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Title: The House with the Blue Door
Author: Footner, Hulbert (1879-1944)
Date of first publication: 1942
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   New York and London: Harper & Brothers, 1942
   [first edition]
Date first posted: 16 May 2021
Date last updated: 16 May 2021
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1673

This ebook was produced by
Al Haines, Jen Haines, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net


PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Italics in the original printed edition are indicated _thus_.

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.

As part of the conversion of the book to its new digital
format, we have made certain minor adjustments in its layout.






THE HOUSE WITH THE BLUE DOOR

by Hulbert Footner



CHAPTER 1


Mr. Amos Lee Mappin picked up the telephone in his study and heard the
voice of his servant Jermyn saying: "It's Mrs. Cassells, sir." Jermyn's
voice was expressionless, yet it was clear that he didn't approve of
Mrs. Cassells.

Mr. Mappin sighed; Sandra Cassells was always in such a gale and just
then he wanted to work quietly. It must be important, or at least she
thought it was; he had never heard of her calling anybody up in the
morning. Anyhow, Mrs. Nicholas Cassells was not a woman you could put
off with impunity, and he said: "Connect her, Jermyn."

The next instant Sandra was pouring herself over the wire. "Lee,
darling, now you mustn't refuse me! This is no ordinary request, but
very, very special. I'm not asking you to do me a favor either; you'll
be doing a favor to yourself. I'm so excited!"

Lee said mildly: "But what is it, darling?"

"I want you to come to dinner tonight; seven-thirty as usual."

"But Sandra, my love, tonight's the testimonial dinner to Albert
Caldwell and I accepted a week ago."

"Oh, that's a huge affair; there'll be a thousand people there and
you'll never be missed. Send word you're sick. They have nine hours to
fill your place."

"What's the special occasion at your house?"

"It's not a party, Lee; just two men and a woman that you must meet.
They don't know anybody that you or I know, so no one will know you
came."

"Who are they, Sandra?"

"Extraordinary people, my dear! It was only by the greatest luck that I
heard of them. They are just your kind, Lee; nobody else could draw them
out. Unless you come there's no object in having them."

"What do you mean, my kind of people?"

"I'm not going to tell you any more; I want it to be a surprise."

"How can I draw them out if I don't know who or what they are?"

"You'll find out when you get here... And Lee," she added slyly, "I
have a couple of brace of canvasback from Richards!"

Lee's mouth watered. "Canvasback! Scandalous! The season closed two
months ago!"

"Well, that's not my fault. They're shot now, and somebody's got to eat
them. _Canvasback  la Tour d'Argent_ as only Emilion can prepare them!"

Lee knew when he was licked. "Very well, darling. I feel like a louse at
breaking my date with the Caldwell Committee, but I'll be there."

"Thanks, darling. Don't be late; there's _so_ much to talk about!"

Lee hung up, wondering what new enthusiasm was stinging Sandra now. She
got them about once a week. After nearly forty years of conventional
society, she had wearied of it, and was ever on the hunt for new
sensations. Since her husband's death six months before, she had become
more unrestrained than ever--not that Nick Cassells had hampered her
much, but of course, now that he was gone, she was far richer. Lee idly
figured that the income from the two estates must amount to something
better than a million a year; naturally the government took most of it;
even so, Sandra had enough left to gratify every whim.

There had been a Swami--but all rich and idle women have a Swami in
their entourage at one time or another, and Sandra had soon dropped him
as not sufficiently original for her. Her only other excursion into
mysticism (that Lee knew about) was by way of the gentleman from
Nebraska who called himself Elijah II. He was said to have a chariot
ready for his translation to heaven. But his personal habits proved to
be unpleasant, and he was dropped quicker than the Swami. Sandra was
always looking for "characters" through whom she could attain to
"broader sympathies." Among them Lee had met a bus driver, a brew
master, and a coal passer. There had also been a fascinating ring master
who had got into Sandra for some thousands of dollars for a circus which
he did not own. He was in jail. Sandra was not much interested in her
own sex; "so stereotyped," she said with a shrug.

Lee consoled himself with the thought that, anyhow, the food at Sandra's
would be vastly better than a lukewarm banquet at the Vandermeer. Since
Sandra had got more and more into the habit of dumping her problems in
Lee's lap, Lee had seen to it that after the collapse of France she
engaged Emilion St. Cyr, lately chef in the household of M. le Duc de
Rochechouart. Emilion was one of the five best cooks in the world.
Sandra, who ate no more than a bird, was incapable of appreciating his
art, but Lee did, and thus he made sure that at least part of the
unjustifiable Cassells income was spent in a good cause. Sandra's new
protgs would undoubtedly be as tiresome as the others, but _canvasback
 la Tour d'Argent_--Ah! Sandra herself never bored Lee. A simple,
kind-hearted soul under all the fluff, she baffled him by her very
openness. It was always amusing to speculate on what a woman with a
completely uninhibited tongue would say next.

Sandra, for pretended motives of economy, had given up her town
apartment and Lee was forced to motor up to Westchester County. He saved
half an hour of tedious driving through traffic by taking the subway to
the end of the line and meeting his chauffeur there. "Brookwood" was
almost surrounded by the city now, but it was hard to realize it, once
you were inside the gates, so skillful was the planting. Only on the
stillest nights was it possible to hear the clang of a distant trolley
car or the strains of a wide-open radio. In addition to the huge formal
garden, which cost a fortune to keep up and was of no earthly use to
anybody, there was a paddock for horses, a small running track and a
pasture field with a cow in it. Lee's brain reeled as he tried to
compute the value of all this in city lots--and the taxes. Sandra said
she was going to die there and the hell with the taxes.

Of the grandiose palaces built at the turn of the century, this was one
of the last to be used as a private dwelling. It looked to be about a
tenth of a mile long, an endless pile of crass yellow brick with gray
stone trimmings, supposed to be in the Italian style and all broken out
in loggias, terraces, balustrades and Palladian windows. Inside there
was a mighty red-carpeted corridor stretching from end to end, as wide
and high as a cathedral with rooms opening off on each side. Needless to
say, it was crowded with the richest of furnishings from every quarter
of the globe. It achieved magnificence, but Lee doubted if there was a
single first-class work of art anywhere between cellar and garret.

Sandra received him in one of the smaller reception rooms. The other
guests had arrived and over her shoulder Lee saw with surprise and
pleasure that they were young and extremely ornamental. Sandra's
previous protgs had been pretty stuffy-looking. Sandra herself, a
slender woman, dressed by an artist in clinging black lace with sparing
touches of jet, looked handsomer than Lee had ever seen her. Her
complexion was as soft as a baby's; her graying hair, arranged in a
fashion of her own to suggest the ancient Greek, emphasized the
freshness of her skin. She did not look young, either, but ageless.
Diamonds all over her, as usual; diamonds at her ears, her throat, her
breast; diamonds halfway to her elbows.

Lee kissed her hand, murmuring: "You are lovely!" with a kind of wonder
that was perfectly genuine, because he knew that Sandra was actually
nearly ten years older than his own fat, bald little self. She was
several times a grandmother, but she didn't like to have it referred to.

"I just had my face lifted," she murmured happily.

Lee thought: What, again!

She read the thought. "Ah, but this man knows his business!" She lifted
the hair at her temples. "Look! you can scarcely see the scars. And my
throat, see! Not a wrinkle!... Come and meet my guests!"

"A word about them first so I'll know what to say."

"No! No! I want you to gather for yourself what they are! You wouldn't
guess in a thousand years!"

First Lee went to speak to Mrs. Delaplaine, Agnes, a fading, depressed
woman whom Sandra, according to her humor, referred to as my dearest
friend, my chief of staff, my companion--or that tiresome female! Lee
sincerely pitied Agnes and hoped that Sandra paid her a thumping big
salary, which she probably did not.

He was then led to the three young people, whose names proved to be Mr.
and Mrs. Ammon and Mr. Farren. Ammon was a tall, dark fellow,
thirty-five, Lee guessed, a magnificent physical specimen. He had a bold
nose, a predatory mouth, and a hard, bright gaze; the figure of a young
guardsman. His young wife was an ash blonde, tall too, and of that
delicate, fragile type of beauty that makes a man of any age feel
protective. They made a striking pair. The other man, Farren, was
younger and less imposing than his tall friend. He also was handsome, as
blond as the other was dark, but he had a haggard look, and whereas
Ammon was as smooth and hard as glass, there was a hint of reckless pain
in the younger man's blue eyes that surprised Lee. Farren smiled
agreeably, unconscious that his eyes were giving him away. All in all,
the three made Lee feel wary. Something queer here. He suspected that
Sandra was due to be sold again.

But it was fascinating to watch the three and to speculate on what they
were. Every line of the girl's delicate beauty suggested breeding, but
that was an accident; for it presently transpired that she had been born
in Tenth Avenue on San Juan Hill. Nor was either of the men well-born,
though both had acquired a certain veneer on the way up, especially
Ammon. He bore himself as coolly as if he had been familiar with this
grand house since childhood. As for the girl, it was impossible to tell
what was going through her head; with a faint, fixed smile, she let the
others do the talking. Farren was ill at ease and furtive. What was
their line? Not business; not the stage; not journalism. Lee had to
confess himself baffled.

They were already on a familiar footing with their hostess; that was
Sandra's way. Ammon was "Sieg," his wife "Letty," and Farren quite
naturally "Blondy." Sandra, as pleased with them as a little girl with a
family of new dolls, discussed them as candidly as if they had had no
more feelings than dolls.

"Isn't she lovely, Lee? Turn around, darling, and let Mr. Mappin see
your behind. What a line from shoulder to hip and from hip to ankle!
Perfect! And do you know, Lee, with that exquisite figure she did not
have anything fit to put on! I took her down to Hattie's myself this
morning and outfitted her. What a pleasure! That dress is an original
model and Hattie charged me double for it, but I'll get square with her.
We quarreled about that dress, but Hattie was right! Hattie was right!
You'd think that indefinite beige would make the girl look sallow, she's
so pale anyhow; but nothing of the kind! It brings out the alabaster
quality of her skin!"

Sandra turned to the young men. "Of course, after that, we had to buy
the boys some clothes. We all went to Brooks's. Fancy! neither of the
boys ever had any really good clothes! With such figures! They didn't
have to have clothes made. Everything fitted like a glove! Turn around,
Sieg. Isn't that a wonderful back, Lee? It was made for a tail coat. And
Blondy, too. He isn't so big, but he's just as well made. Only a few men
look well in evening clothes."

"And I am not one of them!" murmured Lee.

After cocktails they were led into another small room which contained a
round table set for six. "The dining room is so vast," said Sandra, "I
thought it would be cozier to eat here."

Lee was glad to see that the handsome, shapely young footmen who used to
throng the house had been replaced by maids. It made him uneasy to see
able-bodied youngsters waiting on the table. The only man in evidence
was old Dunstan, the butler, overseeing all from his post at the buffet.
Lee perceived with a smile that the famous gold service had been brought
out for the occasion. This was just like Sandra. Since her young guests
had never before eaten in such luxurious surroundings, she wanted to let
them have the full run for their money. Lee saw Sieg Ammon regarding the
gold plates with a glistening eye, and wondered if the young man
contemplated slipping one in his pocket. Probably not. There was a
masterful look about Sieg, which suggested that he was playing for
bigger stakes than a gold plate.

Sandra placed Sieg on one side of her, Letty on the other--"So I can
talk to you both," she said. Lee was seated opposite Sandra with Mrs.
Delaplaine on one side of him, Blondy on the other. In this situation he
could study the faces of the husband and wife, which suited him very
well. He would have liked also to search for the explanation of the
savage recklessness in Blondy's eyes, but that was not so easy, for
Blondy was presenting a shoulder to him. The conversation was brisk and
meaningless. Sandra and Sieg supplied most of it. Mrs. Delaplaine
occasionally babbled in Lee's ear, but it was not necessary to listen to
her. An occasional nod and smile in her direction kept her going
happily.

Sieg had himself so well in hand there was not much to be learned from
his smooth and comely face. He was bent on making Sandra talk and that,
God knows, is not difficult, thought Lee. She was telling Sieg the story
of her experience with the ring master of the circus and Sieg applauded
with laughter. Meanwhile the pale, beautiful Letty was listening with
her unchanging, faint smile. At a moment when she thought she was
unobserved, Lee saw the girl's downcast eyes creep upward to Sieg's face
and hang there with a lost look, the look of a woman who has submerged
her whole being in a man. The startled Lee, stealing a sidelong look at
young Blondy, saw from the direction of his glance that his eyes were
fixed on Letty's face. It provided a key to his savage pain. Hm! In love
with his pal's wife! thought Lee; and she is mad about her husband! An
interesting situation--with explosive possibilities.

When the conversation became general, it appeared from a remark of
Sieg's that he was familiar with Lee Mappin's writings. "You have read
one of my books?" said Lee.

"I have read all of them, Mr. Mappin." Sieg rattled off the titles.

"I feel flattered," said Lee. "How did you happen to run across them?"

"In the prison library," said Sieg nonchalantly.

Lee's mind stood still for a moment. His first thought was: This is
exactly what Sandra _would_ do!

Sandra was saying sweetly, "Sieg has lately been released from Sing
Sing." Sandra was shortsighted. She put up her lorgnette in order to
enjoy the expression on Lee's face.

Lee wasn't giving her any change. "How interesting!" he said, smiling
back. "But I shouldn't think my little studies of murder would be
exactly suitable for a prison library."

"Oh, yes," said Sieg. "They were popular with the Gees, young and old.
You had to put in your bid in advance to get one. They're moral books
because the crook always gets it in the neck."

"Well," murmured Lee, "it's only the ones that get caught that I can
study." He began to enjoy himself. It was a piquant situation and the
responsibility for anything that might happen was not his. As long as
everybody was being frank about it, Lee thought he might venture to ask
Sieg what he had been sent up for and he did.

A spasm of rage broke up the young man's smooth mask for a second. "We
were framed," he said shortly; "Blondy and me."

"Blondy too?"

"Sure! Blondy's been my side kick, going on ten years now."

"Was it your first experience?"

Sieg carelessly shook his head. "No, I did a stretch at San Quentin in
'32 and another at Joliet three years later."

"Tell us about it."

Sieg glanced at Sandra. Her lips were parted with excitement, her vague
blue eyes almost ecstatic. Sieg could see well enough that it was the
prison stripes which constituted his attraction for her. "Tell Lee," she
urged. "Tell him the whole story."

Sieg shrugged with his attractive nonchalance and started in: "I lit out
from home when I was fifteen. That's twenty years ago. I just bummed
round the country, my great aim being to live without working. I made
out pretty well, too, and managed to keep out of stir, except for a
couple of short terms for vagrancy and so on in the county jails. And if
the weather was cold and I happened to be broke, that was really a
convenience. But out in Frisco in '32 I got stuck on a girl--it's always
the same story, isn't it? I suppose I wanted to give her a flashy
present or something. I forget. Anyhow, I undertook to burgle a men's
furnishings store. Clumsy work. Served me right when I was caught. As a
first offender I got an indeterminate sentence in San Quentin. It was
there I met Blondy and we've been together ever since."

Lee glanced at Blondy. "You must have been a mere boy in '32."

"Sixteen," said Blondy shortly.

"What were you in for?"

Blondy scowled. He didn't enjoy telling his reminiscences. "I cut a
man," he growled. "I had good cause, too."

"What were the circumstances?"

Blondy obstinately shook his head. "It's not a pretty story."

Sieg went on: "Well, when Blondy and me got out of San Quentin, we
drifted East. We had our ups and downs--eh, Blondy? We made up our minds
to cut out the rough stuff, see? Nothing to it. Unless we could get good
clothes and acquire some class, we were sunk. Well, that wasn't too easy
for a couple of young gees just out of stir. Maybe you know the kind of
twelve dollar suits they give you when they let you out."

"I know them," said Lee.

"Well, in Chicago," Sieg continued, "a dame I had known before staked us
to a good suit apiece, and undertook to put some polish on our manners."

"What did you do for her?" asked Lee.

Sieg gave him a grin of understanding. "She was a business woman, see?
And we rustled business for her."

"I understand. Go ahead."

"This dame had class, see? And she knew class. She started in to teach
Blondy and me. We took to it like ducks to water. She taught us how to
talk, how to eat, how to wear clothes. And as fast as we improved, she
advanced us in her business. At last, when we were perfect gentlemen,
she put us into a racket that paid us well for more than a year."

"What was that?"

"We worked the hotels, see? Only the best hotels. All dyked out in
tails, white tie, top hat and so on. The solid, out-of-town businessman
was our mark, see? The lonely man with the evening on his hands. You'd
be surprised to learn how many of them there are. Well, I sit down in
the lobby near him, see? And every now and then I look at my watch.
Obviously waiting for a girl. And he is looking at me out of the corners
of his eyes, kind of wistful; a swell young guy in top hat and tails,
waiting for a girl, it is just what he would like to be. And so it's a
cinch to get into talk with him, and when she doesn't come he
sympathizes with me, and I say, 'The hell with her; let's go and get a
drink.' So I take him around town and show him a good time. I know all
the best places in Chicago. It was a swell racket while it lasted.
Blondy never got caught at it. But when I came to New York, he came with
me. In New York..."

Lee interrupted him. "But there wasn't anything crooked about that
racket. How come you landed in Joliet?"

Sieg made believe not to hear that question, and Lee said to himself:
blackmail probably.

"By the time we got to New York," Sieg continued, "Blondy and me were
just about as smooth as they come. For class we could match up with
anything the big town could show. Such being the case, there was no lack
of call for our services; we worked at this and that, and fluffed around
and enjoyed ourselves until we met up with Sam Bartol. You know him?"

"He was the proprietor of El Mirador across the river."

"That's right. The classiest outfit in or around New York. You had to
have class to work there. At first we were engaged just to be gentlemen
playing roulette for moderate stakes upstairs. That was so we could
watch the croupiers for Sam. It's against the rules to play money across
on the tables, but the customers will do it, and the croupiers watch
their chance to prig what they can. Well, Sam liked our work so much
that he promoted us to be his cashiers up in the gambling room. We sold
the customers chips when they went in and redeemed them when they came
out.

"Well, Sam Bartol was making so damned much money it made Blondy and me
sore. And us two just on a salary. Well, it was a cinch to get square
with Sam. I got a guy I knew to make me some celluloid chips exactly
like those used in the place, and every night we used to cash a few of
our own. The amount of chips in the house was always short because the
customers always carried away some in their pockets, meaning to play
them next time they came. But we got careless, I suppose. We put too
many chips in circulation and Sam got onto us. One night we were seized
and searched _as we went in_ and they found the chips on us. So we were
thrown out on our ear."

"Did Bartol prosecute you?" asked Lee.

"A gambler can't prosecute anybody," said Sieg. "He's outside the law.
No! it was a dirty frameup! Blondy and I were drinking with a guy on
West Fifty-second Street. Neither of us ever saw the guy before.
Suddenly he accused us of having robbed him. By a strange coincidence
there were a couple of dicks in the place; we were seized and searched
and the guy's wallet was found on me, and his watch in Blondy's pocket.
A barefaced frameup! As if guys like Blondy and me would come down to
picking a guy's pockets! But with our records we stood no chance. The
New York police and the District Attorney and all, they were glad to
oblige a big shot like Sam Bartol. We were framed and sent up with a
brace of years a piece. I used to pace my cell planning ways to get
square with Sam Bartol. But somebody took the job off my hands. You may
remember the case."

"I remember it," said Lee.

"Sam was found lying on the floor of his place across the river, shot
through the heart. The police have never solved the case. God knows Sam
had enemies enough to choose from."

"How long have you and Letty been married?" asked Lee.

"Three weeks," said Sieg. "Letty was waiting for me. She was one of the
hostesses over at Sam Bartol's and I fell for her. I don't know why."
They exchanged a smile full of meaning across the table; Blondy lowered
his eyes.

"What are your plans now?" asked Lee.

"We're going straight," said Sieg quickly. "That is, I am." He glanced
at his partner. "Blondy must hew to his own line."

"You know how I feel about it," growled Blondy.

"Letty and I are going straight," said Sieg, looking at his wife. She
colored to the eyes with pleasure. "Crime doesn't pay. In this state,
with three convictions behind me, if I was taken again I'd get life. It
isn't worth it. Besides, I've got responsibilities now. I'm a married
man."

"Anything particular in view?" asked Lee.

Sieg shook his head. He wasn't troubled by the prospect. "We'll get
along. All I have is a talent for making myself agreeable."

"I can see that," said Lee dryly.

"I have plans," put in Sandra.

The canvasback was served. Emilion had done it justice, and Lee left
them to their talk of prison life for the time being.

"What a dreadful young man!" whispered Mrs. Delaplaine. "He seems to be
proud of going to prison!"

"Well, it has earned him a dress suit and a good meal," said Lee. "The
canvasback is perfection! From Sing Sing to Brookwood is a long step.
From a tin plate to solid gold! Would make a good title for a
melodrama."

"What will Sandra pick up next?" whimpered Mrs. Delaplaine.

When they had finished eating, Sandra said: "Would you like to walk
through the house? Most people are curious to see it."

"Sure!" said Sieg quickly. "This is better than a movie set. This is the
real thing."

So they started in procession through the endless vast rooms; drawing
room, music room, library, ball room, conservatory; slender, lace-clad
Sandra and tall Sieg in advance, Blondy and Letty following, Lee and
Mrs. Delaplaine solidly bringing up the rear.

"It's a silly background, isn't it?" said Sandra, "all for one lonely
little woman like me? Fifty-two rooms, they say, but I haven't been in
half of them. If I was a sensible woman I'd sell it and move into a
comfortable little house, but I never shall. I'm accustomed to it and
I'm not going to change."

"Lovely!... Wonderful!... Gorgeous!" murmured her young guests.

Lee noticed that Blondy and Letty never exchanged a word during the
progress. The young man's eyes dwelt hungrily on the girl's beautiful
profile. His look was softened now.

Back in the little reception room where they had first met, Lee found
himself beside Letty. "Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!" she said in a tone of conventional politeness. "Mrs. Cassells
is so kind!" she added with a tremor of genuine feeling, "It frightens
me a little."

"Why should it?" asked Lee.

"It's too good to be true!"

The young people took their leave while it was still early. Sandra had
ordered a car to carry them back to town. Letty met the others in the
great hall, carrying her wrap over her arm. The wrap was an exquisite
garment of brown, uncurled ostrich, evidently a gift from Sandra. Sieg
took it from his wife. As he was about to drop it around her shoulders,
he bent his head and kissed her neck. Letty's lips parted, her eyes
darkened strangely; an inner rapture made her face luminous. The others
were looking at her; she had forgotten them.

In a minute they had gone. Sandra stood looking at the door through
which they had disappeared, with a scrap of a lace handkerchief clenched
in her hand. "Did you see him kiss her?" she said.

Her obvious emotion irritated Lee. "Just a conventional gesture," he
said.

Sandra shook her head impatiently. "I wasn't thinking about him, but
about her... the way she took it... with rapture... rapture!
How I envy her!"

"I was sorry for her," said Lee. "Happiness with a man like that must be
pretty precarious!"

"Yes, indeed! Yes, indeed!" agreed Agnes virtuously. "A jailbird!"

Sandra turned on her. "What the hell do you know about rapture?"

Agnes shriveled.

To Lee, Sandra went on: "What's happiness for a woman? A little husband,
a little baby, a little house, and every day the same as the day before?
That's not happiness but slow suffocation." She raised her clenched
hand. "But to go all out for a man... _all out!_ What else would
matter then? The woman who has never known that hasn't lived!"

Lee took a pinch of snuff and, snapping the box shut, returned it to his
vest pocket. Useless to argue with an emotional woman.

As Sandra made no move to return to the room where they had been
sitting, he saw that he was expected to leave also. He didn't want to go
just yet. "Shouldn't you and I talk things over?" he suggested.

Sandra, still abstracted, shook her head. "Not tonight. I'm tired."

"You said you had certain plans for these young people," he persisted.

"All in the air," she said with a wave of the hand. "I promise not to
commit myself to anything until I have consulted with you."

"Very well, my dear. Good night."




CHAPTER 2


At five o'clock Sandra, in one of the effulgent Cassells limousines,
picked up Lee Mappin at his office on lower Madison Avenue. Lee, as an
author, didn't really require an office, but he said it helped to
promote habits of industry. Sandra had asked him if he could give her an
hour of his time without specifying what for. As they drove away he
said:

"I assume that this has something to do with Messrs. Ammon and Farren."

"More or less," said Sandra, toying with a bracelet.

"Where have you got them domiciled?"

"Sieg and Letty are at the Madison."

"And Blondy?"

Sandra shrugged impatiently. "Oh, Blondy's got a job driving a lumber
truck."

"Bravo Blondy!"

Sandra frowned. "Really, Lee, it's very hard to understand you
sometimes. Why is it a merit in Blondy to insist on being rough and
common when I offer him a chance to better himself?"

Lee took a generous pinch of snuff and ignored the question. "Well, what
about Sieg and Letty?" he asked.

"It's apparent that you don't like them," she said huffily.

"Not for you, darling."

"Why not for me?"

"They're dangerous."

"Ah," breathed Sandra. "If they only were! I adore danger!"

"I'm not speaking of romantic danger, darling, but a very vulgar danger,
such as having your throat cut and your diamonds stolen."

"My diamonds are insured," she said calmly. "If anybody demanded them, I
should turn them over and collect the insurance next day."

"If the robber didn't know how reasonable you are, he might shoot you
first and take the diamonds afterward."

"Don't be silly, Lee. I know these young people are no paragons of
virtue. They're human and passionate. They live close to the earth.
That's why they interest me. As long as I give them everything they
want, they're not going to turn on me. They look on me as a kind of
princess. Indeed, that's the trouble. They won't let me be real pals
with them."

Lee took another pinch of snuff.

"You just took snuff," she said irritably. "In a minute you'll be
sneezing your head off! It's just a silly affectation, anyhow. You think
you're registering superiority that way, but it doesn't fool anybody!"

"My darling," said Lee, "I'm sure you didn't ask me to go driving just
for the purpose of scolding me."

"Why don't you like Sieg Ammon!" she demanded.

"Too slick, too smooth for my taste."

"That's only the small change he pays his way with. Under his slick
exterior there is a real man, believe me. There is fire, savagery."

"Oh, for God's sake, don't sentimentalize over him!" Lee broke out.
"That is more than I can stand!"

"I assure you that I feel anything but sentimental toward Sieg," she
said stiffly.

"I don't know whether you do or not. It is possible for a woman to get
just as sentimental over savagery and crime as over sweetness and
light!"

"And if you think that I am in danger of getting involved with him," she
went on, "that is nonsense, too. He and Letty are completely wrapped up
in each other."

"What has developed about the girl?"

"Nothing. I don't get anywhere with her. She won't let herself go with
me. Not that I blame her especially. I suppose she feels she has to
guard her secret from the world. She saves every bit of herself for
_him_. They are living in a private paradise."

"I hope it doesn't prove to be a fool's paradise for her."

"Oh, you're impossible today, Lee!"

Lee, noticing that they were still heading downtown, asked where they
were bound for. Sandra mentioned a number on Henry Street.

"Henry Street?" said Lee. "Isn't that rather a tough neighborhood?"

"Not tough," said Sandra, "but plain."

Lee touched one of her gleaming bracelets. "Just the same," he said,
"this is hardly suitable for Henry Street."

"Don't be absurd," said Sandra. "I would feel undressed if I didn't wear
_any_ jewels."

"What is our business in Henry Street?" asked Lee resignedly.

"I want you to look at a house I am thinking of buying."

"How can you use a house in Henry Street?"

"My attorney tells me it is a very good investment," said Sandra in a
dignified tone that assured Lee she was equivocating. "Property is
depressed there at present and is sure to rise."

"I see," he said.

The part of Henry Street that they turned into was lined as far as one
could see with rows of modest, old-fashioned brick buildings which had
been single-family dwellings long ago. There were even a few skinny
trees struggling for existence among the paving stones.

"The Henry Street Settlement plants them," said Sandra. "The Settlement
has improved the neighborhood wonderfully."

They drew up before a house that was overflowing with carpenters,
plasterers and painters. "I thought I was to be consulted before you
took any definite step," said Lee mildly.

Sandra shrugged elaborately. "That would only have meant hours of futile
argument, darling. It was simpler to present you with an accomplished
fact."

"Quite," said Lee. "Are you going to live here?"

"Certainly not. I shall just be an occasional guest."

"I see. But why should I be brought into it now?"

"Oh, if you don't wish to help me, Martin can drive you right uptown and
come back for me."

"Not at all," said Lee resignedly. "Lead on!"

They got out of the car and, picking their way up the steps, entered the
littered hall. Lee perceived at a glance that the old house had been
charming and would be so again. The rooms were spacious and
well-proportioned; the woodwork and mantels of good early
nineteenth-century design. A graceful stairway wound up to the second
floor.

"Some house," said Lee. "Twelve rooms or more."

"Fourteen," said Sandra proudly.

"Isn't that a lot of space for our lovebirds to flutter around in?
Wouldn't an apartment have been more suitable?"

"You don't understand my plans. Sieg and Letty are only a part of it. I
am establishing a sort of--what shall I call it?--a sort of hostel. Yes,
that's the word, a hostel. Sieg and Letty will run it for me."

"What kind of hostel?" asked Lee grimly.

"For released prisoners," said Sandra brightly.

"Merciful Heaven!" murmured Lee.

"Isn't it a swell idea?" said Sandra with her big blue eyes shining.
"One of the worst social problems is what to do with released prisoners.
Of course, one house like this is only a drop in the bucket. But it's a
beginning, a beginning! It will provide a few men with a decent home
until they can adjust themselves. Now you see why I had to have a house
in a plain neighborhood. An apartment would never do."

"A swell idea," groaned Lee, "but, my dear friend, you're going to get
into trouble--just what kind of trouble I can't foresee; many kinds, I
fear!"

"You're just an old croaker!" said Sandra. "My enthusiasm will solve all
problems."

"I don't suppose anything I could say to you now would make any
difference."

"Not a bit! Everything is settled. But you don't have to be in it if you
don't want to."

"Sure, I want to," said Lee. "I wouldn't miss it for anything. But I
must drop one word of warning. I will stand by you until the end,
darling, but I cannot guarantee to get you out of whatever trouble you
are going to get into. The possibilities are staggering!"

"Oh, you're just talking," she said calmly. "Men have to talk!"

They were mounting the stairs. "Sieg and Letty's suite will be in the
front," said Sandra. "There's a nice big room, an alcove that they can
use for a dressing room or a private sitting room, and a bathroom."

"Sing Sing was never like this!" murmured Lee.

"There are two more large bedrooms on this floor," Sandra went on, "each
with a bath; upstairs four smaller rooms and two baths. Do you think
five baths will be sufficient?"

"Ample," said Lee dryly.

"It's important that the house should have the atmosphere of a good
home. There is a nice bedroom and bath in the basement for a couple of
servants."

"Servants, too?"

"Oh, do be sensible!" said Sandra impatiently. "Can you see Letty in the
kitchen, or Sieg sweeping the halls?"

"Frankly, darling, I cannot," said Lee.

"There is one thing that troubles me a good deal," she went on. "You
could help me with it if you would."

"What is that, dear one?"

"I suspect that Blondy is in love with Letty."

"I am certain of it."

"Then they should not all live together under the same roof. I shall
depend on you to get Blondy a job out of town--a good, long way out of
town."

"I will see to it."

"If you get him a job, I'll give him an automobile to salve his
feelings. I don't suppose he's ever had a car of his own."

"Not unless he stole it."

"A car will help him to forget Letty."

As they returned to the main floor, they met Sieg Ammon coming in from
the street with two girls; one was Letty, the other a tall, dazzling
brunette in a silver fox jacket and a fantastic hat. She had annexed
Sieg and Letty was following them, a little paler than usual and
tight-lipped. Sieg introduced his friend as Miss Queenie Deane.

"She's a singer," he said to Sandra. "Perhaps you've heard her in one of
the night clubs."

"Haven't had the pleasure," said Sandra dryly.

Queenie took her in from top to toe with eyes as bright and hard as jet
buttons. "_The_ Mrs. Cassells?" she asked.

"As far as I know," said Sandra, looking bored.

"Sieg and I are old pals," Queenie said in a loud voice, looking fondly
in the young man's face. "We put on a dancing act in Chicago four years
ago. I haven't danced since." She laughed excessively. "My God! you
could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard he was married! I
never thought of Sieg in connection with _marriage_!"

"Really!" said Sandra.

Sandra took possession of Sieg and they moved toward the rear of the
house, the two girls following. They did not look at each other but
their mutual hatred was so apparent that it was like a baleful lightning
playing back and forth between them. Lee, behind them, picked his way
between ends of lumber.

"I want you to see the tree in the back yard," Sandra was saying.
"Fancy, a real tree in this part of town! We can sit under it on warm
evenings!"

Lee smiled to himself at the picture this called up; Sandra laden with
diamonds, sitting in a back yard on Henry Street.

A large, pleasant room occupied the rear extension with a row of windows
looking to the south. "I'm going to have this room paneled in pine,"
Sandra said, "and call it the taproom."

"And will you furnish the drinks?" asked Lee.

"I hadn't thought of that yet. I suppose so."

"I wouldn't."

Sieg spoke up. "Mr. Mappin is right, Mrs. Cassells. It would be better
to let everybody do their drinking outside."

"Oh, very well," said Sandra shrugging. "Then we'll call it the game
room and not have a bar."

"But you'll put in a good floor for dancing," suggested Queenie. "Oh,
Sieg, wouldn't this be a lovely room for dancing?" Whenever she
addressed him, voice and glance were frankly seductive; Sieg lapped it
up grinning, and the other women bristled. Queenie must be pretty dense,
Lee thought, or else very sure of herself. She was dense, he decided,
when he presently heard her saying to Sandra:

"Oh, Mrs. Cassells, I hope you're going to let me come here and live! Of
course, I haven't served time, but I could make myself _so_ useful. I
could sing to the boys every night."

"That would be lovely, I'm sure," said Sandra in a voice as musical as
breaking icicles. "Write me a little letter of application, won't you?
There are only six bedrooms available, you know, and I already have a
pile of applications so high. I'm taking them up one by one."

Even Queenie understood that she had been snubbed. "Oh, well, I don't
suppose you want girls in the house," she said, laughing too loudly.

"That depends," said Sandra.

To revenge herself, Queenie went to Sieg and, slipping her hand under
his arm, looked up at him fondly. She was letting the other women see
what they _had_ been to each other. Sieg pressed her hand against his
ribs and returned her glance. Letty bit her lip.

"Well, ta-ta, Handsome," said Queenie. "I have a dinner date and I must
go and array myself... Good-by, Mr. Mappin. It's been a pleasure to
meet you. I'm showing at _Le Coq Noir_; do drop in some night... 'By
Letty. You and I must have a heart-to-heart talk one of these days...
Mrs. Cassells, your house is going to be perfectly lovely. I _do_ hope
you'll accept me as an inmate. Good-by, all."

She sailed out, leaving a strong smell of French perfume behind her.
Sieg went with her.

"For God's sake, open a window!" said Sandra.

Letty threw up a sash and stood with her back to the others looking down
into the yard. Sandra was watching the figure of Queenie disappearing
through the hall. She couldn't see much at the distance.

"That woman is an unmitigated you-know-what," she said to Lee. "Word of
four letters."

"It has five, darling," said Lee.

"Well, I never could spell. She ought to be put to torture. Lord! how I
would enjoy stretching her on the rack... slowly."

When Sieg returned, the atmosphere was decidedly chilly, but he did not
immediately notice it. He was exuding self-satisfaction. "Everything is
going well," he said, rubbing his hands together. "The workmen have
promised to be out of the house in a week."

"Where did you run into _her_?" asked Sandra coldly.

Letty answered for him from the window. "She came to our hotel."

"Why did you bring her here?" asked Sandra.

Sieg began to look uneasy. "She wanted to see the house. I didn't think
there would be any harm in it."

"No harm in it, certainly," said Sandra. "But why do you permit her to
act as if she owned you?"

Sieg laughed uncomfortably. "How can a man side-step that sort of
thing?"

"Are you asking me?"

Sieg, perceiving that he was in very wrong, quickly changed his tactics.
Going to Letty and flinging an arm around her, he drew her close.
"Letty, darling, did you mind?" he asked. "I'm damned sorry! You see,
Queenie carries on like that with every man. She's a man-eater. Nobody
takes her seriously, and that's why it never occurred to me that you
would mind."

Letty, unable to resist him, lifted her beseeching face to be kissed.
Sandra, however, was far from being placated. She moved around the room,
affecting to examine the carpenter work, pushing out her painted lips
and frowning. Lee saw a glance of intelligence pass between Sieg and
Letty. Sieg, dropping the girl, went quickly to Sandra.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Cassells," he said cajolingly. "Queenie's a bad egg
and I should have known better than to bring her here. I thought she
might interest you as a character. I wouldn't offend you for the world!
I owe everything to you!" He lowered his voice and Lee could not hear
the rest. There was honey on his tongue, while his hard eyes commanded
Sandra. She melted. Laying a gloved hand on his arm, she said:

"Say no more about it, Sieg. What bills have you got for me to pay?"

Lee thought crossly: How easy it is to bring women to heel when you're
six feet tall and have all your hair!

Sieg said to Sandra: "First, there's a man waiting to see you. He's out
at the door."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Sam Souter. They call him Jimpson, I don't know why. He's
just down from the Big House. Seems the word about our place here has
already traveled from cell to cell by grapevine and Sam wants a berth
here."

"What was he in for?" asked Sandra.

"Shooting a man over a game of cards."

Sandra's eyes widened. "Did the man die?" she asked breathlessly.

"No, he got better... Sam thinks he's got a claim on me," he went on,
"because Blondy and me bummed across the continent with him seven years
ago. He likes to say he taught us all we know."

"Well, why not take him?" said Sandra, "an old friend of yours..."

"No!" said Sieg. "You want men here that you can help. Jimpson is an old
died-in-the-wool con; been in half the prisons in the country. You
couldn't change him. He came from a good home long ago; they're the
worst sort. Besides, he's hard to get along with. He'd make trouble in
the house."

Lee was a little surprised at Sieg's good sense.

"Then send him away," said Sandra.

"It would come better from you," said Sieg. "He thinks he has a claim on
me."

"Very well, bring him in."

Sieg grinned. "Don't let him know that I'm against having him or I may
wake up some morning with a knife between my ribs. That's the kind
Jimpson is."

Sandra shivered. Nevertheless she looked eagerly for the appearance of
Jimpson.

Sieg went to fetch him. When he was brought in, Lee saw a man in his
late forties who was already considerably decayed. He was neatly dressed
and he still had an indefinable air of breeding and education, but Lee
thought he had never seen a more unpleasant specimen. His expression was
both mean and base; he looked equally ready to be humble and abusive.
Lee was nearest the door and Sieg paused to introduce Souter. The man
started at the sound of Lee's name, and his lip lifted in a sneer.

"The detective?" he said.

"Not exactly a detective," said Lee good-humoredly. "I study crime and
write books about it."

"Yeah, I've read some of your books," said Souter.

Sandra graciously offered him her hand. Souter took it with an
extraordinary expression. He hated her for her diamonds, her elegant
clothes, her assured air, but he fawned on her. Sandra said:

"Always glad to meet a friend of Sieg's."

"Yes, Sieg and I have been pals for many a year," Souter said with a
horrible smile. "I helped bring him up."

"Sieg tells me that you'd like to come and stay here until you get on
your feet. I wish I could say yes at once, but we only have a few rooms
and already the applications are piling up. If you'll leave your
address, we'll keep in touch with you."

Souter, perfectly aware that he was being let down easily, sneered.
"Sieg knows where to find me any time."

"In the meantime, how are you fixed?" asked Sandra frankly. Lee always
admired the way Sandra could give alms without shaming the recipient.

"Well, they give you ten dollars when they let you out," said Souter.

Sandra folded a bill small and pressed it into his hand. "Let me add a
little to it until you get a job."

Souter tried to mold his features into an expression of gratitude.
"Thank you kindly, ma'am." As he looked around the room, his ugly face
really softened for a moment. "You certainly are going to have things
nice here. I'd like to live nice." Then he sneered. "Much too nice for
the likes of me, I reckon."

"Not at all!" said Sandra quickly. "Everybody is entitled to a decent
living."

Souter's lip lifted. "Yeah? Try and get it!" he muttered under his
breath as he went out.

Sandra shivered. "Brrh! what a horrible man!" she murmured. "He seems to
poison the air! How could you ever have associated with such a creature,
Sieg."

"It's prison life that has done it to him," said Sieg carelessly. "Years
ago he wasn't so bad."

                 *        *        *        *        *

It was a mild night in early spring and Lee, after the opera and a
little supper in the Iridium Room, decided to walk home in order to
clear his brain for sleep. Walking east in Fifty-fifth Street, he was
faced with the sign of _Le Coq Noir_ and, following an impulse of
curiosity, he turned in. The wide, low room was crowded to the doors and
foggy with tobacco smoke. He found a place at the end of the bar where
he could obtain an oblique view of the dancing floor, and ordered a
highball.

After a troupe of clown harmonica players had finished their act,
Queenie Deane swam out on the floor wearing a costume consisting mostly
of a black taffeta skirt and that was split up to the hip on one side. A
handsome, long-legged wench, thought Lee, for those who like them that
way. She sang three songs which were more than suggestive. She had no
voice but plenty of bounce and brass and an infinite suggestiveness. A
popular performer at two in the morning.

When the furious clapping and the cries of approval died down, Lee
followed Queenie with his eyes as she made her way toward a little table
against the wall. At that moment some intervening figures moved, and Lee
saw that Sieg Ammon was occupying the table. Lee was hardly surprised.
Queenie leaned across the table and planted a kiss on Sieg's lips, then
slid into the place beside him. Other men in the neighborhood looked
envious.

Lee swallowed his drink and left the place. How sweet was the air of the
street! He walked along debating whether or not to tell Sandra what he
had seen, and decided that he would not. Women being what they were,
Sandra would jump to the conclusion that he had been following and
spying upon Sieg. And anyway, she would not blame Sieg but only the
woman.




CHAPTER 3


Blondy Farren, neatly dressed and barbered, stood in front of Lee in the
latter's office with his hat in his hands. Working in the open air
during the past weeks had brought a wholesome color into Blondy's
cheeks; Lee was oddly drawn to the good-looking young man with the firm,
shapely mouth and the steady blue eyes with their look of pain borne
without flinching. He wanted to win Blondy's confidence, but that
promised to be difficult. Blondy answered all questions promptly and
briefly and shut his mouth.

"Sit down," said Lee.

Blondy sat bolt upright on a chair with his hat dangling between his
knees.

"Where have you been living?" asked Lee.

"Room on East Fifth Street."

"They told me that you had a job driving a lumber truck."

"Part-time job," said Blondy. "Best I could get without a
recommendation. Twelve a week."

"You can't do much on that, can you?"

"I get by," said Blondy shortly.

"I reckon you've had a pretty thin time."

"A man has to take things as they come."

"Mrs. Cassells wanted to make things easier for you," suggested Lee.

"I know. She's real kind. But I had too much of that in the past."

"Too much of what?"

"Soft living."

"Now that the Henry Street house is going, you could eat there. They'd
be glad to have you."

"I've been there a couple of times. Best not to go too often."

"I have a friend who is an executive in the Ohio Steel Mills near
Cleveland. I wrote to him to see if I could get you something better."

"They would never hire me," said Blondy grimly.

"You're wrong!" said Lee. "I told my friend the circumstances and he has
a job for you. It's foreman of a small yard gang. The pay works out
about forty a week."

This broke down Blondy's defenses. "Cleveland?" he said with a stricken
glance.

"Don't you want to go to Cleveland?"

The young man quickly recovered himself. "Sure! Cleveland's an all right
town. I'd be glad of it." His voice changed. "Why do you want to send me
out of town?" he asked.

"Don't you think it would be a good thing?"

Blondy thought it over and nodded. "You're right," he said, pressing his
lips into a thin line. This was as close as he got to being
confidential. "When does it start?" asked Blondy.

"As soon as you like."

"I'm ready."

"There's another thing," said Lee. "Mrs. Cassells wants you to have a
car."

Blondy shook his head. "I don't need it... Much obliged just the
same."

