Eye Witness

by George Harmon Coxe

  ‘And how’s Leone these days?’

  Harry’s glance slid to Claire Emerson and came back. ‘What is it with this guy?’ he asked in injured accents. ‘What do you want, an argument?’ he said to Murdock. ‘Or are you just naturally an unpleasant character?’

  ‘Me?’ Murdock pretended that nothing could be further from his thoughts. ‘Curious, that’s all. I’m a newspaperman.… Leone called you up yesterday afternoon’, he said, ‘I forgot to tell you.… Do you know her husband by sight?’

  He signalled the waiter and asked for the check. When Usher made no reply he said: ‘I was in the State this evening looking for you. So was another man. In his fifties, I’d say. Grey. About your size. Walks very erect and has a lean, strong-looking face, like a man who had a lot of hardness inside him. If that would be Mr. Thorpe, he asked for your room number and went up. I think’—Murdock decided he might as well stretch the truth a little—‘he had a gun in his coat pocket when he walked out.’

  He said all this casually and without emphasis, suggesting that it was a point of information, but otherwise unimportant. Now he glanced at the check the waiter presented, covered it with a bill. He had no idea how effective his needling of Usher had been or how accurate was his guess that it had indeed been Mr. Thorpe who had come looking for Usher earlier in the evening. He did not, in fact, particularly care, but of one thing he was sure: in the morning he intended to tell Lieutenant O’Brien certain things he had forgotten to mention.

  ‘Anyway’, he said with a nod at Usher, ‘I thought you might be interested.’ He rose, said good-night to Claire Emerson, who sat wide-eyed and mutely puzzled by what had transpired. ‘I still want to hear you play that piano’, he said. ‘Maybe to-morrow night.’

  He left them there as the lights dimmed for another act and when he reached the lounge outside he lingered a moment before collecting his hat and coat. It was then, as he looked about him, that he saw Murray Leonard sitting at a corner table, an inconspicuous spot that few people would have selected. With Leonard was a woman. Her back was turned but something about the set of her neck and shoulders struck Murdock as familiar and so he walked that way.

  Leonard saw him coming. He did not look particularly pleased, but with the glasses obscuring his eyes somewhat, and the room’s uneven light, this may have been only Murdock’s impression. In any case the big man rose and now Murdock saw that the girl was Helen Farnsley, dressed in the same black frock she had worn that afternoon, though this time there was a small hat with a half-veil that covered the upper half of her face and served to make identification difficult.

  ‘Hello, Kent’, she said. ‘I told Murray someone would be sure to see me.’

  ‘She didn’t want to come out’, Leonard said. ‘You tell her it’s good for her.’

  Murdock knew what they referred to; he said he agreed with Leonard. He said that under the circumstances to go into formal mourning would be hypocritical, wouldn’t it? ‘A couple of drinks will do you good’, he said.

  Leonard nodded approval. ‘Just what I told her’, he said, ‘and with that veil on, who’s going to see her?’ He sat down and asked Murdock what he’d have but Murdock declined, saying he’d already had three or four.

  ‘I was talking to Claire Emerson. I understand the police have been working on her.… Do you know a fellow named Harry Usher?’

  Leonard said he didn’t think so. Helen shook her head and changed the subject. ‘I had dinner with Uncle Walter’, she said. ‘He said he was going to ask you.’

  Murdock said there was a message in his hotel box but that he didn’t get it in time. ‘How did it work out?’

  ‘All right, I guess’, Helen said. ‘Murray joined us later and Uncle Walter was very nice about everything. He said he’s made a great mistake and of course I said I’d made a mistake in Lee. It was all a little anticlimatic after what happened last night but at least it’s a start.’ She glanced at Leonard. ‘Though I’m not sure Murray agrees.’

  ‘Sure, it’s a start’, the big man said. ‘It’s just that I resent the way he’s treated you and I wonder why he waited so long before trying to patch things up.… I still think his main interest is in getting that appointment as a judge’, he added to Murdock, ‘but I could be wrong. After all, it’s the first time I’ve met the guy and I’ll admit he was decent enough to say that what happened was his fault and not Helen’s. I thought he——’

  What he thought was never explained because he glanced up to find a man stopping at the table, a round-faced, middle-aged man who beamed at Leonard and spoke in jovial tones.

