The Devil To Pay (18 page)

“Walter, you zany! You darling idiot. … I insist on speaking to Walter alone, Inspector.”

Glücke and the District Attorney exchanged glances, and Glücke waved his hand. Val pulled Walter out of the chair and drew him off to a far corner. The Inspector’s large ears twitched as he leaned forward, and Pink looked from Walter and Valerie to the Inspector and back again with a confused but hopeful air. But the thin man and Ellery did not stir. Val linked her arms about Walter’s neck, pressing her body close to him, her mouth an inch from his ear. Her back was toward them and they could not see her face; but they saw Walter’s. As she whispered, the lines of his face stretched and vanished, as if a hot iron had passed over wrinkled damp cloth. Val stopped whispering, and for a moment she remained pressed to him. He turned his head and kissed her on the mouth. They came forward side by side. “I want to see Rhys Jardin.” His voice was fresh and untroubled.

“Jardin?” The Inspector was astonished. “What for?”

“Never mind what for. I want to talk to him.”

“Quit stalling and go into your dance!”

“I don’t talk until I’ve seen Jardin.”

“I’ve had just about enough of this playing around,” rasped Glücke. “You walked in here of your own free will with a yarn that, if it’s true, cracks this case wide open. Now that you’re here you’ll talk—and talk fast!”

“I think,” said the thin man smoothly, “that Mr. Spaeth’s story will keep for an hour, Inspector. If he wants to see Jardin—why not?”

Glücke opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. His brilliant eyes suddenly became cunning. “All right. Tell you what I’ll do. You go down to the City Jail—”

Val surreptitiously jerked Walter’s jacket. “No,” said Walter. “Have him brought here.”

“Listen!” roared Glücke. “Are you going—”

“Here,” said Walter.

Glücke looked baffled. He turned aside and again his eyes sought the District Attorney, and again the District Attorney made a small, clear sign. The Inspector pressed a lever of his communicator. “Boley. Have Rhys Jardin brought to my office right away.” Val looked triumphant, and Walter grinned.

Rhys Jardin appeared between two detectives, blinking as if he were unaccustomed to strong light. He stopped short on seeing Valerie and Walter but gave no other sign of recognition. “Yes?” he said to Inspector Glücke.

The two detectives left the room and Glücke said quickly: “Just a moment, please.” He hurried to District Attorney Van Every and bent over him, speaking in a vehement undertone. Ellery strolled across the room, pushed his preposterous hat back on his head, and sat down behind Glücke’s desk. “Jardin,” said Glücke. “Walter Spaeth has come in with a funny story, but before he talks he wants a private confab with you.”

“Story?” said Rhys, looking at Walter.

“He claims that he was the man in the camel’s-hair Frank identified as you Monday afternoon.”

“Did he say that, now?” said Rhys.

“Now of course,” continued Glücke in a friendly way, “this is important testimony and it changes a lot of things. But we don’t want to put on the squeeze. So suppose you three straighten yourselves out, and then we’ll all sit down like sensible people and get to the truth, once for all.”

“I have literally nothing to say,” said Rhys.

“Pop,” said Val. He looked at her then.

“I’ll tell you what,” the Inspector went on, growing more friendly with every word. “We’ll clear out of here and leave you folks alone. When you’re ready, sing out.” He nodded to Van Every and went to one of the several doors leading out of his office. “We’ll be waiting in here.”

Ellery produced a cigaret, lit it, and coughed out a volcano of smoke. He leaned over Glücke’s desk in a spasm.

“If you don’t mind,” said Walter politely, “I think we’d rather talk somewhere else.” And he opened another door, looked in, nodded, and beckoned Val and her father.

The Inspector’s ears flamed. Nevertheless he said amiably: “All right. It doesn’t make any difference.”

Rhys Jardin crossed the room and the three of them entered the room Walter had selected. He shut the door very carefully. “Would you gentlemen mind waiting outside?” said the District Attorney suddenly. “Inspector Glücke and I—”

“I get it,” said Ellery. He rose. “Your mouth is open, Pink. Come on.” He slouched over to the door at which the Inspector was standing. Pink scratched his head and followed. They entered a small room which contained four walls, three chairs, and one desk; and Ellery loudly banged the door shut. The next instant he was at the desk opening drawers. “Transparent as cellophane,” he said gleefully. “Glücke wanted them to gabble in the big office so that he could overhear their conversation. Dictograph, of course. And since this is the room he seemed so eager to wait in… Ah!” Pink heard the click of a switch.

