The Complete Cases of the Marquis of Broadway, Volume 1
Page 35
He almost prayed. He had no way of knowing if the old man could even hear what he was telling him. He spoke as quickly as he could making each word distinct and trying to keep what he said out of earshot of the curious around the door.
He hurried on earnestly: “I know the whole game—how you met Dahloute in South America. How he backed you in the golf-course deal and you wound up owing him money—how you concocted this scheme to pay it off—and how you got him to finance you to the extent of fifty thousand to put it over.
“I know you came here, found a rich man’s son who didn’t have a dime, got on the right side of him and got him into partnership with you. How you ran through a phony transaction that obligated the firm—and thus both of the partners personally—for three hundred thousand, if they had it.
“And I know—to keep yourself absolutely clear from suspicion—you tried that diving stunt, counting on your circus experience to get you off with slight injuries—well worth a gamble for a quarter of a million. But you miscalculated a little—got hurt worse than you expected to be.
“I know that when you were lying in the hospital, you sent for old man Whitelaw and with some yarn, sent him to the death trap you had prepared in your apartment—then pulled that fake dope act—hoping to eliminate him, thus throwing his wealth to Jack, your partner. We found it all—the heavy dagger held up by the electro-magnet whose current was broken when the safe was opened. But what was the yarn? How in the world did you get the old man to go there and lie down to be killed that way?”
The Marquis held his breath, and then, in the huskiest of whispers—so feeble that he was not sure he was not imagining the words, Shaughnessey said: “I—told him I had money there—to pay off the liability under the guarantee.”
The Marquis said: “Good Lord, I should have guessed that—nothing else would appeal to that tight-fisted old monomaniac.”
The body of Shaughnessey suddenly slumped.
The Marquis stood up, as police sirens started to sound from all directions. He looked at McGuire, looked upward questioningly. McGuire slid over and spoke rapidly in the Marquis’ ear.
“It was a cinch. We just had to cover the connection in the safe and cart away the electro-magnet. The wiring pulled out from behind the wall board—we didn’t have to pry it up. It’s all set now.”
IN THE third-floor hotel room, the Marquis faced the blond playboy. The youngster’s eyes were haggard, suddenly mature. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking from the Marquis to the lean, washed-out, stringy Harry Derosier perched on the edge of the desk.
The Marquis said: “Well, your father’s dead, and the men who tried to swindle him through you—and death —are dead. Before they died, I cleaned up that guarantee angle. Otherwise—even if you had all the proof of the swindle that we have now—you’d still have to pay the three hundred thousand, now that you own your father’s estate. But, as I say, I have in my pocket, the release of that guarantee, so Dahloute’s estate cannot collect from you.”
The boy said bewilderedly: “That—that’s fine.”
“I went to a lot of trouble to get it,” the Marquis persisted. “I could have broken the case and saved a lot of death and destruction, quite a while back—except that I wanted to clear up the financial end.”
The badgered boy looked at him blankly. “I—it wasn’t so important as all that,” he said. “That much money doesn’t mean a great deal to me now.”
“Don’t kid yourself any that I did it for you,” the Marquis said. “Except that I figured if I handed you three hundred thousand you’d have the decency not to claim any of the money—the fifty thousand now free and clear in the firm of Whitelaw and Shaughnessey. After all, it never was yours—and Shaughnesey’s daughter needs it now. It’s absolutely all she’s got.”
The blond boy looked up suddenly. “What—how should I do it?”
“If I were you, I’d buy out her interest in the firm—and then scrap the firm—or carry it on, whatever you want. But give her the fifty grand.”
“I—where could I find her?”
“You will do it?”
“My God,” the boy burst out, “I’m not my father. Of course.”
The Marquis said: “She’s next door.”
The stringy Derosier jumped up, fingering his tie. “If I might make a suggestion,” he began brightly. “Suppose I go in and prepare the little lady—”
“Get back in your kennel,” the Marquis snarled, and opened the door.
Table of Contents
The Complete Cases of the Marquis of Broadway, Volume 1
Copyright Information
Meet the Marquis: John Lawrence’s Greatest Creation
Broadway Malady
Live Man’s Shoes
Escape Mechanism
Natural Killer
Boomerang Blastout
Body About Town
Witness! Witness!
Twelve Morticians Named Green
Death in Round Numbers