"You do need it. The mills are twelve miles out of town.... Why not
take it?" Lee urged kindly. "It would help make life pleasant for you.
Mrs. Cassells can afford it."

Blondy considered the offer. He was tempted. "I never had a car of my
own," he murmured. Then he seemed to make up his mind. "If Mrs. Cassells
wants to make the down payment, I can take care of the monthly payments
myself on forty a week, easy. I'd rather have it that way."

Lee liked this young fellow more and more. "Very good," he said. "We'll
fix it like that. What kind of a car do you want?"

"I leave that to Mrs. Cassells."

"All cars are the same to her. You might as well have what you want. I
am authorized to buy it for you."

A gleam appeared in Blondy's eye. "Do you think she'd stand for a
convertible?" he asked diffidently. "They cost more. Boy! I like driving
with the top down!"

"Surely!" said Lee. "We'll go look at them as soon as I sign my
letters."

"Write a letter to the man in Cleveland for me to take," said Blondy,
"and if there's a car in stock I'll light out this afternoon."

"Don't you want to say good-by to your friends?"

He shook his head. "I'd be obliged if you'd thank Mrs. Cassells for me.
I'm tongue-tied with a lady.... I'll write to her after I get there."

"Okay," said Lee. "And, Blondy, I want you to know I'm your friend, too.
If you ever get in a jam let me hear from you. Lord! I was young once. I
know how things are. Don't forget that, Blondy."

Blondy hung his head so low Lee could not see into his face. Kindness,
it seemed, was the one thing that broke him down. "Thanks a lot, Mr.
Mappin," he mumbled. "Certainly is white of you!"

"Don't mention it," said Lee. "Sit down in the outer office while I
dictate the letter for you to take."

                 *        *        *        *        *

Spick and span in its dress of white paint and pastel wallpaper, the
house on Henry Street had been open for a week. The ancient front door
and the window frames had been painted a sprightly blue. Sandra and
Letty had indulged in an orgy of spending; kitchenware, dining-room
furniture, chairs and tables for the game room, sets of furniture for
nine bedrooms; rugs for all the floors and curtains for the windows. To
Letty it was like a dream to be able to buy everything you wanted at the
time you wanted it.

"Everything must be plain, unpretentious, and of the best quality,"
Sandra had pronounced. "Quality is important for the physchological
effect."

It had been easier to furnish the house than to fill it with boarders.
All the applicants turned out to have unpleasant predilections, such as
whisky, cocaine, kleptomania. After a week they had found two only:
Hattie Oliver, better known to the police as Handbag Hattie, and Joe
Spencer, an old-time forger who, after thirty years in prison, looked at
a new world in trembling amazement. Hattie had overcome Sandra's
objections to having women in the house because she was so small,
gentle, and anxious to please. Long ago she had cut a dash in the
Tenderloin, but of late years it had been hard going, and her pleasant
room on the second floor and three square meals a day seemed like
heaven.

For nearly half a century Hattie had worked the department stores.
Whenever a woman laid down her handbag to examine some goods, Hattie
carelessly dropped her jacket over it and worked with lightning fingers
under cover of the jacket. In a few seconds she would pick up the jacket
and walk on humming a little tune. There were more than forty
indorsements on her card in the record room at Police Headquarters.
Opposite the last one was written: "Hattie is growing old now, and her
fingers have lost their cunning."

Nobody knew Joe's other name. He was called Spencer because he wrote
such a beautiful flowing hand. He wore a little white beard carefully
trimmed to a point, and was extremely neat; one might almost say
elegant, in his dress. He sat at a front window all day watching the
traffic in Henry Street. He was afraid to go out. He was as timid as a
hare and strongly addicted to hard candy.

Sandra was dissatisfied with her first guests. "I didn't set out to open
an old peoples' home," she complained. "Hattie and Joe are played out.
They can't do any more harm. I want to get hold of them while they're
worth saving; hot-blooded, passionate, dangerous to society."

Lee took a pinch of snuff.

They had taken in for house servants an old safe cracker called Soup
Kennedy and his wife, Mary, who had served time for one thing or
another. They were a slow, heavy old pair, eternally grumbling and very
inefficient servants, particularly Mary, who could not roast a joint
without spoiling it. Lee groaned in spirit at the thought of the meals
he would be expected to eat in that house. The worst of it was, you
couldn't fire them like ordinary hired servants because they had no
other place to go.

The dining room was under the extension in the basement. Tonight Sieg
occupied the head of the table flanked by Sandra and Lee, then Joe
Spencer and Hattie, sitting opposite each other and quiet, Letty at the
foot. The heavy-footed Mary waited on the table and joined freely in the
conversation. Sandra would not allow Sieg to correct her. "I want this
to be a true democracy," she said. As a psychologist, Lee was intrigued
by the oddly assorted household. With Sandra present, everybody was on
his best behavior; they chose their words with care and Hattie curled
her little finger elegantly whenever she lifted her cup. Lee guessed
that it was freer and easier on other nights.

Anecdotes of prison life constituted Hattie's and Joe's main stock of
conversation. "When I was in Dannemora," said Joe, "I was in the next
cell to Dan Wicksteel, the famous murderer. He was a lifer. As nice a
man as you would want to meet. He taught me the Morse code, and when we
couldn't sleep we'd talk together half the night by tapping on a pipe.
He told me the whole story of his life. It was a caution. He had killed
five men, but all in a fair fight or self-defense, you understand."

Hattie put in: "When they took Ruth Snyder to the death house she walked
right by my cell. I saw her four, five times, just as close as I am to
you. Beautiful blonde, my eye! that was all newspaper talk. Her face was
all streaky like, her eyes were red and her hair was coming in brown at
the roots. A man who would do murder for her sake must have been loco!"

Letty, who had a kind heart, treated Joe and Hattie like elderly
children, and heaped their plates with the sweets they loved.

At the other end of the table, Sieg Ammon, dark, ruddy and handsome,
devoted himself to Sandra. Lee thought: Whatever there is in him that
gets the women, I can't see it. Certainly it isn't his brains. And his
eyes have no more expression than black glass. Perhaps that's it. The
attraction of a hidden personality.

"Have you had any new applications?" asked Sandra.

"Plenty," said Sieg, "but nothing I would consider. Bums mostly,
poisoned with smoke. When a man gets to drinking that stuff, there's
nothing for him but the hospital and the morgue... Do you remember
Jimpson Souter?"

"Remember him!" said Sandra with a shiver. "I wish I could forget that
horrible man!"

"He dogs my footsteps," said Sieg with a laugh. "He knows we haven't got
a houseful and he's sore. Blames me for keeping him out. Threatens to
sing to the D.A. about my past life if I don't give him a room."

Sandra's eyes widened. "What does he know about you?"

"You can search me! Long ago when we were camping in the jungles, I
supposed I used to brag about my crimes. I posed as a bad man then. But
that's not evidence. He doesn't know anything that he could use against
me."

"Are you giving him money enough to live on?"

"No. We would never get rid of him then. Let him alone and he'll soon
get into trouble with the police again."

"He's a dangerous man," murmured Sandra. "I shall never have any peace
until he is safe in prison."

"Why doesn't Blondy come and live here?" asked Letty in her quiet way.

Sieg grinned. "Do you like to have him around?"

"Yes," she said. "Blondy's on the square. You can depend on him."

"Well, I'm sorry, but Blondy's got a job out in Cleveland."

Letty shrugged indifferently.

"I got a letter from a fellow in Sing Sing called Johnnie Stabler," Sieg
went on. "He'll be out in a couple of weeks. Said his parents are dead
and his wife has divorced him and is living under an assumed name. He
has no place to go. Johnnie is an educated fellow. Used to be a clerk in
Wall Street."

"Young?" asked Sandra.

"In his thirties."

"That's the sort of man we want. We could help him get a fresh start."

"I'll write to him."

Flat-footed Mary, breathing heavily as she moved around the table, put
in her word. "I've got a brother over in Jersey who is down on his luck.
He..."

"Pipe down, Mary!" said Sieg brusquely. "I know all about him."

A bell sounded in the kitchen and Soup Kennedy plodded upstairs to open
the front door. He presently returned saying: "It's a guy to see Sieg."

"Who is it?"

"He's been here before."

Sieg's eyes narrowed. "Is it Jimpson Souter?"

"That's right."

Sieg threw down his napkin, and pushed back his chair.

"Don't see him!" urged Sandra nervously. "Let Soup send him away."

"He'd only hang around outside. I'll get rid of him once and for all.
Back in half a moment."

Sieg went up the stairs two at a time. The others stopped eating and
listened. An indefinable fear crept into their faces. For a long time
they could hear only a vague murmur of talk in the hall above.

"Why doesn't Sieg send him away!" murmured Sandra nervously.

Suddenly the two voices broke out in angry cursing. There was the sound
of a blow, a fall, followed by a terrifying scramble and stamping to and
fro on the floor above. Hattie started to scream and pressed her napkin
against her mouth. All sprang up; a chair fell over. Letty, as pale as
paper, was the first to reach the bottom of the stairs. Lee thought with
a sinking heart: Not another able-bodied man in the house! Nevertheless,
he, Soup and little Joe Spencer all clambered up the enclosed stair as
fast as they were able. Sandra and Hattie were at their heels.

In the entrance hall Sieg and Jimpson, locked together with crimson
faces and starting eyes, lurched heavily from side to side. Sieg's sleek
hair stood out from his head, his collar was torn open; there was a
small cut over his eyebrow and blood was trickling down his cheek. Lee
saw a gun lying on the threshold of the front room and secured it. Sieg
slammed Jimpson against the wall. Jimpson's hand stole up between them
and fastened around Sieg's throat. Sieg shook himself like a terrier but
Jimpson hung on. Sieg turned him halfway round, drew up a knee between
them and, thrusting out, sent Jimpson crashing to the floor on his back.
Sieg flung himself on the prostrate figure and, gripping his shoulders,
beat his head savagely on the floor.

"He'll kill him!" murmured Letty. "Oh, stop him! Stop him!"

Lee and old Kennedy seized hold of Sieg and dragged him off. Jimpson lay
on the floor inert.

"Telephone for the police!" cried Sandra hysterically.

The struggling Sieg went quiet in Lee's arms. "No!" he said. "I can
handle this!"

Sandra ran into the front room where the telephone was.

"Let me go!" said Sieg urgently. "I'm not going to touch him again."

They released him and he ran after Sandra. Flinging an arm around her,
he drew her back from the phone with a grin on his bloody face, as one
might grin at a passionate child. "Don't bring in the police," he urged
soothingly. "It would be bad for the house."

"He'll kill you!" wailed Sandra. "I saw a gun."

"I have it safe," said Lee.

"He'll never rest until he kills you!"

Sieg laughed. "I'm not afraid of that poor punk. He can't touch me. If
there was a new charge laid against him, he'd get ten years. I don't
want that on my conscience."

Lee looked at Sieg in surprise. He hadn't suspected him capable of such
compunctions.

Sieg deposited Sandra in a chair where she broke into hysterical
weeping. Lord! thought Lee, if the world could see the famous Mrs.
Cassells now! Little Hattie also was weeping noisily, but Letty was
white and stony.

Out in the hall Jimpson lay with an arm flung over his face. He was
conscious but he didn't want to stand up to Sieg again. They dragged him
to his feet and jammed his hat on his head.

"Now get!" said Sieg.

"Give me back my gun!" whined Jimpson.

Sieg roared with laughter. "That's likely!" he said.

"You can unload it," whined Jimpson. "It took my last cent to buy it.
I've got to pawn it in order to eat."

"That's your bad luck," said Sieg. He opened the door. "Get out!"

Jimpson went out of the door crab fashion, as if he expected to be
helped with a kick from behind. His face was ashy now with darker
streaks. It bore a horrible look of craven fear and rage. He paused for
a moment on the threshold and cursed Sieg thickly.

"I'll get you! It may be soon and it may be late, but I'll get you if I
burn for it!"

Sieg made a threatening move, and Jimpson went shambling down the steps.
Sieg closed the door.

"He shouldn't go free! He shouldn't go free!" wailed Sandra.

"He can't reach me!" said Sieg scornfully.

"You must be armed. You must always be armed now!"

"All right," said Sieg laughing. "Just to please you, I'll take out a
license."

Letty led him upstairs to have his face washed and his hair combed. Lee
suggested that everybody else needed a stiff drink to compose their
nerves.

Later, Sandra and Lee were driving uptown in the Cassells limousine,
each sunk in a corner silently thinking over what had happened. Sandra
was the first to speak.

"Sometimes I think Letty isn't worthy of a man like Sieg."

"Eh?" said Lee. "In heaven's name, why not?"

"She's so passive! Not a sound out of her the whole time!"

"You never can tell," said Lee. "Still waters, you know."

"Still waters are often stagnant," said Sandra scornfully.

There was another long silence.

"Wasn't Sieg magnificent in his rage!" she breathed.

"I can't say that I was impressed, darling. I myself could almost have
handled a broken creature like Jimpson."

"Flashing like a meteor!" she murmured. "Awful! Irresistible!... I am
so fed up with tame men!"

Lee took a pinch of snuff.




CHAPTER 4


The third boarder they took in was Spanish Jack D'Acosta, usually called
Spanish around the house. He had been a croupier at Sam Bartol's El
Mirador across the river until that showy establishment was closed.
Afterward, when he and another man had attempted to open a house in New
York, they were raided by the police and sent to Welfare Island for six
months as common gamblers. Spanish had just been released. He was a
small man, very trimly made, who dressed in a style of quiet elegance.
He had a pale, masklike face and ever-watchful eyes, as befitted his
profession. His age might have been anything between thirty and
forty-five. He said little and was polite to all. Sieg Ammon, who had
worked with him at Bartol's, enthusiastically endorsed him.

Lee, from the beginning, felt a vague distaste in the presence of
Spanish that at first he could not account for. Spanish, for his part,
was a student of Lee's books and professed a great admiration for their
author. He brought the books to Lee to be autographed, and was forever
seeking his opinion upon this question or that. Spanish had his features
under control and his expression never changed--yet somehow it _did_
change. Lee presently perceived that it lay in his eyes. While he was
looking at you and talking pleasantly, the pupils had a trick of
contracting suddenly. You could not see what had happened but it caused
a little shiver of primal fear to creep down your backbone. Spanish had
the topaz eyes of a cat animal--or a killer.

Whenever Lee appeared at the Henry Street house, Spanish attached
himself to him. The first time Lee saw him, Spanish said:

"Mr. Mappin, I don't want to go to jail again."

"Naturally," said Lee.

"But what future is there for a gambler in America?"

"None whatever."

"Then what _can_ I do? I have nerves of steel and perfect self-control.
I can read human nature. Nothing escapes my observation. Surely those
qualities ought to be salable somewhere."

"I haven't a doubt of it," said Lee. "Be a little patient and we'll find
an opening for you."

Spanish cast down the telltale yellow eyes. "I suppose a psychologist
would call me a callous or unfeeling character," he said deprecatingly.
"On that account I need a strong stimulus of excitement to make me feel
that I'm alive. In a monotonous job the same day after day and year
after year I'd go off my nut."

"I can sympathize with that," said Lee.

"Is there such a thing as honest excitement, Mr. Mappin?"

"Oh, I find it occasionally," said Lee, smiling. "Sometimes too much!"

"I was hoping," Spanish went on, "that you might find some occasion to
employ me in one of your investigations. I can say I am a cool hand."

"I can see that," said Lee. "Such a man might be very valuable to me
some time or other." Privately he was thinking: I would as lief employ
an adder! He took a pinch of snuff.

Lee thoroughly disapproved of the house on Henry Street, but it had an
undeniable fascination for him. He was fond of dropping in for a while
before dinner to chat with the inmates in the game room. A few nights
after his talk with Spanish, he happened to be standing alone by the
fire when Letty approached him with a bright smile. He had just time to
note that her smile had a strained effect when he heard her saying:

"Don't look surprised at what I'm going to say, Mr. Mappin. We are
watched."

Lee smiled brightly back at her. "Nothing you could say would make me
look surprised, my dear."

"Are you ever at home in the evenings between half past seven and half
past nine?"

"I would be if you wanted to see me."

"I do, but I don't want you to put yourself out. I mentioned those hours
because I could tell everybody I was going to the movies. We can't talk
in this house because if it was suspected that there was any
understanding between you and me it would spoil everything."

"How about tonight?" suggested Lee.

"Thanks," she said quickly. "I'll be there." She went on in a slightly
raised voice: "I do wish I could persuade you to stay to dinner."

Over her shoulder, Lee saw Spanish approaching. "I'm sorry, my dear, but
I have an honest-to-God date tonight."

                 *        *        *        *        *

Lee waited for her at home in no little curiosity. She came a little
before eight. When Jermyn brought her into the big living room she
dropped into a big easy chair and let her head fall against the back.
Lee saw that her beautiful face was white and drawn as if from fatigue,
and his heart was soft for her. Past experience had taught him that only
too often it was the wistful, fragile type like Letty that furnished the
material for tragedy.

"Have a small coffee and a liqueur with me," he urged.

She shook her head.

"A highball, then?"

"No, please," she murmured. "I don't want anything. It's so peaceful
here. I feel safe."

Lee was deeply moved. "My dear girl!"

Tears gathered under her lowered lids and rolled down her cheeks. "You
mustn't... you mustn't sympathize with me," she said with a twisted
smile, "or I'll begin to bawl. I can't stand sympathy."

Lee bustled around the room affecting to ignore her. "This room is too
damned hot!" he grumbled. He flung a window up and presently flung it
down again.

Letty in the chair began to laugh weakly. "You're so kind!" she
murmured. "So very, very kind! I've never known anything like it!"

"Don't talk that way," said Lee gruffly, "or you'll have me bawling
presently."

"My tears don't mean anything," she said. "It's only that I can relax
here. I'm under such a strain all the time."

"Tell me about it," said Lee. "And perhaps we can find a way to ease
it... And cry all you like if it's a relief. I have a whole drawer full
of handkerchiefs when yours gives out."

She shook her head. "I'm not going to cry any more. I'll tell you all I
can--but I can't tell you everything. You're the first person I ever
knew that I felt I could trust."

"My dear child!"

"I've had a rough life. I was born over on San Juan Hill--you know what
that's like; where the Irish and the negroes fight in the streets. Most
of my childhood was spent in different orphanages."

"You don't show it," said Lee.

"I know I don't," she said with her painful smile. "I've had a hard life
but it hasn't made me hard. I wish it had. I'm not a brave woman! I only
want to live quiet."

"I thought you were happy with Sieg," suggested Lee.

"I am!" she said quickly. "That is, I love him terribly. I love him too
much. That's not exactly the same thing as happiness, is it? Happiness
is peace. I never know a moment's peace!"

"Why not?"

"Sieg is too attractive to other women. Nearly every woman flings
herself at his head. Even when I am present."

Lee thought of Queenie Deane.

"And Sieg is only human," Letty went on. "He loves flattery as much as
any man. I live in dread that one of these women will take him away from
me."

Lee said: "He married you because you were different from any woman he
had even known. And you're still different."

"Oh, I suppose he would always come back to me," said Letty wearily.
"But it would kill me to share him with other women."

Lee pictured the little scene he had witnessed in Le Coq Noir and
lowered his eyes to hide the grimness he felt.

"When I married Sieg," Letty continued, "I was hoping that he would be
content with a quiet life. He swore to me that he was going straight and
I'm sure he means to. But Sieg can't be satisfied to live quietly. He
must always have people around him and plenty of excitement. The house
in Henry Street is so bad for him! All those convicts start talking
about the exciting jobs they have pulled off in the past, and Sieg gets
restless. If we could only live among nice people!"

"You're right," said Lee. "This Henry Street scheme is absolutely
unworkable. My hope is that it won't be long before Mrs. Cassells sees
that for herself and closes the house."

"If only we don't have a smash first!" murmured Letty. "...And if she
does close the house, what will become of Sieg and me?" she presently
added. "Mrs. Cassells is kind, but rich women never stick to anything
long."

"If Mrs. Cassells forsakes you, I pledge myself to see that you and Sieg
get a fair start," said Lee.

She smiled at him enchantingly. "That's a load off my mind," she said.
"Because I know I can depend on what _you_ say."

Lee studied her shrewdly. "This isn't what you came to talk about."

Letty, quickly looking away, shook her head.

"There is something special and particular that is troubling you."

She nodded. "It's Spanish Jack," she said very low.

Lee grunted. "I might have guessed as much. He's a bad egg."

Letty shivered. "He's the worst of all!" she murmured. "He doesn't care
what he does. He has neither fear nor pity nor any natural feelings.
He's inhuman!"

"What do you know about him?" asked Lee.

"I worked with him at Sam Bartol's for over a year," she said evasively.
"He is a man who would stop at nothing."

Lee scowled. "Is he persecuting you?"

She nodded. "I had trouble with him before. He... he threatened me.
Now he's threatening me again."

"How do you mean, threatening you? Threatening you with what?"

"I can't tell you the whole story, Mr. Mappin. It's too dangerous...
too dangerous!"

"You said you trusted me, Letty. How can I act intelligently if you
don't tell me the whole story?"

Letty began to tremble pitifully. "I _do_ trust you, Mr. Mappin. It's
not that. It's too dangerous! For you, for all of us. It's not only
Spanish himself. He belongs to a gang whose members have sworn to stand
by each other. If you succeeded in putting him away, there would be a
dozen to take his place!"

"Do you know any of the other members of this gang?"

"I know one of them. His name is Piero Mendes and he lives at 223 Sands
Street, Brooklyn."

Lee considered what she had told him. "Putting him away" had a
significant sound. He said: "You must let me be the judge of the danger,
Letty. When a danger is faced out, it is never so bad as it seems."

"This is! This is! This is!" she wailed. "I dare not tell you!"

"At least tell me plainly _why_ you can't tell me the whole story."

"Because then you would be forced to take a line that would ruin us all.
We would be killed!"

Lee shook his head in perplexity. "How did you expect me to help you if
I am to be kept in the dark?"

Letty clasped her hands. "Oh, get him out of the house without his
suspecting that I have been to see you! To have him there all the
time... all the time... frightens me so I can scarcely know what I am
doing. He plays with me like a cat with a mouse! I am afraid of giving
something away. If Sieg should suspect...!"

"I think I see a way of getting him out of the house temporarily," said
Lee slowly. "But when you've quieted down and got a grip on yourself,
you must tell me the whole story, and leave it to me to decide how to
act. It's not fair to ask me to act in the dark."

"If you can only get him out of the house, I'll do whatever you say!"

"Can you stand him for a couple of days longer? I don't want to act too
precipitately, or he might suspect something."

"I can stand anything if I know there is a hope of release!"

                 *        *        *        *        *

Three nights later Lee had Spanish Jack to dinner in his apartment.
Spanish glanced around the wide living room with mixed approval and envy
in his pale eyes. He went out on the balcony and looked down at the
passing boats in the East River and the lights on the farther shore.
Coming in, he said:

"What a swell joint, Mr. Mappin! And no woman around to mess things up.
A man needs a place where he can get away from women!"

Lee smiled. "It's all a matter of temperament!"

Spanish was accustomed to the good things of life and Lee took care to
give him a superior dinner. He had some of his best wines served. It was
clear that Spanish was enjoying himself to the full, yet more than once,
when his mouth was full of friendliness and flattery, Lee saw that
baleful change take place in his eyes. Lee thought: He hates me. I
suppose he hates everybody on earth. There is no room in his breast for
any feeling but hatred.

Meanwhile he set himself in friendly guise to draw out his guest.
Spanish, perfectly aware of it, talked freely and well, but divulged
only the obvious facts about himself. He was born in Rio, he said, and
drifted down to Argentina at an early age, where he was first employed
in a gambling casino. From Buenos Aires he progressed to Bucharest and,
gradually making his way across Europe, finally landed the job of
croupier in the swanky Sporting Club at Monte Carlo. When the upheaval
took place in Europe, he was forced to return to America, where he had
experienced various ups and downs--mostly downs, he said with a wry
smile. He had no family complications. "I'm a bird of passage," he said.
"I would begin to hate a woman as soon as I was tied to her."

It was a cool evening and Lee had a fire lighted in the living room. As
they sat in front of it later with highballs, he said:

"I suppose you've been wondering why I asked you up here tonight."

"I've been hoping there was something good in it for me," Spanish
answered, smiling with his lips.

"Well, it may prove to be a beginning. You put the idea into my head by
suggesting that you might be able to help me in some of my
investigations. I led you to suppose that I rarely undertook an
independent investigation. That was not true. I have cases from time to
time, but they are all of the sort that calls for absolute secrecy. A
breath of publicity would ruin me. Consequently it is easier for me to
make out that I am just an amateur."

"I suspected as much," said Spanish.

"You're a smart fellow!... You can see, then, that if you are going
to be of any help to me, you must act with complete discretion."

"You needn't have any fear of that, Mr. Mappin. If I hadn't learned to
keep a close tongue in my head I would have died much younger."

"Good! There's another warning I must give you in advance. It will not
be possible for me to take you completely into my confidence. It is a
rule that I have adopted toward everybody."

"That's all right with me. You just give me my line and I'll stick to
it."

"Something has come up concerning a prominent man in Boston. He is a
distinguished member of the Harvard Faculty and bears a blameless
reputation. For this reason you must proceed with the greatest care.
There is some evidence that he is leading a double life. If he _has_
turned to crime, he is a very dangerous man because he possesses one of
the most remarkable brains in the country. I want you to keep him under
surveillance for a while and find out what he is up to."

"What do you suspect?" asked Spanish.

"I shall not tell you that, because there is no proof. I want you to
start with an open mind. It is up to you to lay bare the facts. This man
and I are supposed to be friends. For that reason I cannot help you to
approach him. You must find your own way. You must not allow him, of
course, to suspect that he is being watched, for then your usefulness
would be at an end."

"I get you," said Spanish. "What sort of a screw will I get?"

"To start with I'll pay you fifty dollars a week over and above
expenses. As soon as you make yourself valuable to me I'll pay more."

"I'm satisfied, Mr. Mappin."

"Call yourself George Alvarez," Lee went on. "That will account for your
slight accent. Take a room at a small hotel called the Charles on lower
Tremont Street. It is run by a man called Simon Fussell. He's a friend
of mine and he will know that you are working for me. He'll help you in
any way that will not compromise his position. Your quarry is Professor
Henry Stonestreet, the head of the Department of Paleontology at
Harvard. Do not, of course, name him in your reports to me."

"When do I start?" asked Spanish.

"The sooner the better."

Spanish glanced at his watch. "I can take the midnight to Boston."

"Very good. I'll give you a note of introduction to Simon Fussell and a
hundred dollars on account for expenses. Send me daily reports of
progress."

                 *        *        *        *        *

As soon as Spanish had left him, Lee sat down to write to Professor
Stonestreet:--

    Dear Henry:

    It was necessary for me today to invent a job on the spot for a
    man in order to get him out of town, and I have taken the
    liberty of setting him on your trail. I hope you will forgive me
    for using you as a kind of fall guy. I am hoping you may get a
    little humor out of the situation.

    The fellow will call himself George Alvarez. He's a slick little
    guy of Brazilian extraction with a face as smooth as wax and
    keen yellow eyes. You can't help but recognize him when you see
    him. He's a bad egg. Do not let him guess that you are on to
    him, but string him along. If he annoys you in any way, let me
    know at once and I'll call him off.

    Yours ever,
      Lee Mappin.

    P.S. Destroy this as soon as you have read it.




CHAPTER 5


Inspector Loasby, the chief of the New York City detective force,
stopped in at Lee's office on his way down to Headquarters. They had
been engaged together in investigating various cases in the past and
were excellent friends. Today the Inspector's handsome face bore a
frown, and when he was seated opposite Lee in the latter's private
office he lost no time in coming to the point.

"Mr. Mappin, what is this crazy idea of Mrs. Nick Cassells' to open a
home for ex-convicts on Henry Street? Of all the crack-brained, immoral
schemes I ever heard of! And I'm told you're in it, too. I must say
that's hard to believe of a sensible man like you. How on earth did she
rope you in?"

Lee leaned back in his chair with a smile and placed the tips of his
fingers together. "A crack-brained scheme, I agree, Inspector. I have
pointed that out to the lady with all the force at my command, but
uselessly. However, I don't see why you should look on it as immoral."

"Yes, sir, immoral," insisted the Inspector. "Herding a lot of hardened
criminals together under the same roof. Making things easy for them. Who
can tell what plots may be hatched there?"

"You, of course, believe in making things as hard as possible for
released convicts."

Loasby perceived no irony. "Certainly! And above all in keeping them on
the move!"

"I assure you that the lady is acting from purely philanthropic
motives."

"Sure! Sure! I know these rich and idle women. Morbidly interested in
crime! If you agree that it is a crazy scheme, why are you in it?"

"Well, Mrs. Cassells is an old friend, and I want to protect her as far
as I can from being victimized. I have a feeling that it won't last
long, my friend."

"Certainly it won't last long. You can't house a lot of criminals
together without something ugly happening. But what am I going to do in
the meantime?"

"I don't see that you're called on to do anything."

"Certainly I've got to do something. It's a public scandal, pampering
criminals like that. Even Henry Street is complaining of such neighbors,
and they're not too particular."

"What do you propose doing?"

"I don't know. I was hoping that a quiet word to you would be
sufficient. It's just a headache. Mrs. Cassells is a rich and
influential woman. If I closed up her house the newspapers would get
after me like a pack of hounds."

Lee, who knew his Inspector, murmured: "I'm afraid they would."

"Can't you say something to her, Mr. Mappin?"

"I have said plenty, Inspector. It falls on deaf ears!"

"It's only an idle woman's whim!"

"Sandra Cassells has a whim of iron!"

"Well, I'm going to keep a close watch on them, I can tell you," said
the irritated Inspector. "If the worst comes to the worst, I'll put a
man inside the house. I have plenty of genteel crooks on my pay roll."

"Don't do that--yet," urged Lee. "Think how difficult it would make my
position. Look here, would it be sufficient for the present if I watched
for you? I am a frequent visitor there and my eye is not untrained. I
will promise to let you know at once if I see anything going on that
looks suspicious."

"Well, that's very decent of you, Mr. Mappin," grumbled the Inspector.
"I accept for the present. But just the same, the place ought to be
closed up! A house of crime like that!"

"I'll keep in touch with you," said Lee.

When he saw Sandra later in the day, he told her of Loasby's complaints.
Sandra was indignant.

"It's none of his business as long as they behave themselves."

"Of course not," said Lee. "Look, here's an idea. Loasby is a handsome
fellow and a ready talker. As the chief of the detective force he ought
to be a good drawing card at one of your parties. Why not ask him?"

Sandra smiled comprehendingly. "Sometimes you display almost human
intelligence! I'll ask him for Monday night."

On Tuesday morning Loasby dropped in at Lee's office again. "I had
supper at Brookwood, the Cassells place, last night," he said
carelessly.

"Really," said Lee, registering envy. "You _are_ favored!"

"Some party!" said Loasby solemnly. "A hundred people or more, sitting
at little tables in what they call the conservatory with tropical palms
and big ferns and orchids growing all around. Mrs. Cassells made me sit
beside her."

"So you made a hit!"

"That house is like a king's palace," Loasby went on. "And such eats and
drinks! Beautiful women and dresses and jewels! Mrs. Cassells was the
finest lady there! She's a lovely woman, Mr. Mappin. Why didn't you tell
me?"

"Well, now you have found it out for yourself."

"Not at all what I expected," said Loasby enthusiastically. "Was as easy
with me as if I was her brother. A very intelligent woman, too. Has a
real interest in my profession."

                 *        *        *        *        *

Sandra and Lee were again dining at Hope House. Thus the establishment
on Henry Street had been christened. Sandra went up to Letty's room to
powder her nose while Lee drifted back to the game room to talk to the
boarders. There were two new men in the house; Johnnie Stabler, the
ex-Wall Street clerk, a tall, pale, weedy young man, and Duke Engstrom,
an older and rougher specimen with a quiet face that seemed to have been
ravaged by passion. Lee didn't care for either man; Johnnie was a feeble
creature, always trying to impress you with his superiority, while the
brawny Duke Engstrom was never at his ease. He had immense hands that he
didn't know what to do with. Duke was Sandra's choice, his quiet,
terrible face fascinated and terrified her. He was said to have held up
a train singlehanded and escaped with two pouches of registered mail.

Hattie and Joe Spencer were also in the room. Lee went from one to
another with a word or two of greeting. Each spoke to him with a lowered
voice and side glances at the others. Lee was beginning to hate the
place. Nobody trusted anybody else. It was impossible to relax in such
an atmosphere, to have a good time. It seemed to him that there was an
exquisite irony in the name Hope House. He had no part in bestowing it.
Sandra's impulse in starting it had been a kindly one, but it just
didn't work. Notwithstanding all the fresh paint and bright wallpaper,
it seemed to Lee that there was a bad smell in the house--was it the
smell of old crimes?

The slender figure of Sandra appeared in the doorway of the game room,
clad in one of the elegant black dresses she affected. This one had
touches of pale blue. Sandra always wore her prettiest clothes and her
jewels when she came to Hope House, "for the psychological effect," she
said. That was a kindly impulse also, but a mistaken one, for the
boarders, in awe of her expensive presence, became more self-conscious
than ever. At the moment Lee perceived from Sandra's widened,
shortsighted eyes, helplessly searching the room for him, that something
new had happened to upset her. He went to her and she murmured:

"Come into the front room. I must talk to you."

The front room on the ground floor was used for a reception room and
office. Sandra carefully closed the door.

"Lee," she said, "I'm afraid we're in for bad trouble."

Lee smiled grimly and refrained from saying: I told you so.

"When I went into Letty's room," she continued, "her handbag was lying
on the bureau. It had come open and a letter had partly slipped out. I
recognized Blondy's handwriting. Oh, I know he's a favorite of yours,
but I have always distrusted him and I thought I had better read it, for
all our sakes. I knew Letty was down in the kitchen."

"Well?" said Lee.

"Oh, Lee, there is something going on between those two!" she said
distressfully. "It's a good thing I _did_ read it! Letty is _inciting_
Blondy to something; I don't know just what!"

"You must be mistaken," said Lee soothingly. "If there was ever a woman
in this world who was infatuated with her husband, it is Letty!"

"She is fooling you, Lee! Those quiet women are always the most
dangerous. You can't tell what is going on behind their smooth faces!"

"What was in the letter?"

"I didn't dare take it, because Letty would have missed it and the fat
would have been in the fire; but I copied it down for you."

She unclasped her hand and Lee saw a crumpled scrap of paper on her
palm. Smoothing it out, he read:

    Dear Letty:

    Your letter drove me near crazy. I don't understand it. For
    God's sake write again and tell me plainly what it's about. I
    thought that Sieg meant everything in the world to you and so I
    held myself in and I would always have held myself in if it
    killed me. Now you write me this letter. Ever since I came out
    of stir I've been living in hell. I got out of New York to try
    and forget you but it only made it worse. It's awful not to see
    you any more. I hate my life. Your face comes between me and
    everything I do. And now you write me this letter. What am I to
    think from that? Have I been mistaken about you and Sieg? Oh
    God! how I love you! It is a pain in my breast that gives me no
    rest day or night. It saps my strength. I am good for nothing.
    Write me quick what do you want of me?

    Yours,
      Blondy.

"I don't understand it!" said Lee, shaking his head. "If ever I saw love
in a woman's eyes..."

Sandra took the paper from him and prepared to burn it in an ash tray,
but Lee recovered it.

"We may need this later. The original will be destroyed. It will be safe
in my wallet." He put it away.

"What are we to do?" faltered Sandra. "If Sieg knew about this he would
kill Blondy."

"Provided Blondy doesn't kill him first."

"Oh, why did I give him a car? It's only a twelve hours' drive from
Cleveland."

"I'll write to him," said Lee. "May not do any good, but it can't do any
harm either. I believe in that lad."

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," said Sandra. "I'm going to engage
detectives in Cleveland to watch Blondy and to let me know if he starts
for New York."

"Well, that can't do any harm either."

A bell for dinner sounded through the house.

"Come on," said Lee. "We must put a good face on it. Perhaps it's not as
bad as we think. Lots of foolish letters are written."

"It's all that woman's fault," said Sandra. "Such women ought to be
locked away from men. How can I sit down at table with her and be
polite?"

"Watch me," said Lee.

They descended the stairs.

Dinner was a pretty gloomy affair. Lee got out of the house afterward as
soon as he could. He wrote a brief letter to Blondy, dispatched it by
air mail.

    Dear Blondy:

    Do you remember what I said about getting in a jam? Has it come?
    If so, give me a chance to talk things over with you before you
    take any action on your own. Very often when a case seems
    absolutely hopeless to a young head, an old one can see a way
    out.

    Always your friend,
      Lee Mappin.

No answer was ever made to this note.

On the morning after he had sent it, Lee dropped in at Police
Headquarters and proceeded to Inspector Loasby's office.

"Loasby," he said, "if you have the right man to put in as a boarder at
Hope House, I believe the time has come for it."

"What's the situation, Mr. Mappin?"

Lee put him in possession of the facts as far as he knew them.

"Does it have to be an ex-convict?" asked the Inspector.

Lee said: "I doubt if you've got a good enough actor to play the part."

"You have always underrated my force," said Loasby sorely.

"I'm willing to be shown," said Lee. "If you have a man who can get away
with it, send him up to me without loss of time. There are still a
couple of vacant rooms at Hope House, and I can get him in. But I don't
need to tell you that he will be closely watched. He ought to be a husky
guy, too, in case of trouble."

"I'll have him at your office before twelve o'clock," said Loasby.

                 *        *        *        *        *

The Inspector was as good as his word. The man gave the name of Harry
Boker, his age as forty-two. Lee took to him at once, for not only was
he a muscular fellow with an air of quiet assurance, but there was a
glint of humor in his gray eyes. A little humor wouldn't come amiss at
that gloomy dinner table, thought Lee. Boker had a good command of
prison slang, which he accounted for by saying he had spent a couple of
months in a cell at Sing Sing on police work. Lee spent a couple of
hours with Boker, composing the story he was to tell at Hope House and
rehearsing him in it.

"You mustn't have come out of Sing Sing now," said Lee. "Sieg Ammon
knows the place too well. Are you acquainted with Philadelphia?"

"Sure," said Boker.

"Then you have just been released from Moyamensing Prison, see? and you
have come to New York to get a start in fresh surroundings. Your name is
George Tappan, but your friends call you Jidge. You're a younger man
than the real Tappan, but as none of those people on Henry Street ever
saw him, that will be all right. He died a couple of years ago, shortly
after his release from prison, but as he was then living under an
assumed name, they can't have heard about that. Ten years ago, Jidge
Tappan went to prison for accepting bribes in connection with paving
contracts. In fact, I helped to send him there. It was a famous case in
its day with widespread ramifications. I wrote it up and if you'll study
the book, you can get Jidge Tappan's whole career by heart from the
cradle to the grave."

Lee gave Boker--or Tappan--a letter recommending him to Sieg Ammon.
Before the day was out he had the satisfaction of hearing from Sieg
himself that Tappan had been accepted as a member of the Hope House
family.




CHAPTER 6


Sandra Cassells and Lee Mappin had got into the habit of dining at Hope
House every Wednesday night, and afterward sitting down in the office to
hear Sieg Ammon's report for the week and to okay his accounts. There
was no reason why Lee should have imposed this duty on himself, since he
had been against the project from the start, but he could not bear to
let Sandra enter that den (as he called it to himself) alone. In Sandra,
along with her worldliness and sophistication, there was a certain
innocency that made Lee feel toward her as to a willful little girl who
must be protected from the consequences of her own folly.
Notwithstanding all the people who surrounded her, Lee doubted if she
had a single disinterested friend in the world except himself. She was
too rich.

On this particular Wednesday night there were nine people at the dinner
table. They now had a young stick-up man to assist Mary in waiting. Lee,
looking around at the faces, thought to himself: What a crew! Tappan,
who had been in the house a week, had become popular with everybody in
the house. Owing to his efforts, the table talk had taken on a more
cheerful tone. He told the story of his paving operations in
Philadelphia with a sly humor that set them all laughing.

Only Letty's smile was strained and painful. Lee was shocked by the
change that had taken place in the girl since he had last seen her. Her
make-up stood out in ghastly fashion against the livid pallor of her
skin. Her hands were shaking. She scarcely seemed to know what she was
doing. Spanish was safe in Boston; Tappan's reports had given Lee no
further light on what was happening in the house. Lee watched the girl
without appearing to. At moments when she thought she was unobserved,
her glance still crept to Sieg's face in the manner that suggested she
had utterly lost herself in her husband. Lee was baffled. If that look
lies, he said to himself, I shall have to begin at the A.B.C. of my
profession again. He determined to have another heart to heart talk with
Letty.

After dinner, Lee and Sandra went up to the office to wait for Sieg. A
few minutes later the Cassells butler, Dunstan, arrived at the house
with a telegram for Sandra. He said:

"I opened it according to instructions, madam, but the contents was such
as I didn't think you would want it telephoned, so I brought it down by
car."

Sandra, reading the message, bit her lip. She said: "There's no answer,
Dunstan. You needn't wait. You did right in bringing this to me."

"Yes, madam. Thank you, madam." He bowed himself out.

Sandra had handed the telegram to Lee. It read:

    Your party left Cleveland at 5 A.M. today in his own car. It is
    not known which way he was heading. His absence was not
    discovered until the day shift at the mill came off work this
    afternoon.

"You can't depend on anybody," said Sandra bitterly. "I've been paying
these people a hundred a week and they fell down on the job. Blondy is
in New York by this time."

"That would account for Letty's agitation," said Lee.

Sieg came into the room briskly and Lee quietly folded the message and
slipped it into his pocket. There was nothing on Sieg's mind. He
displayed his usual smiling, self-confident air.

"Where's Letty?" asked Lee.

"She has no head for business," said Sieg smiling. "She's gone to the
movies. She'll be back by the time we're through our work."

Lee felt his face growing grim. "What movie?" he asked.

"She didn't say. I suppose it's the neighborhood house down the street."

Sandra said: "Letty shouldn't be out on the streets alone after dark."

"Safest place in the world," said Sieg, smiling. "I have heard you say
so yourself." He spread his bills on the desk.

Lee felt that to sit there doing nothing while the time passed would be
more than he could bear. Anyhow, the bills were no business of his. "I'm
going out for a walk, while you do your work," he said. "I need air."

A brilliant electric sign advertised the motion picture theater two
blocks away. Lee paid his way in. It was dark inside and he could
distinguish only a few faces sitting close to the aisle. He sat down far
in front and waited while a distorted picture unrolled itself in front
of him. He never knew what it was. At the end of the feature, when the
lights went up, he rose and studied the faces in the audience row by
row. Letty was not in the house. He hadn't expected to find her there.

He returned to Hope House. Sandra and Sieg were still at work in the
office. "Has Letty come back?" he asked. But Sandra's face had told him
she had not without his asking.

Sieg glanced at his watch. "Not time for her yet," he said.

When the bills were okayed they had a drink. The suspense was cruelly
hard on Sandra. Her hands began to tremble as Letty's had done earlier,
and Lee was afraid that she might blurt out something that would
precipitate a catastrophe.

When ten o'clock came and went, Sieg began to grow uneasy. "She never
stayed as late as this," he said. "She has had more than enough time to
see the program through. I'll go down to the theater and walk home with
her."

When he had left the house, Lee urged Sandra to go home. "There is
nothing you can do here."

She shook her head. "I can't go until I know what has happened."

In a quarter hour Sieg was back. He was worried now. "Has she come
home?" he demanded.

"No."

Sieg gripped the back of a chair for support. "I can't understand it,"
he said brokenly. "She wasn't in the theater. I went in to make sure.
The ticket seller knows Letty but she had already gone home. Letty must
have gone to some other theater." He ran out of the house distractedly.

"Should we tell him about Blondy's letter?" asked Sandra.

"No!" said Lee quickly. "Let that come out through other sources."

They spent another wretched half hour. When Sieg came in again he was
like a broken man. He did not ask if Letty had returned; a look in their
faces was sufficient. He dropped into a chair and covered his face.

"She's gone!" he groaned.

"What have you learned?"

Sieg didn't hear. "Oh, God, if I've lost her I'm done for!" he said
hoarsely. "Letty was everything to me! She made me go straight. She gave
me something to live for!"

"Why do you say you've lost her?"

