‘Nothing more just now. But you’d better get over your restlessness, for something tells me the police may feel enough interest in you to call on you.’
‘You going to put ’em up to that?’
‘Oh, they don’t have to be put up. They’re a keen pair on this case. But you’re not afraid of them?’
‘Hell, no! Let ’em come when they like.’
Stone’s keen eyes noticed a slight quiver of Wiley’s lips, but he realized that an innocent man might be unnerved at the thought of police inquiries. Yet he felt certain that when Burnet heard that Wiley had been near the scene of the crime, he would promptly interview him.
‘Well, Mr Wiley,’ Stone said, ‘may I have your assurance that you won’t attempt to run away?’
‘Of course I shan’t run away! Why the devil should I?’
‘I don’t know, I’m sure. It would be a very foolish thing for you to do. If Inspector Manton quizzes you, just put up the same story you’ve just told me. Probably it will go over.’
‘Why do you say that? Do you doubt me?’
‘I just said it to note how you responded. You seem a little anxious.’
‘Nothing of the sort. But an innocent man always dislikes being baited.’
‘Lord, man, I’m not baiting you! My bait is worse than my bark. You wouldn’t like it at all.’
‘Huh, you needn’t think I’m afraid. I’m afraid of nothing!’
‘The wise man fears when fear is called for,’ and with this somewhat cryptic statement, the detective went away.
He took the down elevator again, this time as far as the second floor.
Then he rang the bell at Carl Swinton’s apartment.
A trim maid opened the door and showed him into a pleasant living room.
In a moment Swinton appeared, looking a bit inquisitive but courteous.
‘How do you do, Mr Stone. Sit down, won’t you? I know you, of course, by reputation and I wonder if you are here in connection with the sad affair of Mr Philip Balfour? If there’s anything I can do to help I’ll be only too glad to do it.’
‘I’m not sure there is, Mr Swinton, but as you were there last night when Mr Sewell was there, I thought perhaps you might remember some little detail that could prove helpful.’
‘I wish I could but I feel a little at sea as to what you want. When I went up to the Balfour apartment last evening, Mr Balfour and Mr Ramsay were both out and Mrs Balfour received me. I chatted with her a few moments and then, as I was about to leave, Mr Sewell came. I had never met him, and I stayed a few moments longer.’
‘Are you interested in rare books?’
‘No, not in any active way. I like to see them, but I know nothing of their value. However, Mr Sewell was called to the telephone. In answer to a summons, he said, he must leave at once. So he went away, and I very soon left also.’
‘When did you hear of Mr Balfour’s death?’
‘This morning. My man brought me word of it when he came.’
‘I see. Now, Mr Swinton, are you one of those people who never know anything about time? Or can you tell me about what time you went upstairs to the Balfour apartment last night?’
‘I confess I don’t keep tabs on the time usually, but I know that I was admitted by the butler and shown into a reception room to await Mrs Balfour’s coming. And as I sat there a few minutes waiting, I noticed it was twenty past ten. I shouldn’t have noticed, probably, but there was a little clock on the table that had a quick, saucy little tick. I felt sure it was a French clock and I looked at it with admiration, it was such a pretty little piece of property. Then Mrs Balfour came in, and I never gave the clock another thought. So I’ve no idea what time it was when I came home, but I was there, I suppose, nearly half an hour. That’s as near as I can tell you.’
‘You know the Balfours well?’
‘Oh, yes; I knew them both before they were married. They’ve been married only three years or so.’
‘What was your errand? Merely a social call?’
‘A little more than that. I am a portrait painter and I had hopes of putting both of them on canvas. But I suppose there’ll be nothing doing now. Just my luck! However, perhaps Mrs Balfour will let me paint her after the excitement is over. She may be glad of something to divert her mind.’
‘Quite likely. Have you known her long?’
