by Zelda Popkin
Pursell wrinkled his brows. "I shall be glad to let you do this, provided that the regular activities of the establishment are not interfered with today. None of our employees can be spared for police work today." He nodded in the direction of Mary and Chris Whittaker. "I suggest that further questioning take place after five o'clock. I will see that a list of all those who were here last night is made available, and will instruct those persons to remain here after five o'clock. Will that be satisfactory?"
"Good lord," Mary Carner rose abruptly, "it's twenty of one. I made that date to take Evelyn Lennon to Tony's to meet Bill Smith at one."
"You may just as well forget it, my dear," the District Attorney said with gentleness.
Pursell looked at her sharply. "Your duties, I take it, are in this store and not outside—"
"Oh, heavens, Tony's isn't far. Just over on Fifty-fourth Street near Eighth Avenue. I'm using my lunch time anyway."
After Pursell had gone out, banging the door after him, Inspector Heinsheimer said with a show of affability, "Judge Hodges, you're lucky. You've got one of these single track minds. You can't see anything but the angry wife. I wish I could react like you do. But I'll be darned if I can. I see Mrs. McAndrew and her brother, and I say, well now, what about Swayzey? What about the Lennon girl? What about Bill Smith? And this mysterious Chase whose name our boy friend had written down? I wish I could concentrate like you do. I guess that's the difference between our jobs. A District Attorney's got to be a one-idea man or he can't get a conviction. But a detective's got to have room in his noodle for a dozen theories at one time. I'm going up with these girls to see Smith. Now I don't say it's gonna get us anywheres. Judge Hodges may be right. But we don't have to pass up a thing. If I don't catch a murderer, I may get a blackmailer. That's a crime, too, in this state."
Evelyn Lennon in the anteroom looked up at Mary Carner with terror smitten eyes. "I'll get your hat and coat." Mary said to her. "I want you to go somewhere with me."
"Where are you taking me, Mary? You're not taking me to jail?"
"No," Mary Carner smiled, "to Tony's." Her voice sounded jocular, but Evelyn shrank from it. "You'll have to come," she urged. "You have a date there at one o'clock, to meet Bill Smith. Is this fellow your doorman?" she indicated the negro behind the girl's chair. "Chris wants to talk to him. And to Irene Gates."
"Put some speed on," the Inspector urged.
Outside the door of the anteroom, three young men and a girl were waiting impatiently.
"Inspector Heinsheimer, I'm from the Telegram." A young man waved his hand at the others. "This is the Journal, City News, Sun. We want to find out..."
"Go on up to the eighth floor and ask for Mr. Blankfort," the Inspector growled at them. "He'll be tickled to death to tell you anything you want to know. I got no time."
CHAPTER XIII
In spite of her breathless start, Inspector Heinsheimer and his two feminine companions arrived at Tony's ten minutes later than the time set for their midday rendezvous with the elusive William Smith. You can credit their tardiness to the inexplicable behavior of Peggy Manton, buyer of silk lingerie. You can even call it her stupidity, if you like. Peggy entered the scene just as the detectives were rushing forth to Tony's. When they encountered her she was strolling leisurely down to the office of the chief detective in the basement, a man's overcoat on her arm and a tan cowhide suitcase and man's felt hat in her hand.
"I'm bringing these down to Mr. Whittaker," Peggy Manton told them casually. "I thought some of these things might be Mr. McAndrew's."
A flood of exclamations and expostulations greeted her.
"Wait a minute," she protested. "What's all the excitement? I didn't fly the Atlantic or marry the mayor. Mollie Bernstein and I found these this morning. Where? Try to guess, darlings. We weren't on the roof or in the furnace room. We don't go roaming around. The hat and the overcoat were lying on Mollie's counter. Just as if somebody put them down and forgot them. Mollie stuck them under her counter, till she'd have a chance to take them to the lost and found department. But she didn't have a chance. In case you don't know it, gal, let me remind you there's an anniversary sale on. We've been doing business. We were rushed, sister! Mollie told me about finding the hat and coat, and when I had a chance, I looked at it. I saw the initials A. McA., and I realized the things might have been McAndrew's and somebody would want to get hold of them. Why didn't I tell the police? Just because I wanted to bring them myself, darlings, to have the thrill of playing a part in a big murder mystery. And that's on the level.
