The Penguin Pool Murder (The Hildegarde Withers Mysteries)

by Stuart Palmer

  Seymour broke the quiet. “Is there any need to continue this séance, Inspector? You’ve got your confession, now can’t we let these people go?”

  Piper nodded slowly. “Yes, the case seems to be in the bag,” he observed. “And I had hoped for something a bit more sporting, more difficult. But this is just the same old sordid story, after all.” He turned to Seymour. “I’ll have a typed copy of that confession for you to sign in an hour or two. Take him away, Casey.” Piper motioned to the blue-coat at the door. “Take him down to Headquarters and hold him there. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Two blue-clad policemen attached to the Homicide Squad took their places on either side of the prisoner, and handcuffs clicked. They moved toward the door.

  “Good-bye, Philip,” said Gwen Lester as they led him past. But Philip Seymour did not turn his head, nor did he seem to hear the soft, lovely voice which filled the room with his name. The door slammed behind him.

  “And that is that,” said Piper. He took off his hat for the first time, and mopped his high forehead. “That’s the quickest murder case I ever solved. The rest of you can …”

  Someone pounded on the door, and called for the Inspector. He stepped out of the room for a moment. When he returned he was biting a cigar. He stood for a moment in the center of the room, his fingers pulling at his lean chin.

  “Well, I suppose the rest of us can go now that you’ve got your man?” put in a warm, deep voice from behind Gwen’s chair. “Mrs. Lester here needn’t be held, now you’ve got a confession.” Barry Costello offered his arm to the grateful lady who rose to take it.

  But Piper took out his cigar and studied it as if the entire problem were centered there. Then he tossed it neatly into an empty fish-globe across the room.

  “Shall I type out this confession so you can have it signed?” asked Miss Withers.

  Piper shook his head. “You needn’t bother, ma’am. That confession isn’t quite as good as it sounds. Philip Seymour killed Lester all right, but not the way he told it. Those bits about the bubbles coming up and all that were artistic as the devil. The only trouble is that Doc Bloom, our medical examiner, has just looked over the remains of Gerald Lester and found that however the late lamented did meet his end, it wasn’t by drowning!”

  “What? How?” The mob pressed suddenly around him. He stilled the hubbub with a glance.

  “Only an autopsy will show what killed Gerald Lester,” said Piper slowly. “But there wasn’t a drop of water in his lungs. He was thoroughly dead before he ever hit the water!”

  “I told you so!” announced Miss Withers triumphantly.

  Piper stared at her, and his pale eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

  4

  Friday is Fish-day

  GWEN LESTER HALTED NEAR the door, and her slim fingers slipped from Costello’s arm. She had already guessed what Piper’s next move would be.

  “You’ll have to stay, after all,” he told her. “I’ll try to make it as brief as possible. But we’ve got to get to the bottom of this business.”

  She sank back on the packing case again. Miss Withers reached for her pencil. She was glad that she’d picked up shorthand.

  “Now Mrs. Lester, suppose you start at the beginning. Start with this morning and describe everything that happened.”

  “I have nothing to conceal,” she said slowly. Miss Withers decided that the young woman was stalling for time. “As a matter of fact …”

  “Come, come! I know that this is difficult for you, but you must be frank.” Piper kept after her.

  “I saw Gerald … my husband … at breakfast. There was a scene….”

  “Start at the beginning, I said. Was that the first time you saw him this morning?”

  Gwen lowered her head. “We do not … we did not occupy the same room, you see. We have not, for more than a month. Our life together has—had become a perfect hell. Gerald was worried about business, even before the market crash. Something he never told me about. But he became very strange, about money and about me. He resented every purchase I made, even necessary ones. He became jealous, terribly jealous. I sometimes thought that his mind couldn’t be just as it should have been. I was afraid of him.

  “But I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go to daddy. My father is not well, and he retired from the business two years ago, leaving my husband the only active partner. And daddy believed that my marriage was happy. He had arranged it, you see.