  ‘Please’, he said, spreading his hands to indicate they were to remain as they were, ‘I don’t want to interrupt, Murray. I just wanted to ask if you were able to use that item in your column.’

  Leonard frowned. ‘Item?’ he said, his inflection puzzled.

  ‘Yes.… You know, the one I gave you last night out in front of the Gre——’

  ‘No!’

  Leonard cut in before the other had finished, a quick, silencing denial that sounded unnaturally urgent in one whose manner of speaking was usually quiet and unhurried.

  ‘No, not yet’, he added in more moderate tones, ‘but I will. I sure will.’

  The gentleman seemed satisfied. He continued to beam. ‘Thought it would be something you could use’, he said, and prepared to withdraw. ‘I just thought I’d ask’, he said. ‘I’ll be looking for it.’

  Murray Leonard was suddenly occupied with putting out his cigarette, making a rather difficult operation out of a simple task and keeping his glance centred on the ashtray. Other than this no one moved. No one said a word. The buzz of conversation all around them seemed to isolate the table, exaggerating somehow this sudden silence which had closed about them.

  Leonard continued to poke at the ashtray. Helen Farnsley sat very still, lips parted as she stared at Leonard but her expression indecipherable because of the veil. Murdock let his breath out slowly and pushed back his chair to ease the tension that had so suddenly occupied them.

  Leonard finished with the cigarette and looked up, his eyes at ease behind the glass, his voice quite normal as he said: ‘Sure you won’t have a nightcap?’

  Murdock thanked him and said he guessed not. He said good night to Helen and saw that she was still watching Leonard, her attention so occupied that it was another second before she could reply.

  ‘Oh, good night, Kent’, she said.

  Murdock left at once. He bought his hat and coat back from the hat-check girl and as he came out on the street he climbed into the nearest waiting taxi. ‘The Greene,’ he said, it being a word which had been in the forefront of his thoughts since Leonard had tried so desperately to cut short its pronunciation. At least that was Murdock’s impression, and Helen Farnsley’s reaction, veiled as it was, indicated that she shared this supposition as well as the inference the discovery implied.

  Chapter Thirteen

  WHEN Kent Murdock opened his eyes the next morning he rolled over so he could look out of the window. For perhaps five seconds his mind was idle and concerned with nothing at all beyond the fact that the sun was shining and that it seemed like a nice day. Then, insidiously but persistently, the thought of Murray Leonard and the incident of the night before began to work on him.

  He lay back, staring at the ceiling, tabulating the things he knew about the man who might one day marry Helen Farnsley. He assessed the motive which was there for all to understand. He wondered if Leonard had actually killed Farnsley, and as he pursued the idea one more step he saw how horribly ironic it would be if the man were convicted on so simple a thing as the story of a tipster, who had by a fantastic bit of luck seen Leonard at the front of the hotel about the time Lee Farnsley was murdered. That Leonard had been outside did not mean that he had actually come to Room 617. Still——

  He rolled over again and reached for the telephone, resorting to a more immediate problem in an effort to stop such idle speculation. When he had room-serv
ice he ordered grapefruit, boiled eggs, rolls, and coffee. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, feeling with his toes for the slippers and yawning as he did so. The telephone shrilled beside him before he found the slippers and when he answered Walter Dorrance’s voice came to him.

  ‘Are you awake?’ the lawyer asked. ‘I’m coming up for a minute.’

  He appeared shortly, very neat in his Oxford suit, his Homburg cocked jauntily on his well-shaped head, topcoat over his arm. His squarish, muscular face was smooth from a recent shave and bore a healthy sheen, part of which may have come from the lotion he used.

  ‘I’m off to Boston’, he announced. ‘I’m keeping the room and I’ll be back to-morrow afternoon but I want to get the accountant working on Helen’s affairs so I can bring her up to date on everything.’

  ‘When’s the funeral?’

  ‘To-morrow morning.’