Sieg lifted a tormented face. "I found the ticket seller. She told me
Letty did not go in tonight. Then I walked the streets not knowing where
to look. I met McArdle, the cop who patrols our street. He told me..."
Sieg clutched his hair as if he would tear it out. "He told me
Letty got in a car with a man and drove away!... I thought... I
thought he was pulling my leg. I laughed at him. But his story was so
detailed I had to believe it. I wanted to kill him then..."

"What was his story?"

"God! it drives me mad!... He said... he said he had seen this car
waiting for an hour in Scammell Street just off Henry. He noticed it
because it was a fine new car, a maroon-color Chevvy convertible with a
khaki top."

"Did he get the license number?"

"No. He thought nothing of it. He never looked at the license....
There was a man sitting in it, but the top was up and he didn't get a
good look at his face.... At about half past seven--that would be
just after she left the house--Letty came along and got in and they
drove away! She expected to find the car there, he said. She looked
scared..."

"Funny he didn't take the number."

"No. If Letty was stepping out it wasn't none of his business, he
said.... Letty! Letty! Letty! I can't understand it! I thought she
was crazy about me. I made her happy. She never looked at another man. I
thought I knew her! Oh God, I would have staked my life on Letty! That's
why I married her..."

Sandra could not bear to look at the broken man. "I'll go," she murmured
to Lee. "I can't help him now."

"I'll see you to the car," said Lee.

On her way out, Sandra laid a hand on Sieg's shoulder. Her tender heart
was torn by his cries of pain; her eyes filled. "Don't give up," she
said. "There may be some perfectly natural explanation. After all, it's
not late. Perhaps she met a friend..."

"She has no friends in this part of town," groaned Sieg. "No! The man
was waiting for her!"

Sandra's words of comfort sounded halfhearted in her own ears because
she knew they were false. She hastened out of the room. Lee followed.

As she dropped back in her car, she said: "Call me up whenever you hear
anything. At any hour. I shan't be able to sleep."

Before returning to the house, Lee entered the drug-store at the corner
and, after some telephoning from a booth, succeeded in running down
Inspector Loasby at a smoker on Washington Heights. He told Loasby the
story.

"Well, they're free, white and twenty-one," said Loasby. "It's not a
case for the police."

"You'd better look into it," said Lee, "or worse will follow."

"Very well. I'll send out an alarm."

"Keep it out of the newspapers."

"Sure!"

"Blondy is still carrying New York license plates." Lee gave Loasby the
number.

He then returned to Sieg Ammon. The young man was pacing the office in a
half-crazed state. He alternately mourned the loss of Letty and cursed
the man who had taken her from him.

"By God! as soon as I get a clue I'll follow them! I'll follow them to
the ends of the earth. And I'll kill him! I'll kill him slowly."

"That wouldn't win Letty back," suggested Lee dryly.

Sieg, paying no attention, continued to rage and to describe the
fiendish tortures he would inflict on the man who had wronged him.
Suddenly he said: "Maybe it was Blondy!"

"What put that into your head?" said the startled Lee.

"Letty told me once that Blondy was crazy about her. But, she said, he
hid it so close it was only by her woman's instinct that she knew it.
Blondy was so loyal to me, she said, there was nothing to fear from him.
And I believed her... By God! if it's Blondy...!"

"Wait and see," said Lee.

For two hours Lee bore patiently with his ravings. Shortly before two
o'clock, the telephone rang with startling suddenness. Sieg leaped to
the instrument, wild with eagerness.

"Yes, this is Sieg Ammon. Who are you?... Well, what do you want?
What?... Well, spill it! Spill it! What has happened?..."

With a wild cry, Sieg started back, dropping the instrument and clapping
his hands to his head. "No! No! No!"

Lee picked up the telephone. "What is it?"

Loasby's voice came over the wire. "That you, Mr. Mappin? Thank God! The
young fellow sounded out of his head."

"Can you blame him? What has happened?"

"Well, it's bad enough. I'm speaking from Police Headquarters in White
Plains. The body of a young woman has just been brought in here. She was
picked up alongside Wilkens Avenue about eight miles north of the city
line. Had evidently been thrown out of a car. She has a bullet hole
through her head. The doctor says she has been dead about four hours."

Lee moistened his dry lips. "Are you sure it's Mrs. Ammon? Describe
her."

"A natural ash blonde, about twenty-five years old; five feet eight
tall; slenderly made; weight about one hundred and twenty-five. Clothes
of expensive materials; a pale green evening dress with a tight-fitting
jacket over it and over that a black wool top coat. No hat..."

"That's enough," said Lee heavily. "It's what she was wearing when she
went out. Any trace of the car?"

"Not yet," said Loasby. "I'll keep you advised."

Lee hung up. He could hardly take in what had happened. Sieg was
crouched in a chair with his arms wrapped around his head, moaning
endlessly: "Letty!... Letty!... Letty!"

Everybody else in the house had been in bed for some hours except
Tappan. Lee found him in his room reading. Lee told him briefly what had
happened and, bringing him downstairs, left Sieg in his care.

"Try to get him to go to bed," said Lee.

Stopping at a Western Union office on his way home, Lee sent a telegram.

    George Alvarez
    Hotel Charles
    Boston

    Return by first train and get in touch with me.

      Mappin.

A couple of hours later, Jermyn aroused him from sleep to hand him the
answer.

    Amos Lee Mappin
    East 54th Street
    New York

    Alvarez checked out early this morning. Told me it was by your
    orders.

      Simon Fussell.




CHAPTER 7


At dawn the maroon convertible car was found standing alongside a
highway near Utica, New York. The driver had run her out of gas. The top
was down when found; there were plentiful blood stains on the steering
wheel and the upholstery; the gun with which Letty had presumably been
shot was still lying on the floor. It had been discharged once. An hour
later, Blondy Farren was picked up wandering blindly in the fields near
by. There was blood on his hands, on his clothes; he was like a man
completely distraught and could give no coherent account of what had
happened. Detectives were dispatched to Utica to bring him back. He was
expected to arrive at Headquarters in White Plains at five in the
afternoon.

Early in the morning Lee and Sieg Ammon drove up to White Plains for the
purpose of identifying the body. Sandra met them in the little mortuary.
Lee begged her not to subject herself to this ordeal, but she insisted.
Every detail of the affair had a gruesome fascination for her.

"I feel partly responsible," she said.

When the sheeted body was wheeled in and the cover drawn down a little,
a glance into the beautiful waxen face was sufficient.

"That is Mrs. Ammon," said Lee. He marveled at the serenity of the dead
face. The unfortunate, harried girl had found the peace she longed for
in life. When the attendants started to wheel her out, Sieg flung
himself across the body with wild cries.

"Letty! Letty! Letty! I can't let you go!" When he was dragged away, he
collapsed on a bench.

Lee made a further examination of Letty's wound in private. She had been
shot in the right temple. Deep powder burns in the skin surrounding the
wound indicated that the gun had been discharged close to her head. The
bullet, after having passed through her brain obliquely, had been found
lodged under the scalp on the other side. No further autopsy was
considered necessary. It was a bullet of .25 caliber. Letty's pretty
clothes were soiled with blood and earth. Her handbag was missing.

They were back in Henry Street before eleven o'clock. All the boarders
were gathered in the game room talking over what had happened in subdued
voices. Little Hattie Oliver's eyes were as big as saucers. Drawing Lee
aside, she whispered:

"I must speak to you outside." In the hall she said with her old head
nodding like a china mandarin's: "Spanish Jack was here an hour ago."

"Hey?" exclaimed the startled Lee. "What was he after?"

"Nobody saw him but me, Mr. Mappin. He must have let himself in with his
latch key. He knew everybody would be in the back of the house. It was
just by chance that I was in my room which is next to Letty's. I heard
somebody moving in her room. Nobody had any right to go in there but
Mary Kennedy, and I knew it wasn't Mary because it moved too soft. It
moved like a thief. I heard a bureau drawer pulled out. I was afraid to
go and look. I set my door open a crack and waited. And bye and bye
Spanish come out. He run down the stairs as quiet as a cat and let
himself out the front door."

Lee said: "Sieg must know about this." He called Sieg out into the hall.
"Sieg, Spanish Jack has been here while we were out."

"What of it?" growled Sieg apathetically.

"Judging from his actions, he was up to no good. When he went away, did
he surrender his latch key?"

"Sure."

"Then he has had a duplicate made. He appears to have been ransacking
Letty's things. Come and see if anything is missing."

Sieg clapped his hands to his head. "God! don't ask me to go through
Letty's things now! I couldn't bear it!"

"If we have a thief to deal with, we've got to know it."

Sieg was persuaded to go upstairs. When the first drawer of Letty's
bureau was pulled open, the contents seemed to be in good order, but
Sieg said at once: "Somebody's been in here. Letty would spend an hour
tidying it up and when she left it, it was like a pin."

"Look over her valuables," said Lee. "You must know pretty well what she
possessed. Let me know if anything is missing."

Letty's valuables were not very many nor very costly. Sieg reported that
so far as he knew nothing had been taken. Nor had the drawers in his own
chiffonier been disturbed.

"Then it was something else he was after," said Lee.

"If you ask me, old Hattie is loco," growled Sieg. "Spanish, whatever
you may say, is no sneak thief."

From the office downstairs, Lee telephoned to Loasby at Headquarters and
told him what had occurred. "I happen to know that one of Spanish Jack's
best friends is living at 223 Sands Street, Brooklyn, under the name of
Piero Mendes. You may be able to pick Spanish up there."

"Is it your idea that this has got something to do with the girl's
murder, Mr. Mappin?"

"I don't know."

"How could it? There's a perfect case against Blondy Farren."

"Just the same, this ought to be investigated."

"Okay, Mr. Mappin. Just to oblige you, I'll send men right over."

In quarter of an hour, Loasby called back to say that Spanish Jack had
been found in the Sands Street flat of his friend. The coming of the
police had given him an unpleasant surprise, Loasby said, but he had
submitted quietly. Thinking that Mr. Mappin might want to have the
premises searched, Loasby had ordered his men to hold the prisoner there
until they could get over.

"Very good!" said Lee. "I'll be with you in five minutes."

Lee and the Inspector made fast time across Brooklyn Bridge in a police
car with a siren. Sands Street starts at the Brooklyn end of the bridge.
On the top floor of a cheap flat above a hardware store, they found
Spanish, his friend Piero, and Piero's girl. The last two were a
coarsely handsome young couple who described themselves as teachers of
the tango and the rhumba. All three had regained their equanimity.
Spanish greeted Lee impudently.

"How are you, Mr. Mappin?"

"What are you doing in New York?" asked Lee mildly.

"Why were you so anxious to get me _out_ of New York?" countered
Spanish.

"I don't understand you."

"Oh, yes you do!" sneered Spanish. "I don't like to hear you lie, Mr.
Mappin. I have too much respect for you. You ordered me to get next to
Professor Stonestreet, didn't you? Well, I obeyed your orders. I obeyed
them a little better than you counted on. I examined the private letters
in his desk and I found what you had written to him about me!"

Lee, silently cursing the Professor's failure to destroy his letter, let
it go with a shrug.

"You haven't answered my question," sneered Spanish.

His impudence was too much for Loasby. "Shut your mouth!" commanded the
Inspector. "It's not your place to ask Mr. Mappin questions."

Spanish laughed silently.

"Has he been searched?" asked Lee.

"Yes, sir. In his pants pockets all we found was a handful of loose
change and a latch key."

"That's the key to the Henry Street house," said Lee. "Mark it and keep
it for evidence."

"In his breast pocket we found a wallet containing fifty-four dollars in
bills and a note which refers to you, Mr. Mappin. Nothing else."

"Let me see the note, please."

It was in Letty's handwriting. It consisted of four lines only, and bore
neither date nor salutation.

    I shall never tell what I know as long as you stay away from me.
    If anything happens to me I have fixed it so that Mr. Mappin
    will be informed of what took place, and you can't prevent it.

      Letty.

Lee was baffled. All the policemen were looking at him and he was forced
to appear wise and knowing. "An important piece of evidence," he said.
"With your permission, I will keep it for further study, Inspector."

"Certainly, Mr. Mappin."

"Much good may it do you!" sneered Spanish with his soundless laugh.

"Shall we search the place?" asked Loasby.

"Yes."

"You can't do that!" blustered Piero. "It's my place. There's no charge
against me! You have no warrant."

"You're harboring a thief," said Loasby with a hard smile. "I'll take a
chance on it."

"You haven't proved me a thief," said Spanish.

"You were seen and heard ransacking Letty's room," said Lee. "That will
be sufficient evidence."

Spanish was momentarily taken aback. "I didn't take anything," he
growled.

Spanish, Piero and the girl were lined up in three chairs in the kitchen
placed too far apart for anything to be passed between them, and left
under the watchful eye of a plain-clothesman. Lee, Loasby and the other
detective searched the three rooms.

"What do you expect to find?" asked Loasby.

"That's the rub," said Lee dryly. "I don't know.... A letter,
perhaps. Show me anything that does not seem to belong here, anything
that does not explain itself."

Evidently the dancing business had not been too good lately and the flat
was but meagerly furnished. Nothing was locked away. A couple of trunks
full of theatrical costumes delayed them for a while, but they contained
nothing except what went with the costumes. Spanish Jack's suitcase was
under the sofa in the living room. Its contents gave Lee nothing to go
on. There was not a scrap of writing anywhere in the flat. In short, the
search was futile.

When Lee returned to the kitchen, Spanish asked him with a grin, "Well,
did you find what you were looking for, Mr. Mappin?"

Lee made no reply.

"I'm afraid you're slipping, sir. You're slipping badly. Your numerous
admirers will be disappointed in you."

"Shut your mouth!" shouted Loasby. "This isn't doing you any good!...
You come along with us!"

"With pleasure, Inspector!"

On the return to Manhattan, Loasby and Lee occupied the rear seat of the
big police car. Spanish sat on one of the folding seats in front of them
with a detective beside him, and the second detective rode with the
chauffeur. The day was warm and the windows fully open. They bowled
across Brooklyn Bridge at a high rate of speed. When they were over the
middle of the river at the highest point in the arc of the bridge,
Spanish stooped down to scratch his ankle. When he straightened up he
had a thin, small key in his hand to which was attached a shipping tag
with writing on both sides.

Lee, Loasby and the detective flung themselves on Spanish
simultaneously, but they were too late; they only collided with each
other. Spanish half rose, swung his right arm; the key with its
fluttering tag sailed over the steel parapet of the bridge and went
dropping into the river far below. Lee had glimpsed the writing on one
side of the tag. It read: "For Mr. Mappin." On the other side were
several lines of writing, too small for him to decipher a word.

Spanish dropped back in his seat and laughed in his silent fashion. It
was a bitter pill for Lee and the Inspector to swallow.

Lee left them at Headquarters. From the expression of Loasby's face, he
guessed that Spanish was due to undergo a severe sweating; very
reprehensible, of course, but after all it was none of his business. He
said nothing.




CHAPTER 8


When Lee returned to Henry Street, Sieg roused himself to ask many
shrewd and anxious questions about the relations between Letty and
Spanish. Lee could throw little light on the subject. Sieg was greatly
disturbed to learn that Letty had been to Lee to confess that she lived
in terror of Spanish.

"Why didn't she come to me?" Sieg demanded. "I was her natural
protector."

"That's easy," said Lee. "She didn't want to involve you in a fight with
Spanish."

"That little rat!" said Sieg contemptuously. "I could take him on with
one hand!"

"Surely!" said Lee. "And afterward he'd shoot you in the back."

"I can't understand it!" said Sieg scowling. "I thought Spanish was my
friend. What could there have been between Letty and him?"

"Whatever it was," said Lee, "no blame attaches to Letty. She was all
yours!"

Sieg flung up his arms. "God! what does it matter now!" he cried. "She's
gone!"

Later in the afternoon Loasby called for Lee and Sieg in the big, red
police car and they returned to White Plains to await the coming of
Blondy. There was little talk during the long drive. Sieg had relapsed
into torpor; Lee and the Inspector were busy with their own thoughts.
Loasby remarked briefly that he had not got anything out of Spanish. At
the Westchester police office, they found Sandra waiting for them. Lee,
Sieg and Sandra sat down in the outer office while Loasby conferred with
the local chief.

Blondy was brought in between two stalwart policemen. Grief, remorse or
other passions had so changed him that he was hardly recognizable. He
looked at his friends without seeing them. The police had put him into
clean clothes for the railway journey, and were saving the bloody ones
for evidence. At sight of Blondy, Sieg sprang up with a bellow of rage.

"I'll kill him! I'll kill him!"

A couple of policemen flung their arms around Sieg and held him. Blondy
never even flinched from the attack, but only looked at Sieg with a
strange remoteness, as if the outburst had nothing to do with him. He
was led into the private office and Sieg dropped back in his chair.

Lee was the only one of their party to be admitted to the examination.
In addition to the two men who had brought Blondy, Inspector Loasby and
the local chief were in the room, and a third officer to take down
Blondy's statement. The privilege of interrogating the prisoner was
yielded to the City Inspector. Lee took a seat in a corner of the room
where he could watch and listen without being conspicuous. Loasby,
behind a flat-topped desk, surveyed Blondy from hand to foot before
addressing him. Blondy bore it with complete indifference.

"Are you ready to make a statement?" asked Loasby.

Blondy moistened his lips. "I'll try. My head isn't very clear."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Not since last night."

"Well, tell your story."

Blondy put a hand to his forehead. "You'll have to question me," he said
dully. "My head don't feel right. I can't tell a straight story."

"Why did you shoot Letty Ammon?"

"I didn't shoot her."

"Don't waste my time," said Loasby coldly. "Come clean or go to a cell.
Do you expect me to believe that?"

Blondy sighed. "It's nothing to me whether you believe it or not. I
didn't shoot her."

"How did you get blood on your hands? On your clothes?"

"When I found her shot I took her in my arms. I was wild."

"When you found her, you say. Where were you when she was shot?"

"Right there on the seat beside her. I had fallen asleep or passed out.
I can't remember anything."

All the policemen laughed a little. "Is that the best story you can
tell?" said Loasby. "That old gag!"

"I loved her," said Blondy, very low. "It would be impossible for me to
hurt Letty."

"That's what they all say," said Loasby. "Where did it happen?"

Blondy passed a hand wearily over his face. "I can't tell you exactly.
When I came to myself the car was standing by a house. The house had
been burned out recently. It was deserted. The car had been run into
these private grounds. The highway was fifty yards away."

"What about Letty?"

Blondy's head went down. "She was leaning over on the wheel. Her hands
were caught under her. She was dead. She was cold already."

"Do you mean to say her hands were still gripping the wheel?"

"No. Her hands were turned palms up."

Loasby smiled contemptuously. "And this happened while you slept beside
her?"

"That's right."

"What made you fall asleep or pass out or whatever it was?"

"I don't know. I had been drinking some. But not enough for that. I
never passed out like that before."

"What did you do then?"

"For a while I didn't know what I was doing. When my head cleared, my
first thought was to get help. I shoved Letty over and took the wheel. I
drove out on the highway. I didn't know where we were. The sky was
cloudy and no stars were showing. I started driving blind. My head
wasn't right; I can only remember what happened in spots. In a little
while, when I went over a hill, I saw by the reflection in the sky that
the city was behind me, so I turned around and drove the other way. Then
when I got near the city it suddenly came over me that I would be
charged with shooting Letty. And what kind of a story could I tell?
Nobody would believe me. Not with my record. So I turned around again
and drove away from the city. I was out of my head, I guess. I stopped
the car. I put Letty out beside the road. I drove on blind until I ran
out of gas. That's all."

"You had a gun?"

"Yes. Letty had asked me to bring it."

Loasby's eyebrows ran up. "For God's sake, why?"

"I don't know. She said there was a danger threatening her. That was
enough for me."

"Where was the gun when you, as you claim, passed out?"

"At first it was in my pocket. Letty asked me if I had it and I showed
it to her. Then I put it in the compartment on the dashboard."

Loasby exhibited a gun on the desk. "Is this it?"

Blondy gave it ah indifferent glance. "How do I know? I reckon so. It
was a gun like that."

"Start at the beginning now," suggested Loasby, "and tell us how you
first became acquainted with Letty."

"It was over two years ago," said Blondy in his toneless voice. "Sieg
and I met her when we went to work for Sam Bartol over in Jersey. Letty
worked in Sam's place. They called her Anita Western over there. Her
real name was Letty Stair. She was so different from the other girls
there, different from any girl we had ever known, and Sieg and I both
fell for her hard. But of course she couldn't see anybody in the world
but Sieg, and I never said anything to her. For near two years she
waited for Sieg while he was doing his stretch in Sing Sing. I was
released a month ahead of him and I looked her up. I saw right away that
she hadn't changed any; all she wanted was to hear about Sieg. So I
never said nothing. We talked about Sieg all the time. I was crazy about
Sieg myself. Always had been up to now. That was the worst of it. Just
my bad luck, I thought, that I had to fall for my pal's girl."

"Just a moment," interrupted Loasby. "You said 'up to now.' What has
changed your feeling toward Sieg?"

"Well, I got the idea from Letty that he had been ill-treating her.
Nothing definite."

"Proceed with your story."

"As soon as Sieg was released from Sing Sing he married her. I stood up
with them. It was like... like watching my own funeral. I thought I
would get over it, but I didn't. She spoiled me for other women. It was
worse after they got married--being with them all the time. Mr. Mappin
saw how it was with me, I guess. He's been a good friend to me. He got
me a job out in Cleveland, and I was glad to take it. But I couldn't
forget her."

"What brought you back to New York?"

"Letty wrote to me."

"In answer to a letter of yours?"

"No. I had never written to her up till then. Her letter was out of a
clear sky. I had quieted down some, and it got me all stirred up again."

"What did she say?"

"It was only a short letter. All mixed up. I couldn't rightly get the
hang of it except that she was in some kind of trouble and wanted help."

"And that brought you to New York?"

"No. I wrote to her first, asking her for God's sake to tell me plainly
what was the matter and what she wanted of me."

"And then?"

"She wrote again and asked me to come. It was just as wild as the other.
Said she'd be waiting for me at the corner of Henry and Scammell Streets
at half past seven Wednesday night. That was last night. So I was
there."

Lee intervened at this point. "Inspector, may I ask a question?"

"Certainly, Mr. Mappin. As many as you like."

"Blondy," said Lee, "have you got the two letters she wrote you?"

"No, sir. She asked for them back again when we started out last night.
She put them in her handbag."

Lee addressed the Inspector: "And the handbag is missing?"

Loasby smiled. "Unfortunately for the prisoner, yes." He shot a
forefinger at Blondy. "What did you do with her handbag after her
death?"

"Me?" said Blondy with an astonished glance. "I never saw it after."

Loasby sneered. "That's just too bad!... Go on with your story."

Lee quietly put in: "Still, she _did_ go to meet him."

Said Loasby: "Very likely he had threatened her with harm if she
didn't."

Blondy plucked up a little spirit. "That's foolish!"

"Stick to your story!" said the Inspector angrily.

"She was excited and nervous when she got in the car," Blondy continued.
"She was shaking like a leaf. She said: 'Drive away! Drive away quick!'
'Where to?' I asked her. 'Anywhere!' she said. 'That cop on the corner
knows me. What a rotten piece of luck!'"

"The patrolman's name is McArdle," put in Lee.

Loasby made a note of it. "Go on!"

"I drove north, uptown," said Blondy. "When I tried to get her to talk
she only burst into tears. So I gave her time to quiet down. I never did
understand women. She said she wanted to drive out in the country and I
suggested driving over the Queensboro Bridge to Long Island, but she
said no, we could get into the real country quicker by driving north. So
I kept on through the Park, up Seventh Avenue and on up through the
Bronx. She still wouldn't tell me what was the matter and I got sore.
'I've driven seven hundred miles to find out,' I said, 'and I'm entitled
to know what it's all about.' But it only made her cry. I couldn't stand
to see Letty cry. I was half crying myself."

Blondy had warmed to his story now and required no further prompting.
His eyes were fixed on Lee as he talked as if he felt sure of finding
understanding there. The policemen did not exist for him. "I couldn't
tell you everything that was said. She would say such things as she
wished she was dead; she was the unhappiest woman in the world, and all
like that, but nothing I could get hold of. I asked her plain if Sieg
was mistreating her and she would only say she loved him still, she
couldn't help herself. What was I to make of that? Another time I mind
she said she wished we could drive on and on forever and never turn
back, and I said that would be all right with me. I told her I loved
her. I never told her that before. I told her I'd cut off my right arm
to serve her, and I wasn't counting on any return either. Then she cried
and cried and told me I mustn't say such things because it only made
matters worse. We were getting out in the country now. I pulled out of
the road in a quiet spot and she let me take her in my arms and kiss
her. It was the first time..."

"You were happy then?" said Loasby sarcastically.

Blondy glanced at him somberly. "Nothing to it," he said with a kind of
contempt. He looked at Lee again for understanding. "I could see she was
in bad trouble of some kind, but it didn't have anything to do with
loving me. It wasn't me that she wanted. A man can tell. She lay cold in
my arms. She was glad when I let her go. Letty was a one-man woman. Sieg
was her man."

"And that's why you killed her," suggested Loasby.

"I didn't kill her," said Blondy. "I could easier have killed myself."

"Go on with your story."

"Well, Letty asked me if there wasn't a big roadhouse called Schanze's
near where we were. She said she wanted a drink. I knew Schanze's and I
took her there. It wasn't like Letty to ask for a drink. God knows, I
didn't want to go into that place with all the lights and the noise and
the crowd, but she said she wanted a drink, so we parked the car in the
yard and went in. We had a couple of drinks. I was uneasy in that place
because there was a woman came in who knew us and she was watching us."

"Who was that?" asked Loasby.

"Her name is Queenie Deane; she sings at Le Coq Noir."

Lee pricked up his ears. "What was she doing up in Westchester County?"

"How do I know? That was about eight-thirty. She don't go on in her show
until midnight."

"Why were you afraid of her?"

"She's a troublemaker. She and Sieg Ammon were teamed up in Chicago a
few years ago. Queenie was crazy about Sieg, and may be still for all I
know. All the women are."

"Well, go on."

"After she came, I got out of Schanze's as quick as I could. It was a
mild night and Letty said to put the top down, so I did, and we drove
on. At McGovern's place she wanted to stop again. Seemed like it was a
relief to her to get into one of those joints; I had to hold myself in
when there were people around. We had a couple more drinks. Letty
swallowed hers like an old hand. I never saw her do that before. 'Helps
me to forget!' she said. I mind saying to her in McGovern's: 'Letty, why
don't we keep on driving until we get to Ohio? I don't know what kind of
a jam you're in, but I'll save you from it if a man can. And you don't
have to take me, either. You'll still be as free as air!'"

Blondy seemed to have forgotten that he had listeners. "She shook her
head and smiled. God! what a smile! Like a knife through my breast. 'No
can do, Blondy,' she said. 'For God's sake, what _are_ we going to do,'
I said. She asked me what time it was--she was always asking the time.
Nine-thirty, it was then, and she said, still smiling: 'An hour of
forgetfulness, Blondy, then we part!' And then she said: 'Do you know
why I sent for you, Blondy?' And I said, 'No.' And she said: 'I wanted
to restore my belief in human nature'..."

Blondy looked across at Lee. "What do you make of that, Mr. Mappin?" he
asked pitifully. "I can't make nothing of it."

Lee shook his head.

Blondy continued: "So we drove on and when we came to that big joint
they call the White Goose, Letty wanted to stop again. I ordered three
rounds in that place. Letty wouldn't drink hers."

"You said she wanted to stop."

"She did. But when the drinks came she wouldn't take hers. I drank mine
and hers, too."

"That would be six slugs," said Loasby grimly. "And you had had four
before. And do you still say you weren't drunk?"

"If I was, I wasn't aware of it," Blondy said indifferently. "I felt as
sober then as I do now. I don't think I was drunk because when a man is
as worked up and excited as I was, whisky don't have any effect on him."

"Go on."

"Letty wanted to drive, so I said okay. She asked me what road we were
on and I didn't know, so we stopped to read the name on a lamppost. It
was Bicknell Avenue..." Blondy's voice faltered. "That's about
all.... Letty said,... Letty said: 'If I could have loved a man
like you, Blondy, we would have been good to each other. And it wouldn't
have come to this!' 'Come to what?' I said. But she never answered me...
That's all I can remember."

For an hour longer, Loasby went over the story point by point with the
stabbing forefinger for emphasis. With all the skill of his long
experience in cross-examination, he gained nothing by it. Blondy stuck
to what he had said in every particular. His apathetic air was his
defense. He didn't appear to care whether or not he was believed.

"You threatened Letty," stormed the Inspector. "You wrote her that if
she didn't meet you, you'd lay for Sieg Ammon and shoot him."

"That's silly," said Blondy. "I had nothing against Sieg. Sieg was my
pal. Sieg didn't take her from me. She was always his. For Letty I
didn't exist as a man."

"You cared nothing about that," said Loasby, "so you could enjoy her
once."

Blondy looked at him with contempt. "Then why didn't I enjoy her last
night? I could have."

"Don't bandy words with me! I'm asking the questions... Do you
realize that you are faced by the chair?"

"The sooner the better for me," murmured Blondy. "Letty's gone."

"You drove into those private grounds to accomplish your purpose."

"I told you Letty was at the wheel. I didn't know that place. When I
came out into the highway afterward I drove up and down like a crazy
man."

Finally, Loasby gave up and Blondy was taken away to a cell. The
Inspector lit a cigarette.

"It's an open and shut case," he said. "We'll send him to the chair as
easy as rolling over in bed! His own story is enough to convict him. He
was mad about the girl and he killed her."

Lee had to admit to himself that it had the features of the classical
crime of passion; still he was not satisfied. In Blondy's story there
were too many curious and inexplicable details. These details were not
of the sort that could help Blondy; many of them were damaging; nor were
they the sort of things that a man would naturally invent. Suppose,
then, that Blondy was telling the truth--or most of the truth. What was
the explanation of Letty's extraordinary behavior? It sounded as if she
had been leading Blondy on--only to be killed herself. The letter from
Blondy to Letty, that Lee had seen, bore out that theory.

Was the fear that Letty had expressed to Blondy during their drive her
fear of Spanish? Spanish was supposed to be safe in Boston, but he might
have threatened to return. Since he had left Boston in the morning, he
had had ample time to be on hand at the spot where the shot was fired.
Suppose Spanish had forced Letty to agree to an assignation in the
grounds of the deserted house, and Letty had taken Blondy there to
protect her from Spanish and, if necessary, to shoot the man who made
her life a burden to her. This would account for Letty's concern to make
sure that Blondy had a gun.

This theory had a plausible sound and Lee for a while turned it over in
his mind, only to reject it in the end. If Blondy and Letty had come
upon Spanish at the meeting place, and there had been a fight and Letty
shot, perhaps by accident, what reason on earth could Blondy have for
concealing the truth? His story of having "passed out" was hard to
believe. If he had passed out, why should Letty have driven him to the
spot where the dangerous Spanish was waiting? At this point Lee flung up
his hands, figuratively speaking. No piece of his puzzle fitted any
other piece. He had to search for additional pieces before the main
design would begin to shape itself.




CHAPTER 9


Additional evidence piled up against Blondy. The bullet extracted from
the dead woman's skull was proved to have been fired from the gun found
lying on the floor of the murder car. And through its serial number this
gun was established as belonging to Blondy. Blondy's fingerprints were
on it.

"That last fact doesn't advance you any," Lee pointed out to Loasby,
"because Blondy has already stated that he handled the gun when showing
it to Letty."

"I doubt if she ever saw the gun until it was fired."

"The girl might have killed herself," suggested Lee. "That would account
for her interest in the gun. And certainly Blondy's story suggests that
she was in a desperate frame of mind."

"If true," said Loasby dryly. "Hardly likely the girl would kill herself
and leave Blondy to take the rap."

"No, it's not likely, but there are a lot of things in this case that
are still unexplained."

"If the girl had turned it on herself, her prints would be on the gun.
She was not wearing gloves when she was found."

"That's right."

"Or if anybody else had handled the gun there would be other prints."

"So it would seem. Are you having a search made for Letty's handbag
along the roads? You should offer a substantial reward for the return of
the handbag in case it has been picked up. I have a feeling that the
explanation of this case would be found in that handbag."

"Assuming that we do not already know the explanation," said Loasby with
a smile. "Make your mind easy; I am not overlooking the handbag."

As a matter of fact, the handbag was not found, and the police,
satisfied that they already had a complete case against Blondy, did very
little further work on it. Lee pursued his own private investigation.
Loasby did not resent it, because he assumed that if Lee was going to
write up the case later, he needed all the details he could dig up.
Spanish was held for the time being on a charge of unlawful entry.

By the next morning the murder car had been brought back to White Plains
and was stored in the police garage. As far as possible, it was left in
the exact state in which it had been found. Lee was on hand early to
examine it. The police ran it out in the yard to give him plenty of
light.

He saw at once that it was the maroon convertible coup that he had
helped Blondy to buy. Quite a lot of blood had dropped on the steering
post and had run down to form a little pool on the floor. This confirmed
Blondy's statement that Letty was sitting at the wheel when she was
shot. She had been shot in the right temple, that is to say, the side on
which Blondy said he was sitting, but that fact by itself didn't prove
anything. The car, it could be assumed, was standing at the moment she
was shot; if Blondy _had_ passed out, anybody could have reached past
him and shot the girl. Lee tried to reconstruct the scene. Letty had
fallen forward on the wheel and had died instantly, according to the
medical examiner. Her hands were caught under her with the palms turned
upward. That was a detail which Lee could not account for under any
hypothesis. Yet surely Blondy could not have thought of such an odd
little detail unless it was something he had seen. The left front fender
of Blondy's car was scraped and bent.

The police assured Lee that at the time the car was found there were no
fingerprints anywhere upon it except those of Blondy and Letty herself.
Blondy's suitcase was in the luggage compartment; it contained nothing
but a change of clothing and a man's toilet articles. In the little
locker on the dash he found maps of Ohio and New York state, showing
Blondy's route to the East, also a map of New York City with a penciled
cross marking the corner of Henry and Scammell Streets.

The car had not been driven far since it was purchased, and the imprint
of the tires was still fresh and sharp. On the rear right tire, there
was a cut on the tread which left a distinguishing mark. Lee took a
careful impression of it in a piece of modeling clay that he had brought
for the purpose.

Lee and his chauffeur then set out to look for the scene of the murder.
Taking the resort called the White Goose for a starting point, they
systematically searched the roads in the vicinity and within an hour
found the melancholy burned house standing in its own grounds beside the
road. It was a north and south highway not much frequented, known as
Woodhull Avenue. The house was an old-fashioned wooden one; the roof was
burned off and the lower floors gutted. It had not long been abandoned,
for the grounds were still in good order. Only a couple of weeks had
passed since the grass was mown.

Leaving his car alongside the highway, Lee went over the circular
driveway inside the entrance gates with keen eyes. By degrees he was
able to establish that this was certainly the spot. It was a
hard-surfaced driveway and the tracks of the car only showed here and
there where a little film of mud had been deposited. Blondy's car had
entered there. Lee could even identify the spot where it had stopped for
a while because in starting again Blondy had let in the clutch with a
jerk and the rear wheels had scuffed the surface of the drive. On the
spot where the car had stood he found several spots of blood. This
tended to confirm Blondy's story that some time had elapsed before he
came to and found Letty dead beside him. Lee couldn't imagine any other
reason why Blondy should have remained there after Letty had been shot.

Lee looked around him with a slight shiver. In this dismal spot, Letty's
young life had been snuffed out. There was a heavy smell of drenched,
charred wood on the air. All the trees close to the house were scorched
and brown on that side. Inside, the house presented a scene of complete
ruin, the floors caved in, the roof open to the sky. Off to the left, as
you faced the house, was a grove of gloomy pines extending to the
highway, evidently planted long ago as a windbreak for the old house.

Lee, with patient searching back and forth in the driveway, found
something else: another car had entered and left the driveway since the
last rain. It was only here and there that he was able to pick out
traces of its track. It had come and gone _before_ Blondy's car, which
didn't help any. Nothing in it, perhaps; any curiosity-seeker might have
driven in to get a look at the wrecked house, the former occupants,
maybe. Still, it was a fact to keep in mind. The rear tires of the
second car were shod with tires having a peculiar wavy pattern in the
tread. This car might have come here before Blondy's car, have been
waiting here, and have left before Blondy, Lee figured, but he could not
establish it by any evidence.

Lee went over every foot of the grounds before leaving. There was a
screen of ornamental bushes in front of the pine trees. Behind these
bushes he found a scrap of paper, the wrapping from a stick of chewing
gum of a widely sold brand; Triple X. The paper was dry and fresh.
Obviously no rain had fallen since it was dropped there. Had somebody
been waiting and watching through the bushes two nights before? Somebody
whose mouth had gone dry from excitement? The finding of the paper
aroused Lee but did not help him any. Millions of people chewed that
brand of gum. He carefully stowed the wrapper in his wallet.
Unfortunately the springy carpet of pine needles retained no trace of
any footprints.

There was no other house in the near neighborhood. Perfect scene for a
murder. A shot could have been fired there without having been heard by
anybody in the world.

On his way back to town, Lee stopped at Schanze's big roadhouse, and
introduced himself to the proprietor, a fat, good-humored innkeeper who
certainly partook largely of his own beer. "Do you know a night-club
singer called Queenie Deane?" Lee asked.

"Sure, I know her. She has sung at my place."

"She was here night before last."

"That's right. She was here for a while."

"Who was she with?"

"She was by herself."

"Isn't that rather unusual? A handsome woman like that."

"Sure, Mr. Mappin. Queenie come to me and said she had a date to meet a
fellow here. He was late and she didn't want to sit down by herself; too
many single guys around, looking for a pick-up. So I sat down with her
myself and we had a Martini."

"What time was this?"

"About eight-thirty."

"Did her date come?"

"No, sir. And after about fifteen minutes--she hadn't even finished her
drink--she jumped up in a rage and left. Said she wasn't going to wait
for the best man on earth. She didn't have to. Said if I saw him looking
around for her, I could tell him to go plumb to hell!"

"Did he come after she had left?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"So she left pretty abruptly?"

"Abruptly! And how! She fairly run out of the place."

"What did you two talk about during those fifteen minutes?"

"How can I say, Mr. Mappin? Just passing the time. I ask her how she was
doing and all."

"Did she appear to be interested in anybody who was here at the time?"

"Not that I mind."

"Was the place crowded?"

"No, sir. We don't fill up until after eleven."

"Did you happen to notice another couple who were here at the time? The
girl was a tall, slender, natural blonde, wearing a black coat over a
pale green evening dress; no hat. A conspicuously beautiful girl. She
was with a blond young man about twenty-six years old."

"Sure! Now that you speak of it. I took note of that girl. She was a
beauty. And she had class." Schanze's eyes widened. "And by God! now I
mind, Queenie herself called my attention to them! She ask me how long
they been sitting there."

"And what did you answer?"

"I said half an hour or more. You see, at eight o'clock, when this
couple come in, there was only a few here and I took good note of them."

"You know who that couple were?"

"No, sir. I never seen them before."

"It was Letty Ammon and Blondy Farren."

"My God!" gasped Schanze. "What am I getting myself into! Sure! Sure!
Their pictures was in the paper but I didn't recognize them for the same
two! Gee! Mister, I don't want to get mixed up in no murder case!"

"You won't," said Lee dryly, "if you keep a close tongue in your head."

"They said it was the fellow smoked her. What's Queenie Deane got to do
with it?"

Lee took a pinch of snuff. "That's just what I'd like to know, Mr.
Schanze. Did the couple leave at the same time Queenie did?"

"I took no notice of that. Surprised me so when Queenie jump up and run,
I wasn't thinking about them." Schanze thought it over. "They must have
left about that time, because I didn't see them any more."

"How did Queenie get here?"

"I couldn't tell you that, Mr. Mappin. Taxi, maybe."

"If she left in a hurry, could she count on picking up a taxi outside?"

"She couldn't count on it. They come and go."

"Do you know if she drives her own car?"

"She had a car when she worked for me. I don't know if she come in it
Wednesday night."

"Can you tell me anything further about the couple?"

Schanze cast back in his mind. "I can tell you this, Mr. Mappin; they
wasn't having a good time like most of the couples comes here. The girl
look like she might a been crying and the fellow was glum."

"Who waited on them?"

"They sat by the window yonder. That's Emil Foltz' table."

"Where can I find him?"

Schanze frowned. "Have you got to bring him into it?"

"It's bound to be published that Letty and Blondy stopped here for a
drink on Wednesday. It doesn't have to go any further unless you talk.
I'm only going to ask Foltz one question: Did he hear anything that
passed between that couple?"

Schanze reluctantly gave Lee the address. "Keep me out of it, Mr.
Mappin," he begged. "I run a decent place here; all I've got is invested
in it. And it's so easy for a roadhouse to get a bad name!"

Lee assured him that he had nothing to fear.

He had himself driven to the cheap East Side flat where Foltz lived, but
he had no success there. The waiter, a thin, worn individual with a
prominent Adam's apple, was eager to talk but he could tell Lee nothing
that he didn't know already. Foltz had recognized Letty and Blondy by
their pictures in the papers.

"They were down in the mouth," he said. "You couldn't help but see it."

"Quarreling?" suggested Lee.

"No, not quarreling, exactly. The fellow was crazy about her, and I
couldn't blame him. She was a lovely girl. And to think a couple of
hours later!" Foltz shook his head heavily.

"Were they silent while sitting there?"

"No, they had plenty to say, but whenever I came to the table they dried
up until I moved away. All I heard him say was: 'I can't make you out!'
A fellow often says that." Such was the extent of Foltz' information.
Lee tipped him generously, saying: "Better not talk too much about this
case or you'll find yourself out of a job. Say nothing about my coming
to see you."

"You can depend on me for that, Mr. Mappin!"




CHAPTER 10


Lee proceeded downtown to Le Coq Noir where he was told that Miss Deane
lived at the Hotel Amsterdam. He also procured the address of the woman
who dressed Queenie at the night club. It was about ten-thirty when Lee
reached the Amsterdam. They told him at the desk that Miss Deane had
left a standing order that she was not to be disturbed before noon. Lee
insisted on having his name sent up and Queenie finally consented to see
him.

In her sitting room a heavy scent of chypre met his nostrils. He doubted
if the windows had been opened in a month. It was the conventional hotel
sitting room further embellished with fancy lampshades, innumerable
cushions and lush pictures. At this time of the day Queenie's brilliant
beauty was a good deal obscured. She was in a bad humor and she didn't
care how she looked.

"You remember, we met at Hope House on Henry Street," Lee said affably.

"Sure, I remember," Queenie said with a cold stare that seemed to add:
"What the hell do _you_ want at this hour?"

"Little did we guess then what was going to happen!" said Lee.

Queenie laughed shortly. "I'm not breaking my heart over it. If a woman
wants to cheat, that's what she must expect!"

"So you think Letty was cheating?"

"Obviously."

Lee said softly: "I understand you saw them up at Schanze's on Wednesday
night."

The question took her by surprise. A look of naked terror leaped out of
the hard black eyes. "Who told you so?"

"Blondy."

"He's lying!" she cried shrilly. "What's he trying to do? Drag me into
this dirty case?"

Lee affected an air of surprise. "What have you got to do with it? He
just happened to see you in the place."

"I've got nothing to do with it! And I haven't been near Schanze's in
months!"

"But Schanze himself told me he had a drink with you Wednesday night."

Queenie's face was a study. "So you've been following me up!" she
sneered. She paced the little room, struggling to recover herself.
"Well, what if I did?" she said defiantly. "What's it to you?"

"I just thought you might be able to throw a little light on the
affair."

"Well, you've got another guess!... Light! You don't need any light!
Blondy croaked her. And if she had been playing fast and loose with him
I don't blame him!"

"Who would?" said Lee. "How did you happen to be up at Schanze's?"

"I had a date with a fellow there. Didn't Schanze tell you that?"

"Yes, he did."

"Then why are you asking me?"

"Well, eight o'clock seems too early or too late in the evening to make
a date."

Queenie said nothing.

"And I can hardly see a woman like you driving all the way up to
Schanze's to keep a date with a man."

"That's my business."

"Nor can I see a man breaking a date with you so easily."

"Are you intimating that I'm a liar?"

Lee took a pinch of snuff. He said nothing.

"You'd better get out of here," said Queenie in an uncertain voice,
"before I telephone to the office."

