Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s

by Leslie S. Klinger

  “My dear sir,” returned the Inspector quietly, “I didn’t accuse her of anything. Nobody knows better than I what peculiar things can happen in the course of a criminal investigation; therefore I never let the slightest blind spot escape my notice. All I did was to ask her to identify the bag. When she did so, I told her where it was found. I was waiting, of course, for an explanation. It did not come. . . . You must understand, Mr. Ives-Pope, that when a man is murdered and a woman’s bag is found in his pocket it is the duty of the police to discover the owner of the bag and his or her connection with the crime. But of course—I do not have to convince you of that.”

  The magnate drummed on the arm of his chair. “I see your point of view, Inspector,” he said. “It was obviously your duty, and it is still your duty to go to the bottom of the thing. In fact, I want you to make every effort to. My own personal opinion is that she is the victim of circumstances. But I don’t want to plead her case. I trust you sufficiently to rely on your judgment after you’ve thoroughly probed the problem.” He paused. “Inspector Queen, how would you like to have me arrange a little interview at my home to-morrow morning? I would not ask you to go to this trouble,” he added apologetically, “except that Frances is quite ill, and her mother insists she stay at home. May we expect you?”

  “Very good of you, Mr. Ives-Pope,” remarked Queen calmly, “We’ll be there.”

  The financier seemed indisposed to end the interview. He shifted heavily in his chair. “I’ve always been a fair man, Inspector,” he said. “I feel somehow that I may be accused of using my position as a means of securing special privileges. That is not so. The shock of your tactics last night made it impossible for Frances to tell her story. At home, among the members of her family, I am sure she will be able to clear up her connection with the affair to your satisfaction.” He hesitated for a moment, then continued in a colder tone. “Her fiancé will be there and perhaps his presence will help to calm her.” His voice expressed the thought that he personally did not think so. “May we expect you, let us say, at ten-thirty?”

  “That will be fine,” said Queen, nodding. “I should like to know more definitely, sir, just who will be present.”

  “I can arrange it as you wish, Inspector,” replied Ives-Pope, “but I imagine Mrs. Ives-Pope will want to be there and I know that Mr. Barry will—my future son-in-law,” he explained dryly. “Perhaps a few of Frances’ friends—theatrical friends. My son Stanford may also grace us with his presence—a very busy young man, you know,” he added with a suspicion of bitterness.

  The three men shifted embarrassedly. Ives-Pope rose with a sigh and Ellery, Queen and Sampson followed suit. “That’s all, I think, Inspector,” said the financier in a lighter tone. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Then I’ll be getting along.” Ives-Pope turned to Ellery and Sampson. “Of course, Sampson, if you can get away, I’d like you to be there. Do you think you can make it?” The District Attorney nodded. “And Mr. Queen”—the big man turned to Ellery—“will you come also? I understand that you have been following the investigation very closely at your father’s side. We shall be happy to have you.”

  “I’ll be there,” said Ellery softly, and Ives-Pope left the office.

  “Well, what do you think, Q?” asked Sampson, fidgeting in his swivel-chair.

  “A most interesting man,” returned the Inspector. “How fair-minded he is!”

  “Oh, yes—yes,” said Sampson. “Er—Q, he asked me before you came if you wouldn’t go easy on the publicity. Sort of special favor, you know.”

  “He didn’t have the nerve to come out with it to me, eh?” chuckled the Inspector. “He’s quite human. . . . Well, Henry, I’ll do my best, but if that young woman is implicated seriously, I won’t vouch for hands off with the press.”

  “All right, all right, Q—it’s up to you,” said Sampson irritably. “Damn this throat of mine!” He took an atomizer from a desk-drawer and sprinkled his throat wryly.

  “Didn’t Ives-Pope recently donate a hundred thousand dollars to the Chemical Research Foundation?”64 asked Ellery suddenly, turning to Sampson.

  “I seem to remember something of that sort,” said Sampson, gargling. “Why?”