  “Well, when I came down to breakfast this morning, there was a terrible row. Gerald had found my door locked … last night. You understand? And I wouldn’t answer him. So this morning he accused me of having gone out. He had been trying to forbid me going out in the evening lately, because of his insane jealousy. He was sure that every man I met was a … a lover.

  “I refused to deny it or admit it this morning. I refused to discuss the matter at all. And I told him that I was thinking of leaving him. He made a frightful scene in front of the maid and everything. I left the table, in tears, and he went out to his office. That was about nine o’clock, I should say.”

  “And then what did you do?”

  “I put in a long distance call for daddy. He is in Florida, you know.”

  “Wait a minute. You refer to your father? You said he is a silent partner in the firm your husband headed?”

  “Yes. The firm name is White and Lester, and it used to be Charles White and Company years ago. Then when I married Jerry Lester, daddy took him into the firm. His health was going, so he retired….”

  “Very good. Did you talk to your father?”

  “They couldn’t complete the call. Daddy was out at the golf club, on the course. So then I tried to get in touch with Philip Seymour. I …”

  “I understand. You called him to ask him to take you away from your husband.”

  “Nothing of the sort. When I told Philip, four years ago, that I wouldn’t marry him, he was very sweet. He asked me to call on him if ever I needed anyone. I suppose that most young men make the same request under those conditions, but somehow I believed Philip. Besides, he was a lawyer. So I called him, but he wasn’t at his office yet. I called again, about ten o’clock, and still he wasn’t in. I left word for him to call me back. Shortly afterwards he called, and I made him suggest a place to meet. The Aquarium was decided on, and we met here at twelve.”

  Piper nodded. “Who knew you were coming here?”

  “Nobody, of course.”

  “What kind of a telephone system do you have at home? Extensions?”

  Gwen nodded slowly. “You mean, could one of the servants have listened in? It’s possible, of course. But I don’t think they did. I didn’t hear any click on the line to signify a lifted receiver.”

  “Go on, please.”

  “Well, then I took a taxi and rode down through town from our place on Central Park West to the Aquarium here. I was a few minutes early …”

  “Wait a minute. Do you think anyone could have followed you?”

  Gwen’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that. It doesn’t seem likely. The driver kept up a pretty good pace. He came along the west side waterfront as far as it goes. Indeed, it was his driving so fast that got me here early. It wouldn’t seem that anyone could have followed me.”

  “What one taxi can do, another can beat,” said Piper. “I’m trying to find out how your husband knew you were meeting another man at the Aquarium. But go on. You met Seymour. I know his story of what happened then. Is it correct? There was a scene, and Seymour knocked your husband out?”

  Gwen nodded. “I didn’t look much, I couldn’t. Then it was over, and Philip whispered for me to move slowly toward the door and wait for him. I loitered among the cases, and …”

  “When Seymour at last got to the front entrance of this building, he had to wait for you. How long did it take for you to wander through the exhibits—I think Seymour said you were at the west end of the building—and get to the door?”

  Gwen thought. “
Say ten minutes.”

  Piper nodded. “Then if Seymour was telling the truth in his first story, and if he simply knocked out your husband and hid him in the runway to make a getaway, there was time enough while he waited for you at the door for you to slip back to where the unconscious man was lying and to kill him …”

  He stopped, because for the second time that day Gwen Lester had fainted. And for the second time that day Barry Costello caught her before she fell.

  The Irishman looked up, and his jaw was set. “I hope you’re satisfied now, you blundering idiot of a dick, you!”

  Piper shrugged his shoulders. “It was touché, anyway.” He took a glass of water from Hemingway and dampened the girl’s forehead.

  “That’s all, Mrs. Lester,” he said kindly. “You can go now. I won’t hold you yet, but please make no effort to leave town, because I’ll have you dragged off the train inside of half an hour.”

  Costello helped the girl to her feet. “You know this is an outrage, Piper. As Mrs. Lester’s legal advisor I warn you….”