Lee made no move to go. "Where did you go when you left Schanze's?" he
asked calmly.

Queenie cursed him furiously. It was a novelty from feminine lips and
Lee smiled. She was angry: very well; if he made her angrier still, he
might learn something. "You haven't answered my question," he reminded
her.

"Who the hell are you to ask me questions?" she shrilled. "You're not on
the force. You have no standing. I don't have to answer _your_
questions."

"Certainly not," agreed Lee, smiling still. "I can easily get the
answers from others, but I thought it would be kinder to come to you
first."

She quieted down. Lee was a puzzle to her. She paced the room, darting
glances of fear and hatred in his direction. Finally, she said: "Are you
trying to make out that I had something to do with this murder? That's
foolish!"

"You suggested the idea yourself... Come to think of it, you had a
powerful motive for putting Letty out of the way."

"I couldn't fire a gun."

"It's not difficult if you're close enough to your object."

"You can't prove it on me!"

"All right. Help me to prove it on somebody else... Answer my
question. Where did you go when you left Schanze's?"

"I won't answer your questions. Now or any other time. It's none of your
damned business."

Lee turned on a little heat. "Sorry! In that case, I'll have to take my
story to Sieg Ammon."

Queenie changed color. "What story?" she asked breathlessly.

"That I believe you followed Letty and Blondy up to Schanze's and that
you followed them away from there."

"How could I follow them there? They was there half an hour before me."

"Well, say you found them there and followed them away."

"It's a lie!" she cried stormily. "What are you trying to do to me? I
never harmed you!" Queenie was breaking now; the hard black eyes filled
with tears, but tears of rage, Lee noted, not grief. "Why do you want to
bring Sieg into it? Just to make trouble between us! Promise me to leave
Sieg out of it and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"All right," said Lee. "I'm no troublemaker. I promise to leave Sieg out
of it _for the present_. I mean, I shall say nothing to him until I have
proof that you were mixed up in this business. That's fair enough, isn't
it?"

She nodded. Her eyes were still distrustful.

"Where did you go when you left Schanze's?"

"I came down here."

"Then where did you go?"

"I stayed right here until it was time to go to the club to dress for
the first show."

"How did you get up to Schanze's?"

"By subway and taxi."

"You have a car of your own, haven't you?"

"Sure. But when I go out in the evening I let the man supply
transportation."

"Naturally. With what man had you a date on Wednesday night?"

Queenie answered glibly--too glibly. "Arthur Burton."

"Who's he?"

"Just a fellow I know."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know!"

"I don't know the addresses of all the men I meet at the club!"

"If you can bring forward this Arthur Burton," suggested Lee, "and have
him identified, and if he corroborates your story, it will clear you.
I'll never have to trouble you again."

Queenie bit her lip. She saw that she had committed an error of tactics.
"I don't need clearing," she said defiantly.

Lee looked at her steadily. "In my eyes you do."

Queenie looked at her nails, affecting an indifferent air. "If I see him
again, I'll tell him. He doesn't live in New York. He's a Philadelphia
boy comes over occasionally for a little fun."

"Well, ask him to come and see me."

"Okay," said Queenie, "but after standing me up, he's not likely to come
around me again for a good while."

Lee was more than ever convinced that no such person as Arthur Burton
existed. He changed his line. "What can you tell me about Spanish Jack?"
he asked.

This time Queenie was not caught off her guard. "Not a thing," she said
unconcernedly. "I've heard Sieg speak of him, but I never met the guy
myself."

"What did Sieg tell you about him?"

"Nothing much. That he was a guy he knew, who was down on his luck, and
he got him a room in the house on Henry Street; that's all."

"Sieg's in a terrible way!" said Lee, shaking his head with deceitful
sympathy. "He seems half out of his mind."

This administered a stab to Queenie, but she faced it out. "Naturally,"
she said, "he was cracked about his pasty-faced doll." She smiled in an
ugly fashion. "But he'll get over it. Men always do."

"He needs another woman's sympathy," suggested Lee casually.

Queenie failed to rise. "Oh, yeah?" she said.

Lee tried a shot in the dark. "Later, on Wednesday night, you were seen
at McGovern's place in the Bronx."

"You're a liar!" said Queenie. "I never went in."

Lee rubbed his lip to hide a smile. "I mean you were seen sitting in
your car in the yard there. Your face is pretty well known, you know."

Queenie cursed him roundly. "I never was near McGovern's. I don't know
where the joint is!"

Lee made believe to let it drop with a shrug. "The fellow who told me
said he could swear it was you."

He presently got out, leaving a worried and uncertain Queenie behind
him.

She would have been more worried could she have followed him during the
next hour. Downstairs in the hotel he asked for the manager, and when
that gentleman appeared, presented him with his card. Lee affected to be
annoyed by the vast amount of publicity that had been thrown on him in
recent years, but it had this advantage; his name was so well known to
newspaper readers that his card was a passport wherever he went. The
gratified manager made haste to show him into his private office.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Mappin?"

"A small service that may prove to be of great help later on. I want to
know the hour at which Miss Deane returned to the hotel on Wednesday
night."

The manager did a little telephoning. He roused one of the night clerks
from sleep. Putting down the telephone, he said to Lee:

"Queenie left the hotel about eight on Wednesday night. She phoned for
her car and left in a terrible hurry."

"Good! That checks with my information. And when did she return?"

"About four A.M. That's her usual hour after the last show at Le Coq
Noir."

"Thank you very much. One more question. Where does she keep her car?"

The garage was named.

Lee repeated his thanks. "Please do not speak of my inquiries to
anybody, and above all, don't jump to conclusions. My investigations
lead in every direction, you know, and not all of it turns out to be
important. I have nothing against Miss Deane."

The manager bowed him out. "I shall say nothing about this, Mr. Mappin.
You can depend upon that, sir."

Lee drove to the garage. Here the information he had received at the
hotel was confirmed. Miss Deane had phoned for her car about eight
o'clock on Wednesday night. She was waiting for it at the door of the
hotel and was in a terrible hurry. She returned the car to the garage
about eleven-fifteen and called a taxi to take her to Le Coq Noir.

Lee thought: She must have had to dress in a hurry.

He asked to be shown Queenie's car. The tire treads bore a common,
diamond-shaped pattern, not the wavy lines he had half hoped to find.

"Have any of these tires been changed lately?" he asked.

"Not in many weeks, Mr. Mappin."

Lee's last visit was to the woman who dressed Queenie at Le Coq Noir. If
this woman was on a confidential footing with her employer she would
undoubtedly tell Queenie of his visit, but Lee didn't mind that. It
wouldn't hurt to let Queenie know that a little pressure was being
brought to bear on her.

"I understand that Miss Deane was very late in reaching the club on
Wednesday night," he suggested.

The woman looked at him suspiciously. She was elderly and tight-lipped.
"That's right," she said.

"Did she appear to be agitated?"

"Naturally she was upset at being so late. She had less than half an
hour to make up and dress for the first show."

"Did she tell you why she was late?"

"No, sir."

"Being late was hardly enough to account for her extreme agitation, was
it?" suggested Lee.

The woman hesitated. "What do you want to know for?" she demanded.

"For my own information," said Lee blandly. "What you tell me will go no
further. But if you refuse to answer, I shall have to put it in the
hands of the police and you will be forced to answer."

She looked at Lee. Every newspaper reader was aware that Lee Mappin
enjoyed the closest relations with the police, and she decided that it
was not safe to oppose him. "Sure, she was all upset," she answered
sullenly. "Had to take a couple of brandies to steady herself before she
could go on."

"Didn't she give you some clue to the cause of her agitation?"

"She said a fellow had stood her up and she was mad."

"Do you know a friend of Queenie's called Arthur Burton?"

"Never heard of him, sir."

"If her date failed to turn up, why was she so late in getting to the
club?"

"She didn't tell me that."

"That's all," said Lee. "And thank you very much."

As he drove on to his office, he was thinking: "Well, I have gathered
some more pieces of my puzzle, but none of them fit together yet."




CHAPTER 11


Lee set himself the task of tracing Spanish Jack's movements after his
arrival in New York on the fateful Wednesday. He read the report of his
examination by the police. Spanish had produced an alibi to account for
every moment of the day and night, but Loasby, with his long experience
of alibis, was not convinced by it, and neither was Lee.

Over in Brooklyn Lee had a bit of luck. The doings of the showy young
couple, Piero Mendes and his girl, had excited a good deal of curiosity
in the humble neighborhood where they lived, and it was not difficult
for Lee to establish that Spanish had arrived at their place in a
taxicab during the noon hour on Wednesday. They had all left together in
another taxi about two o'clock. This was a local taxi, the driver was
known, and Lee found him. He said he had driven the trio to Fossberg's
restaurant on Delancey Street, Manhattan. Delancey Street was not very
far from the Henry Street house, and was the principal shopping
thoroughfare of that part of town. Spanish had not been seen again that
day in Brooklyn, but as he was on hand next morning, the neighbors
inferred that he had spent the night with his friends. The neighbors had
been much impressed by Spanish Jack's fine clothes and his extravagance
in taxicabs.

Lee proceeded to Fossberg's. The most expensive place in the quarter, it
was the rendezvous of the elite of the East Side. Not a very big place,
it was oppressively decorated and upholstered. It had a row of alcoves
along each wall and a few tables in the middle. Since the rush hour was
over when the South Americans had arrived, their visit was remembered;
the waiter who had served them pointed out the alcove where they had
lunched. The older man, he said, had ordered an expensive meal for his
young friends with plenty of drinks. On my money! Lee reflected
ruefully.

When they had finished eating, the older man had telephoned from a booth
in the restaurant. Upon returning to his table, the waiter heard him
say: "She's coming." The young pair then left, and the other man,
ordering another drink, waited. In about quarter of an hour, a young
lady appeared and, after looking into the various booths, sat down
opposite the man. He jumped up, very pleased to see her, but she did not
smile at him. She looked frightened. She refused to eat or drink
anything. They talked together in whispers for a little while; the
foreign-looking gentleman had an ugly smile. He was trying to persuade
her but she kept shaking her head. Then she left. Lee showed the waiter
a picture of Letty that he had in his pocket. Yes, that was the girl, he
said. He could swear to it.

After the girl had gone the man looked sour. He had another drink and
left. He hailed a taxi at the door. There was no way of tracing that
taxi and Lee lost the trail of Spanish at this point.

Lee mulled things over in his mind. If Spanish had been at the spot
where Letty was killed, he must have had a car to get there and get away
again. No doubt he possessed friends who owned cars, but upon starting
out on a criminal errand, so astute a man as Spanish would never risk
using a car through which he might be traced. Certainly not when cars
were so easy to pick up in New York streets. Nearly every day in the
year stolen cars were found by the police in the streets after they had
been abandoned.

Lee went to the police bureau that dealt with stolen cars. Here he was
informed that three abandoned cars had been picked up during the early
morning hours of Thursday. In the case of two, the loss had already been
reported and they were immediately returned to their owners. The third
car presented an unusual problem, for the license plates had been
removed and there was no way of identifying its owner. It was still in
the possession of the police.

Lee asked to have the car shown him and he was led out into the
adjoining yard. A somewhat battered old sedan was pointed out to him.
Instantly he saw that the rear tires left a track of waving lines. It
was not conclusive evidence, for many cars must be shod with the same
make of tires, but taking into consideration the circumstances in which
this car had been found, it was enough to make Lee's heart beat a little
faster. The car had been picked up in Varick Street at three o'clock on
Thursday morning. This was a district of wholesale houses almost
completely deserted after nightfall. The car was a black Buick sedan of
a model five years old. The body was in bad shape, the upholstery much
worn, but the engine was in good running order, Lee was told. The body
had recently been given a hasty coat of paint. In places where the black
paint had flaked off, it could be seen that the original color was gray.
The right-hand front fender was bashed in. This damage appeared to have
been received within the last few days, for in spots where all paint had
been scraped off, the steel had not yet started to rust. In searching
the car, Lee found a card of matches that had slipped behind the front
seat. It bore the imprint of the Eureka Restaurant, Elizabeth, New
Jersey.

It now became necessary for Lee to call on the police for help and he
went on to Headquarters. Inspector Loasby was still taking the attitude
that Lee was looking for a mare's nest in the case of Letty Ammon, but
he was willing to indulge him. A list of secondhand automobile dealers
was made up from the telephone business directory and divided up among
half a dozen plain-clothes men, who were sent out to investigate and
report. That ended Lee's efforts for the day.

He dined with Sandra Cassells up at Brookwood. It was one of her small
parties, and he got no chance to talk to her privately until the other
guests had departed. Sandra, slim and lissom in another exquisite black
confection glittering with jewels, sat at the head of her table,
delicately fiddling with her food on a golden plate. With her enormous,
vague, blue eyes and baby skin, she was like a modern demi-goddess,
unearthly and immortal. Watching her, Lee reflected on the inequalities
of Life. There was Sandra with a million a year, indulged, made much of,
protected since babyhood; and there was poor, beautiful Letty,
persecuted, victimized, frightened, foully done to death.

When Lee finally got Sandra alone in her boudoir, he didn't receive much
sympathy on account of his day's activities. Like Inspector Loasby,
Sandra was convinced that Blondy had shot Letty and would listen to no
contrary suggestion. She said:

"I can see your point of view, Lee. This case is so obvious there is
nothing for your analytical mind to get its teeth into. So you've got to
discover these complications."

"Maybe so," said Lee good-humoredly.

"Consider it from the normal point of view for a moment," said Sandra.
"Blondy made a date with Letty to meet him at the corner of Henry and
Scammell Streets. He drives her up to this remote corner of Westchester
and he shoots her. Could anything be simpler?"

"But the letter from Blondy that you and I read, suggested that he
didn't want to come to New York and that she was urging him to come."

"That doesn't matter. He _did_ come."

"And Blondy says it was Letty who made the date to meet at that corner.
Certainly it was Letty who drove him to the spot where she was shot."

"All right. Letty was playing fast and loose with him and he killed her!
On the level, Lee, can you believe his yarn that he had passed out and
knew nothing about what happened?"

"I confess it is hard to swallow," said Lee. "I'm not insisting that you
and Loasby are wrong. At the same time, I can't rest easy until I have
satisfied myself as to what Spanish Jack and Queenie Deane were up to
that night."

"I can't say that I blame Blondy altogether," Sandra went on. "I'm going
to do what I can for him. Through my attorneys I have engaged Samuel
Goldstone to defend him. They tell me he's the best criminal lawyer in
the city."

"Certainly the most expensive," said Lee dryly.

"I can't appear in it openly," Sandra said, "because that would make
Sieg so angry. Sieg would like to see Blondy drawn and quartered. I
suppose that is natural enough, but I must say I am a little weary of
hearing him curse Blondy. If the girl was deceiving him, Sieg is much
better off without her."

They went on to talk of other matters.

Two days passed before Lee received a report from the police on the old
Buick car. He was then informed that Wayne Smither, a large dealer in
repossessed cars on Webster Avenue, had been down to take a look at the
car, and had positively identified it as one sold by him three weeks
previously.

Three weeks! thought Lee. Not much help in that. Still, it might have
been sold again.

He lost no time in visiting the Smither establishment across the Harlem
River. Mr. Smither, a youngish and very smoothly turned-out gentlemen,
was quite impressed by the call from the well-known Mr. Mappin.

"I remember the car well," he said, "because it had been on my hands a
long time. I had it painted black, but it was a cheap job and only
seemed to make the car look worse."

"To whom did you sell it?" asked Lee.

"A young woman. Gave the name of Jones, Miss Isabel Jones. I didn't have
to investigate her credit because it was a cash transaction. By Golly,
she was a good-looker, Mr. Mappin. And dressed up to the nines! The kind
of girl you would expect to see driving a new Cadillac instead of an old
jaloppy like I sold her."

Lee's heart sank. This was not what he wanted to hear. "Describe her,"
he said.

"A tall, slender, beautiful blonde. The real thing!"

Lee took a photograph out of his pocket. "Have you ever seen this woman
before?" he asked.

"That's her! That's her!" Smither said excitedly. "That's the very
girl!"

"Hum!" said Lee. He took a pinch of snuff to compose himself. After a
second look at the photograph, Smither's eyes widened. "Why, that's
Letty Ammon, isn't it?" he said breathlessly. "Her picture has been in
the paper every day. Her that was shot up in Westchester."

"The same," said Lee grimly. "I'd be obliged if you said nothing of my
visit to you for the present."

"Sure, Mr. Mappin." A puzzled frown spread over Smither's face. "But the
murder car in that case was described as a new Chevvy convertible,
maroon color."

"That's right," said Lee, "but I've got to find out where the Buick car
comes in, if she bought it."

"She bought it all right, Mr. Mappin."

"Please tell me the circumstances of the sale."

"Well, she came in here and said she wanted to buy a used car. Said she
didn't know anything about the insides of cars and would trust me to
give her a square deal. Of course, no man would want to deceive a
beautiful woman like that; still, business is business. She said she
didn't care what the car looked like, but it must be in good running
order. That's different from most of my customers. I showed her the
Buick. She had a typewritten list of questions that some man must have
given her, and asked me them one by one and wrote down the answers.
Brakes, clutch, differential, bushings, shock absorbers, and so on. I
named her a price of four hundred dollars. She said she had to consult
somebody and would be back in a few minutes. Maybe the man was waiting
outside and had been looking at the Buick himself. I wouldn't know.

"She came back and made me a counter offer of three fifty cash down. I
gave her a strong sales talk, but she stuck to her price and I accepted
it. Then I took her for a trial ride. She drove; she could drive all
right. Maybe the man followed us; maybe he was watching from the
sidewalk. Anyhow, after we got back she said she was satisfied. She gave
me the money and took title for the car and drove it away."

"What license tags had she?"

"I lent her my dealer's tags. She gave me the money and I made an
application for the tags and sent it to Albany."

"What address did she give you?"

"A street and number in Scarsdale--wait a minute! She came in a few days
later and got the tags. Afterward, the letter I sent her was returned
with an endorsement reading: 'No such person known.' It was a false
address!"

"Naturally," said Lee. "Can you give me the date of the sale?"

"Sure!" Smither looked it up in his ledger. "April 23rd; just three
weeks ago, Mr. Mappin."

"Thank you very much," said Lee.

He drove downtown to consult with Sieg Ammon.

"Sieg," he said, "did you know that Letty bought a car three weeks ago?"

Sieg's face was a study. "Letty buy a car? That's impossible, Mr.
Mappin."

"It's a fact, though. An old Buick sedan. She had the assistance of a
man, it seems."

"Was he seen?"

"No."

"What did she pay for it?"

"Three hundred and fifty cash."

Sieg laughed. "Utterly impossible, Mr. Mappin. Letty never had such a
sum in cash. Nor the half of it."

"Then she got it from the man. She gave the name of Isabel Jones."

Sieg shook his head confidently. "There's a mistake somewhere. It just
isn't possible."

Lee let it go at that for the time being.

From Hope House, he called up Inspector Loasby. "Inspector, will you
please find out from the Warden of the City Prison on Welfare Island the
date when John D'Acosta, alias Spanish Jack, was released."

In quarter of an hour, the answer came through. "April 28th, Mr.
Mappin."

April 28th! Then on the day Letty bought the car Spanish was still
locked up! Had there been another man in her life? Lee still found
himself faced by a blank wall.




CHAPTER 12


Blondy Farren, as Westchester County's most important guest of the
moment, enjoyed the best accommodations the jail afforded. His spacious
cell contained a comfortable cot, a chair and a heavily barred window
through which he was able to look down on the street. Lee Mappin, when
he visited the jail, enjoyed such respect from the local chief of police
and the District Attorney that he was given the privilege of consulting
with Blondy privately in his cell. True, the wicket in the door was left
open and there was a keeper stationed in the corridor, but if Lee and
Blondy kept their voices down he could not hear what they said.

Lee found Blondy much changed. Instead of the broken, apathetic figure
he had seen the day of his arrest, Blondy's back had stiffened, sanity
and resolution had returned to his steady blue eyes. He was agitatedly
pacing his cell when Lee came. Lee got the impression that he had been
keeping it up for hours. Blondy, at the sight of Lee, overflowed with
gratitude.

"Gee! Mr. Mappin, it was kind of you to come! I never thought you would.
I had no right to expect it. But I had nobody else to go to."

"That's okay," said Lee. "If you had not sent for me I should have come
anyhow. There are several things I want to talk over with you."

"It's so good to feel you have a friend!" said Blondy. "Of course, I
have a lawyer now, and he seems to be my friend, but how do I know it's
not just the big fee he's getting."

"Well," said Lee, "I'm not getting a fee from you... Let's sit down
so we can talk without being overheard." Blondy sat on the bed, Lee on
the chair, and their heads drew close together. "What did you want to
see me about?" asked Lee.

"I need advice," said Blondy. "I can't make up my mind what's the best
thing to do." He clapped his head between his hands. "I'm near crazy
trying to decide."

Lee offered him a cigarette. "Light up," he said, "and spill it!"

"My lawyer tells me," Blondy began, "that with the evidence they have
against me, any jury on earth would convict me of first degree murder
and send me to the chair. He's Samuel Goldstone. I suppose you know
him."

"Sure, everybody knows him."

"He's got a great reputation in the courts and I can see for myself what
a clever guy he is, but how do I know if he's on the level with me? It's
my life that's at stake, not his."

"Leaving that aside for the moment," said Lee, "let's look at it from a
common-sense point of view. What does Goldstone want you to do?"

"He wants me to plead guilty to second degree murder. He says he can
make a deal with the D.A. to accept such a plea. Then the trial will be
just a formality and I'll get off with about fifteen years."

"From a practical standpoint I should say that Goldstone was right,"
said Lee. "Don't you want to take his advice?"

Blondy lowered his bright head. His two hands were clenched tight. "How
can I _say_ that I killed Letty?" he muttered.

"Have you got any family?" asked Lee.

Blondy shook his head impatiently. "No! Whatever happens there's nobody
to be disgraced but me." He struck his chest violently. "How can I say
that I killed her?"

"I'm not your lawyer," Lee said in a blunt, matter-of-fact voice.
"Neither am I your prosecutor. I am not a public figure of any sort, and
you can therefore be honest with me. _Did_ you shoot Letty Ammon?"

Blondy jerked up his head. "No!" he cried, looking Lee in the eye. "How
can I make you believe that? I would sooner have cut off my hand than
hurt Letty! No! No!..." His voice faltered and a look of agony
crossed his face. "Unless... unless..." he stammered.

"Unless what?"

"Unless it was possible for me to kill her when I was unconscious."

"What were your last conscious feelings?" asked Lee. "At the moment you
passed out, were you full of rage and anger?"

"No. I only felt love for her."

"Did you pass out suddenly, like the blowing out of a light?"

"No. I drifted away like falling asleep."

Lee pondered on this.

"Don't you believe me, Mr. Mappin?" Blondy said imploringly.

Lee clapped him on the shoulder. "I am your friend, Blondy. I greatly
wish to believe in your innocence. But I am an old hand. I have been
fooled so often by the so-called accents of truth and the seemingly
honest eye that now I must have corroboration from the outside."

"If you were on the jury, would you vote for my conviction?"

"I would not," said Lee heartily. "There is a big doubt in my mind."

"Well, that's something," said Blondy gratefully. "Thank you for that
much, anyhow."

Said Lee: "This question of whether to take a fifteen year rap or risk
the chair all depends on how much you value your life."

Blondy smiled hardily. "Not a hell of a lot," he said. "...But how do
you mean?"

"Fifteen years in prison," murmured Lee, "or a quick exit. Which?"

Blondy's eyes widened. "By God! you're right! I never thought of it that
way! I..."

"Wait," said Lee. "Here's something else to consider. I'm working on
this case. I can't say that I've made much progress, but I don't see to
the end of it yet, by a long way. Now, supposing I am able to dig up
evidence to corroborate your story, if you had pleaded guilty it would
be very difficult to have the verdict set aside. But if you maintain
your innocence, if any additional evidence was forthcoming, it would be
easy to obtain a new trial."

Blondy sprang up in his eagerness. "That's right! That's right!" he
cried. "You make everything clear. Now I see what I've got to do!" He
broke off, glancing at Lee uneasily. "Mr. Goldstone will probably throw
up the case unless I plead guilty. He said as much."

"Well, there are other lawyers," said Lee.

Blondy was blazing with eagerness now. "You're right! There are other
lawyers. And then I wouldn't have to sit in a cell for fifteen years
despising myself for caving in! Better a hundred times to burn than
that! I'll plead not guilty. Nothing can change me now!"

"You have chosen rightly," said Lee.

Blondy had become quite cheerful. His lips were set in a firm line.
"What did you want to see me about?" he asked.

"I have followed up several lines," said Lee, "only to find myself
blocked in each case. Perhaps you can give me a new lead. First: Why was
Queenie Deane following you and Letty that night?"

Blondy spread out his hands. "You can search me," he said. "Of course,
Queenie had it in for Letty."

"How could Queenie have known that you and Letty had stopped at
Schanze's?"

Blondy shook his head helplessly. "I didn't know myself that we were
going there. Letty took me."

"It's hardly likely there could have been an understanding between Letty
and Queenie."

"Likely?" said Blondy. "It's impossible! For what purpose?"

"I have reason to believe," Lee continued, "that Queenie followed you on
to McGovern's and waited outside until you came out. And possibly she
went on to the White Goose and at last to the burned house. I suppose
you didn't see her again?"

"No," said Blondy. "I had it in mind that she might be following us,
though I didn't know why. And I was watching out for her. But I never
saw her again after Schanze's."

"Letty must have been shot a little after ten," Lee said, "and Queenie
did not get back to town until an hour after that."

Blondy ran his hands through his hair. "If Queenie had it in for Letty,
why should she choose that night? How would she know that Letty and I
had planned to meet?"

"Let's leave it for a moment and take up the second line," said Lee.
"That concerns Spanish Jack."

Blondy stared. "What the hell has Spanish got to do with it?"

"Ten days before Letty's death she came to my place in a terrible state
of distress to say that Spanish was threatening her and to ask me to get
him out of the house. That was all I could get out of her. She was so
hysterical I didn't press her then. I sent Spanish on a fake errand to
Boston, thinking I would learn the truth from her after she had quieted
down. But she was killed before she told me."

Blondy listened to this with staring eyes. "I don't get it! I don't get
it!" he murmured. "I could have sworn that Sieg filled Letty's whole
life. You never know!"

"Well, let's go back to the time before you and Sieg went to Sing Sing.
Did you ever have any reason to suspect that Spanish was bothering
Letty?"

Blondy shook his head wonderingly. "None whatever! We all worked over at
Sam Bartol's together... But Spanish might have been after her
without our knowing it. Like all croupiers, he had an absolutely
deadpan; he never let anything on. He didn't seem human to me. But I
don't see how anything could have been going on; we three were so
close."

"Possibly it happened after you and Sieg left Bartol's."

"That's more likely. Letty continued working there until Sam was killed
and the place was closed for good."

"What did Letty do after that?"

"She told us she got a job as cashier in a steam laundry. Long hours and
small pay. She was only living until Sieg got out, she said.... Maybe
she was lying," Blondy added suddenly. "If she got into any trouble, she
wouldn't want Sieg to know. Girls have to lie and I would be the last to
blame them... Letty could have told _me_ anything," he concluded in a
lower tone. "I wouldn't have thought the less of her."

"Spanish came back from Boston secretly at noon on Wednesday," Lee
continued. "On Wednesday afternoon he phoned for Letty to come to him at
Fossberg's restaurant in Delancey Street. They talked and apparently he
renewed his threats."

"What would that have to do with me?" asked Blondy, scowling.

"It seems to me that the state of distress Letty was in when she was
with you Wednesday night had something to do with Spanish."

"Might be," said Blondy, "but it don't seem to hang together."

"Think back!" urged Lee. "Go over everything in your mind that Letty
said to you that night."

Lee walked away to the window and looked out while Blondy pondered. The
young man said at last: "It's no good, Mr. Mappin. The name of Spanish
never came up between us. What I got from Letty was that it was
something about Sieg that made her feel so bad, though she never said so
right out."

"Well, there was the car," said Lee.

"What car?"

"There was another car went into that driveway in front of the burned
house about the time you did. The rear tires had a tread that left a
track of wavy lines."

"Well?"

"About a month ago Letty bought a secondhand car without Sieg's
knowledge. That car was found abandoned in Varick Street on Thursday
morning and towed away by the police. I have seen it and the rear wheels
carry that kind of tires."

"God!" muttered Blondy. "What more?"

"Is it possible," suggested Lee, "that Spanish forced an admission from
Letty that she was going to take you to the burned house that night.
Could he have got there first in this other car and have been lying in
wait for you?"

"Anything is possible," said Blondy, "but it don't seem to hang
together."

Lee was forced to admit that he was right. "Letty had the assistance of
a man in buying that car," he said, "but it could not have been Spanish.
The car was bought on April 23rd and Spanish was not liberated from
Welfare Island until the 28th."

"As far as that goes, it doesn't prove anything," said Blondy. "In spite
of all the keepers can do, there's regular underground communication in
and out of Welfare Island. Spanish could have sent out a letter to
Letty, or have sent a man to help her get the car."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Lee. "...It was a Buick car of a
five-year-old model," he went on. "It had received a rough coat of black
paint. The upholstery was badly worn. One of the fenders had recently
been bashed in..."

Blondy's eyes widened. "Which fender?"

"Right front fender."

"Old black sedan," cried Blondy excitedly. "Right front fender bashed
in? By God! I can tell you something about that, if it's the same car!"

"Well?"

"I did it myself! Leaving Schanze's. The old sedan was parked next to my
car, heading outward. When I backed out I was all excited, I didn't turn
short enough, and I caught its fender with my left front fender."

"That's right," said Lee. "When I examined your car I saw the damage."

"Later, when we came out of McGovern's," Blondy continued, "the same car
was there, parked among the others and heading outward as if for a quick
getaway. There was nobody around that seemed to belong to it. It came to
me that it might be following us; I thought maybe it was Queenie Deane's
car."

"No! It appears that she was driving her own car, a smart green coup."

"When we left the White Goose," said Blondy, "you can be sure I looked
for the old sedan in the yard. But it was not parked among the cars
there. As we drove away I kept looking back to see if we were followed.
I didn't see any other car. Then I passed out."

"Well, we've made a step forward," said Lee. "It is safe to assume that
the old sedan was at the scene of the murder... But unless Letty was
in cahoots with the driver, _how did it get there before you_?"

Blondy changed color. "You're sure of that?"

"Certain. The track of your car passed _over_ its track."

The two men stared at each other in silence.

"Apparently you had been drugged," Lee went on. "It must have happened
in the White Goose because your head was perfectly clear up to that
time. While you were in that place, did anybody approach your table?"

"Nobody except the waiter."

"Did you leave Letty at any time?"

"No."

Lee's face turned grim. "Well, you can see where this is leading us.
Letty changed glasses with you three times in that place."

"I can't believe it!" cried Blondy. "I would have trusted her with my
life!"

"Sure," said Lee. "If she had been left to herself. But we know she was
under heavy pressure from the outside. In every one of us there is a
breaking point. Perhaps Letty had passed it. It was Letty who drove you
into the driveway in front of the burned house."

Blondy's head went down. "Oh God! I can't bear that!" he groaned.

"The truth must be faced out wherever we meet it," said Lee.

Blondy jerked up his head. "But if Letty had it in for me, as you say,
how come it was Letty who was killed and not me?"

"There you have me," said Lee. "I've got to find out who was driving the
old sedan."

After leaving Blondy, Lee stopped in the yard of the police station to
re-examine the damage that the fender of Blondy's car had received in
side-swiping the sedan at Schanze's. Clear to the eye were the flecks of
black paint scraped off the other car, and also fainter streaks of gray
enamel. Thus there could be no further doubt that the old sedan which
had visited the scene of the murder was the same car purchased by Letty
three weeks earlier.




CHAPTER 13


At this time Westchester County possessed in Francis Enslin an ambitious
young District Attorney, who was determined to make a name for himself.
The Letty Ammon murder case which attracted nationwide attention,
because of its romantic implications, provided him with a God-sent
opportunity which he was not slow to take advantage of. With the object
of putting to shame the near-by New York City authorities, who were
notorious for their delays, he had Blondy Farren indicted almost
overnight, and announced that he would be ready to proceed to trial
inside of two weeks.

The celebrated Mr. Solomon Goldstone had retired as Blondy's counsel,
and that did not help the prisoner any. Mrs. Cassells, under the
circumstances, refused further aid to the prisoner and Lee took upon
himself the responsibility of engaging young Walter Paget to defend
Blondy. Lee had had his eye on Paget for some time. He thought he saw in
the young man the makings of a great lawyer, but as yet Paget had no
public reputation.

At the opening of the trial the prisoner's prospects looked dark indeed.
The press generally was holding him up as a young monster in human form.
Lee and Paget, after consulting together, had agreed that it would be
unwise to call either Queenie Deane or Jack D'Acosta. These would be
hostile witnesses, and at the best there was no hope connecting either
of them directly with the crime. Lee himself was to go on the stand to
testify as to the letter from Blondy found in Letty's pocketbook, and
also as to Letty's visit when she had told Lee that she went in terror
of her life from Spanish Jack. The only real defense lay in Blondy's own
story. Incredible though the story sounded, Paget had the hope that
Blondy's steady gaze and clear, unshakable detail might at least arouse
a doubt of his guilt in the minds of the jury.

The courtroom was crowded to the doors. Column upon column in the
newspapers had been devoted to this case. For an added attraction, there
was the famous Mrs. Nick Cassells in person. Sandra attracted more
attention than the prisoner. She sat in the front row of court,
exquisitely dressed and bejeweled, surveying the proceedings through a
lorgnette. Beside her sat Agnes Delaplaine to keep her in countenance
and in her free hand she held a bottle of smelling salts. Lee sat down
beside her as a matter of course, and Sandra immediately whispered:

"Better sit on the other side of the room."

Lee, accustomed as he was to her caprices, ran up his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because I'm against the prisoner and you're for him. You will be
helping him more if you disassociate yourself from me."

Lee, smiling, immediately moved to the other side of the room. Presently
Sieg Ammon took the place beside Sandra that he had vacated. Sieg looked
handsome and beautifully turned out. His face bore a grim expression, as
befitted a bereaved husband.

Lee measured the opposing lawyers. Both were young, personable and keen.
They looked well matched. Enslin was a blond Apollo; he had a cocky air
and loved applause; Paget was dark, small and quiet; and affected a
modest air to impress the jury. Lee had already had proof that Enslin,
the District Attorney, was fair and open-minded. He had no desire to
triumph at the expense of the prisoner, but was disposed to give him
every opportunity. Paget, who felt in his heart that his case was lost
before it began, concealed his feelings behind a quiet, confident smile.

When Blondy was brought in, Sieg Ammon sprang up with clenched fists,
and blazing eyes. A court attendant started for him. Meanwhile, Sandra
agitatedly plucked at his sleeve and he dropped back in his seat and
covered his face for a moment. Lee thought that Blondy, neatly dressed
and barbered, had never looked comelier. He was very pale but his glance
was steady, his lips firm. Lee could feel antagonism like a baleful
current striking out of the spectators when they saw the prisoner. In
their minds he was already convicted. Blondy's seat at the counsel table
brought him in profile to the courtroom. He bore the gaping stares of
the spectators with composure.

The judge at this session, by name McLanahan, was not known to Lee. When
he entered, Lee studied his face in no little anxiety. From previous
experience, Lee knew that the average jury pays more attention to what
the judge says than to the opposing attorneys, because they regard the
judge as a disinterested referee. Judge McLanahan was a man in his
middle forties with rosy cheeks and calm blue eyes. He looked merciful.
Lee felt that they could scarcely have done better.

The business of choosing a jury began. Enslin took them pretty much as
they came. Paget, who wished to recommend himself to the court, was just
as anxious to expedite matters, but he had to watch out for prejudice
and he used up his challenges one by one. While this tedious business
was in progress, an officer brought Lee a note scribbled in pencil on a
torn scrap of paper and folded over.

    Dear Mr. Mappin:

    You don't know me, but would you _please_ out of kindness see me
    for one moment. I assure you it is terribly important. I have
    come three hundred miles to see you.

      Ann Brooke.

That plain name pleased Lee; Ann Brooke. "Where is she?" he asked.

"In the corridor," said the officer.

Lee followed him out. In the corridor he found a pretty young woman with
soft dark hair and brown eyes bearing an expression of terrible anxiety.
She was well dressed in a quiet style. At sight of Lee, her eyes filled.

"How kind of you to come," she murmured. "I wrote to you because I read
in the papers that you were a friend of Dick's."

"Dick?" said Lee. Then he remembered the language of the indictment. "Of
course! I'm accustomed to think of him as Blondy."

"I went to school with him," she went on breathlessly. "I haven't seen
him in ten years. I've come from Maryland. His parents are dead. He has
no folks of his own. I... I felt I had to come, the newspapers are so
down on him. I don't believe he's guilty. Even if he _is_ guilty, he
needs somebody to stand by him now..."

"That was a kindly impulse," said Lee.

"Would it be possible to get me into the courtroom where he could see
that I was there?"

"You shall sit beside me," said Lee, more moved than he cared to show.

They returned to the front row. Blondy was immediately aware of the
girl's entrance, and Lee saw her smile at him as a woman smiles at the
man she loves when the world is against him. It made Lee feel almost
tearful. Blondy blushed to his hair, then frowned a little and looked
away.

"Oh!" whispered Ann in distress, "he isn't glad to see me here!"

"You shall see him when court adjourns," said Lee. "Then you can explain
why you came."

"How kind you are!" she whispered. "To a stranger!"

Lee took a pinch of snuff to cover his feelings. "Well, I know a nice
person when I see one," he said gruffly.

The jury box was filled by half past twelve and court then adjourned for
an hour. Lee took Ann around to the jail. They were admitted to Blondy's
cell together; "just for two minutes," the warden warned them. Blondy
was eating his dinner.

The meeting was stiff and embarrassed, but not unfriendly. "You
shouldn't have come!" said Blondy. "The trip is so expensive."

"I can spare the money," said Ann. "I just wanted you to know that you
were not forgotten in Chestertown. We believe in you down there."

Blondy blushed all over again. It made him look wonderfully attractive.
"Please tell everybody that I'm grateful," he said. "Thank them all for
me."

A few minutes later, while Ann and Lee were eating in a restaurant, a
hastily scribbled note from Blondy was brought to Lee.

    _Please_ get her to go back home. Makes me feel terrible to see
    her sitting in the courtroom.

Lee shoved it in his pocket and considered the situation. Blondy thinks
she's in love with him, and so she is, but he doesn't have to know that.
He feels bad because he has nothing for her in return. I'm not going to
urge her to go home. The psychological effect of her presence at the
trial is good.

Lee left Ann long enough to scribble a couple of lines to Blondy:

    I'm not going to persuade her to go home. I suppose you think
    she's in love with you, but you're wrong. Her coming here was no
    more than a kindly human impulse. It's good for anybody to
    follow such an impulse.

When the court sat again, Enslin addressed the jury briefly. Without
attempting to indulge in any oratorical flourishes, he drew attention to
the inexorable facts of the case and left it to the jury. In concluding,
he said: "You will be told, and rightly told, that circumstantial
evidence should be received with caution. But justice very often has to
depend on circumstantial evidence because men customarily do not choose
to commit crimes before witnesses, especially premeditated crimes. The
circumstantial evidence we will place before you is supported and
corroborated from several sources. It cannot be controverted and, if
true, there is only one verdict that you can honestly find: murder in
the first degree."

The taking of testimony began. Various police officers, medical
examiners, photographers, fingerprint experts, etc. took the stand to
prove the finding and the identification of the body, the nature of the
fatal wound, the condition of the murder car and so on. Paget, anxious
above all to ingratiate himself with the jury, declined to cross-examine
any of these witnesses. He said: "These men are all public servants;
they have no axes to grind; the defense concedes that they are telling
the simple truth."

The prosecution finished its case by the middle of the afternoon and
Paget opened for the defense. Like Enslin, he belonged to the younger
school of criminal lawyers; he made no assault upon the emotions of the
jury, but set out to win them by a sweet reasonableness. He admitted
that appearances bore hard against the defendant, but warned the jury of
the danger of convicting a man on circumstantial evidence alone. Nobody
saw the fatal shot fired.

"The defense will rest mainly on the story of the defendant himself,"
said Paget. "Every adult person has an instinct that warns him when
another is lying. I ask you to observe the defendant with the closest
attention while he is testifying; his bearing, his expression, his
choice of words. And above all, I ask you to study how he conducts
himself under the cross-examination of my distinguished friend, the
District Attorney. Mr. Enslin is a highly expert examiner; he is famous
for it, as you all know. The defendant is not obliged to take the stand;
he cannot be forced to testify. Of his own free will he chooses to
submit himself to the most merciless cross-examination that can be
evolved, and he is content to stand or fall by the result."

Paget called Lee Mappin for his first witness. Enslin, dreading the
effect of this name so renowned in criminology on the jury, interrupted
his testimony with a barrage of objections. It was only hearsay
evidence; it was immaterial; it had nothing whatever to do with the
defendant on trial, and so on. Paget patiently argued the points:

"If it please the court, I suggest that it is highly material to the
case, that Letty Ammon shortly before her murder came to this witness
and confessed that she went in fear of her life from a source other than
this defendant."

Lee was permitted to answer most of Paget's questions. He testified as
to finding the letter from Blondy to Letty, but the copy he offered was
not admitted as evidence.

Enslin savagely attacked him in cross-examination. This was a mistake in
tactics, for Lee, more experienced than the youthful District Attorney,
was generally able to give a little better than he got. When he wished
to gain time for an answer, Lee would take a pinch of snuff. This seemed
to infuriate Enslin. He muttered loud enough for the jury to hear:

"A bit of old-fashioned stage business!"

"Oh," said Lee good-humoredly, "it's a gentle and harmless form of
stimulant." He extended the snuff box. "Will you join me?"

"No, thank you," said Enslin stiffly.

The jury snickered.

"Mr. Mappin," asked Enslin. "What were your sentiments toward the
unfortunate young victim of this crime?"

"Entirely affectionate," said Lee. "She was a lovely girl. I was sorry
for her, too, because she had had a hard life."

"If you were so strongly attached to her, do you not wish to see her
murderer brought to justice?"

"I certainly do," said Lee quickly, "when he is found!"

This brought a furious objection from Enslin. The latter part of Lee's
answer was struck out. However, the jury had heard it. Paget, noting the
effect, waited until Enslin had finished, and asked and obtained
permission from the court to ask his witness one more question.

"Mr. Mappin, your qualifications in the matter of criminal psychology
are known to all. You have been engaged in this case from the beginning,
and all the persons concerned are well known to you."

"This is not a question," interpolated Enslin. "Counsel is favoring the
court with an address."

The judge overruled him with a gesture. "Proceed, Mr. Paget."

"Is it your reasoned opinion," asked Paget, "that the defendant is
guilty of the murder of Letty Ammon as charged?"

This brought an instant objection from the District Attorney and a long
argument resulted. In the end Lee was forbidden to answer the question,
but the jury had plenty of opportunity to see what his answer would have
been.

Richard Farren was then called to the stand and sworn, and a ripple of
excitement passed through the courtroom. This was what they had come to
hear. Blondy clasped his hands loosely on his knee and waited for the
first question with a composed air. He was _too_ composed, Lee thought,
with his long experience of the psychology of juries. If Blondy could
have exhibited more feeling it would have recommended him to his fellow
men.

Shepherded by his counsel, Blondy proceeded to tell the story of the
events leading up to the death of Letty. In effect, it was the same
story that he had told Lee and Inspector Loasby on the following day. If
it had been told in the same words it would have sounded like something
learned by rote, and Lee would have doubted, but there were human
differences. Blondy overlooked certain details and included some new
details.

"Did you wake up suddenly?" asked Paget.

Blondy considered before answering. "Not suddenly," he said. "It was
like waking in a strange bed. For a moment, I wondered where I was. I
had a feeling that something was wrong. It was so quiet; it was too
quiet. Then I realized I had been sleeping out of doors; I was chilled.
My hand fell against the leather upholstery and I knew I was in the car,
but I couldn't remember how I got there. Then I saw Letty leaning over
on the wheel and I thought she was sleeping. I put my arm around her
shoulders. She didn't feel right, somehow. I put my hand over hers; it
was cold, dead cold... I drew her to an upright position and I saw
the wound in her head, I saw the blood. Then I knew..."

