I'll Sing at Your Funeral

by Hugh Pentecost

  “Yes.”

  “And a fountain pen?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of paper is it?”

  “That stuff with your name printed on it you get for a dollar a box.”

  Out in the hall Cain said to Bradley: “Why didn’t the murderer recopy his suicide note on Egan’s paper? It would have made it more authentic.”

  “I told you,” said Bradley, “he’s getting nervous. In a big hurry. He’s not as sharp as he was in the beginning.”

  2

  Bradley leaned back in the corner of the taxi, his pipe drawing nicely.

  “The only reason I’m taking you with me,” he said, giving Cain and Carol a dry smile, “is that things happen where you are. I figure I’ll save time by sticking along with you. But, if you don’t mind, let me do the talking to Royce.”

  “Okay,” Cain laughed, “but aren’t you slipping, pal?”

  “Slipping?”

  “I thought you were having everyone watched, but Margo and I got away from your bloodhounds the other night without even trying. And now this.”

  “Everyone’s being watched,” said Bradley. “As for the other night … ” He chuckled. “We knew where you were, Cain. Every second of the time. I was hoping that if we pretended we’d lost you someone might start to give. Unfortunately it didn’t work.”

  “Don’t you ever deal off the top of the deck?” Cain asked.

  “Only when I’m certain somebody is watching the bottom,” said Bradley.

  “Mr. Bradley, do you think Robert is guilty?” Carol asked. “When you’ve known a person for a long time you just can’t see him as dangerous or sinister.”

  “We’ll see what he has to say for himself in any case,” said Bradley.

  In the foyer of Carnegie Hall a man stepped out of the cul-de-sac which housed the pay telephone. He saluted Bradley.

  “ ’Evening, Inspector.”

  “Hello, Maynard. What gives?”

  “All present and accounted for, sir. No one who lives here has gone out all afternoon except the Reed girl. She got back from headquarters in a police car over an hour ago.”

  “Any visitors?”

  “The Egan guy was here to see Royce and left about 4:20. There was a lady named Mrs. Coopernail who come to see the fortune teller. She left after about an hour … 4:35 to be exact. Then this Wolf also come to see Royce, all dolled up in his Indian suit. He left about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Nice work,” said Bradley. “I’m on my way up to see Royce myself. If any of the others figure on going out to supper while I’m up there, ask them to wait till I’ve seen them.”

  “Okay, sir.”

  “Let’s go,” Bradley said.

  The colored elevator boy took them to the eleventh floor where Royce had his office. The door to the outer office was locked. Bradley rang the bell, but there was no answer. He went back to the elevator,

  “Send my man up here,” he ordered the colored boy. “And have the superintendent bring the keys to 1103.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You think he’s skipped?” Cain asked.

  “Um,” said Bradley. “No way to get out without passing my men.”

  “Unless one of them was asleep at the switch,” Cain said.

  “My men,” said Bradley, “happen to be professionals.” After a five-minute wait Maynard appeared with the superintendent’s keys. He looked worried.

  “So help me, Inspector, Royce never left the building,” he said. “If he’d used one of the other exits the boys would have reported to me.”

  “I don’t think he left the building,” said Bradley. “He’s visiting somewhere. Run down to Summers’ studio and see if he’s with Miss Reed. I’ll check with Mrs. Wilder here on this floor.”

  “Right.” Maynard went off on the double-quick.

  Bradley walked along the corridor to Mrs. Wilder’s. She answered promptly when he rang.

  “Why, Inspector!” She had on a scarlet dress, long gold earrings; and the gray persian cat in her arms.

  “Mr. Royce with you?” Bradley asked.

  “Why, no, he isn’t. I haven’t seen Robert all afternoon. He did drop in this morning, but ... ”

  “I just wanted to talk to him,” Bradley said.

  He went back, opened 1103 with the pass-key, and he and Cain and Carol went in. The outer office was neat. The secretary’s typewriter was folded into her desk. The inner office was cool and shaded. An air conditioner made a faint buzzing sound.

  They waited for Maynard.

