"I have admitted this."
"Grayson was beaten pretty savagely. It was the sort of attack a jealous husband would make. As a motive for murder you've got one of the best."
Miranda eyed him narrowly, watching intently, waiting.
"You thought you were going to lose your wife," Jeff said, "and that was something you were too proud to take. You made up your mind to handle Grayson in your own way. You went up to his office this afternoon and did just that."
"I agree that to have done so would have given me much pleasure," Miranda said frankly. "But did I also go to the
room of Harry Baker and kill him too?" he asked with heavy irony.
"You were there."
"At the hotel. You were there at that party and it would have been a cinch to duck out long enough to go upstairs. You knew Grayson had raised the cash. You knew why. 9 *
Miranda laughed abruptly and sat up, his smile thin and mirthless, his tone deprecating.
"If you had the time I would give you a letter to my bankers, Mr. Lane," he said. "I believe they could assure you that this money you speak of would hardly tempt me.**
The comment stopped Jeff momentarily and the argument he offered sounded inadequate, even to him.
"Even the rich get hard up for cash sometimes."
"Possibly/' Miranda said, "but it occurs to me that you also have an excellent motive for murder. You were worried about losing control of your company, is this not so? You were afraid that your stepbrother would vote his stock with . the opposition. Now you have no worries. You and your sister will have this stock for yourselves because your stepbrother is dead.
"It can be proved that you hated him, I think. You went to his office to threaten him and there was violence between you/' His smile was fixed as he reached for the door handle. "But this I will do for you, Mr. Lane. I disliked your stepbrother intensely even though I handled some of his affairs. What has happened this afternoon has removed a serious problem for me. So I will do this: when you are arrested, and I do not think it will be too long now, I will be happy to defend you for nothing,"
He opened the door, pulled himself erect, and bowed stiffly. As he started to turn away, Jeff thought of one more question.
"Did my stepbrother leave a will?"
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
"Not that I know of."
"Then his wife will inherit."
"It would seem so,"
He bowed again and this time he wheeled and continued up the street, his shoulders back, his Panama centered on his well-shaped head.
13
JULIO CORDOVEZ made no comment as he started the car and pulled out into the traffic stream. Dusk had begun to finger the sidewalks now and here and there a light winked on in some store window. When they came to a traffic circle that was temporarily jammed, Julio shifted into neutral and said:
"Luis Miranda was helpful?"
"Not very/' Jeff said unhappily.
"You think he knew of the tickets to New York?"
Jeff roused himself sufficiently to consider the question. In his own mind the interview with Miranda had been singularly discouraging. He had not known exactly what he had expected to prove by it, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, ticking off the results, and omitting speculation, he saw that all he had actually learned was a little something about the background of Miranda's marriage, his feeling for his wife, and his—Miranda's—knowledge of her association with Grayson, all of which he had suspected. The only fact to come out of the discussion was the announcement that Grayson's wife would probably inherit his estate.
"I don't know if he actually knew," lie said, "but he must have suspected something like that might happen. What I'd like to find out is whether Diana Grayson suspected the same thing."
"Luis Miranda would not steal the money/' Cordovez said.
"You said that before/* Jeff said, an unwanted edge in his voice.
"I'm sorry/* Cordovez said. "I did not mean—*
"No, I'm sorry/' Jeff said, a little ashamed because he had snapped at his friend. "Don't pay any attention to me/' he said. "I'm in a lousy mood."
"A drink will help/' Cordovez said cheerfully., "and some food. But first we will go to my place."
Jeff slumped back in the seat, observing the passing scene, but no longer having any idea where he was, until Cordovez pulled the car to the curb in front of an apartment house on the steep slope of a side street,
"Is this it?" he asked.
"No," Cordovez replied. "A friend. If you will wait I will not be long."