Blondy's head dropped. His hands were clenched on the arms of the
witness chair. Lee glanced quickly at the jury. Their wooden faces gave
nothing away.

Paget gave him a moment to get a grip on himself. "Was the blood still
flowing?"

"No," answered Blondy very low.

"Had it dried?"

"Apparently not. Because when I took her in my arms it stained my hands
and my clothes. But I wasn't aware of that."

"When did you become aware of it?"

"Not until the cops pointed it out to me after daylight."

Lee, hearing Blondy's story for the second time, after having had an
interval to reflect on it, was convinced. If I have learned anything
about human psychology in twenty years, he thought, he is telling the
truth. Lee glanced at Ann Brooke and was surprised to see that her brown
eyes were shining.

"Now I _know_ that he is innocent!" she murmured.

Lee pressed her hand.

Paget turned over his witness to Enslin. Blondy awaited the District
Attorney's onslaught calmly.

Enslin, leaving the counsel table, moved back and forth in front of the
jury box. Blond, handsome and self-confident, he had recovered his good
humor. He was presenting an attractive and convincing figure, and he
knew it. He said:

"I am not going to take up a great deal of the court's time in a lengthy
cross-examination. I am prepared to concede that the story told by the
defendant is true--_with some very important omissions_."

After giving this time to sink in, Enslin turned to the witness. "What
were your sensations when you, as you say, passed out?"

Blondy hesitated.

"Why don't you answer the question?" demanded Enslin sharply.

"I don't quite know how to answer it," said Blondy. "I didn't have any
sensations. It was like falling asleep."

"Did you suddenly become unconscious?"

Blondy considered before answering. "Not to say suddenly. I was
conscious of a kind of creeping paralysis. Then I knew nothing more."

"A creeping paralysis?" echoed Enslin with a scornful smile. He glanced
in the direction of the jury to invite them to smile with him.

"Call it what you like," said Blondy. "Everybody knows what it feels
like to get sleepy all at once."

"I'm asking _you_!" said Enslin sharply.

"I'm trying to tell you," said Blondy quietly.

"At that moment, weren't you at a pretty exciting crisis of your life?"

"I sure was," answered Blondy somberly.

Enslin's forefinger shot out. "Then why didn't you fight against this
sleepiness?"

Blondy explained as one might to a child. "When you get sleepy like
that, nothing seems to matter any more. It's a comfortable feeling. You
don't fight it. Then you're gone."

"Are you often overcome in that manner?"

"Never just like that," said Blondy. "Never in my life before."

"Then how do you account for it on this particular night?"

"I believe I was drugged," said Blondy.

Enslin angrily objected to this answer.

Paget, smiling broadly--he had not been able to get the suggestion
before the jury that Blondy was drugged--said: "May I point out to
counsel that it was a prompt and direct answer to his question?"

Blondy's answer was allowed to stand.

For over an hour Enslin hammered at the question of Blondy's
unconsciousness, approaching it now from this side, now from that;
dropping it for a moment, only to swoop on it again with an unexpected
question. He did not, however, succeed in confusing Blondy or in making
him contradict himself. Blondy did not even appear to be on his guard,
but answered Enslin's questions quickly and thoughtlessly. If we had a
jury of trained psychologists, thought Lee, the boy would go free.

When Enslin finally relinquished the witness, of the two it was the
District Attorney who appeared to be the most fatigued. It was now past
five, and court rose for the day. When the reporters crowded around Lee
to ask his views on the case, and in particular to find out who the
pretty girl was who had been sitting beside him, Lee carelessly
mentioned that it was Blondy's childhood sweetheart. When they read
this, Lee knew that it would probably annoy both Blondy and Ann, but he
hoped it might have its influence on the jury.

Before returning to New York, Lee obtained the privilege of another
brief interview with the prisoner. Knowing how prone young people are to
misunderstand and to torment each other in an emotional crisis, he
undertook to coach Ann as to how she should bear herself. She scarcely
needed it.

"I know how Dick feels about me," she said with a secret smile. "I'll
put him to rights."

When they entered the cell, Lee walked away to the window and looked
out, leaving the two together. He could not hear what they said, but it
was successful, for when he presently turned around at the entrance of a
keeper, Blondy's strained expression had eased, and he was smiling at
Ann as at a sister.

As they left, Ann said: "I'll see you in the courtroom tomorrow."

Blondy's expression sobered. "You will hear bad news," he warned her.

"I can take it. Today I heard what I wanted to hear; your side of the
story."

"You're a good friend," said Blondy.

Lee knew that Sandra Cassells would be curious about Ann, but as long as
Sandra chose to maintain her present attitude, he saw nothing to be
gained by bringing them together. The newspapers would presently be in
the hands of all with reports of the trial and photographs, and in order
to save Ann from the stares of the curious, he took her to his own place
for dinner. As the hours passed, he was more and more charmed with Ann's
simplicity and candor; her good sense. Beauty _plus_ character, he said
to himself. Not very common.

"Chestertown is a very old place," she remarked during dinner, "with
many beautiful old houses occupied by families equally old. As neither
Dick nor I belonged to an old family, they never troubled us. Dick was
the only boy that ever attracted me. I chose him while I was still in
pigtails.... I don't mind telling you that," she explained with a
smile, "because you've guessed it already, and I know you won't give me
away."

"I will not," said Lee. "I am a general repository for indiscreet
confessions."

"I don't think Dick is a hero or a superman," she went on. "I know he's
just an average boy. I chose him because, well, because he was Dick!
That's the only way I can explain it..."

"It is sufficient," said Lee.

"After his father and mother died, he ran away because he didn't want to
be an object of charity. He never wrote to me, but I heard that he got
into trouble. Somehow it got to be known around town that he was in
prison in California. He had a boy's natural craving for excitement and
adventure, and I suppose that's what led him into trouble. I never heard
any more about him. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that he was often
in trouble; bad trouble. Because he was a natural rebel and stubborn,
too." Ann raised a pair of beseeching eyes to Lee's face. "But don't
stubborn, rebellious boys sometimes turn out to be fine men?" she asked.
"They have more in them than the tame ones."

"That is perfectly true," said Lee.

"I heard no more about him until I read that he had been arrested for
murder. That was a terrible shock. There are certain kinds of murder
that Dick might have committed, but not a woman, not a woman he was in
love with. I _know_ it could not be true. And so I came."

After dinner they read the late editions of the newspapers together.
When it was announced that the taking of evidence was completed, great
disappointment was expressed that the famous Mrs. Nick Cassells had not
been called by either side. It was even hinted in certain quarters that
the whole truth about this murder had not been brought out in court.
Ann, after having sampled a couple of papers, threw the lot aside with
scorn. She said:

"I used to respect the newspapers. But since I have read what they say
about something that I _know_, I feel differently. This is just silly
stuff."

Lee laughed.

Later he found Ann a room in a small and inconspicuous hotel where
nobody would think of looking for her.

On the following morning, as soon as court opened, District Attorney
Enslin started his address to the jury. It was a brilliant and forcible
speech. Enslin seemed to tower over the jury box; he commanded the jury;
he sought to bend them to his will. The inference was that any man who
did not agree with him was obviously an idiot. Lee could not judge from
a study of the double line of stolid faces how far Enslin was prevailing
over them. The twelve represented an average selection of small
merchants, clerks and workingmen.

"The prisoner made a very good showing on the stand," said Enslin
sarcastically. "Why was he able to do so? Because he told the plain
truth _up to a certain point_. Naturally he could not be shaken. I did
not try to shake him _up to that point_. The most convincing of all
liars is the liar who sticks to the truth _up to a point_. Then when he
can no longer tell the truth in safety, does he lie? No! He says I can't
remember. That's the oldest dodge known in a court of law. This
defendant only improves on it a little, when he says: I was unconscious;
I had passed out!"

Enslin paused and a small ripple of laughter passed through the
courtroom. The judge whacked his gavel.

"The defendant suggests that he was drugged," Enslin went on. "Let us
examine that possibility. According to his own story, nobody approached
him all evening except three waiters, who could not have known in
advance that he would sit down at their tables. Then, if he was drugged,
he must have been drugged by his companion. And it was that companion,
Letty Ammon, who was killed! Is it reasonable?..."

Later little Paget's turn came. Since he lacked Enslin's physical
advantages and his powerful voice, instead of commanding the jury, he
set out to persuade them. In his opening he subtly flattered them:

"As plain men of good sense and good feeling, husbands and fathers, most
of you, I take it, you are not the sort of men to be swayed by oratory.
I shall therefore speak to you very simply and plainly."

Later on Paget said: "In opening for the defense, I invited you to pay
particular attention to the conduct of the defendant under
cross-examination. It was an unequal contest; on the one hand, the
brilliant District Attorney whose duty it is to cross-examine some
defendant every day court is in session, and who is on to all their
tricks; on the other hand, this defendant, not a highly educated man,
and certainly never before on trial for his life. How did he emerge from
the ordeal? My learned friend made much of the single point at which the
defendant, he claims, ceased to tell the truth, but I call your
attention to the fact that neither at that point nor at any other point
did the skillful and experienced public prosecutor succeed in shaking
the defendant's testimony.

"In the same connection, I want to point out something else. The People
put a dozen witnesses on the stand, public servants of one kind or
another, to testify as to what they found after the murder. The
testimony of these witnesses does not conflict at any point whatsoever
with the story told by the defendant. Surely, this would be impossible
unless the defendant were telling the truth _at all points_. He first
told his story, you remember, on the day following the tragedy. The
statement he made then is in evidence, and if you wish to compare it
with his story on the stand, you have only to ask for it.

"Both sides are agreed that Letty Ammon was at the wheel of the stopped
car at the moment she was shot. The prosecution contends that after
Letty had driven the car into the driveway in front of the deserted
house, the defendant took his gun out of the glove compartment and shot
her. Why? No motive has been adduced. There is no evidence that they
were quarreling. Is it not more reasonable to suppose that Letty drove
into that deserted drive and stopped to give her escort time to recover
himself; that there was a marauder lurking behind the bushes; that when
he saw a helpless man and an undefended woman, he undertook to rob them?
He opened the glove compartment first; he found the gun, and when the
woman resisted him he shot her. Her handbag, I would remind you, has
never been found."

The two speeches occupied the whole morning session. During the recess,
groups of people congregated on the principal corners of the town,
discussing the case. There was not much difference of opinion among
them; feeling ran high against the defendant. Lee took Ann Brooke out by
a rear stairway to escape the gaping crowds. In Lee's car, parked in a
side street, they ate the lunch that Jermyn had put up for them. Sandra
Cassells took her party to Brookwood, which was not far away.

When all were again in their places, Judge McLanahan began his address
to the jury. Lee judged from a slight alteration in the faces of some of
the jury that they looked more to the bench for guidance than to the
opposing counsel. The judge, in going over the circumstances of the
crime, said: "At that point, the defendant says that he became
unconscious." He paused for a second and went on: "It is for the jury to
decide whether or not he is speaking the truth." Lee's heart sank. That
unconscious pause, he thought, is likely to send Blondy to the chair. He
could find no fault with the judge's charge, which was fair and
dispassionate.

The jury went out at half past two and the judge retired to his
chambers. Before half an hour was up, the jury sent the bailiff to
notify his honor that they were ready to render a verdict and he
returned to the bench. When he saw that, Lee gave up hope. The best he
had hoped for was a disagreement.

Led by the bailiff, the jury paraded solemnly into the courtroom. A hush
fell on all. Their responsibility lay heavy upon the jurymen. It seemed
to take them an interminable time to find their places in the box. The
judge felt the strain; his rosy cheeks paled a little; both the lawyers
were on tenterhooks; the spectators leaned forward in their seats
breathlessly. Of all present, only the defendant showed an unchanged
composure. He had steeled himself to hear the worst.

"The jury will rise; the prisoner will rise and face the jury."

"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?"

"We have, your honor."

"How do you find the prisoner?"

"Guilty of murder in the first degree."

A sigh escaped from the spectators. Satisfaction! thought Lee. This was
what they wanted to hear. Not for the first time in his life, Lee
marveled at the cruelty of men in the mass. Individuals were merciful
enough. Like wildfire, the verdict was communicated to those in the
corridor and to the crowd outside the building. Their handclapping and
cries of approval could be heard. Lee felt merely numb. He glanced
anxiously at Ann. Her head was lowered, her little hands clenched. He
heard her murmuring:

"Why are they _glad_?... It's unjust! It's unjust!... They're all
blind!"

The prisoner betrayed no emotion. His eyes sought Ann's face and she
raised her head with a radiant smile of affection and encouragement. Lee
thought: It would be almost worth it to win that!

The judge set a day for sentence, thanked the jury and, after
discharging them, retired. The jury began to descend from their box.
Sieg Ammon, his dark face alight with satisfaction, hastened across the
room to thank each man effusively and shake his hand. Natural enough,
Lee thought, but hardly in the best of taste. Sieg then, while Lee
looked on grimly, led the jury back to where Sandra Cassells was
sitting. The great lady extended her hand graciously to each man and
commended him for doing his duty.




CHAPTER 14


Lee's own investigation of the murder was not terminated by the trial of
Blondy, but only interrupted for a couple of days. Luckily, in our
country men are not taken directly from the court to the place of
execution, and he still had some weeks to turn around in. He was
pursuing three lines of inquiry: Queenie Deane, Spanish Jack, and the
old sedan. So far, no two of them had shown any disposition to converge.
Lee wondered a little that Queenie had not attended the trial; this
could be accounted for in two ways; either she was not sufficiently
concerned to make the trip to White Plains, or she was _too deeply
concerned_.

Since the death of Letty Ammon, Tappan reported that Queenie had formed
a habit of dropping in at Hope House to see Sieg. Lee smiled grimly at
the news. She's taking my hint that Sieg needs a woman's sympathy, he
thought. Queenie usually came at eleven o'clock in the morning, which
was about the hour that Sieg got out of bed. Thus she was sure of
finding him at home; it was also an hour when she could be certain of
not finding Mrs. Cassells in the house. The fact that Queenie herself
was impelled to get up so early gave Lee a measure of the passion with
which she was pursuing the handsome Sieg.

Lee, after calling at Hope House once or twice at this hour, was
rewarded one morning by finding Queenie in the game room. Sieg had not
come downstairs. Queenie was none too pleased to see Lee there. Lee was
all affability. Talking about this and that, he asked carelessly:

"What do you think about the result of Blondy's trial?"

"What do I think?" she asked sharply. "What would anybody think? Blondy
only got what was coming to him.... Though I feel sorry for him at
that," she added as an afterthought. "Letty drove him to it."

"Then you're satisfied that Blondy did it?"

"Aren't you?" she parried.

"Not quite," said Lee, affecting to frown in perplexity. "There are so
many little circumstances that have not been explained."

"You can make your mind easy," said Queenie. "I _know_ that Blondy shot
her."

"If you have any special information you ought to have taken it to the
District Attorney," said Lee.

"He didn't need my evidence," said Queenie with a hard smile. "He had
plenty without it."

"Tell me," said Lee, "in order to set my doubts at rest."

Queenie shrugged. "You know more about it than I do."

"Strange, isn't it," said Lee, "that you should be the last person who
knew Letty to see her alive."

Queenie showed her teeth. "What do you think you're getting at?"

"Am I getting at something?" said Lee with an innocent air. "You did see
her at McGovern's, didn't you?"

"I never went to McGovern's! I told you that before!"

"Sorry! I understood that you waited outside in your car until Blondy
and Letty appeared."

"That's a lie and I have already nailed it! I only went as far as
Schanze's."

"My mistake," said Lee.

Queenie gave him a long look of suspicion. Lee took a pinch of snuff.

Lee tried a shot in the dark. "When you were at Schanze's," he said,
watching her without appearing to, "did you happen to see an old black
Buick sedan waiting among the other cars?"

Queenie's face gave nothing away. "How should I notice what cars were
there?"

"But did you see such a car?"

"I did not."

"When Blondy backed out and turned, he bumped into this car."

"I didn't see Blondy when he left."

Lee applied a little heat. "Are you sure," he asked sternly, "that you
did not leave Schanze's in the old black sedan and pick up your car
again on the way back?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" said Queenie shrilly. "Sounds
like nonsense to me. You and your black sedan!"

She was angry but the question had not frightened her. Lee could not
feel that he had gained anything. The two lines refused to converge.

He tried another approach. "You said you left Schanze's about half past
eight. You did not return your car to the garage that night until
eleven-fifteen. What were you doing between those hours?"

Queenie's eyes betrayed a flicker of fright at this question, but she
answered readily: "It's none of your damned business, but I have no
objection to telling you. I was back at the hotel before nine-thirty. I
left the car parked in the street." It must have occurred to her at this
moment that if Lee had been asking questions at her garage, he could
also ask at the hotel. "Perhaps you have forgotten," she added
sarcastically, "that the Amsterdam has entrances on two streets. I can
go in the back door and go up in the elevator without being seen from
the desk."

Lee, smiling, had to confess himself checked.

He suspended further questioning for, at that moment, Sieg Ammon
entered. Sieg, freshly scrubbed, ruddy and handsome as a young Arab
chieftain, was himself again. He greeted Lee and kissed Queenie
carelessly.

"Had your breakfast?" he asked her.

"No."

"Come on downstairs and let's see what there is."

Lee went on.

He made an arrangement with the manager of the Amsterdam to look over
Queenie's mail before it was sent up to her. For several days his
reports were negative, then Lee got this from him:

    Today a business letter came for Q.D. which had in the corner of
    the envelope: 'If not delivered in 10 days return to P. O. Box
    579a, New York City.' This looked a little mysterious so I
    thought you would want to know about it.

Lee immediately put through an inquiry to the post office and was
informed that box 579a was rented by the Willis Detective Agency, West
56th Street. Lee lost no time in visiting the Agency. He knew Willis,
the proprietor, and of course Willis knew him; he showed every
disposition to treat Lee as a confrere.

"Are you willing to tell me what you know about Queenie Deane?" asked
Lee.

"Sure, Mr. Mappin, if you will guarantee to protect me."

"I will protect you."

"Then I'm glad to tell you. I have information about Queenie and Letty
Ammon that has troubled my mind. But if I had been questioned by the
authorities I would have had to plead professional privilege."

"Well, go ahead."

"Queenie owes me a bill at this moment. On May 5th she engaged me to
trail Mrs. Letty Ammon and report to her. Expense no object. I put two
men on the case. They engaged a front room on Henry Street where they
could watch Hope House at all hours, and they had a car handy so they
could follow Letty if she took a taxi. Letty rarely left the house and
there was nothing in the reports of any interest up to the day of her
murder. On that day it was reported that she proceeded to Fossberg's
restaurant on Delancey Street about three in the afternoon, had a talk
there with a foreign-looking man about fifteen minutes, and then
returned home. My operatives could not identify the fellow.

"At seven-thirty P.M. the same day, she came out of the house again. One
of my men followed her down the street on foot while the other kept
within hailing distance in the car. At the corner of Henry and Scammell
Streets, Letty got into a maroon-colored convertible coup and drove
away with a man. My men did not get a good look at him but, as you know,
this was Blondy Farren in his car. My men followed them up to Schanze's
roadhouse in the Bronx. They settled down there drinking and seemed
likely to stay a good while. Now Queenie had instructed us that if we
ever found Letty with another man she was to be notified immediately. So
one of my men went to call her while the other watched the couple.
Queenie herself got up to Schanze's in a little over half an hour. Must
have driven like hell. The couple was still sitting there. Queenie told
my men that she would take over herself for the rest of the night and
sent them home. That's all."

Lee thought this over. "You have answered one question that has puzzled
my mind," he said. "Further than that what you have told me only
confirms what I knew already.... If I could only take Queenie beyond
Schanze's!... Are you willing to let me read the reports of your two
men?"

"Sure, Mr. Mappin!"

A study of the reports gave Lee nothing further to go on. During all the
days that Letty had been under surveillance, she had never gone out in
the old sedan, nor was there the slightest clue as to where she kept the
car.

Lee called at the Amsterdam and sent up his name to Queenie. The answer
came back that Miss Deane was sick and begged to be excused. Lee then
wrote a little note as follows:

    If you refuse to see me I shall ask for a new trial for Blondy
    Farren and you will be subpoenaed as a witness. It will not make
    a pretty story.

Queenie presently phoned to the desk that Mr. Mappin was to come up.

He found her pacing her room clad in a black negligee that made her look
taller than ever. Her hair was standing out, her face was streaked. She
burst out at Lee before he got the door well closed:

"How long have I got to put up with your nosing and snooping and
persecuting? You've got no legal right to hound a person and I'm damn
sick of it! If you don't leave me alone I know what to do to protect
myself!"

Lee was not disposed to be patient with her today. "Cut out the tirade!"
he said bluntly. "I'm a busy man and you've caused me to waste too much
time already!"

"Me waste your time!" she gasped. "I like that!"

"Exactly," said Lee. "With all the lies you've told me that I have to
patiently nail, one by one!"

"You're a liar!"

"Be quiet! And listen to me. I've learned a good deal more about your
activities on the night Letty Ammon was killed since I talked to you."

"What do you think you've learned?"

"You had been having Letty followed for a week. Your men followed her up
to Schanze's. They telephoned you. You went up there and took over.
Those were the words you used when you sent the men back to town: 'I
will take over.' I want to know what happened then?"

"Nothing," said Queenie sullenly.

"You can either tell me or tell the District Attorney."

"All right, I'll tell you!" she suddenly burst out. "And much good may
it do you! I never lied to you. I told you my evidence would only clinch
the verdict against Blondy. I didn't see him shoot her but I heard the
shot!"

"All right. Tell me the whole circumstances."

"I followed them in my car from Schanze's to McGovern's," she said
sullenly. "I had to be careful because Blondy had spotted me in
Schanze's. At McGovern's I didn't go in. I walked around outside. I
watched them through a window. When they came out I followed them to the
White Goose."

"Was anybody following _you_?"

"How do I know? I never looked around me. At the White Goose I never
went in, either. I watched them through the window."

"What was the purpose of all this?" asked Lee.

"I wanted to get something on Letty. I knew she was no better than any
other woman and I wanted to show Sieg. I was waiting for them to go
upstairs in one of those roadhouses; then I'd have her!"

"But they didn't."

"No, they didn't. When they left the White Goose I almost lost them.
Blondy was suspicious and kept looking behind him. I had to give them a
long start. I found them again in a straight piece of road. They turned
out of the road. When I got to the place I saw it was a private
entrance. I stopped my car. I meant to follow them in there, thinking
I'd catch them. As I was getting out of my car, I heard Letty cry out
'Don't! Don't!' Then a scream and a shot. That scared me. I jumped back
in my car and drove away from there."

"Could you see what happened in the driveway?"

"No. Nothing more than the flash of the gun."

"Did you hear any other voice?"

"No! I've told you every damn thing I know!"

"Why didn't you tell me all this in the beginning?"

"I didn't want to be called as a witness. What difference does it make
anyhow?"

Queenie began to cry. Lee flung up his hands and let them drop. He made
his way out.




CHAPTER 15


Spanish Jack had engaged a smart lawyer to defend him. A few days after
his arrest, his lawyer had sued for a writ of _habeas corpus_ and
Spanish was brought before a magistrate. On that occasion, the District
Attorney had succeeded in having him remanded; however, the case against
Spanish was flimsy; he had a certain right to enter Hope House since he
had recently been a boarder there, and if he had ransacked Letty's
belongings it could not be proved that he had taken anything.
Consequently, the next time he was brought up in court, Lee expected him
to be discharged.

Lee went to see Spanish in the towering new jail that has taken the
place of the old Tombs. Armed with credentials from the District
Attorney's office, he was permitted to talk to the prisoner in one of
the rooms allotted to counsel. A keeper waited outside the open door.
Spanish, perfectly groomed even in jail, greeted Lee with a
self-satisfied smirk. His well-cut suit of fine black broadcloth was
like a badge of office. Spanish hesitated a little at every step like a
tango dancer. The corner of a snowy handkerchief stuck out of his breast
pocket.

"This is a great honor, Mr. Mappin!" Spanish liked to think that he was
baiting Lee with his subtle impudence.

Lee didn't mind. "Well, we'll see," he said. "Let's sit down and talk."

"At your service," said Spanish, bowing.

Lee wasted no time in beating around the bush. "The last time I saw
you," he began, "you asked me why I sent you on a wild goose chase to
Boston. I didn't care to answer the question at that moment; since then
you have read my testimony at Blondy Farren's trial and now you know the
answer."

"That's right," said Spanish.

"Perhaps now you will be willing to answer _my_ question. Why was Letty
Ammon in such terror of you that your presence in the house made her
hysterical?"

"I am not obliged to answer your questions, Mr. Mappin," said Spanish,
"but I enjoy playing ball with you, and so I answer freely... Letty
was afraid that I would tell Sieg Ammon that she and I had had an affair
when we were both working at Bartol's."

"Was that after Sieg had left?"

"Yes. Sieg was in Sing Sing."

"What could Sieg expect?" said Lee. "A beautiful girl like Letty thrown
on the world almost as a child, and forced to work in a place like
Bartol's?"

"Sieg expected the impossible," said Spanish, smirking. "Letty, as you
know, looked as pure as an angel and she had persuaded Sieg that she was
so. That's why he married her. If he had discovered how he had been
fooled, there would have been hell to pay. Sieg would have chucked her
on the spot."

Lee pondered on this. It did not jibe with what Letty had told him and
he preferred to believe Letty. "When you were released from Welfare
Island," he asked, "why did you apply for a room at Hope House?"

"Need you ask?" drawled Spanish. "Letty was a very beautiful woman and I
couldn't forget her. I was hoping that I might enjoy through fear what I
had previously had through inclination. Fear, you know, would lend a
certain zest..." He finished his sentence with a wave of the hand.

"By God!" said Lee grimly, "if you are telling me the truth you are the
perfect blackguard!"

"You flatter me!" murmured Spanish, smirking. It gave him real pleasure
to be held up as a monster of wickedness.

"That note from Letty to you that was found in your wallet," Lee pointed
out, "that does not agree with what you have just told me. What was it
that Letty was threatening to tell _me_?"

"The same that I have just told you. Letty was counting on your
well-known moral views to have me put out of the house."

"You had already left the house."

"Oh, I had been carrying that note around for some days," said Spanish
carelessly.

Lee did not believe this, but there was no date on Letty's note and he
was unable to prove that Spanish was lying. "Her note was very strangely
worded," he said. "What had she in mind when she wrote: 'If anything
happens to me I have fixed it so that Mr. Mappin will be fully informed
and you can't prevent it'?"

Spanish shrugged. "Don't ask me to explain what goes through a
hysterical woman's mind. I doubt if she could have explained it
herself."

"Something _did_ happen to her," said Lee softly.

"Well, then," said Spanish impudently, "according to her you will be
informed of all the circumstances."

There was something inhuman in Spanish's cool self-confidence. Clearly,
he enjoyed matching wits with the celebrated Mr. Mappin; he believed
himself the cleverer of the two. If I am patient, thought Lee, he may
betray himself in the end through overconfidence. Lee therefore began to
act as if he found Spanish too much for him. He took a new line.

"You arrived at Grand Central shortly after noon on that fatal
Wednesday; that would be coincident with the arrival of the first fast
train of the day from Boston."

"That's right," said Spanish.

"You taxied over to Mendes' flat in Brooklyn..."

"Checked my suitcase first," put in Spanish, "because I didn't know if
Piero would have room to put me up."

"Later," continued Lee, "you carried your friends over to Manhattan and
treated them to a fine lunch at Fossberg's. You called up Letty Ammon
and ordered her to come to you there..."

"Ordered her?" murmured Spanish, running up his brows. "I hope I was not
so crude."

"Well, she came, and I find it difficult to believe that she came
willingly... What did you want of her?"

Spanish answered readily: "I wanted to find out if it was she who had
put you up to sending me to Boston."

"And you found out?"

"Sure! She couldn't hide it."

"And then?"

"I told her that I was back from Boston. And that she had better see to
it that I got back my room at Hope House--or else!"

"How charming of you!" said Lee.

"Call it devilish if you like," said Spanish conceitedly, "but not
crude. I always act with finesse."

"What did she say?"

"She said she'd try her best."

"When you left Fossberg's, where did you go?"

"I taxied up to a little club that I belong to on 47th Street. Show
people belong to it. It is called the Ravens. I was there all afternoon.
I see you've got a police report there. Notice that I brought forward,
not one or two, but six members of the Ravens to testify that they had
drunk with me in the clubhouse, or played billiards, or just talked. And
I can get half a dozen more if you want."

"Six will be sufficient," said Lee dryly. "What time did you leave the
Ravens and where did you go?"

"About six-thirty I went to Whitelock's restaurant for my dinner."

"Alone?"

"Sure! I enjoy my own company sometimes."

"So do I," said Lee. "You cannot therefore bring forward anybody who saw
you at Whitelock's?"

"No. It's a very big place and at six-thirty it's crowded to the doors.
Nobody would remember seeing me there."

"Then where did you go?"

"Bought a ticket and went to see _Hellzapoppin_!"

"See anybody you know there?"

"No. But luckily for me, I saved my seat check. Here it is."

Lee examined the check. "That's a proper check for that Wednesday
night," he said, "but of course it's not proof that you occupied the
seat."

"Have you seen the latest version of _Hellzapoppin_?" asked Spanish.

"I have."

"Well, does it go like this?" Spanish started to relate the scenes in
their order.

Lee soon stopped him. "I am satisfied that you have seen the show, but
still you have not proved that it was on that particular night."

"The seat check is pretty good proof," said Spanish.

"Where did you go after the show?"

"Back to the Ravens."

"You might have picked up the seat check in an ash tray there. Or in the
street. People drop them everywhere after the show."

Spanish shook his head with affected regret. "Mr. Mappin, I wouldn't
want to be you! You're a fine man; you've got a wonderful brain, but
you're poisoned with suspicion!"

Lee enjoyed the comedy. "Well, Spanish, I'll tell you something since
we're being frank with each other. You smell of wickedness and that's
what makes my suspicions stand on end like quills upon the fretful
porcupine."

Spanish did not much care for this figure of speech. He shrugged
elaborately. "I can bring forward a dozen men to swear that I was at the
Ravens at midnight."

"I am not interested in you at that hour," said Lee.

"What do you want?" said Spanish, spreading out his hands. "Blondy
Farren has been convicted of the murder of Letty. The evidence was
overwhelming. How many men do you want to send to the chair?"

"Only one," said Lee. "But the right one."

"Why should I want to rub out Letty?"

"I don't know. But I know she was deathly afraid of you."

"I enjoy scaring people," said Spanish smirking. "It don't mean nothing.
It's just my fun."

"Pleasant fun," said Lee.

"I've done all I can to help you," said Spanish. "You're only butting
your head against a wall now."

Lee thought: The evidence against him is destroyed and he feels safe. He
said: "Well, let's get on with the story. After leaving the Ravens you
went back to Brooklyn to spend the night."

"That's right. Called for my bag at Grand Central first. Didn't take it
over with me first off because I didn't know if Piero had room. But he
and the girl insisted on my coming back."

"Then in the morning--let me see, the first papers announcing Letty's
murder were on the street about nine o'clock. I suppose you read of it."

"I did," said Spanish gravely. "And I may say I was shocked!"

"I'm sure you were. What did you do?"

Spanish looked at him sharply. "Mr. Mappin, I have a right to refuse to
answer that question. I have still to be tried on the charge of unlawful
entry."

"I am not a police officer," said Lee. "I assure you that whatever you
tell me now will not be used against you at that trial."

"Okay! Your word is good enough for me. I had written Letty some
letters. Pretty warm, you understand. I told her to destroy them, but
you never can be sure about a woman. So I went over to Hope House. I let
myself in with my key. There wasn't anybody in the front of the house. I
took a chance and ran up to Letty's room and went through her things."

"Did you find your letters?"

"No, sir. Like a sensible girl she had destroyed them. So I got out."

"How come you had two keys to the house?"

"That's just a habit of mine. Whenever I have a latch key I have a
duplicate made in case I lose one."

"Really! Why didn't you turn both keys in when you gave up your room?"

"Well, I was hoping to get back there, you know."

"Spanish," said Lee, "you put on an almost perfect show!"

Spanish smirked. "Why _almost_ perfect, Mr. Mappin?"

"It's a little _too_ good, Spanish. It sounds rehearsed."

Spanish raised his shoulders high in the Latin fashion. "It's impossible
to satisfy you!"

"I don't have to remind you," said Lee, "that there is one _very_
suspicious incident that has not been explained. When we were driving
back over Brooklyn Bridge in the police car, you drew a key out of your
sock that had a tag attached, and tossed it into the river."

Spanish went into a silent fit of laughter. "That was for the handsome
Inspector, Mr. Mappin. He was so damn conceited, he made me sore. I just
wanted to take him down a peg."

"That tag had my name written on it. Looked like Letty's hand."

"But I tossed it right out of the window," said Spanish. "How could you
read it? Could you swear on the Bible that that was Letty's
handwriting?"

"No," said Lee. "I didn't have time enough."

"Could you swear that your name was on the tag?"

"That I could," said Lee coolly. "A man is so familiar with the shape of
his own name, he can read it in a lightning glance."

"Mr. Mappin, in your experience haven't you known of men swearing
falsely in perfectly good faith?"

"Certainly," said Lee.

"That's what you would be doing in this case, sir. That tag had nothing
in the world to do with you."

"What was the key?"

"It was the key to my locker at the Sporting Club in Monte Carlo when I
worked there. I carried it away with me by mistake. Always meant to
return it. I stuck it in my sock just before we got into the police car,
just so I could make that conceited cop look like a fool. And I did,
too. Never thought it would take you in, Mr. Mappin."

"What was written on the tag?" asked Lee.

"My name, Jacques D'Acosta. That's the way I spelled it in France."

"There was writing on the other side of the tag, too. What was that?"

"That was my address in case I dropped the key and it was picked up. I
had a room at Beausoleil, the French town above Monte. You know what
those French addresses are; it's like writing your life story."

Lee looked at the man with a kind of admiration. "Spanish," he said,
"you are one of the slickest articles I have ever met with!"

Spanish shook his head in pretended sorrow. "Ah, you don't believe what
I'm telling you!"

"Not a word!" said Lee cheerfully.

"Well, in one way I'm glad if I haven't satisfied you," said Spanish,
smirking. "Maybe you'll come to see me again. I've enjoyed our talk
today."

"So have I," said Lee. He signaled to the keeper that the interview was
over.




CHAPTER 16


When the used-car dealer, Smither, was brought down to view the old
sedan in the police yard, he had immediately pointed out that the two
rear tires were new. They were stamped with the name Schoenberg, one of
the smaller manufacturers. They showed scarcely any wear. When Smither
ran the engine, he said it was in better order than when it had left his
hands; better compression, hence more power; new cylinder rings had been
installed. Further examination disclosed that a new generator had been
put in, and the brakes relined. "Quite an expensive job of repairs to
put on an old shay like that," Smither had remarked.

The only clue that Lee possessed to the recent travels of the car--if it
could be called a clue--was the card of matches he had found that had
slipped back of the front seat. It bore the imprint of the Eureka
Restaurant in Elizabeth, New Jersey. Lee borrowed the car from the
police and had himself driven over there.

The restaurant was a new, popular-price establishment at the edge of the
industrial district, shining with white tiles and porcelain table tops.
It was midafternoon when Lee called and only a few tables were occupied.
He judged from his long experience of restaurants, high and low, that
good food was served in this place. A stout, placid woman at the
cashier's desk helped carry out the suggestion of prosperity. Her name
was Mrs. Lenassa and she owned the place.

"Excuse me for troubling you," said Lee. "Notice the car in front of the
door. I want you to tell me if you have ever seen it before. I believe
it belongs to a customer of yours."

She was astonished by the unusualness of the request. Upon adjusting
herself, she assured Lee that she had never seen the car before. She
brought up her daughter, who spelled her at certain hours at the
cashier's desk, and two waitresses. All were positive that they had
never seen the old sedan. Lee was obliged to charge off this visit to
profit and loss.

At the Buick agency in Elizabeth, he was told that the car was unknown
to them and that certainly the recent repairs on it had not been done in
their shop. He inquired where Schoenberg tires were sold in that town
and was directed to a service station. Here his luck changed, for the
attendant recognized the car and remembered putting on the two tires.
"Over a month ago," he said. Reference to his sales slips established
the exact date: April 23rd. This was the same day that Letty had bought
the car.

"Describe the driver," said Lee.

The attendant scratched his head. "I don't remember him very good,
Mister."

"Are you sure it wasn't a woman?"

"It wasn't a woman. I would remember a woman."

"Was it a young man?"

"Not a young man. But you wouldn't call him an old man, neither."

"About how old?"

"I never could estimate a person's age, Mister."

"Was he a big man or a little man?"

"Medium size."

"What did he wear?"

"Nothing special."

"Well, was he well dressed or roughly dressed?"

"Neither the one nor the other. Just ordinary."

Patient questioning failed to produce anything further. However, just as
Lee was ready to give up, the unobservant young man volunteered a piece
of information that provided him with a fresh lead.

"I mind this fellow asking me where he could get some repairs done to
his car. I directed him to the Buick Agency, but he says no, he wanted
to take it to some jobbing garage where they'd do it cheaper, so I sent
him to Baring Brothers."

At this place the job of work they had done on the old sedan was
remembered. It was seldom that an owner was willing to spend so much on
such an old car. He had given the name of John Adams; when his address
was asked for, he replied that he had no address in Elizabeth as yet,
that he had to find a room. There was considerable difference of opinion
among the mechanics as to the customer's appearance; one estimated his
age at forty, another said fifty, and a third insisted that he was an
old man who was trying to conceal his age. This did not suggest any
individual who had ever been mentioned in connection with the case, and
Lee felt glum. His problem was complicated enough, without bringing in a
new factor.

One mechanic remembered some details. "He come in for his car a week
later and I noticed he hadn't shaved since. He was dressed like a
workingman then. The first time he might have been a drummer in a small
way, or a clerk." Another said: "Here's something, if it's any use to
you. I remember when he brought the car here he stopped on the way out
and copied down an address from our order board. He was carrying a
little, worn old satchel, imitation alligator."

At the top of the board to which were pinned the orders in process of
being filled, Lee found the card of a Mrs. Doughty, who advertised rooms
to rent to single workingmen. Lee in his turn wrote down her address and
set out in the old sedan to find it.

Mrs. Doughty's was more like a small hotel than a rooming house. It was
a plain new building, especially designed for workingmen's lodgings at
the edge of the great industrial district of Elizabeth. The proprietor
was a grim woman who obviously would take no nonsense. At first, she was
disinclined to furnish any information whatever, but, luckily for Lee,
she had a younger sister full of curiosity.

"Ain't no man been living here lately by the name of Adams."

"Well, he might have given you another name. Adams wasn't his right
name. He came on April 23rd. Middle-aged man, dressed like a traveler or
a clerk at that time. Later he wore a workingman's clothes. He was
careless about shaving. All the baggage he had was a small, badly worn
satchel of imitation alligator. This was his car."

The sisters looked at each other. "Mr. Wilson!" said the younger. "Mr.
Arthur Wilson. But that ain't his car. Mr. Wilson didn't have no car."

"Well, perhaps he didn't bring it home. All his doings were mysterious."

"Mysterious, that was Mr. Wilson," said the younger woman, nodding
vigorously. "I always said so! Never talked about himself. Most men are
always talking. You get to know all about them. Not Mr. Wilson!"

By this time, Lee had succeeded in gaining Mrs. Doughty's confidence. He
was asked in, and the three of them sat down in the office.

"He didn't shave the first few days he was with you," prompted Lee.

"He never shaved the whole time he was here. Said he had an eczema and
wanted to give it time to heal, but I couldn't see no eczema. His beard
come in half white and he dyed it black. I saw the dye on his bureau.
Dyed his hair, too. He was bald on top and let his hair grow long on one
side so he could brush it all the way across. His black beard made him
look pretty rough, but he was a quiet man, gave no trouble. Didn't make
no friends with the other men."

"How long was he with you?"

"You say he come on April 23rd. Would be about three weeks."

"Three weeks less three days," said Mrs. Doughty. "He left on Wednesday,
five o'clock, real sudden, though he was paid up to Saturday."

Letty Ammon had been killed about ten o'clock on Wednesday, May 11th.

"Said he had a call to a good job in Altoona," added the sister.

"Was he looking for a job while he was with you?" asked Lee.

"Not so's you could notice. He didn't worry none. Laid in bed half the
day reading newspapers. Couldn't get enough newspapers. Would go to the
movies at night or drink in the bars. But always alone, the men say."

The older woman's eyes narrowed. "What's he wanted for?" she demanded.

"Suspicion of a crime," said Lee. "I can't tell you particulars."

Mrs. Doughty pursed up her lips. "He was too quiet by half. There was a
kind of prison look about him... Here's a funny thing. One day when I
was cleaning his room I seen his specs on the bureau. He always wore
dark-rimmed specs, but this day he forgot them when he went out. There
was something in the paper I wanted to read and I put on his glasses. I
couldn't see any different than I did before, and when I look at them
close, I see there wasn't nothing in them but window glass. What do you
make of that?"

"Part of a disguise. Along with the scrubby black beard."

The two women stared. "Well, you never can tell!"

"Did you ever have any talk with him?" asked Lee.

"Not to say talk," answered Mrs. Doughty. "Only to pass the time of day.
He was polite enough."

"Did he have any visitors while he was with you?"

"No, sir."

"Receive any letters?"

"Nary a letter."

"Anything in his effects that caught your attention?"

"No, sir. He had nothing in his little bag but a couple shirts and the
like. He bought himself a pair of rough working pants, corduroy, and a
windbreaker and a cap, because he said they was more comfortable."

"Was that what he had on when he went away?"

"Yes, sir."

"What color were the new clothes?"

"The corduroy pants was ginger colored, the windbreaker was imitation
leather, brown, the cap no color in particular, just dark, a cloth
cap.... I can tell you something that caught my attention. One day
when I was cleaning up, I seen he had cut a little piece out of the
paper. It was the New York _Daily News_, the same paper we take, and I
put ours and hisn together just for curiosity's sake to see what he had
a mind to cut. I cut out the same piece myself and kep' it." She fetched
a newspaper clipping from her desk. Lee read with inward amusement:

    Mrs. Nick Cassells' new hostel for released prisoners at ----
    Henry Street has been christened Hope House. It has been
    operating for a couple of weeks and new guests are constantly
    arriving. All Henry Street is interested in its new neighbors,
    but the management of Hope House continues to refuse to give out
    any particulars about the identity of the guests. Mr. Amos Lee
    Mappin, the famous author and criminologist, is associated with
    Mrs. Cassells in her latest benefaction. The house managers are
    Mr. and Mrs. Siegmund Ammon.

The clipping was accompanied by small candid shots of Sandra Cassells
and of Lee himself. So candid were they that it didn't occur to either
of the women that the subject of the second photograph was at that
moment seated before their eyes. Lee handed the clipping back.

"Do you suppose he was planning to rob that house?" asked the sister
with wide eyes.

"Well, I haven't heard that it has been robbed since," said Lee with a
grave face. "One more question, ladies. After he had left, did you find
anything in his rooms?"

"Not a scrap!" said Mrs. Doughty. "He was too smart for that." At the
door she asked Lee with sharp curiosity, "What kind of police are you,
Mister?"

"Federal," said Lee, running down the steps to avoid further
explanations. He was satisfied that he had left them with plenty to talk
about.

It was evident that Adams or Wilson, or whatever his name might be, had
avoided letting them see his car at the lodging house for fear that he
might be traced through it later. But he must have stored it some place
near by. After an hour's search, Lee located the parking lot on Route 1,
where it had been kept for two weeks. It had never been taken out during
that time. It was then bearing the New York state license tags which had
been issued in the name of Miss Jones of Scarsdale.

Before returning to New York, Lee paid a second visit to the Eureka
Restaurant. He was now able to describe the man he was looking for to
Mrs. Lenassa and her daughter; scrubby black beard, bald spot with hair
imported from the other side to cover it, etc. They recognized him at
once.

"Ate here regular for a short time," said Mrs. Lenassa. "Never told us
his name. He looked rough, but he seemed to be well fixed for money.
Ordered the best we had and plenty of it. Came at eleven o'clock for his
lunch and five for his dinner, because he said he didn't like to eat in
a crowd. That suited us all right."

The young woman put in: "He bought a packet of gum every morning when he
left."

