Authors: Ellery Queen
The Tragedy of Z (34 page)
“Oh,” said Thumm. “Cigar?” Theofel shook his head. “Well,” continued Thumm, seating himself with an expansive grunt, “we're just looking into something that smells a little rotten. Tell me, Mr. Theofel. Who arranged for the rental of a bus for that party of school-teachers from Indiana?”
The manager blinked. “I believeââHere, I'll make sure.” He rose, rummaged in a bulging file, and picked out a memorandum. “I thought so. Gentleman by the name of Onderdonk. Seemed to be acting as manager of the party. He wrote us a letter a couple of weeks ago and on Friday 'phoned me from the Park Hill Hotel.”
“To arrange for yesterday's tour?” asked Patience, frowning.
“Not exactly, Miss Thumm. That was only part of it. He wanted us to give his party bus service for the entire week they were in town.”
“So they went out Saturday and Sunday, too?” demanded Thumm.
“Oh, yes. And they'll be going out to-day and to-morrow and the rest of the week as well. Quite an itinerary. Little unusual, in fact. We gave them a special rate, of course.”
“Hmm. There were seventeen from the beginning, hey?”
“Seventeen? That's right.”
“No more than seventeen went Saturday or Sunday?”
Theofel stared at him. Then he said grimly: “No more were supposed to go, if that's what you're driving at. Wait a minute.” He picked up one of the several telephones at his elbow; apparently it was a private line that did not go through the central exchange, for he said at once: “Barbey. Send Shalleck and Brown up here” He replaced the receiver, slowly
“Barbey,” said the Inspector “The starter, hey?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” said the Inspector, and applied a match to his cigar.
The door opened and two of the stalwarts in uniform marched in.
“Brown,” said Theofel sternly to the first, “you took out that Park Hill school-teacher crowd on Saturday. Count 'em?”
Brown looked startled. “Sure. Seventeen, Mr. Theofel.”
The manager gave him a sharp glance, and then turned to his companion. “You, Shalleck?”
“Seventeen, Chief.”
“You're positive, now, both of you?”
They nodded confidently.
“All right, men.”
They turned to go. “Just a minute,” said the Inspector pleasantly. “I think you'd better send that starter Barbey up here when you get downstairs, boys.”
The manager nodded at the men's inquiring looks. “You thinkââ?” he began fretfully when the door had closed upon the two men.
“I know,” grinned the Inspector. “You let me handle him, Mr. Theofel. This is my meat.” He rubbed his hands and looked sideways at Patience, who was frowning. Thumm had never quite conquered the colossal wonder of paternity; for fatherhood had struck home to him late in life when his daughter returned from abroad after an absence which had extended from pigtails to shaven eyebrows. But on this occasion his mute appeal for approval went unheeded; Patience was cogitating upon a multitude of things, and feeding her massive father's vanity was not among them. The Inspector sighed.
The door opened and the white-haired man of the downstairs booth appeared. His lips were rather tighter than they should have been, and he ignored the presence of the Thumms pointedly.
“Want me, Mr. Theofel?” he said gruffly.
The Inspector said in the calm magisterial tone of the professional policeman: “Spill it, Barbey.”
The man's head turned unwillingly, and he blinked once at Thumm and then shifted his gaze. “WhatââI don't get you, mister.”
“Inspector to you,” said Thumm, hooking his thumbs in the armholes of his vest. “Come on, Barbey. I've got you with the goods, so there's no sense in stalling.”
Barbey looked about quickly, licked his lips, and stammered: “I guess I'm dumb. What goods? What d'ye mean?”
“Bribery,” said the Inspector with a vast unsympathy.
The starter went white in a slow ebbing of facial blood. His big flabby hands twitched feebly. “Howâhow'd you find out?”
Patience expelled her breath in a slow noiseless stream. A rising anger animated Theofel's lined face.
The Inspector smiled. “My business to find out. I'll tell you right now, mister, I'd as soon throw you in the can as not; but Mr. Theofel, nowâwell, he's inclined not to press the charge if you'll come clean.”
“Yes,” said the manager hoarsely. “Well, Barbey, you heard the Inspector! Don't stand there like a dumb ox! What's it all about?”
Barbey fumbled with his cap. “IâI got a family. I know it's against the company rules. But the dough looked sort ofâtempting. When this first guy come over I was going to tell him nothing doingââ”
“Guy with a soup-strainer and a blue hat, eh?” snapped Thumm.
“Yes, sir! I'm going to tell him nothing doing, see, but he shows me the corner of a ten-spot,” faltered Barbey, “and so I says okay. I let him climb in with the rest. Then about a minute later up comes another guy, and he gives me the same proposition as the first one. Wants me to let him go with Fisher's bus. So, well, I'd let the first one on, so I thought while I was doin' it I might's well get the benefit of another five-spot. He gives me a fin, see. So this second guy, he climbs in, and that's all I know.”
“Was Fisher in on this?” asked Theofel harshly.
“No, Mr. Theofel. He didn't know anything about it.”
“What did the second bird look like?” asked the Inspector.
“Greaseball, Chief. Face like a rat. Black. Eyetalian, I'd say. Dressed sporty, like the bunch that hangs around the Palace. Flashed a funny kind of ring on his left handâhe was a southpaw, Chief, or at least he handed me the fin with his leftââ”
“What d'ye mean funny?”
“It had a little horseshoe where you'd expect a rock to be,” mumbled Barbey. “Looked like platinum or white gold. And it was set with diamond chips.”
“Hmm.” The Inspector rubbed his chin. “Never saw this man before, I suppose?”
“No, sir!”
“Know him again if you saw him?”
“Yes, sir!”
“He came back with the crowd of schoolmarms, didn't he, but the bird in the blue hat didn't?”
Barbey's eyes widened at this omniscience. “Why, that's right.”
“Swell.” The Inspector heaved to his feet, and stuck his hand out across the desk. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Theofel. And don't be too hard on this lad.” He winked at the manager, pounded the astonished starter's shoulder in friendly fashion, tucked Patience's gloved hand under his arm, and made for the door.
“The moral of which is,” he chuckled as they descended the groaning steps, “always smell trouble when a guy keeps looking at you and then when you look at him looks away. I knew that bird had a finger in this the minute I spotted him in that barber-pole dinky!”
“Oh, father,” laughed Patience, “you're the most incorrigible exhibitionist. What
shall
I do with you? And nowââ”
The Inspector's face fell. “It's true,” he said gloomily, “we haven't made any progress towards finding old Donoghue.⦠All right, Patty,” he sighed, “let's pay a visit to that blasted museum.”
Buy
Drury Lane's Last Case
Now!
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1933 by Barnaby Ross
Cover design by Kat Lee
ISBN 978-1-5040-1661-2
This 2015 edition published by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
THE DRURY LANE MYSTERIES
FROM
MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
AND OPEN ROAD MEDIA
Available wherever ebooks are sold