"They were lying on the counter," she continued, "about ten feet from the door to the back passage where you found McAndrew's body. Mollie says, when she saw them, they just looked as though the person that owned them had thought of something else he wanted to do, and had put his things down until he did it....She thought someone had left them there this morning. The suitcase? Oh, the suitcase is different. Do you know?" (She lowered her voice to a whisper.) "I think there must have been crooks in the store last night. Don't look at me so funny. I really think so. I found that suitcase in a dressing room—the dressing room nearest to that back door. And it was full of our best silk stuff—night-gowns, chemises—nearly a thousand dollars' worth of stuff....When did I find it? Just after I came down this morning....Don't look at me like that, Mary! You didn't ask me that at all. You asked me whether anything was missing. And I said no. Nothing was. It was all there, and I had put it back....I don't like your attitude at all. I'm not a dumb-bell, Mary Carner. I'm in this store to buy and sell silk underwear and not to solve mysteries. I couldn't stop to figure out what you might have meant. Did you mean was something missing before I found the suitcase or after? How could I know what you meant. I intended to tell you and Chris about that suitcase all right. I thought you ought to know that there were crooks in the store last night. Do you think" (her manner became confidential again) "that McAndrew caught the thief in the act and was killed by him? It's just a theory, of course—and in this mystery the lingerie buyer may be the outsider who beats the professionals at solving the crime." She laughed brightly. "But it sounds probable, doesn't it? It's a good theory, and you can have it for what it's worth. I won't even ask credit for it, if it turns out to be the key to the solution of the crime....Be reasonable! Of course, I could have brought you this before, but we've been standing on our ears in silk lingerie all morning. I had enough to think about without digging up murder clues. This was positively my first chance to break away. And say, if you're all so smart why didn't any of you think of coming down and looking for this hat and coat yourselves? You certainly had enough cops on the premises to find it."
With a sigh of exasperation, Mary Carner snatched the garments and the bag from Miss Manton's hands and carried them to Chris Whittaker's office.
"Here," she cried, "here are a few of your missing links. Peggy Manton found them. She'll tell you where. Don't let Swayzey get away now. We'll be back as fast as we can."
The black car of Chief Inspector Heinsheimer, blowing its siren steadily, cut a wide and noisy swath as it dashed across town, dodging trucks, fireplugs and stanchions that seemed to rise out of nowhere purposely to impede its progress. The detectives left the automobile at the corner of Eighth Avenue and hurried down the street to Tony's place, half dragging Evelyn Lennon between them.
Tony, whose wife and intimate friends called him Attilio, saw through the iron grille work of his entrance the pale face of Miss Evelyn Lennon whom he knew well and the attractive countenance of a young woman whom he had never seen before. He failed to notice, since he was neither cross-eyed nor equipped with a periscope, the bulky figure of Inspector Heinsheimer, who had lingered behind, discreetly, out of eye range. Attilio swung the door open and smiled ingratiatingly. Miss Lennon's companion seemed slightly gauche. She tripped over her own feet in the doorway, and the moment's delay was sufficient for a heavy set gentleman, whose occupational status, even though he wore mufti, was immediately apparent
to the worldly Attilio. The police detective joined the women and took possession of the party.
Without so much as the flicker of an eyelash to betray his perturbation, Attilio, still bowing and smilIing blandly, stepped back. "How do you do, Mees?"
"Tony, is Bill Smith here?" Evelyn whispered. "You know, the gentleman who used to meet me and Mr. McAndrew." McAndrew's name came from her Iips with visible effort.
Attilio shook his sleek round head. "No. Meestaire Joe Smeeth is here, Meestaire Robairt Smeeth, Meestaire Harry Smeeth, Meestaire Jack Smeeth, but not Meestaire Bill Smeeth."
"Hangout for the Smith family," the Inspector grinned. "Nobody else'll do. Sorry."