  He reappeared presently with Margo and Beany Cook in tow. “Not down there,” said Maynard. “Hasn’t been there.”

  Beany Cook giggled. “He’s probably out trying his wiles on some poor working girl.”

  “Shut up, Beany!” Margo said. She kept her eyes turned away from Carol. Cain thought she looked ten years older than when he’d first met her.

  “I tried Schenk’s studio,” said Maynard. “He’s got some pupil in there walking around with a book and a glass of water balanced on top of his head. He says he’s teaching, him to act.” Maynard sounded suspicious.

  Bradley smiled. “Who else did Royce know in this building?”

  “He knew most of the artists ... singers and instrumentalists, I mean,” Margo said.

  “Check through the switchboard operator,” Bradley said, to Maynard. “Have her call each studio and ask for Royce.”

  “Some of them have private phones,” Margo said. “Us, for example.”

  “Find out which ones aren’t on the switchboard. You’ll have to call on them personally.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Maynard and was gone again.

  “Is something wrong about Robert?” Beany asked.

  “Nothing,” said Bradley cheerfully. “I just want to talk to him.”

  Cain wandered back into Royce’s office. Bradley’s calmness suggested he had no doubt whatever of the competence of his men. If by any chance Royce was guilty, why give himself away by running when he had arranged that Joe Egan wouldn’t live to talk, even if Egan had seen him.

  Cain’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden heavy thumping. It seemed close at hand. He looked around and decided it came from the adjoining studio. He turned back to the

  windows.

  Again the thump, loud, imperative. Bradley came through from the outer office.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Someone moving the furniture next door,” said Cain.

  And then two more thumps in quick succession.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” said Cain. He had been looking at the door of the closet in the corner and had seen it vibrate with the thuds. He walked across and opened the door.

  As he stood peering into the closet he heard Bradley’s sharp ejaculation: “What the blazes!”

  “How, buddy!” said Cain, and burst into laughter.

  Sitting on the floor, clad only in shorts and socks, was Chief Golden Wolf. His wrists had been carefully bound to his ankles with adhesive tape. Another piece had been plastered across his mouth. The chief made unintelligible sounds of fury from behind the gag.

  Chapter Nineteen

  1

  It was Bradley who knelt beside the chief and peeled the strip of adhesive from his mouth. Carol, Margo, and Beany had crowded in to a have a look. Cain was still struggling with his laughter.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Beany said, “the man’s practically naked!”

  The chief expressed himself unprintably, and not in any native dialect. “Get something to cover me up,” he demanded.

  “Me gettum blanket,” said Cain. He pulled the cover off the day bed in the corner and passed it to Bradley. The inspector had cut through the other tapes that hog-tied Wolf and the chief rose, six feet six of injured dignity in pink shorts, and wrapped the spread around him.

  “A hoax has been perpetrated,” he said.

  “Hoax springs eternal …” Cain murmured.

  “Exa
ctly what happened?” Bradley asked.

  “Royce pulled a gun on me!” Wolf said.

  “Where was your bow and arrow?” Cain said.

  The thief gave Cain a baleful look. “This may be funny to you,” he said.

  “It’s not funny to anyone,” Bradley said. “Royce pulled a gun on you?”

  “Yes. Then he forced me to take off my clothes and he tied me up.”

  “How did he manage that without your taking a poke at him?” Cain asked.

  “A man is a fool to take chances with firearms,” said the chief.

  “Your ancestors won’t like that point of view,” Cain said.

  Bradley sounded pained. “Hadn’t you heard, Mr. Cain? Vaudeville is dead.”

  “Sorry,” Cain said.

  Bradley returned to Wolf. “Why were you in that fancy dress get-up?”

  “I don’t think you understand,” said the chief stiffly. “That is the traditional garb of the tribal chieftains of the Five Nations.”

  “The reason for wearing it here?” Bradley said.

  “Royce phoned me this afternoon. He said there was a man in town who owned a chain of theaters who might want to book me for a nationwide tour, singing my native songs in my native costume. He said if I would come over immediately he would arrange an audition, He said that I should wear my Indian regalia. Naturally I was eager for the chance.”

