ALM06 Who Killed the Husband? (17 page)

Loasby gave Lee the gist of his findings in Philadelphia. Robert Hawkins had been poisoned with cyanide. Cyanide, of course, would betray itself by its taste, but Hawkins, like all men who took their whisky straight, had swallowed it at a gulp and tasted it too late. No fingerprints had been found except Hawkins' own. Mrs. Quimby reported that Hawkins had received a letter on the morning of his murder. She had taken notice of it because he received so few letters. A plain, white envelope without any printing on it, posted in New York. Addressed in an ordinary kind of hand, like a clerk's. The maid had handed it to Hawkins, and after reading it the old man had remarked: "From a young man I used to know." He had then sent word down to Mrs. Quimby that he would have his dinner out that evening. Neither letter nor envelope had been found in his room, the killer evidently having taken care to remove them. Nobody in Mrs. Quimby's house had had a sight of Hawkins' visitor the previous night.

"There is nothing in Philadelphia to furnish a clue to his identity," said Loasby. "I am working at this end to discover Hawkins' former associates. He was registered at the Tuckerman agency before going to work for the Gartreys. I'm also having the sales of cyanide traced."

Lee stroked his chin. "There's one odd feature of the situation. If the killer made a date with Hawkins to meet him at the restaurant, why should Hawkins have been 'surprised' to find him at the door?"

"I asked O'Mara about that," said Loasby, "and he stuck to it that Hawkins did not appear to know the young man when he greeted him."

"This is the way I would explain it," said Lee. "Somebody was looking for a man to liquidate old Hawkins. It is hardly possible that a man could be found who knew Hawkins and was willing to take on the job of rubbing him out, just like that. It is likely that they signed the name of one of Hawkins' acquaintances to the letter and gave the job to a professional killer. This one explained to Hawkins why he had come instead of the friend he expected, made friends with the unsuspicious old man during the meal, and afterwards suggested going to Hawkins' room for a drink."

"That's the way I figure it," said Loasby.

While Lee was at Headquarters, Fanny called up to say that Mr. George Coler of Hasbrouck and Company was trying to get in touch with him.

"I'm not far from his office," said Lee. "Tell him I'll be there directly."

Once more Lee was led through the magnificent suite of lofty rooms to George Coler's private office. The beauteous receptionist swam before him as gracefully as a swan. Today, however, the astute banker was far from showing his usual savoir-faire; his high-colored face was mottled in hue and etched with harassed lines; one eyelid twitched nervously; he was unable to keep still. Today he took care to close the door of his office after Lee had entered.

"So good of you to come down, Mr. Mappin. I'm really in no shape to do business today, but I have a dozen important meetings." He attempted to carry it off with a laugh. "I suppose the market would break if I went home."

"What's the matter?" asked Lee mildly.

"It's that damnable murder in Philadelphia last night!"

Lee wondered why the murder of a poor old butler should upset the great and powerful banker to this extent. While Coler railed on against the crime, he quietly waited to find out.

"Horrible!...Absolutely cold-blooded!...The man must be insane!...What's the matter with the police? Is Al Yohe to be allowed to go on killing at his own sweet will?"

"This one wasn't Al Yohe's work," said Lee.

Coler whirled on him. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

"Well, there is certain evidence in the hands of the police that proves it couldn't have been Yohe."

Coler's agitation increased. "Good God, Mappin! Do you mean that the police have information that hasn't been given out?"

"Why, of course. They can't reveal their whole hand."

Coler approached him with his face working. "What sort of information?"

Lee held up his hands. "I couldn't tell you that, Mr. Coler."

"You can tell me! I'm not a newspaperman. I'm accustomed to keeping things to myself. I have a right to know this!"

Lee continued to shake his head. Coler paced the room, biting his lip.

Lee thought: Coler believes that it was Agnes who had old Hawkins rubbed out and that it will be brought home to her. He's in love with Agnes.

Coler succeeded in controlling his agitation. "Mappin, whom do the police suspect?" he asked frankly. "You are safe with me."