Jeff twisted his body far enough to get a cigarette out and when he had a light he stayed slumped, his eyes brooding and his mouth slack as the black mood of his depression settled more heavily about him. He did not stir when Cordovez opened the door. Not until he realized that the detective had brought something with him did he glance round to find Cordovez putting a suit on its hanger on the back seat and then placing a neatly folded white shirt on top of it.
"It should fit/' Cordovez said as he slid behind the wheel.
"What?"
"The suit. It is for you."
"Me? But what-"
"I will explain," Cordovez said and chuckled at Jeff's
reaction, *1 do not mean to criticize/' lie added. "The clothes you now wear are very fine, but too—shall we say —American. In the daytime it is less important, but after dark the successful Venezuelan wears a suit here in Caracas/'
"Oh/' Jeff said, impressed by the little detective's thoughtMness and sagacity.
"Yes. With your dark hair and eyes you will pass for a citizen. With the proper suit it will be more difficult for the ears and arms of Pedro Vidal to penetrate this disguise. Also, you yourself will feel more secure and that, too, is important."
"Amen/' said Jeff.
"Pardon?"
"What I meant was, I'm very glad I hired you."
"Me, too," said Cordovez and settled back to concentrate on his driving. . . .
The apartment house they came to presently was new-looking and three stories high. It contained six flats and Cordovez occupied the middle floor on the right side. Verandas had been recessed into the sides of the building instead of at the front, and inside the layout proved to be the railroad type—living-room, kitchen, and dinette, a hall from which opened a bedroom, bath, and bedroom.
The living-room was rather sparsely furnished but spotless, the curtains clean, the children's toys neatly piled in one corner. A small bed and a crib, visible from the doorway of the first bedroom, testified to its use. Cordovez was snapping on the light in the rear room.
"You will sleep here tonight/' he said, indicating the double bed.
"And where will you sleep?"
"In the front room."
"Oh ? no."
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
"But yes/' Cordovez said firmly. 1 will explain why. For one your size, the sofa will be uncomfortable. For me it serves very well. Believe me, I have tried it often. Come,** he said, as though the matter was decided. "Try on the suit. Let us see if it will become you."
He slipped the coat and trousers from the hanger and unbuttoned the clean shirt while Jeff undressed. "My friend is about your size," he said. "You will find the coat somewhat different in cut to your own, but that is good. One noticing it will be assured it was manufactured in Caracas/*
The shirt proved to be adequate, the sleeves a little short but the collar fitting perfectly. Jeff needed his belt to secure the waistband of the trousers, but the coat hung well and the shade of blue was inconspicuous.
"You see," Cordovez said happily.
He stood back. He spread his hands, and the expression on his face could have been no more pleased had he designed the suit himself.
"Dressed that way you look better. How does it feel?"
"Feels O. K.," Jeff said and began to transfer his things from his slacks and jacket to the new suit.
"Since I will do the talking," Cordovez said, "no one will sus
pect you are not a countryman of mine. Now, if you are ready," he said, "we will eat. w
Once in the car, Cordovez went round the block and turned downhill Still without knowing where he was, Jeff was again reminded of Southern California when the valley opened up and he saw the patternless brilliance of the lights and neon signs. He had the feeling that he had seen this part of the city in daylight but he did not recognize the triangular plaza where Cordovez parked the car,
"I hope you will like this," he said as he locked the doors. "There are three choices: Grilled meat, of many kinds and
in small pieces; steak, which is usually good; and chicken, which is always dependable."
"How's the chicken fixed?' 7
"Grilled, like the others, You will see for yourself.*'
He led the way into a low-ceilinged room that was crowded, smoke-filled, and noisy. A trio consisting of accordion, violin, and bass played loudly and with gusto, and at first glance every table seemed taken. Then, at the steps which led to die adjacent room, Cordovez exchanged Halos with one of the proprietors. Words were spoken and a waiter dispatched to clean up a recently vacated place along the wall
"Now/' said Cordovez, settling himself, "you would like the chicken? And a salad?"