  “And when you got here?”

  “Royce was in the outer office, alone. He told me the theater man was in here and ushered me in. The minute he was behind me he stuck a gun in my back. He said he was sorry but he had to have my clothes. I don’t believe in taking chances with a man who is armed so I took them off. Then he told me to bend over and take hold of my ankles with my hands. Before I knew what was coming he had put a strip of tape around one wrist and leg and then I was helpless. He had the tape already cut and stuck to the edge of that cabinet. Then he tied my other wrist to my other leg, taped my mouth, and pushed me into the closet. Now I suppose he’s appropriated my clothes and I want them back! They cost me over two hundred dollars and if I don’t get them I’ll complain to the police.”

  “Consider the complaint made,” said Bradley. He went to the telephone on Royce’s desk. A moment later he was giving out general alarm for Royce and a description of the Indian suit. When that was done he nodded to Maynard.

  “Get a police car and take Mr. Wolf home.”

  “Okay, Red.”

  “One thing, Mr. Wolf. Had you had dealings with Royce before?”

  “I’d met him at Mr. Summers’,” said Wolf. “Frankly, I didn’t think I was quite ready for a nationwide tour, but I wasn’t going to avoid the opportunity if he thought I was.”

  Maynard had a hangdog look on his face. “It’s all my fault, Red,” he said. “Hell, I saw the Indian suit come in and I saw it come out. I didn’t pay much attention.”

  “It’s an old trick, but it’s always good,” said Bradley. “I’m not blaming you, Maynard. He shouldn’t get very far in it.”

  “I thought you told me everyone was being tailed,” Cain said.

  Bradley’s expression was wry. “All except Mr. Wolf and Schenk. We took men off them after they’d proved alibis for Summers’ murder. The department has a passion for economizing.”

  “He probably didn’t go any further than the nearest public toilet,” said Cain, “where he’d ditch it. He could have put it on over his regular clothes. He’s a good seven sizes smaller than the chief. All he needed the beads and feathers for was to get out of this building.”

  “We’ll catch up with him,” Bradley said. “I only hope it’s in time.”

  “You think he’s dangerous?” Beany asked. “You think he might try to kill someone else?”

  Bradley’s eyebrows rose. “Mercy, Mr. Cook, Royce isn’t the murderer. But from his behavior I’d say he knows who is. He’s running away because he’s afraid. I hope he makes a success of it or that we find him before the murderer does.”

  Cain looked around to speak to Carol. She was no longer in the office.

  “Where did Carol go?” he asked.

  “Down to the studio,” said Beany. “She borrowed my key. Wanted to powder her nose.”

  “Damn!” said Cain, scowling, He had a pretty good idea of Carol’s reason for wanting to be in Summers’ studio alone.

  “Don’t you approve of make-up?” Beany asked.

  “On girls,” said Cain. “Can’t we go downstairs and have a drink while the inspector does his inspecting?”

  Bradley said that would save him the trouble of kicking them all out. The chief, stoical in the day bed cover, was hurried off by Maynard. Cain, Beany, and Margo stood awkwardly by the elevator waiting for transportation. Margo was pointedly avoiding Cain.

  “Look,” said Cain, “this is cockeyed, Margo. What you think happened between Summers and some other dame isn’t Carol’s fault or mine. I know you’ve been hit hard, but this act of yours doesn’t jibe with what you said when we did our marathon around the park.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You said you knew Summers took his fling here and there. That he made no bones about it. That it was okay with you.”

  She looked up at him. “I’ve been a louse,” she said. “But when I found those letters … ”

  “You mean when I found them,” said Beany.

  “… I guess I went off my head. I thought Mrs. Stoddard had killed Arthur out of jealousy. I didn’t stop to make it add up.”

  “That sounds more like you,” Cain said. “You and Carol kiss and make up. You gals need to hang together till this thing is settled.”

  2

  The elevator took them down to the next floor and Margo let them into the studio. The lights were on in the reception room. Cain heard sounds of movement on the second floor of the duplex.

  “Hey!” he called out.