"They don't 'suspect' anybody yet. There is no positive evidence."

Coler came close to Lee and let a hand drop on his shoulder. His air of candor was very winning. "Map-pin, you are no policeman," he said. "You don't belong in that galley. You belong with us. I want you on my side."

Lee affected to look blank. "I'm afraid I don't understand you."

"I will be perfectly plain with you. I want you to work for me, Mappin--may I call you Lee? This is your profession and you are at the head of it. In a matter as important as this you can ask me any fee you like. But it's not a question of pay. I know you don't care particularly for money. This affects your own self-interest, Lee."

"I don't quite get you," said Lee.

"You and I belong to the so-called better class. We've got to stick together. We are the rulers and we've got to maintain our position. Numerically we are few and the muckers, the roughnecks, the mob, they are many. We've got to keep them down, by any means. How glad they would be to get back at us, led by the sensational press. We mustn't give them such an opening, Lee!"

Lee continued to look blank.

"Suppose a woman of our class, an infatuated woman, lost her head and...and became implicated in a nasty crime. Think what an opportunity it would give to all the rabble rousers in the country to stir up the masses, to preach hate against the upper class. Especially in a time of excitement like this. It would be a terrible blow to our prestige, Lee!"

"I think you exaggerate the importance of the situation," said Lee dryly. "The newspapers, yes, but they don't cut very deep; they have to be finding new sensations all the time. I can't see it becoming a national issue. And, anyhow, I never could feel that I belonged to any particular class, either upper or lower. I suppose it's a defect in my make-up."

As Coler began a fresh tirade against the unruly masses, Lee stopped him with a gesture. "I see your point, Mr. Coler, but I cannot change my course now. I have handed over certain evidence to the police and in return Inspector Loasby has taken me into his confidence. So you see..."

Coler heard only one phrase of this. "What evidence have you turned over to the police?" he demanded excitedly.

Lee held up his hands.

The interview did not last much longer. It was something new for the powerful banker, accustomed to obedience and subservience from all, to meet with firm opposition and he did not take it well. There was the hint of a threat in his final shot at Lee.

"You are making a serious mistake, Mappin! We are powerful; we know how to defend ourselves; we stand by our own!"

Lee got out.

Chapter 14

On Wednesday night Miss Delphine Harley was opening at Gilbert Miller's Theatre in Trumpet-vine, a new comedy by Philip Barry. Since the star, the manager and the playwright all enjoyed the highest popularity, it promised to be a triple-barreled social event, the most important of the pre-Christmas season. Miss Harley had sent Lee a couple of seats. When the night came he was in anything but the right mood for the furor of a fashionable first night, but it was Judy's turn to be taken and he could not bear to disappoint her; he dressed for it with a sigh. Judy had been looking forward to this for days ahead. Lee had presented her with a new dress that he had picked out himself, a soft, royal-purple satin with a billowing skirt. Choosing costumes for his girls was one of his most delicate pleasures.

Police were holding back the dense crowd in front of the theater. It was music in Judy's ears to hear the exclamations of the people as she crossed the sidewalk--and Lee did not find it exactly unpleasant. "Ahh! ain't she beautiful!...That's the prettiest one we seen...Who are they?...The little fellow is Amos Lee Mappin, the writer. I seen his pitcher in the paper."

The rear of the theater was jammed with people from the cheaper seats who had come down to see the arrival of the notables. From the stairway, which provided the best point of vantage, came shrill cries: "Look! there's Kitty Carlisle!...Oh, there's Vera Zorina!...Madge! Madge! there's Jimmy Stewart!...You're crazy! It's just a hall room boy thinks he looks like Jimmy. If it was Jimmy in person, he'd be mobbed!"

It was a long, slow business to get through to the aisle. "What a childish people we are!" grumbled Lee. "Will we ever grow up?"

Judy squeezed his arm. "I love it, Pop! I really feel like somebody when I am out with you!"