"And a drink."
"Yes/'
"Whisky," Jeff said. "With a little soda. Tell the man "a double whisky."
Cordovez conferred with the waiter, who was putting out knives, forks, and spoons of the kitchen variety. By the time Jeff had his cigarette going the whisky came and so did a beer for the detective.
"Salud" he said, and raised his glass. He drank thirstily and wiped his mouth. He took out Ms notebook and ripped out a clean sheet, wrote down an address with his mechanical pencil, and passed the slip to Jeff.
"This is the address where I live," he said, "in case you need it to show to some taxi driver. Also"—he took a key from his pocket—"this is an extra key. My house is yours and you can come and go as you like. 5 *
"Until Pedro Vidal's boys pick me up," Jeff said dryly,
"Let us hope this does not happen— Ah-h." The dark eyes opened and the white teeth Hashed in a smile of anticipation as he unfolded his paper napkin and eyed the food.
Jeff smiled in eager anticipation, too, not so much because lie was hungry but because he had never seen anything quite like this. For when Cordovez said the food was grilled he meant just that, and on an individual basis. Each table had its own small grill and the charcoal was still smoldering when the waiter whisked it in front of them. On top of the grill a chicken had been split and rested with the skin up, a golden brown now and glistening with some clear sauce faintly flavored with onion.
To complete the presentation, individual cutting-boards were placed in front of them, instead of plates, to make the dismantling of the chicken easier. After that came the French fried potatoes in a basket, the hot bread, and a salad that was aromatic and crisply cool.
"You like this place?" Cordovez asked when he had licked his fingers and dried them on the napkin.
"Very much/' Jeff said. "The food was delicious. 3 *
Cordovez accepted a cigarette and gave forth with a contented sigh. He glanced about the room and then, as though once more conscious of the problem which still had to be faced, his expression grew serious.
"What would you like to do now?"
Reluctantly Jeff brought his thoughts into focus. He wanted most to have a talk with Dan Spencer, but he was afraid to go to the newspaper office, and he knew that since the Bulletin was a morning paper, it would be some time before Spencer was off duty. Meanwhile—
"I'd like to talk to Mrs. Grayson again if you think we can manage it."
"We can try. The house is not far from here,** Cordovez said, but later, as the car rolled slowly up the winding street in second gear, he offered some words of caution.
"I will not stop now/' he said as they approached the low and rambling house and saw the light in the windows. "I wish to make sure no one is watching."
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
He pressed the clutch pedal and their momentum carried them past the driveway and now Cordovez had his head out the window and his nose in the air, as though he was trying to find some scent of danger. He drove on another block and turned round. He passed the house again with his lights out and pulled a hundred feet beyond the crest of the hill.
"You will not need me inside?"
"No."
"I think it is safe, but it is also better that I wait here. If you hear the horn three times you will know there is some difficulty. In that event it might be best for you to leave by the back entrance—if you can,"
Jeff got out and closed the door quietly. He said there wasn't going to be any trouble and that all Julio had to do was sit and take a little snooze.
14
DUDLEY FISKE opened the door in response to Jeff's ring. When he recognized his caller his eyes blinked uncertainly behind the glasses and he stood in the opening,
one hand still on the knob.
"Oh, hello, Lane," he said without enthusiasm. "Aren't
you taking a bit of a chance coming here?" "Why?" Jeff said. "Are you thinking of turning me in?" "It's not that. It's just that I understood the police were
looking for you. They've been here before and I wouldn't
be surprised if they came back."
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
Td like to talk to Mrs. Grayson," Jeff said. "It shouldn't take too long."
Again Fiske seemed undecided, but now a woman's voice called to him from some inner room and this apparently decided him. He moved aside. Jeff waited until he had closed the door and then waited for Fiske to lead the way.