  Murdock gave him a knowing glance and Dorrance’s light-blue eyes registered a faint smile. ‘All right’, he said. ‘If I have to be frank about it, that’s the main reason I’m getting out. It’s going to be private, of course, and Helen will have to go, but me—well, I’d rather not have to face it.’

  ‘I can’t say that I blame you.’

  ‘She told me last night she’d rather do it alone and I’m letting her. By the way, where were you? I wanted you to join us for dinner.’

  Murdock said he got the invitation too late. ‘I ran into Helen and Murray Leonard later’, he said. ‘Murray told me he’d met you. How did you make out?’

  ‘Not too bad, considering it was our first meeting.’ Dorrance walked to the window and came back. ‘I liked him. He didn’t try to disguise the fact that he resented the way I’d treated Helen, but he didn’t keep nursing his grudge. We did some verbal fencing at first and I think he had the idea that this reconciliation effort was part of my campaign to assure my appointment as judge.’

  He smiled and said: ‘I admitted the appointment was important. After all it’s rather unusual for a trial lawyer to step into a Supreme Court post. Justice Holmes did it years ago. Went to State Supreme Court without having served in a lower court and from there to the United States Supreme Court. This appointment is something I’ve worked for and I told Leonard so. I also pointed out that I’d been checking on Helen for the last six months while waiting for an opportunity to admit my mistake. Your coming down here gave me the chance and I think Leonard finally realized I was telling the truth.’ His smile grew and he said: ‘While I’m on the subject is there anything you want me to tell Wyman?’

  Murdock went over to open the door for the waiter, closed it while the table was being set up.

  ‘Yes’, he said dryly, but with some humour, ‘tell him I’m going to enjoy myself—if I can stay out of jail. He got me down here on a phoney assignment so I could put on this Boy Scout act for you, so tell him I’m having breakfast in bed every morning and that I’m thinking of moving into a suite. Tell him there’ll be no more pictures. Tell him that from now on this is a forced vacation, that the paper can pay the tabs until——’

  Dorrance laughed an interruption. ‘All right, all right’, he said. ‘I’ll tell him. Shall I quote you or make it up as a I go along?’ He wheeled towards the door. ‘I’ll see you to-morrow’, he said, ‘and if O’Brien starts to push you around get in touch with John Gates immediately.’

  The Greene Hotel boasted two house detectives. The day shift was currently being taken care of by a man named Ben Sands, and Murdock found him at the transportation desk talking with the porter. A pleasant-looking man of forty or so, with a rather florid complexion and not much hair, Sands examined Murdock thoroughly as he introduced himself; then said:

  ‘I know you’re Kent Murdock. I wished I’d known it when the cops were up in 617 yesterday morning.’

  ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘Not very. What’s on your mind?’

  Murdock moved away from the desk and Sands followed, his eyes busy as they took in the lobby and all its occupants before he came to a stop next to a pillar and gave his attention to Murdock.

  ‘Your telephone operators keep a record of all outgoing calls, don’t they?’

  ‘Sure’, said Sands.

  ‘I wonder if you could find out how many calls Lee Farnsley made after I left the room that night. Say from ten-twenty on.’

  Sand’s glance was amused. ‘I can do better than that. I can tell you just who Farnsley called.’ He rocked on his toes, sank back, managing meanwhile to look very pleased with himself. ‘The cops wanted the same information yesterday noon. I gave them the numbers and we checked to see who they belonged to. You want the numbers or the names?’

  Murdock said he’d like the names, smiling to show that he appreciated Sands’ thoroughness and all-around dependability. ‘How many were there?’

  ‘Three. First he called a doll named Claire Emerson. Then he called Murray Leonard’s apartment; he’s on the Ledger. After that he called the State Hotel though we don’t know the room number. The cops may have it now; they didn’t yesterday.’

  ‘What about time?’

  ‘All three of them came between ten-twenty and ten-thirty.… How do you stand with O’Brien as of now?’

  Murdock said he didn’t know. He said he had not seen O’Brien this morning, but since O’Brien hadn’t bothered him it might be a good sign. He thanked Sands for the information and the detective waved one hand carelessly and said he was glad to do it.