After the usual delay, the performance started. From the start it was evident that Gilbert Miller had another hit on his hands. The usually difficult first-night audience was lifted out of itself. Miss Harley's first act entrance was greeted with applause that stopped the show. She was playing the part of a county girl from Maryland who, when transplanted to New York, revealed all the devious cleverness of another Eve. The audience loved her. She gave a most brilliant performance, yet Lee, who knew her pretty well, had a feeling that something was amiss. Her art was perfect, but the natural, spontaneous humor that constituted her special charm, seemed a little strained, and when the curtain went down he said as much to Judy.

"Oh, I thought she was lovely!" said Judy enthusiastically.

It occurred to Lee that the girl's voice sounded a little self-conscious.

After the second act, while the theater rang with applause and the curtain was raised again and again to allow the smiling Miss Harley to acknowledge it, Lee wrote on the back of his card: "Congratulations! You were immense!" and sent it to the star's dressing room by an usher. He and Judy remained in their seats to avoid the awful crush at the back of the theater. Before the curtain rose again the usher brought Lee a note within a sealed envelope. It read:

Dear Lee:

I must see you tonight. Don't come to my dressing room, there'll be a mob there. I'll shake them as soon as I can and come to your place. So don't go to bed!

Yours,

D.

Lee handed the note to Judy. "There is something wrong!" Judy looked so queer while she read it that he was impelled to ask: "Do you know what it is?"

Judy was startled. "Good heavens, Pop! How should 
I
 know what's the matter? I scarcely know Miss Harley. I haven't seen her for ages. Whatever put such an idea into your head? I'm sure I'm not in Miss Harley's confidence..."

"Methinks she doth protest too much," murmured Lee, and Judy fell silent.

Anyhow, Judy lost a supper by it, for Lee felt that he ought to hasten home. He stopped at his favorite delicatessen on the way to buy smoked turkey and other delicacies, for Jermyn had not been instructed to stay up and he wasn't sure what there might be in the refrigerator. Jermyn was in bed, and while Lee waited for Delphine he bustled around setting the table, beating up eggs ready to scramble when she came in, and so on. Lee loved to fuss around kitchen and pantry, and was fond of complaining that he never got a chance.

Delphine did not keep him waiting too long. Looking through the open door into the dining room, she flung her arms around Lee. "Darling! How did you guess that I would be starved to death!"

"Well, you've done a good night's work," said Lee.

She accompanied him out into the kitchen while he cooked the eggs. "I love kitchens! Scrambled eggs and smoked turkey! My favorite combination. I hope you put water in the eggs instead of milk. Milk makes them tough."

Lee could see that she was nervous. He let her take her own time in coming to the point. She asked him questions without waiting for the answers.

"What did you think of the show tonight? Everybody said it went all right, but I know I was terrible. I couldn't keep my mind on the play. I was just an automaton. What a time I had getting away afterwards! I know I've made a hundred enemies. There was a supper party at Pierre's. I never should have got away if Gilbert hadn't helped me. He saw that I was all in..." And so on. And so on.

They carried the food into the dining room and sat down. Delphine refused a cocktail and Lee poured her a glass of Montrachet.

"Let me eat a mouthful before I tell you what I came for," she pleaded. "Honestly, I'm famished."

"Take your time," said Lee. "We have all night."

She ate, but did not on that account stop talking. "This play has been the very devil to lick into shape! Casting trouble; one part after another. They wanted me to open cold in it, but I absolutely refused. So we were booked for Monday and Tuesday nights in Syracuse. That meant two performances and two whole days of rehearsing. I got back to New York at four this afternoon and had to drive direct to the theater to run through my scenes with Claude Danforth. A good actor, but he will not listen during a scene. It's maddening! This turkey is delicious. So I didn't get home until after six, just time enough for a bite and back to the theater again..." She suddenly laid down her fork and looked at Lee imploringly. "Good heavens, Lee! I don't know what you will say to me! I am frightened out of my wits!"