  “You may be Mrs. Lester’s legal advisor,” Piper broke in, “but it doesn’t mean a thing to me. It happened pretty suddenly, didn’t it?”

  Costello was leading Gwen Lester toward the door, which Hemingway obligingly held open.

  Miss Withers whispered something to Piper, and the detective snapped his fingers. “Just a minute, Costello!”

  The Irishman paused at the door. “What do you want now? Are you going to continue the third degree on my client?”

  Piper shook his head. “She can go. But after all, you’re not here as her lawyer. Not exactly. Maybe I’d like to ask you a few questions about yourself. You were hanging about the Aquarium, weren’t you? How did you happen to be here, and why?”

  Costello grinned. “It’s a public place. And I’ve always been interested in fish.”

  Piper chewed his cigar. “So what?” He crossed over to the others. “Understand me, my friend. I’m simply doing my duty. You’ll have to account for yourself, just like the rest of the people who are waiting here.”

  “All right, Inspector. Go ahead.” He turned his head toward Gwen. “Are you going to let her go home alone that way?”

  “She can wait for you if she wishes,” Piper put in. Gwen waited.

  “Okay,” said Piper. “Your name and address?”

  “Sure, and I thought you knew it. Barry Costello, Attorney at law, at your service. The address is Four Arts Club….”

  “Practicing?”

  Costello shook his head. “Gentleman of leisure,” he said. “I never practiced, being able to get along without. I’m writing a book on the subject of strange and contradictory decisions from the bench, which I hope to have published under the title of Waivers and Waverings someday.”

  “Enough of that. Acquainted with the deceased?”

  “Never saw him before in my life.”

  “Before when?”

  “Before I heard people yelling, and crowded through to the penguin tank to see the poor fellow floating there, with his eyes open….”

  “Acquainted with Mrs. Lester?”

  “Not until I was fortunate enough to catch her when she fainted. But I’m telling you confidentially …” Costello dropped his voice so only Miss Withers and the Inspector could hear … “I’d like to be.”

  “All right, all right.” Piper showed his distaste for the man. “This is hardly the time and the place …” He threw away another cigar. “And you were here in the Aquarium just for pleasure?”

  “Sure, officer.” Costello grinned again. “Didn’t I tell you that I’m very fond of fish? And remember what day this is!”

  “Enough … take Mrs. Lester out of here. I’ll ask more questions if I want answers, later.” Piper watched as the big Irishman and the dead man’s wife went out through the door. Then he turned to Miss Withers, who was still writing busily beside him, seated on the packing case that had been Gwen’s.

  “That stage-Irishman would stand a lot of looking into,” he pronounced. “But he gets on my nerves. What did he mean about the day of the week this is?”

  Miss Withers looked up at the detective. “It’s Friday,” she told him. “And Friday is fish-day for a good many people….”

  “Smart-aleck!” The detective and the school-teacher crossed glances of mingled amusement and exasperation. They were beginning to understand each other.

  “He’s the type of man who’d have a wonderful time at a wake,” pronounced Piper. “I can’t stand him.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Miss Withers thoughtfully. “He has nice eyes, and a way with him, somehow.”

  “Even you, huh?” Piper grinned. “Well, anyhow, he doesn’t act like a murderer.”

  “You yourself just said a few minutes ago that they never do,” Miss Withers reminded him.

  And the investigation went on.

  5

  Out of the Water

  HEMINGWAY WAS GETTING RESTLESS. “After all, Inspector, this is the Aquarium and it is not police headquarters. I don’t mind an investigation, and all the attendant bad publicity for our work. But really, must you take all afternoon?”

  Piper glared at him. “Your time is coming, Mr. Bertrand B. Hemingway. And you’ll have to wait for it, because I want to get through this list of witnesses first, so they can go. Afterwards you are going to show me through this place. Now stand back and keep still, and we’ll get along faster.”

  There was still seven or eight impatient people at the farther end of the long office. Miss Withers recognized among them the woman who had lost her purse, and had it returned after Chicago Lew was captured for the first time. She turned out to be a Mrs. Douglas of the Bronx, who denied any knowledge of the Lesters, of the crime, or of anything else. She was allowed to go.