  Ellery mumbled an inaudible explanation that was lost in Sampson’s violent gyrations with the sprayer. Queen, who was regarding his son speculatively, shook his head, consulted his watch and said,

  “Well, son, it’s time we knocked off for lunch. What do you say—Henry, think you’d like to join us in a bite?”

  Sampson grinned with an effort. “I’m full up to my neck with work, but even a District Attorney has to eat,” he said. “I’ll go on only one condition—that I pay the check. I owe you something, anyway.”

  As they donned their coats Queen picked up Sampson’s telephone.

  “Mr. Morgan? . . . Oh, hello, Morgan. I say, do you think you can find a little time this afternoon for a chat? . . . Right. Two-thirty will be fine. Good-by.”

  “That settles that,” said the Inspector comfortably. “Always pays to be polite, Ellery—remember that.”

  At two-thirty promptly the two Queens were ushered into the quiet law-office of Benjamin Morgan. It was noticeably different from Field’s lavish suite—richly furnished but with a more business-like simplicity. A smiling young woman closed the door after them. Morgan greeted them with some reserve. He held out a box of cigars as they sat down.

  “No thanks—my snuff will do,” said the Inspector genially, while Ellery after being introduced lit a cigarette and blew smoke-rings. Morgan lit a cigar with shaking fingers.

  “I suppose you’re here to continue that talk of ours last night, Inspector?” said Morgan.

  Queen sneezed, replaced his snuff-box, and leaned back in the chair. “Look here, Morgan old man,” he said evenly. “You haven’t been quite on the up-and-up with me.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Morgan, coloring.

  “You told me last night,” said the Inspector reflectively, “you told me last night that you parted amicably with Field two years ago, when you dissolved the firm of Field & Morgan. Did you say that?”

  “I did,” said Morgan.

  “How, then, my dear fellow,” asked Queen, “do you explain the little incident of the quarrel at the Webster Club? I certainly would not call a threat against another man’s life an ‘amicable’ way of dissolving a partnership!”

  Morgan sat quietly for several minutes while Queen stared patiently at him and Ellery sighed. Then he looked up and began to speak in a passionate undertone.

  “I’m sorry, Inspector,” he muttered, glancing away. “I might have known that a threat like that would be remembered by somebody. . . . Yes, it’s true enough. We had lunch one day in the Webster Club at Field’s suggestion. As far as I was concerned, the less I had to do with him socially the better I liked it. But the purpose of the luncheon was to go over some last details of the dissolution, and of course I had no choice. . . . I’m afraid I lost my temper. I did make a threat against his life, but it was—well, it was said in the heat of an angry moment. I forgot the whole thing before the week was over.”

  The Inspector nodded sagely. “Yes, things do happen like that sometimes. But”—and Morgan licked his lips in despairing anticipation—“a man doesn’t threaten another man’s life, even if he doesn’t mean it, merely over a matter of business detail.” He leveled his finger at Morgan’s shrinking body. “Come on now, man—out with it. What are you holding back?”

  Morgan’s entire body had gone flaccid. His lips were ashy as he turned from one Queen to the other, mute appeal in his eyes. But their glances were inexorable and Ellery, who was regarding him much as a vivisectionist regards a guinea-pig, interrupted.

  “My dear Morgan,” he said coldly, “Field had something on you, and he thought that that was a good time to tell you about it. It’s as obvious as the red in your eye.”

  “You’ve guessed
it in part, Mr. Queen. I’ve been one of the most unfortunate men God ever created. That devil Field—whoever killed him deserves to be decorated for his service to humanity. He was an octopus—a soulless beast in human form. I can’t tell you how happy—yes, happy!—I am that he is dead!”

  “Softly there, Morgan,” said Queen. “Although I gather our mutual friend was a good deal of a skunk, your remarks might be overheard by a less sympathetic audience. And—?”