‘Five or six years. We lived in the same home town, a village in Connecticut. Our acquaintance was slight, for I was not a society chap, and she was in the smart circles. But we were friendly and her father half promised to let me paint her. But the girl refused, saying she didn’t care about it. And, recently, since I have known Mr Balfour, he agreed to let me do them both. I asked him a pretty stiff price, but he agreed to it and we were going to begin sittings very soon. So you see, aside from a natural sympathy for the poor girl, I am regretting my own disappointment.’
‘Yes, hard lines. But, as you say, Mrs Balfour may keep to the plan. Most women like a portrait of themselves.’
‘Yes, and they were good enough to praise my work. Have you any clue to the murderer?’
‘Not the least hint of one. That’s why I dropped in to see you. You and Mr Wiley seem to be the only people in the house who know the Balfours well.’
‘He doesn’t know them as well as I do. But that’s not saying much. I seldom saw them. I hoped to see more of him if I did the portraits. He has a marvellous lot of books.’
‘Yes, he has. Shall you call on the widow?’
‘Oh, no. I don’t know her well enough for that. But as I said, I wish I could help you in your work. This may sound presumptuous, but I’ve a natural taste for detective work and sometimes I’m right ingenious.’
‘You sound helpful. But of course the police have it in charge. I’m just a private detective, retained by Mrs Balfour to assist the police.’
‘I guess they’re glad to have you. Who advised Mrs Balfour, or did you know her before?’
‘No, it was Mr Sewell who advised her. You know Sewell?’
‘Not personally. I only know he’s a first-class dealer in rare books. He and Balfour were great friends.’
‘Yes; and he’s a great friend of mine. John Sewell is a fine man, as well as a learned one.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard so. Well, Mr Stone, can’t you think of some way I can be of use? If not, perhaps something will crop up. I’m no genius or spectacular detective but if you want me to track down anything or anybody just give me a try at it.’
Stone promised to remember this request, and rose to go.
‘Wait a minute,’ Swinton said, rising also. ‘Perhaps I ought to tell you a bit of rumour I heard about the Balfours. I am not ordinarily a gossip, but you know there is always more or less speculation among the servants about the tenants of a house like this. Especially about the marital relations. It is the generally accepted situation that Mrs Balfour was not in love with her husband, but had given her affections to the handsome librarian.’
‘Ramsay?’ said Stone. ‘He isn’t handsome.’
‘Oh, well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Anyway, I don’t call this gossip—telling you—for it may be a help to you.’
‘I understand and appreciate your motive. In the same spirit of legitimate inquiry, I’ll ask you if the secretary returns the lady’s affection?’
‘That I don’t know. But you can discover, I’m sure. What is their seeming attitude?’
‘I’ve noticed nothing beyond courteous acquaintance on either side.’
‘Well, it’s only a hint, but it may be of use to you.’
Stone went away, regretting Swinton’s suspicion.
He returned to the Balfour apartment just as the Inspector and Captain Burnet were concluding their inquiries of the servants.
No facts of any importance had come to light through a quiz of the staff, but the police thought that Potter might know more than he told.
Stone reported all he had learned from the two men in the hou
se, with the single exception of Swinton’s hint about Mrs Balfour and her husband’s librarian.
‘Guess we’ll have to ask Gill about those books,’ Burnet said. ‘Do you know there are moments when I feel that Friend Gill is not entirely a law-abiding citizen.’
‘Reasons?’ demanded Manton, laconically.
The two, with Stone, sat in a room in the Balfour apartment which had been given over to the detectives.
‘Can’t say, exactly, only he’s ’most too smart. Very glib, always ready with an answer to a question, always provided with an explanation of an odd incident and always in the right.’
‘Hardly enough to prove him a criminal,’ Stone said; ‘yet he has seemed to me an uncertain proposition. Would he be benefited in any way by Balfour’s death?’
‘Only if he has that missing book,’ the Inspector returned. ‘To my mind the hand that held the skewer is the hand that stole the book.’
‘I agree to that,’ Stone told him. ‘And I agree that young Gill is a right smart chap. But Sewell trusts him like a brother and Sewell is a keen observer.’