"Bill's probably delayed," Evelyn ventured.
"The afternoon papers must be out," Mary suggested. "There may be something in them to delay him."
"We'll wait here for him," the Inspector decided. He waved his arm toward a wide wooden settee near the hat check stand. "Sit down, girls."
"If you please. If you please." Attilio was agitated. "Not here. There is dining-room upstairs. There is a small dining-room inside. The customers"—his arm swept toward the crowded bar at the right—"they may be disturb if they see. You are detective. Police. Yes, I know. It is bad for my business. Customers think something is wrong."
"We'll sit right here," the Inspector announced stubbornly.
"Please," Attilio wheedled. He seemed genuinely troubled. "Please, Mees Lennon, tell your friends I will send Meestaire Bill Smeeth to you so soon he comes. Here," he darted across the hall and flung open a door. "Here I have small room, small private room. I give you table. You can see everybody comes in. Nobody see you."
Yielding to the proprietor's very evident and genuine distress, they followed Attilio to a little private dining room that opened from the hall. It was a dim room holding only four small tables that were covered with red and white checked cloths, set in partitioned cubicles whose walls ended at the ceiling, whose seats were softly padded benches. A bay window at one end might have looked out on the street were its shades and curtains not closely drawn. It was Attilio's hideaway for romance and secret rendezvous. At this hour, apparently, his patrons preferred the public conviviality of the bar and the rear dining room.
"Lights, Tony," demanded the Inspector.
Attilio snapped on a table lamp. Its light came feebly, provocatively through a rose silk shade.
Inspector Heinsheimer took a seat that faced the hall. He grinned a little sheepishly.
"If mother could only see me now," he murmured.
Attilio hovered at their elbows. "Would the ladies like to order now?" he suggested, "or do you wait for Meestaire Smith?"
"We might as well make it lunch. Whaddya want, girls?" He examined a menu. "Make mine steak sandwich and beer." The Inspector pulled out his watch. "lt's twenty after one. He's late all right....Say, listen," he whispered to Mary Carner, "how do we know this bird hasn't tipped Smith off that the Lennon girl isn't alone?"
"He hasn't had a chance yet. He hasn't left our side."
Inspector Heinsheimer rose. "Miss Lennon, you and I are going through this place to make sure Smith isn't anywhere on the premises. Come on."
The girl got up obediently. All the starch seemed to have gone out of her. She was limp and entirely non-resistant. She obeyed orders as though it were a relief to be told what to do. Her eyes were still large with tears about to be shed, but they seemed to be crying of their own volition. The rest of her was an automaton, jerked about, moved here and there. The Inspector held her arm tightly and led her toward the bar.
When they had departed, Attilio asked Mary Carner "Is something wrong? You must see Meestaire Smeeth so bad?"
"We want to see him. That's all."
Attillo shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot help if he is not here. Maybe he is come and go. I did not see him. I cannot look out for everybody. I am owner of restaurant. I must make the wine, buy the chicken, the vegetable and the spaghetti." A buzzer sounded. "Excuse, Mees. If I see Meestaire Smeeth I send him right away."
Listening intently, Mary heard Attilio's footsteps padding down the hall to the entrance. The murmur of his voice came to her and then the sound of feet running swiftly up the three stone steps outside the bay window. She thrust back her chair, jumped to the window and jerked up the shade. No one was there. The suave little proprietor stepped softly to her side and pulled the shade down.
"No," he said smoothly. "That was not Meestaire Smeeth. It was boy from ice cream place to see if we need more spumoni for today. I tell him no and he go away."
"What did he run like that for?"
Attilio shrugged again. "Boy always runs. He is crazy kid."
She studied his bland olive face, her suspicion unallayed. His face told her no more than his words had. She went back to her seat with growing uneasiness. The Inspector and Evelyn Lennon joined her after a few minutes. "Unless he's hiding in the refrigerator," the Inspector complained, "or in the chef's apron pocket, he's not here. Or at least she says he's not. I've gotta take her word for it. I don't know what the gent looks like. You wouldn't by any chance double cross me, would you, sister?"