  “Here’s the whole story,” mumbled Morgan, his eyes fixed on the desk-blotter. “It’s a hard one to tell. . . . When I was a kid at college I got into some trouble with a girl—a waitress in the college restaurant. She was not bad—just weak,65 and I suppose I was wild in those days. At any rate she had a child—my child. . . . I suppose you know that I come from a strait-laced family. If you don’t, you would find out soon enough on investigation. They had great plans for me, they were socially ambitious—to cut it short. I couldn’t very well marry the girl and bring her to father’s house as my wife. It was a caddish thing to do. . . .”

  He paused.

  “But it was done, and that’s all that matters. I’ve—I’ve always loved her. She was sensible enough about the arrangements. . . . I managed to provide for her out of my generous allowance. No one—I’ll swear not a soul in this world with the exception of her widowed mother, a fine old lady—knew about the affair. I’ll swear to that, I say. And yet—” His fist clenched, but he resumed with a sigh. “Eventually, I married the girl whom my family had selected for me.” There was a painful silence as he stopped to clear his throat. “It was a mariage de convenance—just that and nothing else. She came from an old aristocratic family, and I had the money. We have lived fairly happily together. . . . Then I met Field. I curse the day I ever consented to go into partnership with him—but my own business was not exactly all it might have been and Field, if nothing else, was an aggressive and clever lawyer.”

  The Inspector took a pinch of snuff.

  “Everything went smoothly at first,” continued Morgan in the same low tone. “But by degrees I began to suspect that my partner was not everything he should have been. Queer clients—queer clients indeed—would enter his private office after hours; he would evade my questions about them; things began to look peculiar. Finally I decided my own reputation would suffer if I continued to be linked with the man, and I broached the subject of dissolution. Field objected strenuously, but I was stubborn and after all he could not dominate my desires. We dissolved.”

  Ellery’s fingers tapped an absent tattoo on the handle of his stick.

  “Then the affair at the Webster. He insisted we have lunch together for the settlement of the last few details. That wasn’t his purpose at all, of course. You can guess, I suppose, his intentions. . . . He came out quite suavely with the overwhelming statement that he knew I was supporting a woman and my illegitimate child. He said that he had some of my letters to prove it, and a number of cancelled vouchers of checks I had sent her. . . . He admitted he had stolen them from me. I hadn’t looked at them for years, of course. . . . Then he blandly announced that he meant to make capital out of this evidence!”

  “Blackmail!” muttered Ellery, a light creeping into his eyes.

  “Yes, blackmail,” retorted Morgan bitterly. “Nothing less. He described in very graphic terms what would happen if the story should come out. Oh, Field was a clever crook! I saw the entire structure of social position I had built up—a process which took years—destroyed in an instant. My wife, her family, my own family—and more than that, the circle in which we moved—I shouldn’t have been able to lift my head out of the muck. And as for business—well, it doesn’t take much to make important clients go elsewhere for their legal work. I was trapped—I knew it and he knew it.”

  “Just how much did he want, Morgan?” asked Queen.

  “Enough! He wanted twenty-five thousand dollars—just to keep quiet. I didn’t even have any assurances that the affair would end there. I was caught and caught properly. Because, remember, this was not an affair which had died years before. I was still supporting that poor woman and my son. I am supporting them now. I will—continue to support them.” He stared at his fingernails.

  “I paid the money,” he resumed morosely. “It meant stretching a bit, but I paid it. But the harm was done. I saw red there at the Club, and—but you know what happened.”

  “And this blackmail has continued all the while, Morgan?” asked the Inspector.

  “Yes, sir—for two solid years. The man was insatiable, I tell you! Even to-day I can’t completely understand it. He must have been earning tremendous fees in his own practice, and yet he always seemed to be needing money. No small change, either—I have never paid him less than ten thousand dollars at one time!”

  Queen and Ellery looked at each other fleetingly. Queen said, “Well, Morgan, it’s a pretty kettle of fish. The more I hear about Field the more I dislike putting the irons on the fellow who did away with him. However! In the light of what you’ve told me, your statement last night that you hadn’t seen Field for two years is patently untrue. When did you see him last?”

  Morgan appeared to be racking his memory. “Oh, it was about two months ago, Inspector,” he said at last.