"So!" said Lee. "What kind?"

She pointed: "Triple X. Most everybody buys that kind."

"Well, it's a straw to show the way the wind was blowing," said Lee.

"The last night he come here, he had a pair of gloves. That struck me as
funny. Warm weather it was and him dressed so rough and all. The gloves
was stuck in the pocket of his windbreaker."

"Possibly the gloves were to avoid leaving fingerprints," suggested Lee.

Her eyes widened. "No!... Here's a thing I remember," she went on.
"He carried a funny-looking coin for a pocket piece. I would see it when
he drew his hand out with change. A piece of money with a square hole in
the middle. Never saw that before. Once I asked him what it was. He said
Chinese, and put it back in his pocket. Didn't let me look at it."

Lee made a note of the pocket piece. Further questioning elicited the
fact that the bearded man had a favorite table in the Eureka and was
usually served by the same waitress. This girl was brought into their
conference. She remembered the man.

"Did you ever have any talk with him?" asked Lee.

"No, sir. He wasn't a talking man. Would just put away his food and get
out. He was a big eater--excepting the last night he come."

"That would be May 11th."

"About that. There wasn't anything to fix the date in my mind. That
night he ate a little and shoved his plate away. Wasn't hungry, he said.
And that night, I mind, he had a pint in his pocket. Asked me for an
extra glass so he could take a drink. I saw him take several."

"Was he drunk?"

"No, sir. Not so's you could notice. And that night, when he got up, he
hands me a quarter. Never did that before. Sometimes he would leave a
nickel on the table. Handed me a quarter with a smile and said: 'Wish me
luck, sister!'" The girl shuddered. "I never liked that guy! He was
ugly!"




CHAPTER 17


Of all the elements of the problem that confronted Lee, the most
baffling was that Letty appeared to have assisted in laying the train
that led to her own murder. Every new fact that Lee dug up confirmed it.
It was Letty who had purchased the old sedan; Letty had set the time and
the place for her meeting with Blondy; it was Letty who had suggested
driving up to the Bronx, who had insisted on stopping for drinks that
she didn't want at Schanze's, at McGovern's and the White Goose;
finally, it was Letty who had driven Blondy to the isolated spot where
the man with the scrubby beard was waiting to kill her. In Lee's long
experience of crime, this was something new. Alone at night, pacing his
big living room, he brought up one hypothesis after another, only to
reject it because it did not fit all the known facts.

The most plausible explanation was that the unknown man with the beard
was Spanish Jack's creature, and had acted throughout under his
direction. If this was so, the old sedan had no doubt picked up Spanish
Jack by prearrangement on its way to the scene of the shooting, and
either one man or the other had pulled the trigger. But this did not
account for Letty's part in taking herself and Blondy to the spot.

Without appearing to make too much of it, Lee questioned each inmate of
Hope House as opportunity offered. First, Soup Kennedy, the ex-safe
cracker, because it was Soup who usually answered the doorbell and the
telephone, and who took in the mail. He was a heavy-witted man who,
under questioning, instinctively took cover by making out to be even
stupider than he was. Trying to get information out of him was like
squeezing a dry lemon. Letty, he said, had never received any letters
that he could recall, only bills, nor had she received any visitors. She
was seldom called to the phone, though she herself made many calls,
generally to order supplies for the house. She seldom went out unless it
was with Sieg, or to go to market. Soup often went to market with her to
carry home the basket.

All Lee got from him were two bits of information which might prove to
be of value later. On one occasion, Soup said, he had gone to market
with Letty, and when they got to Rivington Street she had handed him
money and a list of things he was to buy, and left him on a certain
corner with instructions to meet her at the same spot an hour and a half
later. She had not told him where she was going, but had warned him not
to tell anybody at home that she had left him. At another time, he had
seen her in her room writing a letter that ran to a number of pages. She
had continued this letter for several days, whenever Sieg went out. When
it was finished, Soup had had a glimpse of the fat envelope lying on her
desk.

"To whom was it addressed?" Lee asked eagerly.

The answer was not what he expected. "To you, Mr. Mappin."

"To me? Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. Written on the envelope was 'For Mr. Mappin.' Nothing else.
No street or number. She put it in her handbag."

"I never got any such letter," said Lee.

The nearest that Soup could come to fixing the date of the letter was
that it had been written _after_ Spanish Jack came to live at Hope
House.

When Lee talked to Johnnie Stabler, the former Wall Street clerk,
Johnnie sought to make out that he had been especially close to Letty
because he was the only gentleman among the boarders, but when Lee
proceeded to pin him down, there turned out to be nothing in it. Letty
had scarcely ever spoken to Johnnie, and never alone. Duke Engstrom, the
brawny ex-train robber, could only repeat with emphasis that Letty was a
fine girl, a fine girl! Further than that he was dumb. Little Joe
Spencer was becoming senile. Letty had treated him like a child; the
tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks when he spoke of her. All he could
remember were the puddings Letty made.

Hattie Oliver, Handbag Hattie, was old also, and a little windy in the
wits. She described to Lee how she and Letty had spent hours together
hemming table napkins and talking. This sounded promising until it
turned out that Hattie had done all the talking. Hattie's eyes were
turned inward; she was not aware of anything special about Letty.

Mary Kennedy, as cook, was closer to Letty, the housekeeper, than
anybody in the house except her husband. Lee sought out Mary in the
kitchen one afternoon when there was nobody else in that part of the
house. At the mention of Letty, Mary shook her head heavily.

"Poor lamb! Poor lamb!"

"Is it her death you feel sorry for," asked Lee, "or her life?"

"Both," said Mary. "She wasn't happy in her life."

"Did she ever tell you why?"

"Not in so many words. Men was always after her. It sickened her."

"How do you know that?"

"One morning, when I went into her room, she was sitting in front of the
dressing table brushing her hair. I never saw her look so pretty and I
told her so. She stopped brushing and sat there with her chin in her
hand, looking at herself as if it was somebody else she was looking at,
and she didn't like her. And she said: 'It must be nice to be beautiful
if you are born into a rich home. Otherwise it's a curse. Since I was
fourteen years old, it's been a curse to me, Mary.' 'Why?' I says, and
she says: 'I am always in trouble! It's just one thing after another.'"

"And then?" asked Lee.

"That's all, Mr. Mappin. She dry right up then and start talking about
what to have for dinner."

"Did you get the idea that Sieg made her unhappy?"

"No, sir. Sieg treat her all right. They was the lovingest pair! Only he
went out a good many nights."

"What did Letty do when Sieg left her?"

"Read to herself in bed."

"Had Letty always seemed so unhappy?"

"No, sir. When I first come and she and Mrs. Cassells was buying things
for the house, Letty was as happy as any girl might be furnishing a
house for herself without counting the cost. It was when the house
opened that she changed."

"Was it when Spanish came?"

"No, sir, it was before that. It was when the house first opened."

This was not the answer Lee wanted, but Mary stuck to it, and he had to
leave the question open. "Do you remember her last day?" he asked.

"Will I ever forget it?" said Mary. "The poor darlin'! When the boarders
was around she could keep up pretty good, but when her and me was alone
in the house the tears was running down her face. I was ready to cry
myself. She said to me--she was smiling though her eyes was wet--she
said: 'Mary, are you a good Catholic?' And I said: 'Not as good as I
ought to be, Letty.' And she said: 'Pray for me, Mary! Because I can't
pray!' Then she went out of the kitchen."

"Do you think she foresaw that she might die that night?"

Mary shook her head. "It was not fear of death that made her speak so,
it was the fear of what she was going to do."

It was less easy for Lee to get Sieg Ammon by himself without appearing
to contrive it. His opportunity came as they waited for Sandra one
evening in the office at Hope House.

"Sieg," said Lee, "did you notice during Letty's last days that she
appeared to have something on her mind?"

Sieg, who had ceased to grieve openly for Letty now, like the vigorous
young animal he was, resented being reminded of his grief. His face
flushed. "God! do we have to go into that again?" he burst out.

"You don't have to answer my question," said Lee mildly.

Sieg quieted down. "I'm sorry," he said. "Sure, I'll answer you. It's
only because I hate to have my feelings stirred up.... Now that I
look back at that time, I can see that Letty was worrying about
something, but I can't honestly say I noticed it at the time. I am not a
noticing kind of fellow. It was easy to jolly her out of it when we were
together."

"Well, you must have thought about it since," said Lee. "What do you
think _was_ on her mind?"

"That's easy," said Sieg. "She was carrying on with Blondy behind my
back. I suppose she had what they call a conscience, and that was
troubling her."

"But if she had fallen for Blondy, why didn't she go away with him that
night when he urged her?"

"She was afraid. That was Letty. She would and she wouldn't. And in the
end Blondy got in a rage and shot her."

Lee had to admit to himself that this was a reasonable-sounding
explanation--if it hadn't been for the old sedan and the scrubby-bearded
man. He said: "But if she had intended even for a moment going away with
Blondy, it seems as if she would have dressed more suitably."

"What good does this do?" cried Sieg. "Letty is gone and her murderer is
convicted. Nothing we can do now will bring her back!"

"Of course not," said Lee. "But I can't let the matter drop because I
cannot square Letty's actions with the known facts."

"Who ever could square a woman's actions?"

"That's too easy a way to pass it up. After all, women are human....
There's a new figure in the case," he added.

"Who's that?" asked Sieg quickly.

"Middle-aged man with a scrubby beard dyed black; hair also dyed and
brushed across to hide his bald spot. Dressed in rough working pants and
a windbreaker."

"Where does he come in?"

"He was almost certainly on the spot when the shot was fired. He drove
the old sedan."

Sieg smiled. "You must excuse me, Mr. Mappin, but it seems to me you are
imagining things."

"I've been in this business a good many years," Lee said with a shrug.

"Bearded men are not common nowadays," said Sieg, "but you see plenty of
guys with their hair brushed over their bald spot. Know anything else
about him?"

"Not much. On the night of the murder he was dressed in a pair of
ginger-colored corduroy pants, a brown imitation leather windbreaker,
and a cloth cap, all new. He had a small, badly worn satchel of
imitation alligator. He was in the habit of carrying a Chinese or
Japanese coin for a pocket piece. He chewed Triple X gum."

"Don't call up a picture of anybody I ever saw, Mr. Mappin."

"Possibly he was only hired for the occasion."

"By whom?"

"Well, say Spanish Jack."

"Spanish is capable of it."

"Sieg," said Lee, "there is one very personal question I would like to
ask you."

"Shoot, Mr. Mappin!"

"Was Letty passionately in love with you at the time of her death? They
say a man can always tell."

Sieg looked off into the distance. "A man may _know_, Mr. Mappin, but
his self-conceit refuses to admit it. If you had asked me that question
before Letty died, I would have said that I was everything in the world
to her. Now that she is gone, I can see that she had changed. She was
beginning to make excuses."

"Thanks, Sieg."

Sandra came in.

After dinner Sandra gave Lee a lift uptown. Lee judged that Sieg had
been talking to her, for as soon as they started away, she opened up:
"Lee, why on earth do you go on turning over the same dirt in the Letty
Ammon case? I never knew you to be so obstinate. It's nothing but
vanity. It's only because you will not admit that you were wrong in the
beginning!"

"Maybe so," said Lee mildly. "But if it interests me, why not let me
have my way? I'm not hurting anybody."

"You are! You're hurting us all! You're keeping everybody stirred up
because you won't let the wound heal. You keep probing and probing and
probing!"

"I haven't yet got to the bottom of the wound, my dear."

"Nonsense! That's only a clever answer! Doesn't mean a thing! Lee,
darling, I'm thinking of you. I hate to see you becoming an object of
ridicule!"

Lee took a pinch of snuff. "To whom, darling?"

"To everybody who knows the circumstances. To the police. Surely, with
all their facilities, the police are in the best position to know there
is nothing in this wild goose chase of yours."

"Ah, I see my friend Loasby has been airing his views!"

"Inspector Loasby is a very intelligent man!"

"Very!"

"It's especially hard on poor Sieg," Sandra went on. "Sieg has been
trying so to get back to normal. His courage is wonderful!"

"There are others besides Sieg to be thought of, darling."

"Who?"

"Blondy for one."

"Blondy! That lout! You are simply fatuous on the subject of Blondy!...
Seriously, Lee, I want you to give up this case. Surely there are plenty
of other cases for you to work on."

"My dear, you might as well try to call off an old hound just when the
scent is growing strong. That's what I am, an old hound. If I gave up
this chase I would be false to my own nature, and that, I hold, is the
unpardonable sin!"

"These are just words. I ask you for old friendship's sake, for _my_
sake, to give up this ridiculous notion of yours, to act sensibly, and
you put me off with empty words. I thought better of you, Lee!" Sandra
touched her handkerchief to her eyes.

Lee was surprised by her vehemence. "Tell me, what is it to you?" he
asked. "Why do you ask me to give up my work?"

"Can't you see?" she cried hysterically. "Murder has got on my nerves!
For weeks I have had to live with this murder! I am steeped in murder!
What I eat seems to taste of murder! I feel as if I must smell of
murder! In the end I will begin to wonder if I didn't murder the girl
myself! I can't stand it any longer. My nerves are in strings! Yet you
won't let me forget it!"

"Why not go away for a while?" suggested Lee soothingly.

"Where could I go?"

"To Sea Isle; or to White Sulphur; an enchanting place at this season.
Or, if you would like a little voyage, to Bermuda, or to California..."

"Wherever I went, I couldn't forget what was going on here."

"Look, if you will undertake to stay away from New York for a month,
when you come back either Blondy will have been executed, or there will
be another man in the death house in his place. I promise it!"

"You're only evading the question," said Sandra. "For the last time, I
ask you: will you give up this foolish investigation?"

"No, my dear," said Lee quietly.

There was a long silence in the car. Finally Sandra said pettishly: "I'm
going to close up Hope House."

"Hey?" said Lee. He knew this would come sooner or later, but the
suddenness of the announcement took him aback.

"You heard what I said. The stigma of this murder has wrecked it. The
press has taught the public to believe that the house is full of
murderers. Every day people come and stand in the street and gape at it.
We could never live that down. I'm going to deed it with all its
contents to the Henry Street Settlement. They will find some use for
it."

"What will become of the boarders?" asked Lee.

"I'll give them money. Anyhow, I didn't agree to support them for the
rest of their lives. To come from Hope House is only an additional
handicap upon them now!"

"What about Sieg?"

"Well, I feel I owe a little more to Sieg because of what he has been
through. I'll see that he gets a position of some kind."

There was another silence in the car.

"Haven't you anything to say?" demanded Sandra sharply. "Don't you care?
If you would co-operate with me, if you would allow this dreadful
business to be forgotten, we could go on! But no! you have to keep it
stirred up! You have to keep the people pointing and gaping at Hope
House. So there's nothing for me to do but close it up!"

"My dear," said Lee, "you have forgotten that I opposed the idea from
the beginning."

"Of course!" she said with extreme bitterness. "I might have expected
you would say that!"

"It was a generous idea," he went on, "and worthy of your kind heart,
but to my mind entirely impracticable. So you were mistaken, you see, if
you expected me to urge you to keep it going. On the contrary, I say the
sooner you close the house the better."

Sandra would not speak to him again during the balance of the drive.




CHAPTER 18


It was Lee's habit when faced by an impasse, as in this case, to cast
back farther and farther into the lives of the persons concerned. With
the idea that the seeds of Letty's murder might have been sown during
the previous year when she was working at El Mirador, he set about
finding out what had happened over there. The career of El Mirador had
ended with a murder, and there is nothing like murder to breed murder.

Spanish Jack undoubtedly knew as much about the last days of El Mirador
as anybody living, or more, but Lee did not go to him again. Spanish
enjoyed stringing him along too well. There were plenty of other sources
of information about such a spectacular resort. The Hudson County police
furnished Lee with the record of their investigation of the death of the
proprietor.

Sam Bartol had maintained a luxurious suite for his own use in the tower
of El Mirador. He kept a valet to wait upon him; no other servant. Such
meals as he ate in his own rooms were supplied from the main kitchens of
the establishment. On a night in April, he had dismissed his valet with
instructions to report at noon next day. Later he had ordered an
elaborate supper with wine and service for two to be sent up to his
suite. It was assumed that he was entertaining a lady. The waiters who
brought up the supper were not permitted to see her; they left
everything and departed.

When Bentalou, the valet, came back next day he found his master lying
dead on the floor of his living room, shot through the breast. The
supper was eaten, the wine drunk, the lady gone. The gun was lying
beside the dead man, and since the bosom of his dress shirt showed
powder burns, it was possible that he had killed himself. But not
likely, because Sam was riding high on the crest of success and
prosperity. The gun was an old one that had undoubtedly passed through
many hands, and the police were unable to trace its ownership. It might
or might not have been Bartol's gun. A second gun was found on his
person, and it seemed unlikely that he would carry two. Bartol was known
to keep a considerable sum of money on his person. This was missing; but
the showy and expensive jewelry he wore had not been taken. There was a
private entrance to his suite with an automatic elevator. The whole
staff was questioned; nobody had been seen to enter or leave. No clue to
Bartol's guest was found. The investigation was dropped.

There was a mortgage on El Mirador which was foreclosed in due course.
There were no bidders, and the real estate passed into the hands of the
mortgagee, a respectable trust company. Naturally the place was a white
elephant on their hands until another spectacular showman of the caliber
of Sam Bartol should turn up. The fixtures were Sam's own property. He
died intestate and there were several claimants to his estate. On
account of these contests, nothing had been removed. The resort remained
exactly as it was when the doors were closed for the last time. The
Trust Company very willingly provided Lee with an order to view it.

El Mirador clung to the edge of the Palisades opposite upper New York.
In the days of its glory, its glittering lights furnished a nightly
temptation to the citizens of upper Manhattan. There was a bridge handy.
The place was the last word in Babylonian luxury; it had everything from
a private landing field to a huge conservatory-swimming pool which could
be opened to the sky in fine weather or closed in during the winter. A
wealth of tropical verdure had once surrounded the water, but that was
gone now. The huge main dining room, circular in shape, was surmounted
by a dome full of twinkling artificial stars. Half of it was filled with
huge windows commanding a superb view across the river. In the front of
the building was a bar five hundred feet long; the gaming rooms were
upstairs.

Lee knew the place well. Shuttered now and under dust covers, it seemed
to be full of ghosts. An abandoned pleasure resort in the cold light of
day is the most melancholy place imaginable; haunted by the echoes of
music and laughter, the popping of corks. On one side was a low stage
which rolled out over the dancing floor for the performance. On this
stage Letty had danced. Outside the windows lay the wide terrace where
the guests had eaten on summer nights. The bar was closed off by steel
gates which were politely unlocked for Lee. It was a fabulous place, two
city blocks long from end to end. The bottles and glasses were still in
place.

"There's a hundred thousand dollars' worth of liquor here, besides
what's in the cellar," said Lee's conductor. "It's a big responsibility.
We have a couple of watchmen at night."

"You could take a little nip whenever you felt inclined, without its
being missed," suggested Lee.

"My wife and me don't touch it," said the man hastily. "That's why we
got the job here."

He was a stout, intelligent Frenchman with beautiful manners, who had
been a captain of waiters when El Mirador was operating. His wife, who
shared in taking care of the closed resort, had been in charge of the
linen. She was one of the neat, quiet, frugal housewives that only the
French nation can produce. Together they showed Lee around. Lee hoped to
get from them the gossip of the big establishment at the time the
proprietor was shot, but he took care to make himself solid with the
pair before he started asking leading questions. He encouraged them to
talk about themselves.

They went up to the gaming rooms which were decorated in a rococo style,
perhaps in imitation of Monte Carlo. There were the desks where Sieg
Ammon and Blondy Farren had sold chips, had cashed them at the end of
the evening, incidentally knocking down some dollars for their own
pockets. The roulette tables, each with its wheel, were in place. Even
the little ivory balls were there. Lee spun one of them around the
wheel. Its clicking brought back strange memories. At one of these
tables Spanish Jack's topaz eyes had kept watch with deceitful
sleepiness. His rake had swept in the counters and pushed back the
winnings to the fortunate ones. "_Rien ne va plus, Messieurs._..."

To visit Sam Bartol's rooms it was necessary to descend to the ground
and climb two flights again. Power for the electric elevator was turned
off. The apartment occupied a two-story penthouse, or low tower arising
from the front of El Mirador. Extensive terraces surrounded it, where
shrubs and flowers had once been cultivated, but all that was gone. The
first floor consisted of a foyer, an immense living room, dining room,
pantry, and cloak rooms; upstairs there were bedrooms.

Sam Bartol's living room was kept as if its dead master was momentarily
expected to return. Every object was in its place. The room had been
famous among the initiates of caf society. Lee found it, as might have
been expected, rather theatrical. It carried out the last word in modern
decoration. Floor, walls and ceiling were painted black. Against the
blackness startling surrealist paintings stood out around the walls,
while stands and tables bore a collection of weird sculpture, ranging
from ancient Ming to modern Cambodian. Here and there on the floor stood
immense roughly shaped wooden bowls heaped with colored glass balls. The
deep-piled rugs were white.

"One of my biggest jobs is to keep everything dusted," remarked Mme
Berthier.

By this time, Lee had succeeded in ingratiating himself with husband and
wife, and he ventured to ask some questions.

"Whereabouts in the room was the body found?"

Berthier pointed to a spot near the entrance from the foyer. "Here! His
head was pointing toward the foyer as if he was on his way out when he
was struck. He was lying straight out with his arms stretched in front
of him."

"There was an awful bloody spot in the rug," put in Mme Berthier. "We
had it cleaned."

"Where was the gun?" asked Lee.

"Alongside the body, M'sieur."

"Not in front of his hands? Doesn't look then as if he had shot
himself."

"Nobody believed that he shot himself," said Berthier. "The attitude of
the body suggested that he was running, or at least that he was moving
forward when he got it."

"About what time did it happen?"

"Supper was served at one o'clock. It had been eaten and the coffee was
drunk. The two of them were sitting on that sofa at the far end of the
room. The proof of that is, there were two partly drunk highballs on the
little coffee table in front of the sofa. So the police figure it
happened after two o'clock."

"I understand there never was any clue to the identity of Sam Bartol's
supper guest that night."

"There was no clue, but there was plenty of gossip, M'sieur!"

"Pointing to whom?" asked Lee. "No harm in telling me if it was well
talked over at the time."

"One of the girls in the floor show who was suspected of being the
boss's favorite."

"Suspected!" put in Mme Berthier scornfully. "The fact was well known!"

"There was no proof of it," insisted Berthier. "The boss never singled
her out for any favors--at least, not when anybody was looking. She was
not known to visit his rooms. It was only because she was kept on for
week after week that gave us the idea the boss had an interest in her.
All the others were frequently changed because the customers liked to
see new faces."

"What part did she take in the show?"

"In the ensemble, M'sieur."

"Was she beautiful?"

Berthier cast up his eyes. "Ah! _ravissante!_ She was the most beautiful
of them all!"

Mme Berthier's plain face was a study in scorn.

"She was not, however, one of the best performers," Berthier explained.
"She was too quiet, too reserved."

"A great favorite with the male employees," said Mme Berthier acidly.
"As you will observe, M'sieur."

"And equally unpopular with the female employees," retorted Berthier,
"for reasons that I will leave you to deduce... For myself, it was
not her beauty which attracted me..."

Mme Berthier sniffed audibly.

"It was her good heart, her friendliness to all, so rare in a beautiful
woman. Those others...!" He held up his hands.

"What was the name of this paragon?" asked Lee.

"Anita Western."

"But there was no proof that she was here."

Berthier shook his head.

"M. Berthier chooses to forget the proof," said his wife stiffly.
"_Anita was out of the show that night._ She had reported sick."

"That is not proof, my dear," said Berthier. "It's only a suspicious
circumstance... Even if Anita _was_ here, nobody could make me
believe that she shot Sam Bartol."

"That is obvious," said Mme Berthier sarcastically. Lee guessed that
Anita had long been a sore subject between the Berthiers.

"For why?" Berthier asked--and immediately answered himself. "Because
she had everything to hope for from Sam living and nothing to gain by
his death. Some woman was here, I grant, Anita or another; a man comes,
perhaps a jealous lover. Observe! Sam springs to his feet and starts for
him and is shot before he can pull his gun!"

"But," Lee objected, "if Sam was entertaining a lady, he wouldn't answer
a summons to the door."

"Sam never got to the door. He was shot before reaching the foyer. The
intruder had a key!"

"What about the valet, Bentalou?"

"He had what the police called an unshakable alibi."

"Did you know a croupier called Spanish Jack D'Acosta?"

"I know there was such a man employed here," said Berthier, "but I
wasn't acquainted with him. Neither my work nor my wife's work ever took
us to the gaming rooms."

"Was there any gossip around the place linking D'Acosta's name with the
murder?"

"No, M'sieur. D'Acosta was questioned by the police like everybody else.
They were satisfied with his story. He was not held."

"I will show you something that the police do not know about," said Mme
Berthier unexpectedly. "I discovered it by accident a month ago. Too
late, then, to go to the police."

Berthier laid a restraining hand on her arm. "Marie!"

She shook it off. "It can do no harm now," she said. "Observe, M'sieur!"

She was pointing to an ancient Russian icon which hung on the wall. It
was a small, painted panel enclosed in a heavy gilded frame. "I found
this while dusting." Her fingers moved along the edge of the frame until
they struck a hidden spring. The wooden panel flew open, disclosing the
photograph of a woman's face, wistful and lovely, a face that Lee knew
only too well.

"_Voil!_ Anita Western!" said Mme Berthier.

"And Letty Ammon!" murmured Lee.

"I always said she would come to a bad end!" said Mme Berthier
virtuously.

Her husband turned on her. "Was it her fault if some bloody-minded
villain took her life?"

"Undoubtedly she gave him cause!"

Berthier was gazing at the photograph. "Ah! La pauvre petite!" he
murmured. "She was _too_ beautiful!"

Madame slammed the panel shut.

Lee gave each of them a generous tip. "Say nothing about my visit," he
said. "We will talk about this matter again... One more question: Was
Spanish Jack D'Acosta known to be paying attention to Anita? Were their
names ever connected in the gossip of the establishment?"

"Ask my wife," said Berthier.

"Never to my knowledge," said Madame.

"She would know," remarked her husband dryly.

                 *        *        *        *        *

Upon rereading the police report of the investigation following the
death of Sam Bartol, Lee learned that a certain Mrs. Besson, of an
address on West 72nd Street, had testified that Anita Western boarded
with her. On the day preceding Sam Bartol's death, she said, Miss
Western was indisposed, and at her request, she, Mrs. Besson, had
telephoned to the management of El Mirador to report that Miss Western
would not be able to show that night. Miss Western had remained in bed
most of the day, but was able to come to the table for dinner.
Immediately afterward she had returned to her room. Mrs. Besson had
visited her during the evening and the night, and could swear that Miss
Western had never left the house.

Lee went to call on Mrs. Besson. The boardinghouse was a superior
establishment in a good neighborhood, catering principally to the
theatrical profession. Mrs. Besson herself, with her hennaed hair, puffy
cheeks and strongly girdled figure, looked like a former actress. She
was a kindly soul, easily aroused to emotion. Lee's first question
frightened her and brought tears to her eyes. She knew who Lee was.

"There is no occasion to be alarmed by my questions," he said. "The
unfortunate girl is gone and there is no object to be gained by
publishing the fact that Anita Western and Letty Ammon were one and the
same. My aim is only to discover if there was anything in that unhappy
business of last year which led to her murder."

He presently had Mrs. Besson talking freely. "It is true that I
testified falsely before the New Jersey police last year. I wasn't sworn
on the book. I _did_ telephone to El Mirador to tell them Miss Western
wouldn't be over, but it was not true that she stayed home all night.
She didn't get home until near morning. She came to my room and wakened
me. She was in a terrible state of nerves; shaking so she couldn't talk.
I gave her a stiff drink and put her to bed.

"When she could talk, she told me that Sam Bartol had been shot and that
she would certainly be suspected of it, because it was known that Sam
was paying attention to her. She had been out with another man, she
said, but as this man was married, it would ruin him to furnish her with
an alibi, and so she begged me to swear that she had never gone out at
all. Well, I didn't believe that she had been out with a married man. It
wasn't like her. The state she was in made me think that she had seen
Sam Bartol shot. How would she know he had been shot if she wasn't
present? On the other hand, I didn't believe she had shot Sam--that
gentle girl!--or if she had, it was in defending herself. So I lied for
her. And now she's gone!" Mrs. Besson's tears overflowed altogether.

Lee patted her hand. "Don't worry, Mrs. Besson. Your lies did credit to
your kindness of heart, but don't tell any more. It's always safer to be
on the side of the police."

"I know! I know, Mr. Mappin! This will be a lesson to me!"




CHAPTER 19


When the next day came around upon which Blondy Farren was privileged to
receive a visitor, Lee had himself driven up to Sing Sing Prison. It was
his first visit to Blondy. On earlier occasions, Ann Brooke had gone.
Ann had found herself a temporary job in New York in order to remain
within traveling distance of the prison. Summer was in full tide now and
Lee, on the way up, as the road gave him glimpses of the river, thought
he had never seen such golden sunshine, sky and water so blue, nor such
an unparalleled richness of verdure. The vigor and the beauty of earth
oppressed his breast when he thought of Blondy in the summer of his
life, shut away from it all.

Within the walls of the prison, a pall of horror seemed to hang over the
little separate building where the men condemned to death were kept.
Even so distinguished a visitor as Lee had to submit to be searched upon
entering. When Blondy caught sight of Lee an agonized question leaped in
the young man's eyes. Lee shook his head to cut short his suspense,
saying:

"Not yet! But there is still room for hope."

Blondy immediately recovered his usual composure. It cut Lee to the
heart to see his hollow cheeks and ashy skin. Only his eyes were as blue
as ever--and as steady.

They sat down in a little room with an iron gate in the door frame. A
warder waited outside the gate. Lee said:

"I have opened up several new lines, but I can't say I am in sight of
the solution."

"It's wonderful to know that you are working for me on the outside,"
said Blondy. "That keeps me going."

"Skip the thanks!" said Lee. "This is my case now."

"God knows I've had plenty of time to think over what you already told
me," said Blondy, "but I can't offer any help."

"Well, listen to the latest developments and put your wits to
work.... I finally got Queenie Deane to confess that she followed you
and Letty to Schanze's, then to McGovern's, then to the White Goose and
at last to the place where Letty was shot. She says she had stopped her
car outside that yard when she heard a cry and a shot. That frightened
her so much that she drove away as fast as she could. She may or may not
be lying about that last moment. I'm inclined to think she's telling the
truth, because I have reason to believe there was a car lying in wait
for you in the driveway of that deserted house."

"It's all as black as night to me," murmured Blondy.

"I have learned a lot more about that old sedan," Lee went on. "This is
the car that Letty bought on April 23rd. At this point a new figure
comes into the case. On the same day she turned the car over to a man
unknown to me, who drove it to Elizabeth. He was such an
ordinary-looking man that people find difficulty in describing him. One
said he was forty years old, another fifty, and a third said he was a
real old man trying to look younger than he was. He was partly bald and
he allowed the hair on one side of his head to grow long so he could
brush it over his bald spot.

"In Newark he bought two new tires of a little used make, and thank God
for that! Otherwise I couldn't have traced the car. He also had some
expensive repairs made and, when they were finished, he stored the car
in a lot to be ready when he wanted it. He took a room in a workingman's
lodging house and started to grow a beard. When the beard came in, he
dyed that black, too, to match his hair."

"But a beard would only make him more conspicuous," objected Blondy.

"Quite! The beard suggests to me that this man was known to you or to
others in the case, and that he grew it in order to avoid being
recognized in case of a meeting. He wore spectacles for the same
purpose."

"So far this suggests nothing to me," said Blondy.

"Wait! At six o'clock on May 11th, he drove away from Newark and at
eight, as you have told me, the old car was parked outside Schanze's
roadhouse in the Bronx. Later you saw it in the parking lot outside
McGovern's. You did _not_ see it at the White Goose. Why? Because he had
driven on ahead to the yard of the burned house..."

"How could he have known?" groaned Blondy.

"Letty must have told him!"

"That I cannot believe!"

"Letty had bought the car for him in the first place. You cannot escape
the logic of the facts."

"But if the final meeting place had been agreed on," said Blondy, "why
would he risk discovery by showing himself at Schanze's and McGovern's?"

"Here's how I dope that out: he wanted to make sure that Letty would
carry out her part of the agreement."

"Why? Why? Why?"

Lee laid a hand on his shoulder. "Patience, Blondy! We _are_ coming
closer to the answer, though it is still hidden.... There is also
Spanish to be considered. I have not been able to connect him with the
bearded man, but God knows, his actions are suspicious. It is possible
that his was the master mind back of the murder. The bearded fellow may
have picked him up in New York on his way to the Bronx. Spanish claims
that he attended the theater that night and offers me a seat check as
proof. But a seat check is not conclusive."

"Why should Spanish Jack have it in for Letty?"

"That I don't know. She feared him, and to a certain extent he was able
to make her obey him. That, I figure, goes back to the shooting of Sam
Bartol last year."

"Hey?" exclaimed the startled Blondy.

"This will be another piece of bad news to you," said Lee reluctantly.
"Letty was suspected of shooting Sam Bartol, though no proceedings were
taken against her. I don't believe she did it, but there is a strong
presumption that she was present when he was shot." He went on to tell
Blondy what he had learned from Mrs. Besson.

"Oh, God!" groaned Blondy. "What next?"

"Can you throw any additional light on that time?" asked Lee.

Blondy shook his head. "This is all news to me. Sieg and I were locked
up. All we knew was that after the killing of Sam Bartol, Letty went to
work in the office of a laundry. The pay was small, she said, but in
such a place she wasn't bothered by men."

"I am convinced that Spanish was mixed up in that affair," said Lee,
"but I can't prove it."

"What were his suspicious actions that you just referred to?" Blondy
asked.

"After he was arrested, as we were driving across Brooklyn Bridge, he
took a key out of his sock that had a tag attached, and tossed it into
the river. My name was written on that tag; I saw it distinctly. There
was more writing on the other side which I could not read. But I saw my
name." Lee struck his thigh. "Damn it to hell, Blondy! That is one of
those absolutely cockeyed circumstances that makes the investigator tear
his hair--if he has any! I never saw that key before! Key to what? And
why my name on it? There is no key missing!"

Blondy grinned crookedly. "It's good to see you up against it," he said.
"Makes the rest of us feel maybe we're not such complete boobs at that!"

"Here's another thing," said Lee. "After Spanish came to Hope House,
Letty was seen to be writing a long letter. She went back to it several
different days, but always when Sieg was out of the house. That letter
was to me!"

"How do you know?"

"Because after it was finished and enclosed in an envelope, old Soup
Kennedy had a glimpse of it and it was addressed to me! I am confident
that Spanish had something to do with that. I never got the letter. It
went into Letty's handbag!"

"If we could find that handbag," said Blondy.

"It has probably been destroyed," said Lee grimly. "That's what happens
to vital evidence!... Did you get a good look at it that last night?"
he asked.

"Sure!" said Blondy. "It was a pretty thing. Very smart looking, like
everything Letty had. Made of heavy corded black silk and perfectly
plain except it had a gold clasp shaped like a scallop shell."

"The murderer must have taken it," said Lee, "or it would have been
found. He took it for the evidence, not for the trifle of money it
contained."

They thought this over in silence.

Lee said at last: "Let's get back to the bearded man. It sticks in my
mind that he was somebody who is known to you. That's the particular
thing that brought me up here today... Think back!... A man of
fifty, say, of medium height, not yet showing any middle-aged spread.
Partly bald. Dressed in an ordinary way when he came to Newark. Bought
himself a pair of ginger-colored corduroy working pants and a brown
imitation leather windbreaker. That's what he was wearing on the night
of the murder. Together with his original hat, a grayish Fedora, not
badly worn but of cheap material. He carried a little satchel of
imitation alligator, badly worn."

Blondy shook his head. "Might be anybody you would see in the subway."

"He had an ugly look," Lee went on; "a close-mouthed man, suspicious of
everybody. Never made friends; nobody seems to have liked him. One woman
said he had a prison look."

Blondy raised his head quickly. "A prison look?"

"He chewed Triple X gum; used a lot of it. He carried for a pocket piece
a Chinese or Japanese coin with a square hole in the middle..."

Blondy's eyes fired up. "Coin with a hole in the middle! Wait a minute!
That suggests something!" Blondy jumped up and began pacing the little
room. "Brings up a picture of a hand pulling out of a pants pocket," he
muttered, "and opening to show a coin with a square hole in the middle
lying on the palm!" "...Must have been a long time ago. It's quite
clear before my eyes but I can't place it!"

Lee gave him his own time.

"A ragged pair of pants," Blondy muttered, "and a dirty palm! I see it
plainly, but I can't place it!"

"Well, forget about it," said Lee. "It will come to you when you're
thinking of something else."

                 *        *        *        *        *

When Lee put his tale before Inspector Loasby, the latter smiled in an
indulgent, not to say pitying, manner and shook his head. "Mr. Mappin,"
he said, "I'm sorry to see you so hipped on this case. It's not like
you."

"I might answer," said Lee good-humoredly, "that it is yourself who is
hipped on the case. I have put ample evidence before you; but there are
none so blind as those who do not want to see!"

"Mrs. Cassells says..." Loasby began.

Lee interrupted him. "Since when has Mrs. Cassells qualified as an
expert on crime?"

"Of course not! But she knew all the people. It took place almost in her
house, you might say."

"Let's leave Mrs. Cassells out of it."

"Mr. Mappin, you ask me to send out a general alarm for a certain man
just on the strength of your deductions..."

"How are crimes to be solved except by deduction?" demanded Lee.

"You ask me to find a partly bald man with a scrubby black beard wearing
a pair of ginger-colored pants. By this time he's had a shave and a
haircut and has changed his pants. What chance is there of finding him
when that is all I have to go on?"

"Practically none," said Lee. "But in this man lies the key to the
murder of Letty Ammon. We've got to do something about it."

"I'll do my best," said Loasby.




CHAPTER 20


Lee's thoughts after breakfast, as he paced his big living room, clad in
a dressing gown of blue brocade, ran thus:

When Letty wrote that long letter to me in Hope House, and put "For Mr.
Mappin" on the envelope without any street address, it is clear she had
no intention of sending it through the mail. It was to be handed to me
personally. Well, she had plenty of opportunities to hand it to me, and
since she did not do so, it is clear that it was to be given to me only
in a certain contingency. This is borne out by the note from Letty that
was found in Spanish's wallet. In it Letty said: "If anything happens to
me I have fixed it so that Mr. Mappin will be informed of what took
place, and you can't prevent it."

This suggests, thought Lee, that I was not to have Letty's letter until
after her death. But I did not get it in spite of her careful plans. On
the envelope containing the letter she wrote: "For Mr. Mappin." On the
tag attached to the key the same words appeared in Letty's hand: "For
Mr. Mappin." The inference is clear that key and letter were connected.
Letty must have deposited her letter in a safe place and left the key to
that place marked with my name. The writing on the other side of the tag
would be directions to find the place.

At this point, Lee trotted into his study and pulled out a drawer of his
desk. From among a number of others, he picked a thin, flat key two
inches long, with the cuts to fit the lock at the end. Attached to it
was a little tag bearing the number of his safe deposit box. His eye
brightened. Same kind of key! he thought; all safe deposit keys are like
that. The boxes are fitted with double locks, and the keys have to be
long enough to reach the inner lock. The attendant at the bank has first
to unlock your box with his passkey, then you insert your key. Letty
hired a safe deposit box for her dangerous letter. The clever Spanish,
suspecting something of the sort, was the first to go through her
effects; he found the key marked with my name and threw it in the river!

Lee, making a quick trip to Headquarters, persuaded Inspector Loasby to
send a circular letter to all safe deposit companies on lower Manhattan
describing Letty and asking them to report if any such person had hired
a box from between April 28th and May 4th. (After May 4th, all Letty's
movements had been shadowed.) Various names that Letty might have given
were listed. "She probably gave her right name," Lee pointed out. "There
is no reason why she shouldn't."

On the following day the Central Cortlandt Bank and Trust Company on
lower Broadway notified the Inspector that on May 1st Mrs. Siegmund
Ammon, of ---- Henry Street, had rented a box from them.

Lee and Inspector Loasby went around to the bank. Lee said to the
President: "You must know, of course, that Mrs. Ammon is dead under
tragic circumstances. Didn't that fact strike any of your employees?"

"No, Mr. Mappin. The name, you see, would be entered among our thousands
of customers and forgotten. It is not a particularly striking name.
Possibly when it came time to send out bills for the boxes somebody
might notice it, but it is not likely."

"There may be valuables in the box," said Lee, "but I don't expect to
find any. What I am after is evidence that will throw light on Mrs.
Ammon's death. The key to the box is lost. How must we proceed in order
to have it opened?"

"An order from the police will be sufficient."

Loasby wrote such an order on the spot, and a mechanic was sent for. The
three men went down to the vaults to wait for him. The box rented by
Letty was of the smallest size, a mere slit in the wall, scarcely more
than an inch thick, among thousands of others. The mechanic arrived with
his tools.

"What I expect to find," said Lee, while the three men watched the
operation, "is a plain white envelope subscribed 'For Mr. Mappin' and
containing a bulky letter."

The door to the tiny safe was forced, and a long, thin, japanned box
drawn out. When the cover was lifted, there lay the bulky envelope
endorsed: "For Mr. Mappin." Nothing else.

The bank president and the police inspector stared. "Why," said the
former, "this is almost magical!"

Lee took a pinch of snuff. "Magic is hardly in my line, sir; say logic!"

                 *        *        *        *        *

Back at Headquarters, Lee read Letty's letter aloud to the Inspector. It
was a pitiful document, written under great stress of emotion,
repetitious in places, and sometimes scarcely coherent. Much of it dealt
with matter already familiar to Lee. The most significant part had to do
with what had happened at El Mirador.

    Sam Bartol was in love with me. He was a kind man and I wasn't
    afraid of him. He said we had to keep our friendship a secret
    for my sake, because if it got known around the place that I was
    the boss's girl, it would hurt my reputation. Sam was married
    and had a family. Then Sieg Ammon came to work at El Mirador.
    Sieg was the only man I ever loved or ever will. He was
    everything to me. Sieg never knew about Sam and me. I persuaded
    Sieg that we must never notice each other around El Mirador so
    people wouldn't talk about us. So Sieg and I only saw each other
    daytimes. Above all, I had to keep Sam from finding out about
    Sieg. Sam was a good fellow but he was only human and he would
    have fired us both. Nobody around El Mirador knew about Sieg and
    me except Spanish Jack, the croupier. He was after me, too. He
    was always watching me with his ugly yellow eyes.

                 *        *        *        *        *

    So my life was just one lie after another. I lied to Sam and I
    lied to Sieg. _Please_, Mr. Mappin, don't ever let Sieg see
    this. I could stand it all right as long as I had Sieg, but
    after Sieg was fired from El Mirador, often I wished I was dead.
    Sam had Sieg framed and sent to Sing Sing. I hated him then for
    what he did to Sieg, but I couldn't let on. I had to make
    believe to be friends with him just the same as before. I was
    well paid at El Mirador, much more than I could earn anywhere
    else. I wasn't a good dancer. I needed the extra money so I
    could send some to Sieg every week to buy him little comforts in
    prison.

    After Sieg had gone, Spanish pestered me the whole time. I
    suspected it was Spanish who told Sam that Sieg was cheating at
    the cash desk, but I hadn't any proof of it. Maybe Spanish told
    him, too, that Sieg and I were crazy about each other. Sam never
    let anything on after Sieg had gone. That's the way he was, a
    kind man, but cagey. It got worse all the time. Spanish found
    out where I boarded and used to come there in the daytime. When
    I moved he found me again. I hated him and his slinky ways like
    a cat. When he caught me alone, he'd go crazy. He showed me a
    gun and swore that if he couldn't have me, no other man should.
    It would make the cold shivers run down my back the way his eyes
    changed when he looked at you. Hypnotic eyes. I told Spanish if
    he didn't let me alone I'd tell Sam, and Spanish said if he was
    fired from El Mirador he'd kill me. And I believed him. I was
    afraid to tell Sam about him.