‘Sewell likes him so much that he has no thought of any infidelity. But I’ve heard rumours of Gill’s sharp dealings and it may be that he puts over some rare book deals that Sewell doesn’t know about.’
‘He couldn’t do anything with this missing book, could he?’ put in Burnet.
‘He could do what anyone else could do,’ Stone said, musingly. ‘In fact he would have better facilities for disposing of it than Ramsay would. Ramsay is already suspected, Gill isn’t. Then, too, Gill has the knowledge of various dealers and their wants and ways. He might know that one dealer would scorn to have anything to do with a book illegitimately, while another might jump at the chance. All that’s the same in any business. The fact that the rare book trade is largely confined to scholars and literary men doesn’t necessarily make it immune to the tricks of the trade known to other lines of business. Indeed, it’s one of the easiest fields in which to practise fraud. Often the buyer knows nothing of the fine points of a rare book save what the dealer tells him. Sewell, in every way, stands for honour and fair dealing but that doesn’t argue that his hirelings all do the same.’
‘Of course, it would be easy for Gill to annex that valuable book,’ the Inspector declared, ‘but it would be hard for him to dispose of it, being with Sewell, as he is.’
‘As to that,’ Stone shook his head, ‘he could pursue the course I have suggested. And whether taken by Gill or another I believe the Button book, as we seem to call it, has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom. If so, we can do nothing until we hear from the kidnappers. Any suspicions of young Balfour?’
‘Not by me,’ and Manton spoke positively. ‘The old man gave him a fine allowance, and he didn’t want to live here anyway, so why kill the goose that laid his golden eggs?’
‘He came here to live pretty quick when the chance arrived,’ Stone reminded them. ‘And, of course, his inheritance means far more to him financially than his allowance did. If he continues to stay here, and if Mrs Balfour allows him to have his own way, he’ll have a fine home and freedom to do as he likes in it.’
‘It is possible, too,’ Manton said, ‘that he knows something about the affair between his stepmother and the librarian. Don’t blind your eyes to that affair. It didn’t begin yesterday.’
‘But Ramsay was planning to leave. He had given notice.’
‘Notice, my eye!’ and Burnet grinned. ‘When he left, the lady would have left with him. I know what happens when December and May join up.’
‘I’m going to see Guy Balfour,’ Stone told them then. ‘He asked me to give him a session, and I’m glad to do it. You’ll be talking to him, I suppose?’
‘Yes,’ the Inspector agreed. ‘I’ll wait till you report your interview.’
Stone nodded and went away. It was not often he conferred quite so intimately with the police, though he was always friendly with them. But in this case he felt that much depended on his getting information from all possible sources and through all possible channels.
He went in search of Guy, and was bidden upstairs to the young man’s suite.
This set of rooms, having been Philip Balfour’s, was done up in elaborate style with every known modern fitting and convenience—not modernistic decoration—that didn’t please the owner—but furnishings of quiet and harmonious beauty.
‘Come along in,’ Guy said, as Potter brought Stone to the door.
‘Glad to see you,’ the young man went on, pleasantly; ‘sit down, do. I’m going to rearrange matters here but it’s good material to work on. Big rooms, good light and splendid fixtures. Here, just look at this bathroom place before you settle. Bathroom! It’s half a dozen bathrooms! Tub, shower, vapour—each with a room to itself. And the steam room—perfectly appointed, all of them. And the sunken pool—oh, Dad knew how to do himself, all right. I confess I like luxury, and when I get his writing room turned into a smoke room and his office here made over into a bar, I’ll be just about all right.’
‘You’re not disconsolate over your father’s death then?’
Guy had the grace to look ashamed of himself. ‘Well, you see, Mr Stone, we never saw much of each other. He gave me my allowance, but that’s all he did do for me. I hate to think of his taking off and I put it out of my mind all I can. I can’t do anything about it and there’s no use grieving over something you can’t help.’
‘At least, you feel sorry for Mrs Balfour?’
Guy looked up with a smile and a wink.