  “What is it?” Carol answered.

  “Come on down and get drunk,” Cain said.

  “You’ll have to use plain water with your scotch,” Margo said. “I’m all out of seltzer.” She went into the kitchenette. Cain followed her.

  “I’ve got a curiosity about Royce,” he said, “that you may be able to do something about.”

  Margo took glasses and a bottle of scotch from the cupboard. “You know, I can’t picture Robert holding a gun on someone and staging a blood-and-thunder escape.”

  “Have you ever seen him scared?” Cain said.

  “You think Bradley was right? That Robert was running away from the murderer?”

  Cain carried the supplies back into the other room. “It could be,” he said. “But if it is, the inspector neglected to point out what that means.”

  “What does it mean?” Margo asked.

  “Why the anxiety to get out of Carnegie?” Cain said. “It’s crawling with Bradley’s men. Nobody can come or go without being checked. It’s the safest place in town for Royce. But he didn’t think so and he pulled quite a stunt to get out. Catch on.”

  “I loathe puzzles,” Beany said. “What are you getting at?”

  “Simply that Royce was afraid of someone inside the building.”

  Margo eyed him steadily. “There are only three of us who haven’t alibis,” she said. “Naomi, Beany, and myself. Mr. Schenk’s in the clear.”

  “But everyone else involved could come and go without any trouble,” said Cain. “Me, the Stoddards, the Rosokovs, Joe Egan. Which reminds me. Somebody tried to polish Joe off an hour or so ago. Smacked him over the head and turned on the gas.”

  “Jesus, my beads!” said Beany in a shocked voice.

  “Joe thought it was Royce. But according to Maynard, Royce never left the building till he went out in the chief’s clothes.”

  “Why should anyone want to kill Joe?” There was a note of panic in Margo’s voice.

  Cain shrugged. “Joe, had done his arithmetic over and decided Royce was Lydia’s nemesis. He came here this afternoon and told him so. Then h
e went for a walk. When he got home someone was waiting inside his room and slugged him. More arithmetic added up to Royce. But now Maynard’s spoiled that by giving Royce an alibi.”

  Carol came down. She wouldn’t look at Cain.

  “Any luck?” he asked.

  A faint color rose in her cheeks. “I was a wreck after that session at Joes. A girl has a right to make herself presentable, doesn’t she?”

  “I adore you,” said Cain, grinning. He poured her a drink. “Tell me about Royce,” he said to Margo. “I don’t know much about him except that he likes dames with pinchable figures and that he is supposed to be a bigshot concert manager.”

  “He has all the best artists in the country,” Beany said. “He simply coins money.”

  “Where does, he live?” Cain asked.

  “Upstairs in his office,” Margo said.

  Cain frowned. “That doesn’t sound like dough. Hasn’t he got an apartment somewhere … house in the country?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You’d think a guy with his tastes would have a fancy joint where he could entertain his women.” Cain lit a cigarette. “How many clients did he have?”

  “Oh, hundreds.”

  “And what’s a manager’s percentage?”

  “Ten per cent … under the law.”

  “What’s that come to? Five thousand … ten thousand a year?”

  “Nearer fifty or seventy-five,” Margo said.

  Cain whistled. “And he sleeps on a day bed in his office! That just doesn’t make sense.”

  “But it’s so,” said Margo.

  “How about his business reputation? Is he supposed to be a square-shooter?”

  Margo hesitated. “Arthur used to send people to him, of course. Pupils who were ready to launch themselves professionally. Robert was always swell about them. When he drew up a cuntract he’d insist that the pupil show it to Arthur before signing it. But there was one case … ”

  “Well?”

  “It was Gorsica, the Spanish pianist.”

  “Big shot?”

  “Tops,” said Margo. “He threatened to sue Robert and did a lot of wild talking about Robert’s getting more of his earnings than he did.”

  “Quite a cut.”

  “The point is,” Margo said, “that Gorsica suddenly dropped his suit. It was assumed that they settled amicably out of court because Gorsica remained under Robert’s management. But Arthur and I wondered about it at the time.”