He sprang about in a left-handed fighter’s crouch as Van Every’s voice came out of thin air. “Can you hear anything?” And then Glücke’s voice, similarly disembodied: “Not a ripple. He must have smelled a rat.”

Pink looked foolish. “How the hell—”

“I saw through the trick and managed to locate the machine,” chuckled Ellery. “There’s a switch under his desk, and it was open. Now shut up and let’s hear what
they
’
re
saying.”

“Say, you’re a cute finagler,” growled Pink suspiciously. But Ellery was crouched over the desk, paying no attention. So Pink sat down and listened, too.

The instrument was so clear they could hear Glücke’s footsteps as he walked up and down his office. “I don’t know what you gave me the high sign for, Van,” said Glücke fretfully. “It’s a funny way—”

“Don’t be dense, Glücke,” said Van Every. “This isn’t an ordinary investigation. In fact, I’m beginning to think we’ve made a mistake in rushing matters.”

“How come?”

“There’s some secret relationship among those three,” said the thin man thoughtfully, “we’re not aware of. It’s painted all over them. And until we know, I’m afraid—”

“Afraid what?”

“That we’ll have to go slow. I won’t bring Jardin to trial until I’ve got him tied up in knots.”

The Inspector cursed impotently and for a while nothing came through the transmitter. Then they heard him say: “Damn them! They’re talking so low I can’t hear a word through this damn’ door. Cagy punks!”

“Watch your blood-pressure. Who’s this man King?”

“Legman for Fitzgerald of the
Independent
. He’s new to L.A.”

“Any idea what he’s turned up?”

“Go on, he’s bluffing to get a story.”

“Let’s talk to him anyway. By the way.”

“Yeah?”

“This afternoon one of my men discovered a bank account of Jardin’s we didn’t know anything about.”

“I thought he was busted!”

“So did I. The auction fooled me. But he’s got five million dollars salted away in the Pacific Coastal, Spaeth’s old bank. So the auction must have been a cover-up.”

“Five million!”

“Deposited last Wednesday.”

“But cripe, Van, that blows a hole in the motive.”

“I’m not so sure. Anyway, a private dick came in today, scared as the devil. Did a confidential job for Jardin not long ago; and when Spaeth was murdered he decided that maybe he’d better talk.”

“Well!”

“He claims he found out that Spaeth had monkeyed with Ohippi’s cash position and had sent out a prospectus falsifying their financial standing. He reported that to Jardin early last week.”

Glücke stared. “Jardin was broke, threatened to expose Spaeth, blackmailed him. Spaeth gave him the five million to shut him up. Jardin thought it wasn’t enough—Spaeth made ten times that. They had a couple of serious quarrels. So Jardin bumped Spaeth off to get a whack. How’s that?”

“It’s a damn lie!” said Pink, clenching his left fist.

“Shut up,” hissed Ellery.

“How’s this yarn of Walter Spaeth’s hit you?” mumbled the Inspector.

“I’m not sure.”

“Spaeth and the girl are nuts about each other. He’s screwy as hell, anyway. I wouldn’t put it past that loony galoot to stick his head in a noose just to protect her old man.”

“Well, let’s see how they act when they come out. Our only smart course is to give them rope.”

“Maybe,” said the Inspector hopefully, “they’ll hang one another.”

“There’s another angle on that five million,” said the District Attorney after another pause. “Right now Jardin’s a tin god to the public—it’s the most popular crime this country’s ever had, damn it. But they’re for him only because they think he was a victim of Spaeth’s rapacity, too. If we hold back the evidence of that five-million deposit until just before the trial, we’ll swing public opinion against him when the swing will do us the most good.”

“That’s smart, Van! Hold it. Here they come.”

Ellery turned the dictograph receiver off. “Finis.”

Pink snarled: “The bastards!”

“Pink, did you know about that five million?”

“Found the bankbook in Rhys’s golf-bag Monday morning, while I was packin’ up. Hey!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Ellery innocently.

“You ask too damn’ many questions!”

“I’m on your side, Pink,” said Ellery in a soothing voice. “What did Rhys say?”

“Well… Late Monday night he swore he didn’t know a thing about it. And I believe him, too!”

“Of course, Pink. Of course.”

“He reminded me that last Wednesday, when the deposit was made, he and I were away all day tryin’ to sell the yacht to a guy down in Long Beach. The bankbook was a plant.”

“Spaeth,” said Ellery thoughtfully.