The red haired girl struggled to find sounds in her throat.
"You know I wouldn't lie to you," she said. "I haven't any reason at all for not telling you if I saw Bill here. I know he didn't kill Andrew. I know it just as sure as I know anything in the world."
"You're sure because he and Andrew were such good pals, eh sister? Never heard of pals killing one another, did you? Suppose they got into a little argument over business. Suppose McAndrew threatened to squeal on his pal." The Inspector's voice was a low determined rumble. It struck on Evelyn Lennon's jangled nerves like blows of a riveting hammer. "Listen, sister, whether you're playing dumb for a purpose or whether you know, we think we've got a pretty good idea what that business was...."
Evelyn Lennon's slender hands gripped one another until the knuckles were white. But still she did not answer. Once she started from her chair as the outside door opened, but at a ripple of feminine voices in the hall, she slumped back again in her chair.
"He probably won't show up," the Inspector went on. "Why should he? The calls he put through this morning were just phonies, and you know they were. Setting up an alibi of 'knew nothing about the crime' in case we got on his trail. What I can't understand is why he didn't clear out while the going was good. Why he's still hanging around."
"I told you," Evelyn repeated wearily. "He didn't kill Andrew. He doesn't know a thing about it."
"Evelyn," Mary spoke gently but persuasively. "You wouldn't be so positive unless you knew something about who killed Andrew. You might as well realize that we're going to get it out of you. We're just at the beginning of this investigation. The police are going to check and re-check on every statement you make. Every minute of your time from the instant you left the store last night to the hour you punched the clock this morning is going to be checked up. You know that, don't you? You won't have a chance to get away with anything. Then why don't you tell us the truth?"
When Mary Carner had first begun to speak with her, Evelyn Lennon had been silent and numb. While the detective talked to her, her manner began to change. By imperceptible degrees stiffness crept into her spine and chin. When Mary said at last: "'Why don't you tell us the truth?" the girl straightened in the chair. There was a modicum of courage and strength in her voice as she said: "Give me a cigarette."
Mary took a package of cigarettes from her bag and handed it to Evelyn. The Inspector held a match for the cigarette and waited in silence while the girl inhaled deeply. After half a minute Evelyn put the cigarette down on a glass ash receiver.
"All right," she said. "I'll tell you everything I know. It isn't much but I might as well spill it. God knows everything I've got to lose is already gone," her voice broke. "Andrew's gone. So I can't hurt him. I've already lost all that's important to me. I just wanted to spare some other people as much as I could. Andrew wasn
't killed by Bill Smith because Bill stayed at my apartment all last night. Not with me. With Irene Gates."
The Inspector raised his bushy eyebrows: "Nice girls they have at Blankfort's."
Color rose to Evelyn's white cheeks and tears to her eyes. "I knew you'd feel that way," she said sadly. "That's why I didn't want it known if I could help it. I didn't want Irene dragged into this. Her affair with Bill Smith is her affair, and nobody else's. Bill met us outside the store last night, and the three of us went up to the apartment and made supper—broiled some chops—and after supper we went out for a while. I hope—it's not too much to ask, is it, that you'll just believe what I'm telling you and won't ask for any more details. They went with me to a doctor's—about me—and we all came back together about half past nine. The doctor was somebody Bill knew. I'd rather not tell you his name. Right after we got in, Andrew called up. He called about me. I talked to him and told him what the doctor said and what arrangements we made. I told him Bill was there and he asked to speak to him. I gave the receiver to Bill and went into the bedroom."
The Inspector bent forward. "What did Smith say to McAndrew? Did you hear the conversation?"
She shook her head. "No more than a word here or there. I wasn't paying attention to it. I had my own affairs on my mind. I was getting into my pajamas in the bedroom and I didn't hear more than a word here or there."
"What were the words you did hear?"
"I really can't remember. Nothing that meant anything much to me...." She hesitated. "Oh, yes, just as I was coming out of the bedroom, I heard Bill say, 'I'll meet you tomorrow morning at half past nine at the Empire City. Watch your step.' And then he hung up."