    Then came the awful night when Sam was killed. When Sam asked me
    to have supper at his place, I would telephone over to the stage
    manager during the day and say I was sick. The door to Sam's
    apartment was masked by shrubbery and I could go in and come out
    without being seen. I went over to Jersey by taxi. It was one
    o'clock. Maybe Spanish was spying on me and saw me come. Sam
    made me stay upstairs when the waiters brought the supper. Sam
    would have everything just so for supper; champagne and
    everything. It was no pleasure to me. I didn't want to be there.
    I wanted to be with Sieg. I was only living for Sieg's release.
    Sam gave me an emerald ring that night. I sold it afterwards and
    sent the money to Sieg, week by week.

    It was some time after supper, I couldn't tell you exactly,
    maybe two, maybe nearer three o'clock. Sam and I were sitting on
    the sofa with a couple of highballs when the door into the foyer
    opened quietly and Spanish slipped in. He had got hold of a key
    to the door. He was holding one hand behind him. I near died
    with fright. I still see him like that in my dreams and wake up
    screaming. Sliding his feet along the floor and showing his
    yellow teeth. Sam didn't know what fear was. He jumped up and
    started for Spanish. I screamed out that Spanish had a gun but
    Sam never stopped. When they came together, Spanish whipped his
    hand around and fired. I saw Sam drop to the floor and then I
    fainted.

    When I came to, Spanish was hugging and kissing me. And Sam
    lying dead on the floor not ten yards away! If I had had a gun,
    I would have killed Spanish. I managed to get away from him and
    started screaming. He caught me and stopped my screaming with
    his hand. He gagged me with his handkerchief and tied my hands
    behind me so I couldn't pull the gag off. I struggled until I
    was so weak that when he took the gag off I didn't have the
    strength to scream any more. Spanish kept telling me I was in
    just as bad as he was. If I told the police that he shot Sam
    Bartol, he'd tell them I did it. His word was as good as mine,
    he said, and we'd go to the chair together. I didn't know but
    what he was right. And anyhow, Spanish kept telling me, if this
    gets out, Sieg will throw you over. When I thought of Sieg I
    wanted to die.

    Spanish got me out of the place. I hardly remember. It was near
    morning then. Everybody had gone home. Spanish had parked his
    car outside the grounds. I had to go back to New York with him.
    There wasn't any other way. He wouldn't take the bridge because
    he thought somebody might remember the car. We made a long
    detour by way of Hoboken and the Holland Tunnel. Spanish took me
    to his flat. He thought he had me then. There was no more fight
    in me. But I made believe to faint and when he went for water, I
    got out of the place, I got into the street, and he had to let
    me go then. So I got back to Mrs. Besson's more dead than alive.

    El Mirador was closed by the authorities. It never opened again.
    I had to stick around because I knew if I ran away it would fix
    suspicion on me. Mrs. Besson, my landlady, stood by me like a
    trump. I never told her the truth. She went to the police
    hearings with me. She swore that I had been home all that night
    and that let me out. The police had nothing on Spanish. He
    wasn't even suspected. When the investigation was dropped, I did
    a disappearing act. I told everybody I had a job in Buffalo, but
    I never left town. I took a room on Washington Heights and got
    work in the office of a laundry. Spanish never found me. But I
    never had a moment's peace or a good night's sleep until I read
    in the paper that he had been sent up for gambling.

                 *        *        *        *        *

    When Sieg was released and we were married, I was hoping my luck
    had changed. Mrs. Cassells furnished that lovely home for us and
    everything looked swell. For a few days I was as happy as a
    queen, and then Spanish was let out of prison. The newspapers,
    of course, told him where to find us. He came right there. He
    persuaded Sieg to give him a room in our house. What could I
    say? And so it has all begun again. Spanish says if I don't give
    in to him, he will tell Sieg about Sam Bartol. But I won't give
    in to him. I have told him if he doesn't leave me alone I will
    tell the police the story of the killing of Sam Bartol. Spanish
    says he will kill me before the police get him. Maybe he will.
    So I am writing this letter. I will put it in a safe deposit box
    and will mark the key for you and put it where it will be found
    after I am gone. So if Spanish gets me he won't go free.

                 *        *        *        *        *

    I don't want to die. I mean I don't want to leave Sieg. Sieg is
    my whole world and nothing else matters to me. I've had a hard
    life, but anyhow I've had that. It's more than most women get
    out of life. So far as I have seen, only a few women ever learn
    to know what love is.

When Lee finished reading, the two men were silent. Then Loasby lifted
his fist and brought it down on the desk. "The skunk!" he muttered. "The
damn skunk! By God! it will give me pleasure to see him burn!"

"Me too!" said Lee. "But this letter won't send him to the chair. It's
not legal evidence!"

"Then, by God, I'll find legal evidence!"

"Okay," said Lee. "I must stick to the murder of Letty Ammon. This
letter throws no fresh light on that."

"By the way," said Loasby, reaching for the telephone, "we'd better find
out what disposition is going to be made of Spanish's case."

After a little talk, he slammed down the instrument. "He's to be brought
up this morning in the magistrate's court, Part 2. Come on, we've got to
get a hustle on!"

They tore through the downtown streets in the Inspector's big red car to
the accompaniment of a shrieking siren. Obstructions melted out of their
path. It was close on noon when they entered the magistrate's court. His
honor interrupted the current case long enough to lend the Inspector his
ear. At Loasby's first words he shook his head.

"Sorry, Inspector! D'Acosta was before me only a quarter of an hour ago.
Owing to lack of evidence, the District Attorney withdrew the charge
against him, and I had to let him go."

Lee and the Inspector looked at each other. Lee said:

"He has no reason to fear any immediate danger. Send a man to watch the
Ravens' Club and let you and me try Brooklyn."

Pausing only long enough for Loasby to telephone his office, they
climbed back into the red car and were hustled back downtown and across
the Brooklyn Bridge. When they turned into Sands Street, Lee said:

"Tell the driver to shut off his siren. There's no use advertising our
approach."

Thus they drew up quietly before the old building on Sands Street. A
taxicab was waiting there. This building had a hardware store at street
level, with a door to one side giving entrance to the rooms above. As
Loasby and Lee got out of the police car, this door opened and Spanish
appeared, carrying a suitcase.

Seeing the police car, his waxen mask broke up and for a second a
blazing hell of rage and fear showed in the yellow eyes. He dropped the
suitcase and his eyes darted right and left like those of a trapped
animal. Lee and the Inspector were both beyond the age of putting up a
chase on foot, but the Inspector had two agile young officers with him.
Spanish gave up. He picked up his suitcase, saying with his inimitable
insolence:

"This is an unexpected pleasure, gentlemen."

Loasby matched him. Indicating the waiting taxi, he said: "We appear to
have arrived at the psychological moment, Spanish. We'll give you a lift
and you can save your taxi fare."

"What's it for?" asked Spanish.

"You'll learn soon enough."

"Have you got a warrant?"

"I have not," said Loasby coolly. "These men," he waved a hand in the
direction of the waiting officers, "will have to be my warrant."

Spanish, with a shrug, got into the police car. This time they put him
on the back seat between the two officers, who were instructed not to
take their eyes off him until they completed their journey. They sped
over Brooklyn Bridge. When they crossed lower New York without stopping
and entered the Holland Tunnel, Spanish's eyebrows went up, but he said
nothing. When they drew up in front of the Hudson County jail he could
no longer keep silent.

"Why New Jersey?" he asked.

"That is where the offense was committed," said Loasby pleasantly. "Dope
it out for yourself."

Spanish was led away.




CHAPTER 21


Sandra Cassells was always precipitate in her actions. Having made up
her mind to close Hope House, she lost no time about it. When Lee and
Inspector Loasby returned to Headquarters after having delivered Spanish
Jack into custody, they found Loasby's man Boker (alias Tappan) waiting
to report. He said:

"Mrs. Cassells sent her attorney down to Hope House this morning to
close up the place."

"What!" exclaimed Loasby.

"That's right, Inspector. Like a bolt from the blue! The lawyer said he
had been instructed to hand each of us a hundred dollars and tell us to
be out in a couple of hours. Apparently he was told to stick around
until we got out."

"Well, I'll be damned!"

Lee said nothing.

Boker took a roll of bills out of his pocket. "Didn't seem quite right
for me to take the hundred," he went on, "but I couldn't refuse it,
either, without giving the whole snap away. What should I do with it?"

"Oh, give it to charity," said Lee. "Eh, Inspector?"

"Sure!"

Boker thrust the money back in his pocket with a grin. "Well, charity
begins at home, they say."

"Was there much fuss in the house?" asked Lee.

"The hundred smackers helped to ease the blow, Mr. Mappin. Handbag
Hattie and Mary Kennedy, they carried on some, and Johnnie Stabler, he
said it was an outrage to treat a gentleman like that, but they all
started packing. I guess they're out by now."

"What about Sieg Ammon?"

"He didn't get no hundred, so I reckon he expects the Madame to do
something better by him. He's still there."

"I'll run up to Henry Street," said Lee. "I want to have a talk with
Sieg."

Hope House from the outside looked just the same as ever to Lee when he
drove up before it; there was a sober dignity in the plain red brick
faade with its neatly curtained windows, the blue door, the scrubbed
steps. How incongruous with the passions it concealed! Lee paid off his
driver and mounted. He had a latch key and used it as a matter of
course. When the door swung in, he heard loud passionate voices inside.
Instantly on the _qui vive_, he closed the door with care to make no
sound, and listened. What a chance to hear the truth!

The voices came from the game room in the rear. It was Sieg Ammon and
Queenie Deane. Queenie was yelling recklessly, Sieg trying to quiet her.
It was difficult to hear what the man said. Pressing himself against the
stair trunk, Lee stole back as far as he could without showing himself
in the open doorway of the game room.

"You're a liar! a liar! a liar!" Queenie was yelling. "Don't you boast
of lying to everybody else? Why should I believe what you tell me?"

"For God's sake, keep your voice down," begged Sieg. "You'll rouse the
whole neighborhood!"

"I don't care! Let everybody know! You can't get away with anything like
that!"

"I'm not trying to get away with anything."

"You're a liar! Why do you say I can't see you any more?"

"It's just for a little while, I told you. I've got to stay under cover
for a bit. I mustn't be seen around."

"Why not?"

"Well, I've got a job on hand, if you must know. If I pull it off I'll
be able to give you a handsome present. But I've got to disappear for a
while."

"You're lying! You're going to that woman! Mrs. rich bitch! I know! Old
enough to be your mother! You have no shame! You're nothing but a
gigolo! A kept man!"

"Goddamn it, Queenie, there's nothing in that!" Sieg was losing his
temper now. "Don't push me too far or you'll be sorry!"

"Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!" screamed Queenie. "I dare you to!"

"For God's sake, shut up!" shouted Sieg. His voice died away in a growl.

Queenie was noisily sobbing now. "Tell me you love me, Sieg," she
begged. "Don't turn from me!"

"If that isn't like a woman!" muttered the exasperated Sieg with an
oath. "To make a man mad and then expect him to love her!"

"You said you loved me! Over and over you told me you loved me!"

"Well, what of it? So I did at the time. You and I have had wonderful
times together and we could have more if you wouldn't insist on being a
damn fool. You know the kind of man I am. You've always known it. No
woman owns me or ever will. To have a woman come crying after me just
makes me sore!"

"Don't be so cruel to me!" wailed Queenie. "I love you so! You are
everything in the world to me! If you leave me I'll kill myself!"

"That's the best way to drive a man from you. All this crying and
carrying on! A woman could keep a man forever by making herself
attractive to him. At present you're enough to turn a man's stomach!"

"You made me love you! Now you're trying to cast me off!"

"Okay! Okay! Have it your own way!"

"Just tell me where you're going to be and I'll be satisfied."

"Now you're starting all over!"

"You're going to live up at Mrs. Cassells' place."

"I am not!"

"Now you're free, maybe you're thinking of marrying Mrs. Cassells."

"There's nothing to it! How many times must I tell you that?"

"You're lying! I've seen the way you look at her!"

"My God! Jealous of a woman near sixty years old!"

"Oh, you're not in love with her! It's her money you're after. You're
only fooling her like you fool all women! And I'm going to tell her! I
swear I'm going to tell her!"

"Go ahead!" said Sieg coolly. "Do you think I couldn't talk her around?"

"Then it's true! It's true! You have admitted it!"

"I admit nothing. If I _did_ marry Mrs. Cassells, what need you care? It
wouldn't change anything between you and me. You would share in the
profits."

"She'd take you away from me. I'd never see you again!"

A cajoling note came into Sieg's voice. "Aw, come on, Queenie! We're
wasting time quarreling."

"Don't touch me!" cried Queenie sharply.

"Well, what the hell _do_ you want?" growled Sieg.

"I want you to stay away from that woman!"

"Nobody is going to tell me what I can do!"

"If you don't stay away from her," said Queenie hysterically, "I'll go
to her! I'll warn her! I'll tell her what you are!..."

"Listen, girl," said Sieg ominously, "if you ever try to interfere in my
affairs, you'll regret the day you were born!... You're always
calling me cruel. I've never been anything but kind to you, but I _can_
be cruel! You don't know the half of it! I'll make you wish a thousand
times over that you were dead..."

There was a yelp of pain from Queenie. "Sieg! Don't hurt me...!"

Lee could bear no more. Returning to the front door, he opened it and
let it slam shut. Instant silence from the back room. As Lee made his
way back, the frightened face of Sieg appeared in the open doorway.
Seeing Lee, his features relaxed in a grin.

"Oh!" he said. "We collected all the boarders' keys. I thought..."

"You thought it must be Mrs. Cassells," said Lee briskly.

Sieg gave him a long look of suspicion, but Lee's innocent face deceived
him. He stood, barring the way into the game room, but Lee coolly walked
past him. Queenie was at the far side of the room, with her back turned,
hurriedly repairing the damage to her make-up.

"Oh!" said Lee, emphasizing the innocence. "I'm sorry to butt in."

Queenie turned around with an overfriendly smile. Lee was no favorite of
hers. "What an idea, Mr. Mappin! You're not butting in. I just came."

Lee noted the telltale red spot on her wrist. She concealed it under her
other hand.

Sieg said: "Queenie didn't know that we were closing up here. It was a
big surprise to her."

"To me, also," said Lee.

"How did you hear of it?" asked Sieg.

"Over the telephone," said Lee blandly.

An awkward silence fell on the three. Sieg's attitude was: What the hell
do you want? Lee's only desire now was to get out of the house. He said:

"Is Mrs. Cassells' attorney here?"

"He's gone."

"Then I'll go on to his office," said Lee with his bland air. "See you
later, you two."

He taxied up to his own place, where he had a hasty lunch. Afterward he
set off for Brookwood in his own car. He would not warn Sandra of his
coming, knowing that if he was still in her black books, he would not be
allowed to see her. He was much troubled by what he had heard at Hope
House. He had known Sandra to do many foolish things in her time, but
surely, surely she could not so entirely have taken leave of her senses
as to look on Sieg Ammon as a possible husband.

In the hall at Brookwood, old Dunstan, Sandra's butler, welcomed Lee
with a benignant smile. He knew Lee as one of his mistress' most prized
friends, and was not aware of strained relations.

"Madam has not come downstairs today," he said. "I will see if she can
receive you."

He was gone a long time. Possibly Sandra was giving him the devil for
betraying to Lee that she was in the house. When he returned, his serene
old face gave nothing away.

"Will you please come up to the boudoir, Mr. Mappin?"

Lee followed him up the broad shallow stairway. After opening the door
of Sandra's boudoir, Dunstan melted away. Sandra was wearing a white
lawn negligee, one of those marvelous productions of the art of a French
needlewoman, perfected by a French laundress; the delicate flutings and
ruffles were as crisp and fresh as flower petals. Must have taken a
woman a whole day to iron it, Lee thought prosaically. Sandra could wear
such a garment, too, without looking anywhere near her age. Her skin was
soft and pink, her enormous vague, blue eyes wistful and childlike. Lee
always took warning when he found her looking childlike.

"Do sit down," she drawled. "How are you?"

"Never better," said Lee. He kissed her hand. "And you?"

Sandra threw herself back in a chaise longue. "Horribly out of sorts,
darling. You've come at a bad time. If you're wise, you'll take yourself
away again as soon as you can, for something tells me I'm going to
disappoint you!"

"I'll take my chance of it," said Lee. He saw that her instinct told her
he had come on a disagreeable errand, and she was resolved to stall it
off. "What has upset you?" he asked.

"It's that horrible business of Hope House. I hate to fail in anything I
undertake. And through no fault of my own."

"The best antidote is to start something else immediately."

Sandra turned a bracelet on her wrist. "Are you by any chance looking
for an angel?" she asked with delicate insolence.

"No, my love," said Lee.

"Perhaps in the fall I may take up something else," said Sandra
languidly. "I'm going away first."

This sounded ominous. It was only a few days since Sandra had violently
repudiated the idea of travel. Lee did not remind her of that. "Where?"
he asked.

"Oh, I don't know. I've never been North. I thought of Gasp, the island
of Anticosti, perhaps as far as Newfoundland."

"How would you get to those out-of-the-way spots?"

"I suppose one could charter a comfortable yacht in Montreal, couldn't
one?"

"I suppose one could," said Lee dryly. He looked around for inspiration.
Sandra at heart had simple tastes, which were reflected in the
arrangement of her own room. It showed nothing of the oppressive
magnificence of downstairs; but white paint, chintz-covered furniture,
plenty of space to move around in. Awnings outside mitigated the heat of
the sun, the windows were wide open, the light sash curtains blowing.

"It's perfect," said Lee. "I wonder how you can bring yourself to leave
it."

"I go away for the pleasure of coming back again," she said. She yawned
delicately. "Would you like a drink, darling?"

"No thanks. Too soon after lunch."

"You're not very entertaining this afternoon." She started telling Lee
about a moving picture she had seen the night before.

Lee could have nailed her attention by telling her what he had overheard
at Hope House, but he rejected it. Experience had taught him that the
direct method was seldom the right method to use with the circuitous
Sandra. If he did tell her, she would certainly blurt it out to Sieg the
moment she saw him. Lee didn't want Sieg to be warned so soon.

"Whom will you be taking North with you?" he asked.

"That's the rub," said Sandra. "It will be safer to go alone."

"My darling, you would bore yourself to extinction in a week! Rather
than that, you had better invite even me!"

"Not this time, darling," said Sandra with a secret smile.

Before the eye of Lee's mind rolled the black-faced headlines:

    HUSBAND OF MURDERED GIRL MARRIES LADY OF MILLIONS

And so on and so on. How to deal with an infatuated woman, that was his
problem. He decided to administer a minor shock.

"Do you know, I learned today that the police have had a man planted in
Hope House for weeks past. It was Tappan. He came in to Headquarters to
announce the closing of the house when I happened to be with Loasby."

Sandra hoisted herself quickly from the chaise longue. Her eyes sparkled
with anger. "Inspector Loasby did that to me!" she cried. "What a mean,
underhand trick! After I have gone out of my way to be nice to the man!
After I have entertained him here! I'll never speak to him again!"

Lee let her rail on. "I expect Tappan's reports would make interesting
reading," he said carelessly.

Sandra whirled on him. "What do you suppose he has said about us?
Horrible man! Lee, you're close to Loasby. Can you get me a look at
those reports? If you have to bribe people, I'll put up for it. We'd be
perfectly justified in getting back at Loasby that way. It would be tit
for tat!"

"Well, I'll see what I can do," said Lee. There might be something in
Tappan's reports, he thought, that would help to open Sandra's eyes.

"What a thing for Loasby to do!" she muttered, pacing the floor. "Serves
me right for trying to make friends with such a creature!"

Having diverted Sandra into this side issue, Lee carelessly introduced
his main theme. "What's to become of Sieg Ammon now? Do you want me to
find him a job?"

"Thanks, no, it won't be necessary," said Sandra.

"What have you in mind for him?"

"I'm going to bring him up to this place as a superintendent," said
Sandra very offhandedly. "The gatekeeper's cottage is empty. He can have
that. The people here just lie around and collect their wages, and I'm
tired of it!"

"I agree," said Lee, just as offhanded, "but do you think Sieg is the
right one to make them work? I can't see it. Sieg will sack the men and
chuck the girls under their chins..."

Sandra lowered her eyes. Lee saw that she was so angry she couldn't
trust herself to speak for the moment.

"Not that I blame him," Lee went on with a cheerful air. "He's at the
proper age for chucking chins. All the girls fall for him. I can only
look on and wonder!"

"_What_ girls?" asked Sandra in a strangled voice.

"Well, there was Letty. And Queenie Deane. And I'm thinking of what
Blondy told me. Sieg was Blondy's hero. All the girls fell for Sieg,
Blondy said."

Sandra began pacing again. "Letty's death has changed him."

"Naturally," said Lee with a reasonable air. "But how long will it
last?"

Sandra could bear no more. She whirled on Lee with her face working like
a small child's. "What are you trying to do?" she cried. "Bait me?
Trying to see how far you can go?"

"My dear!" said Lee, looking very astonished.

"Drop it! Drop it!" she cried. "You're not so innocent as you're making
out! You can see how it is with me. You can see that I'm mad about
Sieg!" She began to sob tempestuously. It was dreadful to see the
exquisite Sandra brought so low.

"My dear, I'm so sorry!" murmured Lee. He meant it then.

"I know I'm no longer young," she wailed. "I've never had anything in my
life. Nothing but money and show; superficial things. Before I die I
must have something real... something real..."

"Sieg will never give you anything real," said Lee gravely.

"You don't know!"

"Are you going to take him North with you?"

"Yes, I am! So make the most of it!"

"You are not by chance thinking of _marrying_ him?"

Sandra struggled to recover her composure. "Of course not!" she said
scornfully. "How can you be so silly? Why, Sieg's a mere boy. He's ten
years younger than me."

Lee thought: More like twenty!

Sandra attempted to laugh it off. "What could have put such an idea into
your head?"

"The logic of circumstances, my dear. Sieg is a level-headed fellow. He
would naturally insist on marriage."

By Sandra's glance of pure terror, Lee knew he had hit upon the truth.
The only way she could refute it was by losing her temper again.
"Everybody's against Sieg!" she cried passionately. "You too! Other men
hate him because he's so virile! He's never had a chance. Nobody knows
him but me!"

Lee thought: Night-club singer and great lady, sisters under the skin!

Sandra stormed on: "What if I should marry him? It's nobody's business
but mine! I'm free and independent. I can do what I like. I don't give a
damn for what anybody says about me. I never did!"

"The newspapers," Lee pointed out, "so soon after Letty's death!"

"I shan't tell them. I shan't tell anybody."

"This is what I was afraid of!" murmured Lee. "Why _marry_ him, Sandra?"

She turned pitiful again. "I've got to marry him," she cried, beating
her breast. "I've _got_ to! It's the only way I can have him for my
own!"

"He wasn't faithful to Letty," said Lee. "What reason have you to
suppose he would be faithful to you?"

"How do you know he wasn't faithful to Letty?"

"The police investigation showed that."

"Who was the other woman?"

"The Deane girl... You are preparing a hell on earth for yourself,
Sandra!"

Sandra flung up her arms. "I don't care!" she said desperately. "I'm
bound to be unhappy anyhow. But at least I'll have my moment of joy!"
She turned her big, tear-filled eyes on Lee. "Don't you understand?"

Lee sprang up and opened his arms. She came and, laying her head on his
shoulder, wept unrestrainedly. "Of course I understand, my dear. I feel
for you from the bottom of my heart. I haven't the slightest feeling of
blame for you, but only grief."

"Grief?" she questioned.

"Because of the inevitable degradation that awaits you."

Sandra wept afresh.

After a while, Lee said: "Will you do one thing for me?"

"Anything--but give up Sieg," she said.

"Don't rush into marriage. Wait a little. Wait a month."

"What good will that do?"

"Well, who knows? Common sense may intervene."

"I'll wait two weeks. Not a day longer!"




CHAPTER 22


Meanwhile the days were passing and the police search for the bearded
man brought no results. A man was found who had seen such a man hanging
about Schanze's on the night of the murder. This did not advance the
case, because Lee already knew the man had been there. In Varick Street
the night watchman of a big wholesale establishment testified that he
had seen the old sedan drive up and stop across the road about midnight,
and remain there. At that time the car had license plates. The watchman
was too far away to read the numbers. The driver of the car must have
removed the plates while the watchman was making his rounds; when he got
back he failed to notice that they were missing. However, he had seen
the driver crossing the road, heading east. He was not carrying anything
in his hands at the time, so he had rid himself of the little satchel.
His elbow was pressed against his side as if he might be concealing
something under his coat. From that moment the bearded man in the
corduroy pants and the windbreaker was lost.

Reports from out of town of the arrest of suspicious characters took
Loasby's men in various directions, only to meet with disappointment.
For his own part, Lee felt confident that the man had never left New
York. If he had meant to conceal himself out of town, he would naturally
have made the first stage of the journey in his own car. Somebody in New
York was providing him with a hide-out. Lee already knew that somebody
had been supplying him with money. There was nothing to indicate that
the man had had a companion in his car at any time on the night of the
murder.

In the hope of providing the police with something more to go on, Lee
made a second visit to Elizabeth. On account of the generous tips he had
distributed, he was well received by Mrs. Doughty, the lodging-house
keeper, and her sister. They submitted amiably to a lengthy
cross-examination. It brought out little that was new. "Wilson"
certainly had been in communication with his principal, during the days
he was living at Mrs. Doughty's, yet both women were sure that he had
never received a visitor, nor a letter, nor a call to the telephone.
Neither had he ever been seen to use the telephone. From what the women
told him, Lee compiled a little list of the saloons in the neighborhood
that the lodgers frequented.

In two of these places, Lee's inquiries were received with shakes of the
head. The third place, Murphy's, was a cheerful, shabby, old-fashioned
saloon of the sort beloved by workingmen; Murphy himself was serving
behind the bar. The bearded man was remembered here as a solitary guy
who used to stand at the far end of the bar, drinking one whisky after
another. He was a surly fellow who discouraged anybody who tried to
engage him in talk. He never got drunk; he never made any trouble; he
just wanted to be left alone. In talking about him, Murphy referred to
him as "Wilson."

"How did you learn his name?" asked Lee.

"He was called to the phone a couple of times." Murphy indicated the
booth against the wall.

Lee's spirits rose.

"So!" he said. "Did you answer the phone?"

"I did, sir."

"Was it a man or a woman calling?"

"A man both times."

"Would you know the voice if you heard it?"

"How would I?" said Murphy. "Just a man's voice over the wire."

"It wasn't by chance a drawling voice with a foreign accent?" Lee
imitated Spanish's voice.

"No, sir. An American voice. I could swear to that."

"I suppose you couldn't hear anything that was said?"

"No, sir. Wilson was always careful to close the door of the booth when
he went in."

"Did he ever make any calls himself?"

"Yes, sir, I have seen him go in and drop his nickel.... Wait a
minute," Murphy volunteered; "here's something I remember. Once after he
was called to the phone, when he come out he asked me for pencil and
paper to write down an address before he forgot it. I didn't have a
pencil but I shove my fountain pen across the bar. Couldn't find no
paper. While I was looking, he wrote the address on the sweat band of
his hat. 'I'll copy it off when I get home,' he said."

"You didn't see what he wrote?"

"No, sir, I was behind the bar."

"What kind of hat was it?"

"Gray Fedora."

"Then this happened before he bought his workman's clothes."

"Must be."

Lee toddled back to Mrs. Doughty's.

"Can you tell me," he asked her, "about when Wilson bought his new pants
and his windbreaker and cap?"

She shook her head. "How would I remember a thing like that?"

"Well, was it when he first came?" persisted Lee.

"No. He had been in the house some days, maybe as much as a week when he
come out in his new clothes."

"Did he bring his old clothes home with him?"

"No. I never see them again. I took it he traded them in."

"In that case, he got them in a store where they dealt in secondhand
clothes as well as new."

"I reckon so."

"Did he tell anybody where he bought his things?"

"No, sir."

"Did he ask anybody where to buy such things?"

"Not as far as I know."

This was as far as Lee could get with the two women. Feeling somewhat
discouraged, he started for the Eureka Restaurant. It was two blocks
south from Mrs. Doughty's to the main street where the trolley cars ran
and the stores were, then three blocks west to the Eureka. This was the
route that the bearded man must have followed four times a day, and Lee
as he walked along tried to put himself in the man's place. Suppose I
was looking for a place where I might provide myself with a disguise? he
said to himself.

Nearing the restaurant, he saw across the street, a cheap-John clothing
store with a row of suits on hangers swinging in the breeze. He crossed
over. The proprietor was out in front of his store on the look-out for
customers; when Lee paused he sized him up with no welcome in his eye.
Natty little Lee, dressed with the care of a slightly old-fashioned
tailor's engraving, was certainly not his kind of customer.

Lee greeted him politely. "Would you mind stepping into the store?" he
said. "I'd like to have a little talk with you."

"What about?" grumbled the man. "Want to buy something?"

"Not today," said Lee. "I want a little information about a customer of
yours."

"I don't give out no information to strangers."

"At what rate do you value your time?" asked Lee.

"What's that to you, Mister? Dollar and a half an hour."

"Cheap at half the price," murmured Lee. He glanced at his watch. "Very
well," he said aloud, "I will pay you for the time I cause you to
waste."

The dealer relaxed and led Lee into his dark and stuffy shop. Lee
described the man he was trying to trace, the clothes he had bought and
the clothes he had turned in.

"Yeah, he was my customer," said the dealer. "I remember him because of
his scrubby beard. When he said he wanted a workingman's clothes, I
thinks to myself: If it's a job you're looking for, you'd better spend a
dime for a shave, Mister." He showed Lee a windbreaker and a pair of
pants like the ones he had sold the bearded man. The corduroy pants were
a light brown or ginger color.

Concealing his eagerness, Lee asked casually: "What became of the
clothes he turned in?"

"I sold the suit, Mister. Wasn't worth much; shoddy stuff, prison made."

"That's my man... And the hat?"

"Gee! How do you expect me to remember an old hat? What kind of hat?"

"A gray Fedora with a narrow brim; black band. It was fairly clean but
of cheap material; the felt was roughed up."

"I know," said the dealer. "Such hats are hardly worth a dime a dozen.
How would I know what became of any one of them? I have a closet full of
old hats in the back of the shop."

"Let's look them over," said Lee.

When the old clothes dealer opened the door of the closet, the hats
poured out, dusty, stained and battered. Lee sat down to examine them.

"Two dollars for a gray hat that has an address inked in on the sweat
band," he said.

Brown hats, black hats, green hats were tossed to one side. They eagerly
looked inside each gray one.

"Would this be it?" asked the dealer.

Lee looked and was filled with a pleasant sense of satisfaction. On the
band was written in ink: 1004 Madison St. "That is it," he said.

Back to New York he carried his prize.

After the briefest of pauses for lunch, he hailed a taxi and gave the
driver the address in the hat. He knew that Madison Street was on the
lower east side of New York, and somewhere in the neighborhood of Henry
Street. Of what he was going to find at this number he had not the
remotest idea.

Number 1004 proved to be a shabby tenement house of the "dumb-bell"
type, which under the law may no longer be built. Though it was a dreary
abode and far from clean, it was not one of the worst specimens; it
seemed to be inhabited by foreign workingmen and their families. It was
six stories high and had four families to a floor; there were two small
stores at street level, an Italian pizzeria, and a shop where plaster
images were made. The entrance door to a house of this sort is never
locked.

A preliminary survey of the premises suggested no possible connection
with the Letty Ammon case. Yet it seemed certain to Lee that her
murderer had made an appointment to meet somebody at this address. He
started with the two stores. It was somewhat difficult to make himself
understood to the Italian proprietors. No luck here. Beginning then at
the top of the house, he made his way from door to door asking
questions. A slow and discouraging business; infinite patience was
required to lull the suspicions of the foreigners and convince them of
his good will. It was a veritable house of all nations. All the flats
were rented. When there was no answer to his knock, Lee made a note to
return to that door later.

Six o'clock had come when he finished the rounds of the house. He stood
in the lower entry, tired out and disheartened; he had turned up not a
single clue. After all, he was on a wild goose chase, it seemed.
Noticing that light was coming in at the rear of the long narrow hall
where he stood, with the instinct of leaving nothing unexamined, he went
back to investigate its source. He found an open door leading to the
narrow, stone-paved yard of the tenement house, an untidy spot covered
with litter.

How astonished was Lee to find himself looking at the back windows of
Hope House. There was no mistaking the freshly painted blue window
sashes and the neat curtains hanging within. All the windows were
closed. Sandra was in process of deeding the house to the Henry Street
Settlement, but the Settlement had not yet taken possession. What an
extraordinary coincidence--then instantly Lee realized that there was
more than coincidence in this.

A seven-foot matchboard fence separated the two back yards. An agile man
could have hauled himself up and dropped on the other side, but not one
of Lee's figure. In the yard of the tenement house, a ragged boy was
preparing to break up a big packing case for firewood. Lee offered him a
dime to push the case against the back fence so he could stand on it and
look over. The boy lost no time in accepting.

To explain his presence, Lee said: "I'm thinking of buying that house."

"Gee! That's where the convicts used to live," volunteered the boy.
"Little Sing Sing, we call it. They was a guyl muyded in there last
month, so they close the place up."

"No kidding!" said Lee.

"Well, it was up in Westchester where she was muyded, but she come from
in there."

Lee climbed on the case and looked over the fence. The yard of Hope
House was a model of neatness. Still standing around were the evergreens
in tubs that Sandra had had placed there. A strange thought was taking
shape in Lee's mind. Could the bearded man have found a refuge in Hope
House following the murder? He searched along the top of the fence. To a
protruding nail clung a scrap of tan colored thread. Lee examined it
under his pocket magnifying glass. The crinkly, furry thread had been
torn from a piece of corduroy. There could be no doubt of it, the man in
the ginger pants had gone over this fence in the dark and had hooked
himself on a nail.

The boy in the yard below, looking up at Lee with mixed respect and
derision, said: "Okay, Shuylock Holmes! I'm wise to you!"

"Keep it dark!" said Lee, climbing down and handing him another dime.

Lee was obliged to lean against the box for a moment. His head was
whirling. All his patiently built-up theories were demolished at a
stroke. After killing Letty Ammon, the bearded man had come directly to
Hope House. Lee had to start all over with that as a beginning.

He hastened around the block into Henry Street. He still had a key to
Hope House and he let himself in. The windows had been closed for days;
the air was close and still. He ran downstairs to the kitchen. This room
had a door opening on the yard with glass panes in the top. There was no
key in the lock; it was fastened with a strong bolt. Somebody had let
the bearded man through this door on the night of the murder. Where had
he been hidden then? Weeks had passed since that night, and Lee feared
that he could scarcely hope to find traces of the man's passage now.




CHAPTER 23


Lee Mappin, hot with the excitement of discovering a new trail, called
up Police Headquarters. It was not Inspector Loasby he wanted this time,
but Detective Boker. Boker was off duty for the night, he was told.
Obtaining his telephone number, Lee found him at home, and at seven
o'clock Lee and Boker were sitting down to dinner in Lee's apartment.
Lee had confidence in Boker's keen, intelligent, humorous eye. In the
meantime, having learned where the Kennedys were living, Lee had sent a
message to ask the couple to come to his apartment later.

Lee had changed to the sort of clothes he liked to wear at home; a
crimson brocade dressing gown and a smoking cap that resembled a turban
to cover the bald pate.

Boker was doing full justice to the tasty food Jermyn had put before
them, and to Lee's good wine. Looking around him, he said: "You got a
mighty nice place here, Mr. Mappin. It's exactly what every man would
have for himself if he had his own way." Boker heaved a sigh. "But of
course, for a married man it wouldn't be possible, even if he had the
price. Woman runs the home!"

"Well, of course, I can have everything the way I want it," said Lee.
"Just the same, I don't recommend bachelorhood for a man. I would trade
all this for a bustling wife and a couple of noisy kids, and think
myself the gainer. Just consider what an old stick-in-the-mud this has
made me!"

"I wouldn't call you that," said Boker. "What was it you wanted to talk
to me about, Mr. Mappin?"

"Let's take the edge off our appetites first," said Lee. "This _poulet 
la bonne femme_ of Jermyn's is worthy of our full attention. The wine is
beside you, Boker."

"Thank you, sir. What did you say it was that we're eating? I would have
called it chicken."

"Chicken under any other name tastes just as good, Boker."

Later Lee said, lighting a cigarette: "Boker, I've turned up some
important new evidence in the Letty Ammon case, but I want you to answer
a few questions before I tell you what it is, because I don't want your
answers to be influenced in the slightest degree by what I have learned
today."

Jermyn was in and out of the dining room. "Is it all right to speak
before him?" asked Boker.

"Just the same as if we were alone."

"Okay! Fire away, Mr. Mappin."

"First, I want you to tell me, as well as you can remember, everything
that happened at Hope House the night Letty was killed. The slightest
detail may turn out to be important. Begin with after supper."

"Well," said Boker, "you and Mrs. Cassells and Sieg Ammon was in the
office talking business and Letty had gone out--to the movies, as we
thought. The rest of the boarders was in the game room; Hattie Oliver,
Joe Spencer, Johnnie Stabler and Duke Engstrom. Spanish, as you know,
had left us."

"Let me interrupt you for a moment," said Lee. "I want to get the layout
of the house fixed in my mind. The three of us were in the office at the
front of the first floor. Was anybody in the back room?"

"No, sir. That room had been furnished as a parlor, but nobody ever went
in there and Mrs. Cassells said she was going to make another bedroom
out of it."

"Had it been closed up?"

"No, sir, the door to that room was always open."

"Go ahead."

"On the second floor, Sieg and Letty had the two connecting rooms in
front, and Hattie had the back room."

"Who was in the extension?"

"That had been Spanish's room. It was unoccupied. On the top floor Joe
Spencer and Duke Engstrom had the two small rooms in front; Johnnie
Stabler and me the two in the rear. My door was opposite the head of the
stairs."

"I've got it straight."

"I was reading a book," Boker continued, "and the other four was playing
cards. It was a game called Michigan, pretty noisy. The fellows said
that Hattie cheated. I heard the front door open and close. I didn't see
who it was; later you told me you had gone out. After a while you came
in again. Later I heard the door again. I thought at the time that this
was Letty coming home from the movies; now I know it was Sieg, the first
time he went out. I changed my seat to across the room where I could see
the front door, and I saw Sieg come in after fifteen minutes or so. He
ran out again almost immediately."

Boker stroked his face in the effort to remember. "The next thing I mind
was hearing angry voices from the basement. Soup Kennedy quarreling with
Mary. They was always quarreling. This time it lasted so long I went out
and opened the door to the basement stairs to listen. The cardplayers
couldn't see me. The voices were so loud I didn't have to go downstairs
to hear. Soup and Mary were in their room in front. Mary accused him of
having left the door into the yard open. Soup swore he had bolted it.
Mary said he was a liar. She had been back and found it unbolted. And so
on. This didn't seem important, so I went back to the game room and left
them to fight it out."

"Maybe it is important," said Lee. "Go on."

"The card game broke up about ten-thirty. Hattie went up to bed, Joe and
Duke went out to get a drink; Johnnie Stabler talked to me--you know,
about what a smart guy he was. He never tired of the subject. I was
wondering where Sieg had gone and why you and Mrs. Cassells stayed in
the office. I had guessed from the look in Sieg's face that something
was wrong. But I didn't know then that Letty had not come home. Joe and
Duke came in and they all went to bed. Sieg came in and he looked worse
than before. So I just stayed there with my book in case I might be
wanted."

"Could anybody have come up from the basement without your being aware
of it?" asked Lee.

"No, sir! The door to the basement stairs is just outside the game room
door, not ten feet from where I was sitting."

"Go on."

"You and Mrs. Cassells left the house. That was about midnight. You both
looked bad. Sieg came back to the game room. 'Why the hell don't you go
to bed?' he said. 'Oh, I got a good book,' I said; 'I ain't sleepy.'
'Get the hell to bed,' he said; 'we can't let the lights stay on all
night.' And he started to turn out the lights. 'Anything the matter?' I
asked. He didn't answer me. So I started upstairs. I went up one flight
only and stood there by the rail listening. I couldn't hear nothing from
below. In a couple of minutes Sieg went into the office again. Pretty
soon you came back. That surprised me. You went into the office. I
stayed up there in the hall near a couple of hours, I guess, listening
and watching."

"Did you see or hear anything?"

"Not a thing, Mr. Mappin. Except sometimes I heard Sieg cursing in the
office. Sounded like he was walking up and down the room. Once I heard
him cry out: 'I'll kill him! I'll kill him!' You were trying to quiet
him. Finally I heard the telephone ring and I judged from the sound of
your voices that meant more bad news. Then you came out and started
upstairs and I skipped up ahead of you to my room, where you found me
reading. You told me what had happened. You asked me to look after
Sieg."

Said Lee: "You've got a good memory, Boker."

"Thank you, sir. It's part of my business."

"What happened after I left the house?"

"Not much, sir. I suggested Sieg ought to have a drink and, Gee! he
drunk off near a tumblerful of Scotch. Said he'd go to bed then and I
took him upstairs. I offered to stay with him, but he said the hell with
it. I left him lying on his bed. I went up to my room and sat there in
the dark with the door open. I felt bad on account of Letty. After a
while I heard Sieg's door open..."

"Quietly?"

"No. He wasn't taking any care to be quiet. He walked along to the
stairs. I went down the upper flight as quick and soft as I could and I
was in time to see him jam his hat on and go out the front door. It
seemed natural the poor fellow would have the impulse to walk the
streets and I let him go."

"Did you hear him come in again?"

"Yes, sir. It was near morning then. I heard the front door open and
close. I heard Sieg stumbling up the first flight. And when I looked
down the second flight I saw Sieg come along the hall and go into his
room. He was good and drunk then. I couldn't blame him."

Lee thought over all he had heard. Afterward he told Boker what he had
learned that afternoon.

"Good God!" ejaculated the detective. "Then the killer came to Hope
House! He was hidden there that night! Must have been Soup Kennedy left
the yard door unbolted for him."

"So it might appear at first glance," said Lee, "but upon thinking it
over, if Soup had left the door open for this purpose, it doesn't seem
likely he would carry on a noisy quarrel with his wife on the subject
for an hour afterward."

"That's right!" said Boker. "But who else could have done it?"

"I have felt from the beginning that Spanish Jack was behind this
murder," said Lee. "It would be like Spanish to choose this house as a
hide-out for his man, because this is the last place anybody would look
for him."

"Spanish was in Boston!"

"He came back at noon on the day Letty was killed."

"But he certainly wasn't in this house that day or night."

"Apparently not. But Spanish's arm is long. He's accustomed to bending
other men to his will. He might have worked on one of the men in the
house while he was living here. Did you notice him chumming up with
anybody?"

"There was Johnnie Stabler. They was pretty thick. Johnnie, he admired
Spanish's elegant foreign manners. Us other men wasn't gentlemanly
enough for Johnnie. And Spanish would string Johnnie along to make him
feel good."

"Could Johnnie have unbolted the yard door that night?"

"Don't see how, Mr. Mappin. Earlier he could, but after Mary Kennedy
bolted it again, I don't see how. Johnnie was under my eye all evening.
I saw him go upstairs. Until I went to bed myself the basement door was
right in line with my eye every minute. After I went upstairs, Johnnie's
room is next to mine; my door was never closed; I did not sleep until
morning. How could Johnnie have got in or out?"

"In that case," said Lee, "we must keep Soup open as a possibility,
though I hate to think of the old man in connection with murder."

The Kennedys presently came. Very much impressed by the honor of being
received in Mr. Mappin's home as guests, they could hardly stop bowing
and curtsying to Jermyn in the hall. Seated in the dining room, they
refused food, but their old eyes glistened at the sight of tall
highballs. Lee put them in a place where a strong light fell in their
faces. A well-meaning but somewhat thick-witted old pair, he felt
confident they could not fool him. Lee said at once:

"It was not Blondy Farren who killed Letty Ammon!"

Their eyes widened. "Who was it, sir?"

"A rough-looking man with a three weeks' growth of beard. Dressed like a
workingman. After killing her, he returned to New York, parked his car
in Varick Street, crossed town on foot and passed through the tenement
house on Madison Street that backs up to Hope House. He climbed the
fence between and entered Hope House. Somebody had unbolted the door for
him."

The old couple stared; their mouths dropped open; Soup scratched his
head. Both were speechless. Lee, watching them, felt sure that the
finest actors in the world could not have given so good a performance,
if it was not real.