“That’s what Rhys says, too.”

“Uh—Pink, have you any idea what the Jardins and Spaeth have been talking about in there?”

“They didn’t tell me anything, so it’s none of my business. Or,” said Pink, eying him stonily, “yours.”

“But I want to help them, Pink.”

Pink grabbed Ellery’s red-and-blue necktie with his freckled left fist. “Listen, mugg. Lay off or I’ll cripple you!”

“My, my, such muscles,” murmured Ellery. “Well, let’s see what the conferees have decided.”

In Inspector Glücke’s office the two Jardins and Walter were standing close together, like people threatened with a common peril and united in a common defense. The Inspector was saying incredulously: “
What?
”

“You heard me,” said Walter.

Glücke was speechless. District Attorney Van Every rose and said sternly: “Look here, Spaeth, you can’t pull a stunt like this and hope to get away with it. You said—”

“I know what I said. I was lying.”

“Why?”

Walter put his right arm about Val. “Rhys Jardin happens to be my fiancée’s father.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that you’d deliberately say you were on the scene of a murder when you weren’t—just for sentimental reasons! That happens in books.”

“I’m an incurable romantic,” sighed Walter.

“Well, you’re not getting away with it!” shouted Glücke.

“Please,” smiled Rhys. “Walter’s a quixotic young fool. Naturally I can’t let him sacrifice himself for me—”

“Then you admit you murdered Spaeth?” snapped the District Attorney.

“Nothing of the sort, Van Every,” said Rhys coolly. “I’m not saying anything, as I’ve told you before. But I won’t allow Walter to get himself in trouble on my account. My troubles are my own.”

Van Every tapped his mouth pettishly. The Jardins, Walter, stood very still. Then Glücke stamped to the main door. “Take Jardin back to his cell. As for you,” he went on, eying Walter malevolently, “if you ever pull a stunt like this again I’ll send you up for obstructing justice. Now beat it.”

The two detectives closed in on Rhys and took him away. Walter and Val, who wore a demure expression, sauntered after. Pink glared from the Inspector to the retreating figures, jammed on his hat, and ran after them. Ellery sighed and closed the door.

“What’s on your mind, King?” snapped the Inspector. “Let’s have that phony information of yours and then scram.”

“Don’t you think we ought to discuss this new development first?”

“Who’s we? Say, you’re one fresh jigger!”

“You won’t lose anything by letting me coöperate with you,” murmured Ellery.

“I’ll be damned,” said Glücke in amazement.

“Let the man talk,” said the thin man with a smile. “I rather like the cut of his jib. How does this retraction of Spaeth’s strike you, King?” Ellery made a face. “Oh, he lied all right,” said the Inspector disgustedly.

“On the contrary,” said Ellery, “he told the exact truth. He lied when he took the admission back. If you ask me, boys, you’re further from a solution of this case now than you were Monday night.”

“Go on,” said the District Attorney, intent.

“There aren’t enough facts to play with, but I’m convinced Walter Spaeth was the man in Jardin’s camel’s-hair coat and furthermore that he knows enough about what went on in his father’s study Monday afternoon to settle this grimy business in five minutes.”

“It’s all balled up,” muttered the Inspector. “Jardin’s attitude, how Spaeth figures, that closed corporation of theirs. By God, could they be accomplices?”

“Tell me something,” said Ellery suddenly. “Did your crew search
Sans Souci
thoroughly, Inspector?”

“Sure.”

“Then how is it,” said Ellery, taking the handkerchief-wrapped binoculars out of his pocket, “that they missed this?”

He unfolded the handkerchief. Glücke licked his lips. “Where?” he asked hoarsely.

Ellery told him. Glücke turned a deep scarlet. “Some one,” said Ellery, lighting a cigaret, “was on the Jardin terrace Monday afternoon watching Spaeth’s study through these glasses. Whoever it was, he left the imprint of a thumb and a little finger on that iron table. You might have that table examined.”

“Yeah. Sure,” said Glücke with a stricken look.

“And the binoculars.”

“And the binoculars.”

“I’m beginning to fill up with notions,” Ellery continued. “I snooped about the grounds yesterday and tried to locate the spot where Walter Spaeth parked his car and was slugged. Wasn’t it on the south side, near a sewer?”

“Yeah.”

“Was the sewer searched?”

“Was the sewer searched? Well, now—”

“If I were you—of course I’m not,” murmured Ellery, “but if I were, mind you, I’d open that sewer and give it the twice-over.”