it is?”

  “I’d be lying in my teeth if I said so. I’ve talked to quite a lot of people. He was among them. And one of these days I’m liable to put’ the finger on him. Well, so long. There ought to be enough dope in your society editor’s files to keep you going.”

  ***

  Bradley did not go in the Madison Avenue entrance. Instead, he walked around the corner to the arched doors of the Crop and Spur. Cut in one of these was a smaller door just about large enough for a person of Bradley’s size. It wasn’t locked, and he let himself into the high-ceilinged tanbark ring.

  As he drew the door to behind him, a rider on a black horse swept past, throwing up dirt and grit on his overcoat. Bradley kept to the wall and made his way to a raised platform, railed in, on which were set several wicker chairs. Bradley sat down in one of them with a sigh of contentment, pushed his hat to the back of his red head, and stretched out his feet. Smoke billowed from his pipe.

  The rider on the black horse was George Pelham. Nothing about the captain’s horsemanship suggested that his nerves were worn to the raw by last night’s tragedy. There were six or eight jumps around the ring — brush, an in-and-out on the far side, a murderous-looking triple bar, a stone wall, and a number of simple double bars.

  The horse Pelham rode was a handful. Just as Bradley settled in his chair the black refused, swerving dizzily outside the wings of the triple bar. Pelham might have been part of the animal. He reined the horse in, patted his neck, spoke to him in a low, gentle voice. Then he walked him up to the jump. The horse eyed it suspiciously, ears cocked.

  Pelham took him back a way and started him for it once more. Again in front of the bars the horse stopped dead, as if operated by an invisible air brake. Pelham bent forward, stroked his neck, and continued to talk.

  He wheeled and rode off, apparently giving up the idea of the triple bar. They went over two of the easy jumps.

  The black was a tremendously powerful jumper, taking off a good distance from the obstacle and literally hurtling through the air. Without slacking his pace Pelham headed a third time for the triple bar. There was no spur or whip applied as they approached; but Bradley could hear the captain’s voice, encouraging, urging. For a moment it looked as though the horse would still refuse. His rush slowed … he almost balked. And then Pelham seemed, with his hands, to lift the horse clear over the jump.

  “Something I can do for you, sir?” asked a voice at Bradley’s elbow.

  The inspector turned to confront a small, gray-haired man with a leathery, wind-tanned face. He wore riding breeches, canvas puttees, and a dark-blue turtle-necked sweater. He held a cap in his hand.

  “No, thanks,” said Bradley. “Just looking around. Captain Pelham certainly knows his stuff.”

  “He does that,” said the man. “He’s patience and gentleness to the tip of his small finger, sir. You’ll never see him frighten a horse into taking a hurdle. When he’s through with that green devil, a child’ll be able to ride him.”

  “I can well believe it.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the school is closed today,” the man went on. “We’ve had bad trouble here, sir.”

  “I know. I’m Inspector Bradley. You’re Peter Shea?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Sit down, Shea. Like to talk to you.”

  “Yes, sir,” the groom said, but he remained standing.

  “Shea, is there a way up to the Prayne’s apartment without going around to the front entrance?”

  “Oh, yes sir. There’s a back stair. But it doesn’t go to any of the tenants’ living quarters.. You see, this was an old loft building which Miss Pat and the Captain leased. When Mr. Severied remodeled it into apartments, he built the back stair special, just to go to Miss Pat’s.”

  “I see. If Miss Pat sent you for something, you’d use that stair?”

  “Yes, sir. I do that, often.”

  “Then any of the pupils or customers or whatever you call them here at the school could get into the apartment that way?”

  “Well, sir, they could if there was someone to let them in.”

  “The door into the apartment is kept locked?”

  “Oh, yes, sir,”

  “Then you have a key?”

  “No, sir … not exactly. There is a key, kept hid in a special place. Only the Captain, myself, and the family know where it is.”

  “A stranger, who wanted to get into the apartment, couldn’t just slip up those back stairs when you weren’t looking?”

  “Not unless he knew where the key was.”

  Bradley sucked on his pipe. “Bad business this, Shea.”

  The groom’s lips tightened. “It is that, sir. I … well, Miss Gloria didn’t have any truck with the school, but I know what it means to Miss Pat and the Captain.”

  “Pretty cut up, are they?”

  “Naturally, sir. Wouldn’t you be, if your own sister …”

  “Of course, Shea. Tell me about the school. How is it run?”

  “Well, sir, it is just that, strictly speaking, a school. We don’t rent out horses for riding in the park. We teach people to jump. It depends how green you are how long you need. If you don’t know anything at all about jumping, we take you through a series of twenty-four lessons.”

  “I see.”

  “The idea is we put you on the gentlest
horse we’ve got, first. That’s Baldy, horse number one. You go on from, that to horse number two and so on. When you’ve ridden the twenty-fourth horse, sir, you know all the answers.”

  Bradley watched Pelham dismount and lead the black down the basement ramp.

  “Mercy,” he said. “I hope I don’t have to go through as tough a schedule as that to learn all the answers in this case.”

  “I hope not, sir,” Shea said politely.

  Just then the little door in the big door opened, and Bradley saw Miss Celia Devon squeeze her way through. She was loaded down with bundles. He went across the tanbark to greet her.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “If you start unloading me, I’ll fall apart,” she said. “Murder or no murder, my family has to eat. Incidentally, I locked my door, Inspector, and I don’t think anyone tried to batter it down.”

  “I didn’t think they really would … last night,” said Bradley. “And how is your family?”

  “Pat was asleep when I went out. She and Johnny were buzzing till breakfast; and then that young man hustled off, full of mystery. If you’re not careful, Inspector, those two will beat you to a solution.”

  “Keep your fingers crossed on that,” Bradley said.

  “Inspector, I do believe you’re an alarmist. I’ve half persuaded myself, in spite of your beautiful reasoning, that Gloria was killed by a night-club gangster.”

  “Fine,” said Bradley. “Keep saying that out loud to anyone who asks you. You’ll be safer. How’s Mr. Prayne bearing up?”

  “Douglas trotted off to see his lawyer at the crack of dawn. He wants to be certain no one infringes on his rights. Poor Douglas, this has been a terrible blow to him — losing one of the richest men in America for a son-in-law.”

  In the basement stable Peter Shea hurried up to where Pelham had crosstied the black and was removing the saddle.

  “I’ll take over, sir,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Pelham said. He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, but he did not go away. He watched Shea going over the black’s sleek coat with a cloth. The groom whistled softly between his, teeth as he worked. Presently he became aware of Pelham’s somber eyes fixed on him.