''After you/' he said, "if you don't mind.*'
If Diana Grayson was suffering emotionally over the loss of her husband, she gave no outward sign of the tragedy. Her gray hair shone softly in the lamplight and her blue dress with its tight bodice and flaring skirt seemed more suitable for an afternoon party at the Tamanaco. She had a cigarette in one hand, a brandy snifter in the other, and when she saw Jeff she waved at the tray on the coffee table with its bottle and glasses. A similar glass, still partly full, stood to one side.
"Come in, Mr. Lane," she said. "Will you have a brandy?"
"Thanks, no,* 5 Jeff said, uncertain now just how to proceed and finally settling for the conventional way. He started to say he was sorry to break in like this at such a time, but she cut him off before he could finish.
"It's quite all right/' she said. "I stopped being hypocritical about most things some time ago. You must know from what was said this morning how I felt about your stepbrother. What happened this afternoon shocked me. I'm sure it would shock anyone. No one wanted to live more than Arnold, and I do feel sorry for him, but I can't pretend that I feel something that he killed a long time ago. I simply no longer have that capacity. There was something about him that was evil and in the end it destroyed him."
Remembering Luis Miranda's phrase about the evil man,
Jeff glanced at Dudley Fiske, who had been standing to one side and now shifted his weight.
"I think he wants to talk to you, Di," he said and reached down to pick up his glass. "Til run along to my rooms until you've finished."
"I'd rather you stayed/' Jeff said, moving slightly to block the man's progress.
Fiske stopped and it occurred to Jeff that this was not the same man he had seen that morning. This man had no easy smile, his gaze was steady and unfriendly as it measured Jeff. His voice was challenging rather than apologetic.
"Why?" he demanded,
"Because I wouldn't want you to duck out and call the police***
Fiske put his glass down and squared his shoulders. For a second or two they stood that way, glances locked, Jeff the taller and more vital-looking of the two, Fiske the heavier but more poorly conditioned. Then, as though to prove that the change Jeff had noticed was to be a permanent thing, he said, his voice quietly ominous:
"Do you think you can stop me?"
"I can try."
"Without a club?"
"Club?" Jeff peered at him.
"That's what was used on Arnold, so the police say. A club or a cane,"
"Oh, stop it!"
Diana Grayson put her glass down with a bang and her voice was clipped and impatient.
"Sit down, Dudley," she said. "Please." She waited until Fiske obeyed her and then she looked at Jeff, one dark brow arched, *1 don't blame you for being concerned," she said, "but I think you misjudge Dudley. He's not after vengeance, you know, and neither am I What happened, happened. It's over and done with and so far as I am con-
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
cerned the only genuine feeling I have at the moment is one of relief."
Jeff believed her. The odds had finally caught up with Arnold Grayson and there was no one to mourn his passing; it was as simple as that. What this woman had said did not shock him because he knew his stepbrother too well. But her "frankness, though not entirely unexpected, made him reconsider his tactics, and when his glance again touched the brandy bottle, he changed his mind about the drink. He poured an ounce or so into the glass, swished it around as he took a chair near the end of the divan. He did not give it the connoisseur's routine but finished it in two small swallows.
"Miranda had a different way of putting it," he said.
"Miranda?'' Both brows arched this time and her surprise seemed genuine. "Luis? You have seen him?"
"Late this afternoon/' Jeff said. "I can't remember his exact words, but what he meant was that things were a lot simpler for him with Arnold out of the way. Tell me,** he said, "did you know he planned to £y to New York tomorrow night and take Muriel Miranda with him?"
"Who planned?"
"Your husband."
For a long moment then she sat immobile, her face still. She was sitting with her knees crossed and arms folded lightly across her bosom and while Jeff waited she let her hands come down. Her head turned slightly so she could see Fiske. What happened to her eyes in that instant Jeff could not guess but when she again gave him her attention her voice was composed.
"I don't believe it."
Jeff produced the tickets and tossed them on the divan. He watched her inspect first one and then the other before she pushed them away from her.
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