  The little anteroom off Simon Rigby’s private office still carried its thin coating of dust. This was particularly noticeable on the settee which stood near the window and caught the morning light, the undisturbed uniformity of the film suggesting that no one had used it since Murdock had last been in. Rigby, visible through the open door, glanced up from his paper and motioned Murdock in, hailing him good-naturedly in his hoarse, distinctive voice.

  ‘Greetings, friend’, he said. ‘I’m glad to see you.’ He swung his feet down from the desk and threw the paper on the floor. ‘You had me worried yesterday morning when you were in here but when I heard John Gates was representing you I knew you’d be okay.’

  Murdock sat down and unbuttoned his coat. He examined the cluttered office disinterestedly and then gave his attention to the detective, wondering whether a certain brownish spot on the vest was new or whether it had simply escaped his attention the last time he had examined the garment.

  ‘What’ve you been doing?’ Rigby asked.

  ‘Snooping’, Murdock said. ‘Asking questions.’

  ‘You got it all wrapped up?’

  ‘I don’t even know what time it is—for sure.’

  Rigby thought that was funny. He glanced at his wrist watch and said it was twenty minutes to eleven. He offered a pack of cigarettes, the chair squeaking under his movements, and struck a light.

  ‘You know how it is’, Murdock said. ‘Sometimes you get a break, sometimes not. For instance, I think I know who your wealthy client is. You know—the jealous one with the good-looking wife. Her name is Leone, isn’t it?’

  Rigby was still amused, but a new glint touched his flat-brown eyes that gave them a wary expression. ‘Could be’, he said.

  ‘Leone Thorpe’, Murdock said and went on to describe the man he had seen come into the State Hotel looking for Harry Usher.

  ‘You get around’, Rigby said. ‘Is it important?’

  Murdock took his time answering because it was a question that had certain ramifications, not all of which he had explored in detail. His dark gaze moved to the window, though he did not see what lay beyond and a muscle twitched in his jaw before he spoke.

  ‘It might be. Do you know Harry Usher?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Harry’s the one Thorpe hired you to watch. Harry’s the lad Leone is seeing when he’s in town, and Papa Thorpe is jealous.’

  ‘So?’ said Rigby, squinting slightly though there was no smoke in his eye.

  ‘Thorpe came to the State Hotel last
night looking for Harry Usher. He didn’t find him. Suppose he had gone looking for Harry the night before, not knowing that Harry had moved from the Greene to the State.’ His glance came back to Rigby. ‘Why would Harry move in the first place unless he was afraid of something?’

  ‘How would I know?’ Rigby waved his cigarette. ‘Maybe because the rates are cheaper.’

  ‘Let’s say Thorpe went to 617 the other night expecting to find Harry—probably ready for trouble if he did—and found Lee Farnsley instead.’

  ‘Let’s say that’, Rigby said.

  ‘The other day you told me that Lee occasionally saw Leone when Usher wasn’t in town. If Thorpe walked in, Lee might have figured Thorpe was looking for him.’

  Rigby examined the end of his cigarette and found he had another inch to go. He took a puff, holding the butt between the tips of thumb and index finger. He shook his head, mouth dipping at the corners.

  ‘I can’t buy it’, he said.

  ‘It could have happened that way.’

  ‘Sure it could—if Lee was ugly enough and Thorpe started something. But why should he? You say Thorpe was looking for Usher. He didn’t find him in 617—if he went there at all.’

  He said other things, most of which were lost on Murdock because he was reconsidering his original estimate of the detective. Fast on his feet, Rigby had said. Nimble. Never vicious or with any great stomach for trouble, but shifty. That was what Murdock had thought the other day and he could find no good reason for changing his mind now.

  ‘It’s funny you didn’t see Murray Leonard’, he said.

  Rigby opened his eyes and dropped the last half-inch of his smoke. ‘When?’

  ‘That first night when you went to the Greene to look for me.’

  ‘Was he there?’

  ‘It’s funny you didn’t see Claire Emerson. I can understand your not wanting to say you saw Joe Apollo because Joe—’

  ‘I didn’t see him’, Rigby protested.

  ‘—might not like it. Joe’s tough and you don’t like trouble. Joe sat in that lobby for quite a while, and if you’re fast on your feet like you say you are, you have to be observant.’