"You and Mary were overheard quarreling about the unbolted door that
night," Lee said accusingly.

They looked at each other in terror, speechless still. Finally Soup
stammered: "I bolt that door! I swear it, Mr. Mappin! Mary said I leave
it open but she was wrong. I remember bolting it. I see myself shooting
the bolt acrost!"

"Afterward, Mary bolted it again," suggested Lee.

"I sure did, Mr. Mappin!" asserted Mary.

"What time would this be?"

"About ten o'clock," said Mary. "We was already in bed, and I got up and
went out in the kitchen to get a cracker to nibble on, and I seen the
yard door was unbolted, and I bolted it."

"Somebody unbolted it after that," said Lee. "The man didn't get to the
house until half past twelve."

"When I got back to bed me and Soup lay there fussing for a while," Mary
went on.

"Mary made me mad," put in Soup, "and I got up and made believe to read
the paper, but I never left the room, did I, Mary?"

"That's right, Mr. Mappin. He was never out of my sight."

"And when Mary quiet down, I got back in bed."

"Did you leave your bed after Mary was asleep?" Lee demanded sternly.

Mary answered for him. "He couldn't do that without waking me, Mr.
Mappin. 'Cause he slep' on the inside."

"Maybe he climbed over the foot of the bed," suggested Lee with a
twinkle.

"No, sir! No, sir! No, sir!" asserted Soup in distress. "I never knew
nothing after that until morning."

"You heard no suspicious sounds?"

"No sir!" they answered together.

"The stairway from above comes down outside your bedroom door. Do you
keep that door closed at night?"

"Yes, sir, and Mary she made me lock it, too. Plumb foolishness, I said
at the time."

Lee dropped the subject, picked it up again, approaching from various
angles, but without ever tripping up the old pair. Finally, after
refilling their glasses, he let them go.




CHAPTER 24


Lee and Boker adjourned to the living room, where they lit fresh cigars.

"Leaving aside for the moment, who let the man into Hope House," said
Lee, "the question is, what became of him after he got in? It doesn't
seem likely, in a house so full of people, that he would venture
upstairs. In the basement there are only three rooms, the Kennedys'
bedroom in front, kitchen in the rear, and dining room in the
extension."

"There's the cellar," Boker pointed out.

"Ah!" said Lee. "I've never been down cellar in that house."

"The entrance is from the kitchen," said Boker. "The stairs are under
the main stairs."

"What sort of place is it?"

"Pretty grim for a lengthy stay," said Boker, "but, as the old saying
goes, any port in a storm. It was cleaned up when the house was
renovated for Mrs. Cassells. It's paved with brick."

"Tomorrow we'll look it over to see if the visitor left any evidence of
his stay there."

"Okay, Mr. Mappin. As far as that goes, it's as black as your hat night
or day. You could look it over just as well tonight. It's only half past
eight."

"Boker, you're a man after my own heart!" said Lee. "We'll drive down
there. I have a key to the house and we'll take a battery of
flashlights. Let us take Jermyn, too. He's a good man to have along."

The tall, angular, leathery Jermyn, who cherished the secret dream of
becoming a detective, was delighted to be taken along. When Lee changed
the flamboyant dressing gown and turban for sober jacket and hat, they
were ready to start.

"We'll go in my car," said Lee. "When you get out, keep your flashlights
out of sight."

Arriving before the Henry Street house, they entered without attracting
any particular attention from the street. The car was instructed to wait
a few doors off. The electric current had been turned off in the house,
and they proceeded through the hall by the eerie radiance of their
flashlights. Nothing had been changed inside, for Sandra, with one of
her queenly gestures, had presented the outfit to the Settlement intact.

"I suppose we could be arrested for trespassing," said Lee. "Let us hope
for the best."

Down to the basement they went, around through the kitchen and on down
the cellar stairs. The three flashlights cast patches of phosphorescence
on brick floor, stone walls and low wooden sleepers overhead. Tall
Jermyn and Boker had to duck; Lee's head just missed the floor beams.
Apart from the cleaning it had received, no changes had been made in the
ancient cellar. The original brick floor remained as it had been laid.
The bricks were not cemented, but merely laid on the earth in a
herringbone pattern. So well had the job been done that the floor was
still level as a board. Around the sides, where it had never been
trodden on, a faint, greenish scum covered the dark bricks. The whole
place smelled faintly like an open grave.

Even during the few weeks the house had been running, a certain amount
of litter had accumulated in the cellar; crates, boxes, baskets and
other miscellany. In the middle, an old-fashioned coal-burning furnace
rose out of a shallow pit. In the front of the cellar coalbins, still
partly full, extended out under the street. They could be filled from a
manhole in the sidewalk. At the other end, a wooden partition had been
built across from wall to wall with a door in it having a hasp and
staple.

"There were some empty trunks belonging to the boarders kept in here,"
said Boker. "Maybe four or five trunks. It was padlocked then. Now it's
open and empty."

Lee was looking at the furnace. "I suppose there was a fire here at
first?"

"Sure! To take the chill off the house and dry out the new plaster. It
was allowed to go out about the first of May."

"It had turned very warm by the 11th," said Lee. "There was no fire
then."

He opened the door of the furnace and cast his light inside the firebox.
It revealed a bed of ashes and partly burned coal--also a small, clean
piece of paper. He drew it out.

"What's that?" asked Boker.

"Wrapper from a stick of Triple X gum."

"Not very conclusive evidence."

"Every little bit helps," said Lee. "We may accept it as a fact that the
bearded man rested himself down here on the night of May 11th."

Lee picked up a carpenter's spirit level which appeared brand new. "Now
how in hell did that get down here?" he asked at large.

"Perhaps one of the workmen left it behind him."

"Spirit levels are expensive," said Lee. "No workman is going to abandon
one that he has only lately bought. Besides, no carpenter work was done
down here so far as we can see."

"What about the partition at the end?"

"That was put up for a previous tenant. It's been here a long time."

Lee laid the spirit level aside. "I wish you fellows would stay in one
place," he said. "You're getting in my way."

Boker and Jermyn seated themselves against the wall, one on a crate, one
on an upturned basket. Lee, almost bent double, moved swiftly back and
forth, pausing, poking, peering, like an old sleuth hound happy in
following a fresh scent. One could almost imagine one heard him sniff,
but it was his eyes he was using, not his nose. He dug patiently in the
coal pile and collected some infinitesimal lumps of clay that he stowed
in an envelope. He set aside various objects that interested him; a
dustpan and broom--he gave a long scrutiny to the broom straw and set it
down with the greatest care; two old coal shovels, likewise examined
closely, and finally the heavy iron bar used for shaking down the
furnace. When he examined the business end of the bar under his
magnifying glass, an exclamation broke from him.

"Can either of you fellows supply me with another envelope?"

Boker produced an old envelope. "What have you found?" he asked.

"A couple of long black hairs," said Lee, carefully stowing them away.
"The microscope, I believe, will reveal that they are dyed."

"Oh, my God!" murmured Jermyn.

After some further searching, Lee straightened up. "The visitor never
left the cellar," he said. "He--or rather, what remains of him--is still
here."

Jermyn with an exclamation of horror cast his light wildly back and
forth.

"Oh, he's not in sight," said Lee dryly. "...He was hit over the head
with the shaker. One blow seems to have done the trick, because there's
no blood on the iron, but only a couple of hairs. His grave was
undoubtedly prepared beforehand. That seems to have been a one-man job,
because only one of the two shovels was used for the purpose. Afterward
it was washed. The gravedigger committed a serious error in not rubbing
coal dust on it afterward. I can now figure a purpose for the spirit
level. That was to make certain that the bricks were laid true after the
grave was filled in. The broom, of course, was for sweeping up the last
particles of dirt. Bits of dirt are still clinging to the straw. The
rest of the dirt was thrown on the coal pile and some coal raked over
it."

"Nice work, Mr. Mappin," said Boker.

"The only thing that remains for us to do is to uncover the spot he
chose for the grave," Lee went on. "That ought not to be difficult. Let
us first look at the floor of the closet that was always kept
locked.... By the way," Lee asked suddenly, "who had the key?"

"It hung in the kitchen where all could see it," said Boker.

"Ha!" said Lee. "You will be familiar with it, then. You appear to have
cleared everybody else in the house. Perhaps you're the man we want."

Jermyn looked at the detective officer in fright. Boker wiped his face
agitatedly. "That's a grim jest, Mr. Mappin! It was Soup Kennedy who had
free access to the cellar at all times."

Lee said nothing. They proceeded to the back of the cellar. The wooden
partition had been erected directly on the brick floor. Within, there
was a space about twelve feet by twenty-three.

"Plenty of room for him to work in," remarked Lee, "even with a few
trunks."

Boker and Jermyn cast down their lights while Lee, on his knees, went
over the floor foot by foot with his glass. Presently he put the glass
in his pocket.

"Don't need it. With all his care, the marks of the broom are visible.
And here's a brick with the edges a little chipped. Must be the first
one he pried up... What have we got to pry up the bricks with?"

"There are some ordinary tools in the kitchen," said Boker.

"Go fetch them, please."

As Boker started up the stairs, Jermyn said nervously, "Hadn't I better
go with him? He might run away."

Lee laughed shortly and gave him a little clap on the shoulder. "It's
not as simple as that, my Jermyn!"

Boker returned with a screw driver, a chisel, a hammer. It was a tedious
job to pry up the first of the neatly-fitted bricks. Afterward they had
merely to be lifted out. They exposed a considerable space of the packed
clay beneath. Though it had been carefully stamped down, it was
impossible to make it look the same as that which had lain undisturbed
for a hundred years. The limits of the grave were plainly visible.

"He threw water on it to make it settle," muttered Boker. "He thought of
everything!"

"_Almost_ everything," said Lee. "If he felt safe down here, of course
he took his time. This job wasn't completed in one night."

Boker and Jermyn started digging, one at each end, while Lee between
them held the light. Sweat ran down their faces; Jermyn's face was
greenish, and even Boker, whose business was crime, was far from
comfortable. In Lee a situation like this always aroused a macabre humor
that was disconcerting to his associates. He quoted the grave-digger's
song from _Hamlet_:

    A pick-axe and a spade, a spade,
    For and a shrouding sheet:
    O, a pit of clay for to be made
    For such a guest is meet!

As they went deeper and deeper, Lee said: "He did his job thoroughly!"

Finally Jermyn, with a little yelp of terror, stammered "I... I...
struck something soft, sir!" He was shaking as with an ague.

"Climb out and give me the shovel," said Lee. "Lay the flashlight on the
edge of the hole and you can go upstairs."

Jermyn, however, doggedly refused to give up. They dug more carefully
now, a few spoonfuls of earth at a time. Gradually a shrouded form began
to take shape. The body was wrapped in a cloth.

"At least he provided him with a shroud," said Lee.

Abandoning the clumsy shovels, the two diggers scooped up the loose
earth by handfuls. Finally they were able to work their hands under the
body. Wrapped in its stained sheet, they lifted it out and laid it on
the bricks alongside. Jermyn, shaking like a leaf, walked away and sat
down on the bottom stair, burying his face in his arms.

"I can't look!" he muttered.

Lee unwound the sheet. The body was in only a fair state of
preservation. Easy to recognize the rough, bearded chin and the partly
bald head. There was an ugly abrasion on the bald spot now, and the thin
hair was matted with blood. The face was blackish; it was difficult to
picture what the man had looked like in life. The body was clad in the
garments as described: the imitation leather windbreaker, the
ginger-colored pants. The cheap cap was with it. There was a loaded gun
in the hip pocket; in the side pocket of his pants, a Japanese five-Sen
piece.

The license plates from the sedan lay in the bottom of the grave, and
Letty's black handbag with the scallop-shell clasp had been rolled up
with the body. A cursory examination of the contents revealed Letty's
two letters to Blondy and Blondy's replies. The handwriting was still
legible. There was also a small bottle containing a colorless and
odorless liquid.

"The balance of the knockout drops," said Lee.

Boker was on his knees examining the abrasion on the man's head. "His
skull has not been crushed," he said. "There appears to be no other
wound. Perhaps he was only stunned by the blow..."

"In that case he was buried alive," said Lee.

"Oh, my God! how fiendish!"

"It wouldn't make any difference to this fellow," said Lee coolly. "If
his wind was stopped he never regained consciousness."

"What I can't figure out," said Boker, "is what he did with the rest of
the dirt. After he put the body in the grave there must have been a lot
left over."

"I have a theory," said Lee. "We'll test it out directly."

In the cold white glare of the flashlights, Lee studied the ruined face
of the dead man. "I never knew this fellow in life," he said slowly,
"but sometime, somewhere, I have seen him once." He held a hand above
the upper part of the face, then the lower. In the end, it was the lips
twisted in a perpetual, ugly sneer which gave him the clue.

"I have it! It's Jimpson Souter!"

"Who's he?" asked Boker.

"He was a pal of Sieg Ammon's and Blondy Farren's some years ago. The
three of them bummed across the continent together. Later Sieg and
Blondy met up with Jimpson in Sing Sing. When Jimpson got out, he
expected to get a room at Hope House, but Sieg wouldn't have him here.
Jimpson came one night when I was in the house--this was before you
came, Boker--and Sieg beat him up cruelly and threw him out."

"By God!" cried Boker. "Then he killed Letty to get square with Sieg!"

Lee gravely shook his head. "Let everything remain as it is," he said.
"Our first duty is to notify Inspector Loasby and let him take charge.
Come on!"

With what relief they breathed the pure air of above ground! There was a
key in the door leading to the cellar. Lee turned it and took it with
him as a precaution against possible prowlers. Water had not been turned
off and they washed their hands at the kitchen sink.

"One feels as if the smell would cling forever," said Lee.

Driving uptown, Lee stopped at the first all-night drug-store to
telephone Loasby. Since Loasby slept with a telephone beside his bed,
Lee had no difficulty in getting him. He told him succinctly what they
had laid bare in the cellar of Hope House.

"My God!" exclaimed Loasby. "Then you were right from the start!"

"Skip that," said Lee. "I'm not handing myself any bouquets. Where can I
meet you and hand over the keys? I'm on my way to Brookwood."

"I'll meet you there," said Loasby. "The body can wait for an hour."

"If you get there first, meet me at the entrance gate. And cut out the
siren."

"I get you, Mr. Mappin."

Lee, Boker and Jermyn, in Lee's car, sped uptown at high speed by the
deserted East River Parkway, across the Harlem River, through the Bronx
and into Westchester County by the Hutchinson Parkway. At this time of
night, it was like driving in the open country. Inspector Loasby had not
so far to go and the big red car was waiting for them inside the gates
of Brookwood. A third car arrived presently with two of Loasby's men.

A neat cottage stood within the gates. "Let's try here first," said Lee.

They pressed the button alongside the front door and heard the bell
sounding within. There was no answer. They knocked sharply and only
silence answered. They went around to the back of the house and knocked
again. The kitchen door was of flimsier construction, and after a brief
consultation between Lee and Loasby, a husky plain-clothes man jimmied
it open without risking too much noise.

The neatly furnished cottage contained three rooms; a kitchen with a
breakfast nook, living room and bedroom. It was empty but in the bedroom
there were plentiful signs of occupation; drawers full of costly shirts
and underwear for a man; a whole row of fine suits hanging in the
closet. Lee was first to mount the stairs to the attic. Three trunks
stood under the eaves. At a sign from Lee, the plain-clothes man broke
the locks with his jimmy.

The first trunk contained Letty Ammon's stage clothes; the second was
empty; the third was half full of lumps of yellow clay.

"My theory was correct," said Lee.

Loasby exploded in wonder. "Sieg Ammon, by God!... You knew this?"

"Well, I suspected it since I learned that Mrs. Cassells was going to
marry him."

"Come on, let's get him," growled Loasby. "He isn't far."

The three cars moved silently along the drive and came to a stop in
front of the great house with its endless ranks of dark windows like a
palace of the dead. The plain-clothes men, the chauffeurs and Jermyn
moved silently to surround the house while Lee and Loasby mounted the
steps and pressed the bell. Without any great delay, an inner door was
opened and a flashlight was thrown through the massive iron and
plate-glass grille into their faces. Nothing further happened. Loasby
was in plain clothes, and the servant hesitated about opening the door.
Loasby exhibited his badge on the palm of his hand and the door was
opened. A watchman faced them wonderingly, with his clock hanging from
his shoulder by a strap.

"I am Lee Mappin," said Lee, "and this is Inspector Loasby. We must see
Mrs. Cassells on a matter of urgent importance."

"I can't go to the Madam's room," stammered the watchman. "I'll wake Mr.
Dunstan."

"All right," said Lee. "Please lose no time."

Soon old Dunstan came shuffling toward them in dressing gown and
slippers, his kindly face furrowed with concern. He said at once:

"Mrs. Cassells has gone away, Mr. Mappin. She left by car after lunch
today--or should I say yesterday, for Montreal."

Lee's face turned grim. "Who went with her?"

"Mr. Ammon, sir. He drove the car."

"Which car did they take?"

"The Packard convertible, sir."

"And Mrs. Delaplaine?"

"No, sir. Mrs. Delaplaine is no longer in Mrs. Cassells' employ."

"We'll follow," growled Loasby.

"I understood they were going to stop the first night, that is tonight,
at Rouse's Point near the Canadian border," said Dunstan.

Lee looked at his watch. "Four o'clock. Rouse's Point is about two
hundred and fifty miles. We should do it in six hours and a bit, and
Mrs. Cassells is _not_ an early riser. It will simplify matters if we
can take him on American soil, Inspector."

"Let's go," said Loasby.

Dunstan clung agitatedly to Lee's sleeve. "Mr. Mappin, what is it? What
is wrong?"

"It's Ammon that the police want, Dunstan. Nothing to do with Mrs.
Cassells."

Dunstan scowled. "Well, I hope they get him in time," he said darkly.

Lee pressed the old man's hand.

Loasby gave one of his men the keys to Hope House and sent him down to
Headquarters in the big car with instructions to start the machinery of
the Homicide Bureau going. With his other officer and chauffeur, he rode
in the less conspicuous police car. Lee took Boker and Jermyn in his car
and his chauffeur to drive.




CHAPTER 25


The dawn was breaking as they sped out between the Brookwood gateposts
and headed north. The eastern sky crimsoned, the branches overhead were
filled with the twittering of birds, but the weary faces of the men in
the two cars were gray and grim. At seven o'clock they paused in Albany
for a hasty breakfast, then on through Mechanicville, Schuylerville,
Whitehall and the shore of Lake Champlain unrolling its beautiful
panorama for mile after mile. Nobody looked at the scenery. Ticonderoga,
Fort Henry, the city of Plattsburg. It was a little short of eleven when
they rolled into the small town of Rouse's Point and drew up before the
principal hotel. There was a green Packard convertible parked in the
side yard of the hotel that Lee recognized.

"We are in time," he said.

Lee and Loasby entered the hotel. The clerk automatically pushed the
register toward them and Lee glanced down the page. He saw "Mrs.
Phillips of New York City; Mr. Charles Anderson" written there in
Sandra's tall, angular hand.

"We're not stopping," said Lee. "We want to see Mrs. Phillips and Mr.
Anderson."

The young clerk smiled sentimentally. "They've just stepped out," he
said. "In fact, they've gone to get married. Perhaps you know that."

"We could guess it," said Lee with a grim smile. "I hope we're not too
late for the ceremony. Where is it?"

"They already had their license and I directed them to the Reverend Mr.
Seaton. It's just a step. Turn to the right when you go out of the door,
and to the right again at the first corner. You can't miss the parsonage
because it's next door to the church."

Lee and Loasby ran out through the door, careless of their dignity.
Climbing into their cars, they breathlessly pointed the way. It was no
more than a couple of hundred yards around the corner to the parsonage.
They tumbled out of the cars again and Loasby, with a significant jerk
of the thumb, ordered his men to look to the rear of the house. Lee and
Loasby ran up on the porch. Without waiting to ring, they threw open the
door and entered. From the room on the left came the sound of a voice
intoning a prayer. Lee banged the door open and they ran in.

The scene was self-explanatory; a pleasant-faced parson in a black coat
standing book in hand with his back to the front window, and facing him
Sieg and Sandra; the parson's two servants beyond them. Sieg, handsome,
ruddy, virile, perfectly turned out; Sandra, slim, fragile, exquisitely
dressed, with a whole cascade of orchids descending from her shoulder.
Their faces, when the door banged open, presented a study. The wildest
confusion succeeded.

"What does this mean?" asked the parson.

"Stop the ceremony!" shouted Lee.

Sandra's face was convulsed with passion. She looked her age then. "How
dare you! How dare you!" To the parson she cried: "I know this man! He
has no rights over me! Put him out of the house! I demand it."

Sieg said nothing. With a perfectly expressionless face, he looked from
side to side for possible ways out.

All the others were talking at once. The minister, unable to make head
or tail of it, was begging them to leave his house and settle their
difficulties elsewhere. Finally, with a roar, Lee made his voice heard
above the others.

"Are these two legally married?"

"No," said the minister.

"Thank God for that!" said Lee. He dropped into the nearest chair and
wiped his face.

"What is the impediment to this marriage?" asked the confused minister.

"This is Inspector Loasby," said Lee. "The would-be bridegroom is wanted
by the New York police."

"I don't care! I don't care!" screamed Sandra. "Marry us first. I demand
it! Nobody has any right to stop us. Marry us and then let them take
him!"

"Sandra!" protested Lee.

"What is the charge against him?" asked the minister.

"Murder," said Loasby bluntly.

The book dropped from the minister's nerveless hands.

"It's a foul lie!" screamed Sandra.

Sieg had his eye on an open window facing the rear. Reaching it in four
long strides, he dived out headlong, carrying the screen with him.
"You'll never put me behind the bars again!" he shouted.

Loasby made no move. His men were outside. Sandra tottered toward the
window crying pitifully: "Sieg! Don't leave me!"

Boker's face appeared outside the window. "Got him safe, Inspector."

"Handcuff him," said Loasby.

Loasby left the room, followed by the minister and the servants. Sandra
turned a bitter face toward Lee.

"How I will hate you for this!" she murmured.

"I know," said Lee soothingly. "It's natural... But this you must
know, Sandra: Sieg made away with his wife so he could marry you. That's
why I had to act the way I did."

"It's a lie! Sieg was with us at the time Letty was killed."

"Exactly. He hired a man to do it. Then he killed that man."

"I will never believe it!"

"The evidence is complete."

Sandra started for the door. Lee seized her wrist. She struggled, but he
held her. "Listen, Sandra. We have to take Sieg back to New York. I beg
you not to accompany us!"

"I won't leave him!"

"You will not be allowed to ride in the same car. When we get there you
will not be allowed to see him."

"I don't care! I'll follow!"

"Think of the hideous story the newspapers will make of it!"

A gleam of common sense came into Sandra's eyes. She jerked her wrist
out of Lee's grasp and sat down.

"All right," she said in a strangled voice. "But I hate you for shaming
me! I will always hate you!"

"I'm sorry for that," said Lee. "If you had kept your word to me, I
could have broken the news more gently. The two weeks aren't up yet."

She made no answer. Leaving her sitting there, Lee went out.

They were bundling the handcuffed Sieg into the police car. He was
loudly demanding to be allowed to see "Mrs. Phillips."

"Take him away," said Lee. "She doesn't want to see him any more."

An hour later they were heading south again. Sieg's suitcase had been
picked up at the hotel. Sieg was placed between Lee and Loasby on the
back seat of the police car, and the detective officer rode beside the
chauffeur. Boker and Jermyn were following in Lee's car. Sieg was
allowed to smoke as many cigarettes as he wanted. At first he was
inclined to be defiant.

"You men haven't got a thing on me! My hands are clean. I'll make you
both look damn silly for this!"

After he had gone on in this strain for a while, Lee looked across at
Loasby and the Inspector nodded. "Okay," he said, "tell him what we've
got."

"We have dug up the body of Jimpson Souter in the cellar at Hope House,"
Lee said coolly. "The license plates of the murder car were in the
grave, also Letty's pocketbook with its incriminating evidence. Later we
found the trunk full of dirt in the gatehouse at Brookwood. There are
various other bits of evidence to complete the case; but I reckon I have
told you enough."

Sieg was silent. He dropped his cigarette out of the car window; his
ruddy face paled; his head went down. Presently he muttered: "Can I have
a drink?"

"Sure!" said Lee.

The following car was hailed and Lee procured his flask. Sieg let the
raw liquor run down his throat. Soon he took another. Some color
returned to his face; he lit a fresh cigarette.

"Well, I played for big stakes," he said with an ugly grin. "A million a
year! It was worth it."

"Anything you say can be used against you, you know," the Inspector
reminded him.

"The hell with it! I want to get my story before the public. You guys
needn't think you can have _all_ the publicity."

"Okay," said Loasby. He spoke to the detective on the front seat. "Take
down what he says, Kramer."

The officer produced notebook and pencil.

"It was a guy up in Sing Sing first told me about Mrs. Cassells," Sieg
began. "She was interested in convicts, he said. I needn't mention his
name. So I wrote to her when I got out and she told me to come and see
her. She fell for me at sight. Meanwhile I had married Letty. I married
her because I'd been thinking about her all the time I was locked up. In
prison a man goes loco thinking about some particular woman, night after
night. After the first few days I regretted it. Letty was too much in
love with me. It was like having six lumps of sugar in your coffee; kind
of sickening.

"Well, after I had met Mrs. Cassells a couple of times, I began to see
that I could make her dance, too, to any tune I wanted to play. Rich and
high-toned as she was, she was only a woman like any other. That's
always been my trouble, women fall for me like duckpins in an alley. So
I began to think things out. Boy! a million a year! It took a man's
breath away. And right in my grasp! The woman was crazy about me; could
refuse me nothing. And naturally, she couldn't expect to live
forever...."

"Not as your wife, she wouldn't," muttered Loasby.

Sieg grinned widely. "Well, I made up my mind not to have any slip-up,"
he went on. "I took things slow and thought everything out. I persuaded
her to take the house on Henry Street and open it up as a boardinghouse
for ex-convicts. Boy! when I saw that brick-paved cellar, it was just
what I wanted! The house provided me with the right kind of base, and
besides, it brought me in contact with Mrs. Cassells every day. I played
her to the limit, and she was getting crazier and crazier about me. It
was almost too easy!

"When Jimpson was released from prison, he was just the kind of tool I
required. Too old and too broken by prison life to operate on his own,
but he could carry out orders and was ready for anything. I promised him
twenty-five thousand a year for life from the day I married Mrs.
Cassells. Easy to promise. I never intended to pay him a cent. Of
course, I couldn't let Jimpson live with a handle like that to use
against me. He would have bled me white. But the fool never suspected
what was in my mind. Our first move was to stage that fight at Hope
House before you all. Naturally, after seeing me beat Jimpson up like
that, nobody would ever suspect he was my confederate. I gave him fifty
smackers for taking that beating. He stayed drunk for a week on it.
Afterward I sent him over to Elizabeth to lie low until I had everything
ready. We had a car waiting till we needed it."

"Letty bought that car," put in Lee.

"That's right, Letty bought it. I forget what story I told her. I could
always make Letty do anything I wanted.... The next step was to work
on Letty, see? I told her I had killed a man before I came to New York,
and Blondy saw me do it, and now Blondy had fallen for her and was
threatening to inform against me unless I handed her over to him. She
already knew that Blondy was crazy about her, so the story sounded
plausible. I took my time working it up until she was near crazy
worrying about Blondy. And when she was ripe for it, I told her the only
way we would ever know an hour's peace was by having Blondy put out of
the way."

"Why did you pick on Blondy?" asked Lee.

"Because he _was_ crazy about Letty. And it would seem perfectly natural
for him to shoot her in a passion when she turned him down. That's
exactly the way it turned out, didn't it? It's only by an accident that
Blondy escapes the chair."

"Blondy had been your partner for ten years. Didn't that count with
you?"

Sieg smiled. "Nothing counts with me but big Sieg!" he boasted.

"Go on with your story."

"When I told Letty what she had to do, she cried and carried on all
night, but I saw I could make her do it. She couldn't stand out against
me. I never told her she had to smoke Blondy herself, you understand.
She couldn't have faced that. I told her she just had to lead him into a
trap, and I would have him taken care of. I told her when she drove into
the yard of the burned house, Blondy would be passed out and she could
leave the car so she wouldn't have to see him shot, and I'd have her
picked up in the road outside and brought home. Then next morning Blondy
would be found shot in his car with his own gun and everybody would
think it was suicide because of disappointed love. And nothing more
would be heard of it. That's what I told Letty.

"I dictated the letters that Letty wrote Blondy. Blondy didn't fall as
easy as I expected, and she wrote him twice before he came on. I made
Letty leave one of Blondy's letters lying half out of her handbag where
Mrs. Cassells would be sure to see it and read it. That planted the
explanation of the shooting beforehand, see?"

"Where did Spanish Jack come into all this?" asked Lee.

"He didn't come into it. That was a mare's nest you discovered for
yourself. Whatever happened between Spanish and Letty when I was in Sing
Sing had nothing to do with me."

"Poor Letty!" murmured Lee. "The victim of _two_ scoundrels!... Go
on!"

"Meanwhile, I kept Jimpson posted on everything he had to do," said
Sieg. "I furnished him with a gun in case Blondy didn't bring his, but
he did. When the night came, Jimpson took a gander at Letty and Blondy
through the windows of the different roadhouses where they stopped. That
was to make sure Letty was going through with it. When Jimpson saw her
switch glasses with Blondy in the White Goose, he knew it was all right,
and he drove on to the burned house to wait for them."

"Did you know that Queenie Deane was following them too?" asked Lee.

Sieg looked at him sharply. "The hell you say! No, I didn't know it! Did
she see anything?"

"She didn't see the shot fired. She heard Letty cry out, then the sound
of the shot.... Go on!"

"When Letty drove into the yard," Sieg continued, "Blondy was dead to
the world. Jimpson seized Letty and held her in her seat while he
reached for the gun. I had warned him to wear gloves, and to shoot her
on the side where Blondy sat. Afterward he laid her forward on the wheel
in a natural position, and then he beat it for New York in his car. It
was as simple as that. He parked the car in Varick Street, as I had told
him. The license plates were tied on with string, so he could pull them
off easy. He walked across town, passed through the tenement house
fronting on Madison Street and came over the back fence into the yard of
Hope House.

"Meanwhile, I was taking care to let you and Mrs. Cassells see me all
evening. Boy! did I put on a good show! You've got to give me that!
Getting more and more anxious when Letty failed to come home, and flying
off the handle altogether when I thought she had gone away with a man!"

"Yes, I'll give you that," said Lee grimly. "You put on a good show!"

"Mary Kennedy gummed up my plans a little," Sieg went on, "by bolting
the yard door after I had unbolted it. I didn't have a chance to get
downstairs and unbolt it again until I sent that guy Tappan or Boker to
bed. I suspected that guy was too nosey. When I unbolted the door
Jimpson was waiting in the yard. I let him in and went back upstairs.
You stayed with me until two o'clock and maybe I wasn't cursing you, but
I didn't see any way of getting you out of the house without arousing
suspicion.

"When you went I made out to go to bed. Then I got up and left the house
by the front door. I was suspicious of that guy Tappan. I walked around
the block, skinned over the back fence of the tenement house, and
entered by the yard door. I had left it unbolted on purpose. Jimpson was
waiting for me in the cellar. I had planned out every move. The iron
shaker was lying by the bottom step, ready to my hand. I said to
Jimpson: 'Come on, I made a bed for you in the trunk closet.' He stooped
over to pick up the license plates and Letty's bag and I let him have
it. One crack was enough. Hardly made any sound. Then I dragged him
back, wrapped him in a sheet I had ready, and laid him in the bed I had
made for him!" Sieg laughed, and glanced from Lee to Loasby to see if
they appreciated his crack.

"I shoveled in the earth as well as I could in a hurry," he continued,
"because I didn't want to be caught by daylight. Then I locked the
closet, put the key in my pocket and left the house by the yard door the
way I came. Came in by the front door, making out I was drunk, and
staggered into my own room so anybody would hear me if they were awake.
Later I sneaked down to the basement and bolted the yard door so Mary
Kennedy wouldn't raise a squawk in the morning. During the next few days
I took my time making everything neat and shipshape in the cellar....
That's the story," Sieg concluded, "so what do you think of it?"

Lee said: "It is the most fiendish and cold-blooded pair of murders I
ever encountered."

Sieg laughed out of bravado. "Well, that's something coming from you!"
He swallowed the rest of the liquor in Lee's flask.

Sieg insisted on having his confession read over to him. He made several
alterations as the officer read from his notes. "I don't want a single
word changed," he said, with the vanity of an author. "Never mind if the
grammar isn't okay. I want it to sound like me."

"When it's typed it will be handed back to you to read over and sign,"
said Loasby stiffly.

Afterward Lee remembered how Sieg smiled.

                 *        *        *        *        *

Some time later, having left the shore of Lake Champlain, they started
across a high viaduct over one of the tributaries of the Hudson River. A
fine view of distant mountains opened to the east.

"Boy! what mountains!" said Sieg. "Would you mind stopping a minute,
Inspector? Reckon it's the last honest-to-God mountains I'll see."

Loasby good-naturedly told the chauffeur to pause. Lee was dozing in his
corner. Sieg leaned forward to see better. With lightning swiftness, his
manacled hands struck down the handle of the door on Lee's side. The
door swung open and he was out. Loasby clutched at him, but Sieg tore
free, pulling the Inspector half out of the car. All the men shouted at
once and piled out. Sieg tore across the road, placed his bound hands on
the parapet of the bridge and vaulted clean over. Several hands clutched
at him, but his body was wrenched from their grasp. It went hurtling
down. Lee turned away.

They found his dead, broken body in the shallow stream.




CHAPTER 26


Lee Mappin and Inspector Loasby immediately returned to New York,
leaving Loasby's officers to settle the formalities necessitated by Sieg
Ammon's suicide with the Washington County authorities. Once more,
during the succeeding days, the case of Letty Ammon was blazoned forth
in the nation's press. Sieg was buried quietly in a village near the
spot where he had died; thus depriving the populace of New York of the
opportunity to make a holiday of his funeral.

Three days later Lee and Ann Brooke took the Empire State Express for
Albany. They went by train because it was quicker. With them they
carried a copy of the statement made by Sieg Ammon. It was not signed,
of course, but the four men who had heard him make it had attested to
its accuracy.

The Governor was expecting them. He signed a pardon for Richard Farren
and handed it to Ann. "I do not often have a duty to perform which gives
me so much pleasure," he said smiling.

He made Lee a complimentary little speech. "I have read of your work in
the past, Mr. Mappin, and I have read some of your books. In this case
you appear to have performed a great public service in preventing what
would otherwise have been a shocking miscarriage of justice. I
congratulate you, sir."

Lee, out of sheer pleasure, took a pinch of snuff. "Thank you, Governor.
I am inclined to congratulate myself a little. It is usually my fate to
send men to prison. It's a pleasant change to be able to get one out."

They took the first train back to Sing Sing, where Lee's car was waiting
for them. They carried a suitcase into the prison. Both were shaking
with excitement. When Blondy was brought to them, his face was likewise
pale and moist, his eyes a little wild. He had read the newspapers, but
he knew nothing as yet of a pardon.

"It's not a visiting day," he stammered, "and two of you together....
What does it mean?"

Lee shoved the suitcase toward him. "Here, go put on these clothes," he
said gruffly. "I'm in a hurry to get back to the city."

Blondy, with a blank look, took the bag and let it fall. He dropped in a
chair and wiped his face. Suddenly a look of joy broke there like the
sun coming out. He sprang up, flung his arms around Ann, and kissed her
roundly. Turning to Lee, he shook his hand as if he would shake it off
the arm.

"I can't believe it! I can't believe it!" he said breathlessly.

Ann had taken the kiss with a matter-of-fact air. When Blondy ran away
with the suitcase, she said quickly to Lee: "Of course, under those
circumstances, a kiss doesn't mean a thing."

Lee shook his head. "You strange little being!" he said. In spite of her
nonchalance, he could see that she was under a strain.

"Please, Mr. Mappin, do me one last favor," she said hurriedly.

"Surely, my dear!"

"When we get in the car, you sit in the middle."

"That wouldn't do at all!"

"_Please_, I ask it. I have a difficult part to play."

"Very well, my dear."

Blondy presently returned, wearing the clothes of a free man. His face
still bore a wondering expression. After the good-bys and good wishes
had been exchanged, when they stood outside the gates of the prison, he
drew a long breath and lifted his face to the sky. Lee said afterward
that he wouldn't have missed Blondy's look at that moment for a year's
income. The young man was transfigured. He said not a word.

Ann climbed into the car first and instantly, as if she feared Lee might
forget their bargain, reached back to him, saying: "You next, Mr.
Mappin. So you can talk to both of us."

Lee thought Blondy looked the least bit disappointed at this
arrangement. He hoped he was not mistaken.

During the long drive to New York, it was up to Lee and Ann to keep the
conversational shuttlecock in the air. They talked about everything and
nothing. Blondy looked out of the window like a man starving for the
sight of green trees and bright water. At one point Ann said:

"I got a letter from the Kent County Commissioners yesterday."

Blondy looked around. "What did they have to say?"

Ann, affecting to be pleased to death with her letter, went on: "Well,
you know I've been working for them as secretary for five years. I wrote
the other day to ask if I could have my job back, and this letter was to
say yes."

"Going back to Chestertown?" said Blondy.

"I've already given up my job in New York," said Ann brightly. "I'll be
much happier in Chestertown. I know everybody and everybody knows me.
Their ways are my ways. I'll be pulling out day after tomorrow."

"Oh!" said Blondy flatly.... "I'd like to see old Chestertown," he
presently added.

"Well, why don't you? They read the newspapers. You'd get a big
welcome."

"That's just it," said Blondy. "I couldn't stand it. They know too much
about me. About my beginnings and all. I would feel as if I could never
escape from their eyes."

"What are your plans?" said Ann in a casual voice.

"Reckon I'll go back to Cleveland. I can get my job back. Of course, the
men in the mills, they read the papers, too, but they don't know me very
well and they don't give a damn. They'd soon forget."

An unhappy silence followed. Ann looked very attentively out of her
window, and Lee suspected that her eyes were full of tears. Just the
same, he did not believe that she was playing a losing game. He said, to
fill in the hiatus:

"We'll be in town by four. I have a little business to attend to. The
car can put you down wherever you want to go. Or you can keep it for the
rest of the afternoon. You're both dining with me at seven, and Blondy
will sleep at my apartment. My servant, Jermyn, knows how to keep the
reporters at bay."

"I have to go to my office," said Ann briskly. "I promised to come if we
got back in time. I'm breaking in the girl who is to take my place."

"Oh!" said Blondy, with a falling inflection. "Then I'll be left alone!"

Ann looked out of her window again. This time Lee was sure it was to
hide a smile, "Oh, well," she said carelessly, "I suppose I can go to
the office tomorrow. I can say we didn't get back before closing time.
We can go to a movie."

Blondy shook his head. "I like the smell of outdoors better."

"All right, we'll go to the Zoo. I'm told there's a very fine Zoo in the
Bronx."

                 *        *        *        *        *

Shortly before seven, the two presented themselves at Lee's apartment
for dinner. Something had happened during the interim; he could not be
sure what. Both were visibly charged with emotion. When Ann went away to
tidy herself for dinner, Blondy said confusedly:

"Mr. Mappin, I want to talk to you for a moment. I'm... I'm afraid
Ann may come back before I get it out."

Lee led him into his study and closed the door.

"Mr. Mappin," Blondy began, "I... I don't know what you'll say to
this, after the way I carried on about Letty and all. Like a man out of
his mind. That's right, too, I _was_ out of my mind. I... I don't
know how to tell you what has happened..."

"Do you mean that you and Ann have come to an understanding?"

"Why, yes," said Blondy, enormously relieved. "How did you guess it? Do
you think it's all right, Mr. Mappin?"

"Well, for God's sake, why shouldn't it be?" cried Lee, clapping him on
the back. "I was only afraid it wouldn't happen!"

"Well, that's a load off my mind," said Blondy. "I have told Ann the
whole story and she said it was no surprise to her because she had
guessed it already. It's not like it was with Letty. Letty was like a
fever in my blood. I was mad about her. She would always drive a man out
of his mind. Not her fault, of course. You could never have a peaceful
life with Letty. I could never feel again like I did about Letty. Not
twice in a lifetime. Ann is different. She's like a drink of cold water
when a man is parched. I've told her everything and she says she's
satisfied; she likes it better the way I feel about her. She thinks we
can make something out of a life together. And she says she feels just
the same way about me, sensible and affectionate without any of this
crazy business..."

Lee rubbed his lip to conceal a smile. He knew this part wasn't true.

"So we've decided to get married and go out to Cleveland together,"
Blondy concluded.

Lee gravely shook his hand. "My boy, you don't know it yet, but you'll
find it out. You have won one of the prizes."

"Well, that's the way I feel about it," said Blondy, grinning widely.
"Not that I deserve it."

"The hell with your deserts," said Lee. "Make the most of it!"

                 *        *        *        *        *

To the great chagrin of Lee Mappin and Inspector Loasby, they were
notified by the District Attorney of Hudson County that since Letty
Ammon's statement was inadmissible, and there was no other evidence
against Spanish Jack D'Acosta, he was forced to order his release.

Loasby banged his desk in anger. "There is something wrong with our code
when a black scoundrel like that goes scot free! We all _know_ that he
killed Sam Bartol."

"One must be philosophic about it," said Lee, shrugging. "This rule of
law which lets one guilty man go free, may save a dozen men who are
innocent."

Lee laid the case before the Federal authorities. Spanish Jack was not a
citizen. As a consequence, when he was released from the Hudson County
jail he walked into the arms of Federal detectives, who whisked him over
to Ellis Island. There was a hearing at which Letty's statement was
read, and Lee gave evidence. Spanish Jack, on the grounds of "moral
turpitude," was ordered deported on the first ship to the country of his
birth.

"I'll be back," he said to Lee with his inimitable insolence.

"Not while I am alive," said Lee.

                 *        *        *        *        *

A week after Mr. and Mrs. Blondy Farren had departed for Cleveland, Lee
was called to the telephone. A well-known soprano voice, bored,
sophisticated, casual, hailed him over the wire:

"Hello, darling! Will you come to dinner on Wednesday? Just a small
party. Black tie. Emilion has promised something exceptional for your
benefit."

"I would be charmed, darling," said Lee.

"Splendid! Seven-thirty as usual."

Lee hung up smiling. This was so like Sandra! She had come to her
senses. She wanted to be friends again, but she was warning him that no
reference must _ever_ be made to what was past.

He went to Brookwood, had a marvelous dinner, and enjoyed himself to the
full. He was relieved to discover that the other guests were just
ordinary nice people; Sandra had not as yet discovered any more
outlandish protgs to trot out. But she would! she would! Also he was
glad to find that poor Agnes Delaplaine had been restored to her place
at the foot of the table.

He got up to go when the other guests moved, but Sandra laid her
graceful hand on his arm.

"Wait five minutes," she said. "I want to talk to you."

Over highballs in Sandra's boudoir, he made light conversation while he
waited for Sandra to open what was in her mind. She twisted a bracelet
round and round on her wrist.

"I hear that Blondy Farren has married his childhood sweetheart--what's
her name?"

"Ann Brooke," said Lee. "It's a fact."

"Men have short memories," said Sandra with just a hint of bitterness.
"However, I'd like to give them a present."

Lee, knowing Sandra, was surprised and genuinely moved. "Bless your
heart!" he said. "That's a generous impulse!"

"It's nothing of the sort!" said Sandra pettishly. "For God's sake,
don't turn on the sentimental tap or I'll be sorry I spoke of it."

"What do you propose?" said Lee calmly.

"Well, a young couple just starting like that, no money, I thought of
giving them a little house in whatever town they are going to live."

Lee said with a grave face: "Too much! It would destroy their sense of
independence. They have to have a house, of course. Give them something
to put in it; something that young couples have to wait for. Give them
an electric refrigerator."

Sandra moved her thin shoulders impatiently. "A refrigerator is so
unromantic!"

"Unromantic!" cried Lee. "My dear lady! the best things in life come out
of the refrigerator!"

Sandra smiled unwillingly. "You fool!... All right, you shall help me
pick it out."

Peace was restored.



THE END






[The House with the Blue Door, by Hulbert Footner]