  Then there was three young men from a Wall Street office, clerks Miss Withers correctly guessed them to be. Their examination brought out only one new fact, that while they were on the upper level they had heard the sounds of scuffling, but had imagined that it was simply workmen making some repairs to the place. They had gone to the edge of the balcony and seen a woman’s form disappearing among the exhibit cases … evidently Gwen after the fight. But they had not taken much notice. One of them also was of the opinion that he had seen Philip Seymour and Mrs. Lester in close conversation in front of the cat-fish tank earlier.

  “That only establishes the less-important parts of the story Seymour and Mrs. Lester tell,” decided Piper. “You can go.”

  The others were even less able to aid. Respectable, unimportant persons they were, sightseers from out of town, one or two loafers from the ranks of the unemployed … none of them proved interesting to the Inspector then nor later, with the possible exception of the last stranger to be given the works.

  He gave his name as Robert Sproule, address on Chicago’s north side, and his business as a buyer of men’s wear for a department store in that city.

  “I’m in town on business,” he said, “but I had a few hours to kill today so I started out to take in the sights. I went up in the new Chanin Building, and then took the subway down here to look at the fish. We’re building a new aquarium in Chicago that makes this one look sick….”

  “Never mind the civic spirit,” said Piper unfeelingly. “Acquainted with the deceased?”

  “Not exactly,” said Sproule with an air. “But I’ve met him. Or rather, I should say, he met me …”

  Piper was suddenly galvanized to attention, and Miss Withers stopped taking notes. “Go on!”

  “Well, it was like this. I was standing in the door of the Aquarium about a quarter after twelve this noon, I should say. A man brushed by me so violently that he nearly knocked me down—a big man, with wide shoulders and a red face. I noticed him because he looked mad. He didn’t have the usual bored, stolid look that you see on the faces of most New Yorkers. He was wearing a smart raglan topcoat, blue-gray in color, and a derby, and carrying a malacca stick. I always notic
e such things, being in this business….”

  “Wearing a derby?” Piper made a note on an envelope. “Go on….”

  “That’s all there is. Except that he passed on inside, and I heard the guard arguing with him about checking his stick.”

  “It’s a rule here,” put in Hemingway, “that visitors must check umbrellas and walking sticks, because they’re likely to poke at the glass with them.”

  Miss Withers interrupted—“Yes, and if I hadn’t come in with the mob of pupils, the guard would have taken my umbrella away at the door, too. And then the pickpocket would have escaped—.”

  Piper nodded. “You can go, Mr. Sproule. But stay in town for a day or two. You are sure that the man who ran into you in the doorway was the man whose face you saw afterward in the tank, when the hue and cry was raised?”

  Mr. Sproule was sure. “That was about ten or fifteen minutes before the pickpocket chase,” he put in. Then he was ushered to the door by Fink.

  Piper whirled on the fat guard. “Did you have an argument with Lester, the man who was killed just after that, about checking a stick?”

  Fink shook his head. “That would have been MacDonald, Inspector. He was on duty at the door until about twelve-thirty, when he went to lunch leaving me in charge. He ought to be back now.”

  “Bring him here,” ordered Piper. MacDonald turned out to be a mild little man in a uniform too large for him.

  “Sure I remember the gentleman,” he announced. “And a time I had with him, too. He was bound and determined he was going to cling to that stick, though I don’t know why, for it was a powerful heavy one. I’d be tired carrying it around. But when I finally told him he couldn’t come in the place without checking it, he let me take it. It’s there in the rack now.” He motioned toward the door. “Shall I bring it?”

  Piper nodded. In a moment he was hefting a three-foot length of malacca, with a silver top. He let it slide through his fingers and crash to the floor.

  “Ten pounds if an ounce,” he remarked. “This thing is more than loaded. It’s a weapon that would bash in a man’s head like an eggshell.”