  The Inspector shifted in his chair. “I see. . . . I’m sorry you didn’t tell me all this last night. You understand, of course, that your story is perfectly safe with the police. And it’s mighty vital information. Now then—do you happen to know a woman by the name of Angela Russo?”

  Morgan stared. “Why, no, Inspector. I’ve never heard of her.”

  Queen was silent for a moment. “Do you know a gentleman called ‘Parson Johnny’?”

  “I think I can give you some information there, Inspector. I’m certain that during our partnership Field was using the little thug for some shady business of his own. I caught him sneaking up into the office a number of times after hours, and when I asked Field about him, he would sneer and say, ‘Oh, that’s only Parson Johnny, a friend of mine!’ But it was sufficient to establish the man’s identity. What their connection was I can’t tell you, because I don’t know.”

  “Thanks, Morgan,” said the Inspector. “I’m glad you told me that. And now—one last question. Have you ever heard the name Charles Michaels?”

  “To be sure I have,” responded Morgan grimly. “Michaels was Field’s so-called valet—he acted in the capacity of bodyguard and was really a blackguard, or I’m greatly mistaken in my judgment of men. He came to the office once in a while. I can’t think of anything else about him, Inspector.”

  “He knows you, of course?” asked Queen.

  “Why—I suppose so,” returned Morgan doubtfully. “I never spoke to him, but undoubtedly he saw me during his visits to the office.”

  “Well, now, that’s fine, Morgan,” grunted Queen, rising, “This has been a most interesting and informative chat. And—no, I don’t think there’s anything else. That is, at the moment, just ride along, Morgan, and keep in town—available if we need you for anything. Remember that, won’t you?”

  “I’m not likely to forget it,” said Morgan dully. “And—of course the story I told you—about my son—it won’t come out?”

  “You needn’t have the slightest fear—about that, Morgan,” said Queen, and a few moments later he and Ellery were on the sidewalk.

  “So it was blackmail, dad,” murmured Ellery. “That gives me an idea, do you know?”

  “Well, son, I’ve a few ideas of my own!” chuckled Queen, and in a telepathic silence they walked briskly down the street in the direction of headquarters.

  64.While there is no trace of an organization with this name, there were well-established chemical research funds at numerous institutions in and around New York. A gift of $100,000 would have been a newsworthy event for any of them, being the modern equivalent of a gift of more than $21 million, using the “economy cost” method of valuation. (https://measuringworth.com/)

  65.“
Weak” presumably means she didn’t have the strength of character to turn him down when he sought to have sex with her! The double-standard has a long history . . .

  CHAPTER XII

  In Which the Queens Invade Society

  Wednesday morning found Djuna pouring the coffee before a bemused Inspector and a chattering Ellery. The telephone bell rang. Both Ellery and his father jumped for the instrument.

  “Here! What are you doing?” exclaimed Queen. “I’m expecting a call and that’s it!”

  “Now, now, sir, allow a bibliophile the privilege of using his own telephone,” retorted Ellery. “I have a feeling that that’s my friend the book-dealer calling me about the elusive Falconer.”

  “Look here, Ellery, don’t start—” While they were chaffing each other good-naturedly across the table, Djuna picked up the telephone.

  “The Inspector—the Inspector, did you say? Inspector—” said Djuna, grinning as he held the mouthpiece to his thin chest, “it’s for you.”

  Ellery subsided in his chair while Queen, with an air of triumph, snatched the instrument.

  “Yes?”

  “Stoates calling from Field’s office, Inspector,” came a fresh cheery young voice. “I want to put Mr. Cronin on the wire.”

  The Inspector’s brow wrinkled in anticipation. Ellery was listening intently, and even Djuna, with the monkey-like eagerness of his sharp features, had become rooted to his corner, as if he, too, awaited important news. Djuna in this respect resembled his brother anthropoid—there was an alertness, a bright inquisitiveness in his attitude and mien which delighted the Queens eternally.

  Finally a high-pitched voice came over the wire. “This is Tim Cronin speaking, Inspector,” it said. “How are you? I haven’t got round to seeing you for an age.”