‘Sorry for Alli? Well, not so that I’d hire a ghost to write it up. My beautiful stepmother has not, for a long time, had an eye single to her husband’s affection for her, she had—well—a straying glance.’
‘Yet she engaged me to track down the murderer.’
‘Oh, of course. I don’t mean Alli had a hand in the tragedy—nor Keith either—maybe, eh? But she has to find out, if she can, where the blame rests and hunt down the criminal if possible.’
‘Have you any suspicion of anyone?’
‘Sure I have; lots of people. Ramsay first, of course. He had—how does the lingo run?—motive, opportunity and weapon, all right there, crying out to be used.’
‘But if your statement as to the affection existing between him and Mrs Balfour is true, it would be a mistaken thing for him to do. Surely she could not continue to care for a murderer!’
‘That’s so! I never thought of that. Alli’s pretty high-strung. No, she wouldn’t hook up with her husband’s slayer!’
‘Then, who’s your next suspect? You’ve evidently given some thought to the subject.’
‘Sure, I’ve given it thought. My next choice would be Preston Gill.’
‘Oh, come now, he’d have no motive but the theft of the book. And surely, in his position, he could get the valuable volume without staging a murder?’
‘Yeah, but he isn’t overly fond of our Ramsay and he might have carried out his little masquerade to involve Keith in the meshes of the police net.’
‘Ingenious but not very convincing. How about yourself as a suspect?’
‘I’ve been wondering when you’d get around to that. That’s what you came up here for, isn’t it?’
‘Partly. You must admit you’re a pretty fair target for suspicion.’
‘Except that a man doesn’t often kill his own father. Parricide isn’t done much now, is it?’
‘It’s not what you’d call prevalent, no. But we detectives have to look into every hole and corner.’
‘I suppose so. Are those arms of the law downstairs now planning to haul me over the coals?’
‘They are. But of course you knew it must come. Can I be of any help?’
‘Why—I don’t know. What could you do?’
‘I don’t know of anything. Unless you had some proof of your innocence that I could use to convince the Inspector. He’s a bit determined that you are more or less implicated.’
�
��Why, I was at that rotten joint when the tragedy occurred.’
‘Can you prove that?’
‘Only by the affirmation of my friends who were there with me.’
‘Not good enough, I’m afraid. Such alibis have to be quiz-proof. Can your friends put it over?’
Guy Balfour looked suddenly dismayed.
He stared at Fleming Stone, and said, ‘They can—unless they don’t choose to do so.’
‘Just what do you mean by that? Look here, Balfour, you are not so well versed in these matters—if an alibi slips up, it’s worse for you than if you’d never used it. And are any of your friends on the outs with you? Would any of them be glad to see you in trouble with the police?’
‘There is one—Jack Rollinson. He’d be cheering to see me accused of theft. I’m sure he’d never think I killed Dad. Nobody could believe that! But I might be accused of stealing the Button book.’
CHAPTER VII
A LIST OF SUSPECTS
FLEMING STONE went home and sat down at his own desk in his own library to take up the case by himself. He had plenty of facts to work upon, plenty of theories, lots of evidence both true and false, a few clues and some opinions and decisions of his own.
All of these he must reduce to some sort of order before he could feel that he had his case well in hand.
Balfour had been killed Friday night and it was now Saturday noon.
Stone realized to the full the unusual features of the case, the conflicting bits of evidence, and the fairly large number of possible suspects.
He was not so much given to making lists as were other detectives whom he knew, but at times he felt that a sort of schedule was helpful.
He thought first of the more likely killers among the acquaintances of Philip Balfour, and met squarely the fact that Keith Ramsay had strong motive, ample opportunity and a most conveniently available weapon.
He was not altogether ready to suspect Ramsay, for the attitude of the young man as he related the tale of his unconquerable love for his employer’s wife and his consequent determination to flee from the dangers this love might bring about, also the honourable confession of all this to Balfour himself, indicated a fineness of character incompatible with the soul of a murderer.
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