Twenty

As Col. Selig left, Fitz appeared in the doorway. They stopped to confer, then Fitz stepped in. Whitbread was not happy to see him.

“It’s the mayor, you know. When he heard what happened, he insisted that I come along to find out what’s going on and then to report back to him directly.” Fitz was dressed in his usual suit plus overcoat, this time accented with a yellow silk tie and pocket handkerchief. He fingered the round bowler hat in his hands but took a stance that indicated he would not be denied access. I shuffled to a new page of the paper I was using to take notes, hoping the ensuing explosion would not be too horrific. My impulse was to brace myself and not look up.

To my surprise, Whitbread raised his hands in surrender and collapsed back into his chair. “The leopards have eaten the producer, Mr. Leeder, and we’re attempting to discover who could have locked the man in their cage and left him at their mercy. Perhaps you can assist in our attempts to understand why anyone would do such a thing. It is madness. Simply madness.”

Taking advantage of this uncharacteristic plea, Fitz moved into the room and pulled a chair next to mine. A uniformed officer appeared at the door but, before Whitbread could speak, Fitz said, “Could you question Alonzo Swift next?”

Whitbread’s jaw dropped open as he turned toward Fitz. I admired the Irishman’s temerity and I saw him attempt to smile, but he quickly explained. “He’s needed for a scene upstairs. They’re all set up for him so they asked if we could take his statement and let him go.”

Whitbread rolled his eyes and waved to the officer at the door. “Mr. Alonzo Swift.”

When Swift entered, he appeared to be tired, with red eyes and a haggard look. But his hair shone with cream, and his handsome square jaw was neatly shaved. He wore a suit of fine worsted wool that had sharp pleats in the pants and well-padded shoulders. After he sat down, gold cuff links peeked from his sleeves when he clasped his long fingers over one knee.

“Mr. Swift, when did you last see Mr. Leeder?” Whitbread asked.

Swift’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “At the roadhouse, last night. But we left before he did.”

“We? Who were you with?”

“Oh, Miss Greer, of course…Babe Greer.”

“You and Miss Greer left together? Where did you go after you left?”

Swift leaned forward. “We had to leave together. It’s part of the romance.” He released his hands and fingered his collar, as if it were too tight. “You see, we’re a couple. Well, not a real couple, but for the press. We’re in a lot of romantic comedies together, so Col. Selig and his publicity people like to put it out that we’re courting. It makes it exciting for our fans, don’t you know. So we’ll drive somewhere, or go to a fancy restaurant, or a club or something, and they’ll alert the press so they can be there to take pictures. It brings in more people to see the films we’re in together.

“Last night we went to a nightclub together after we left the roadhouse and, I confess, I drank a bit more than I should have. It’s been a busy week and with that censor dying…and now, I suppose, Leeder…although, of course, we didn’t know that last night. Anyhow, I drank a lot. So Babe…Miss Greer…drove my motorcar back to the Bedford. I have a suite there and we went back to my rooms.”

I caught my breath. Such an admission was certainly damaging to Babe Greer’s reputation but I took it down in my notes without comment. The silence from Whitbread and Fitz was stony.

“What time did you reach the hotel?” Whitbread asked finally.

“Well, that’s the thing. You see…I’m afraid I was a little passed out.”

“A little?” Whitbread asked.

“I was passed out. So I don’t remember. But Babe is a great driver and the bellboy helped her get me upstairs, where I’m afraid I just passed out again on the bed. But Babe, dear girl that she is, camped out on the sofa and ordered coffee in the morning. And she even drove us back to get up here in time for our early calls…but then we heard about poor Leeder. It’s pretty awful, don’t you think? I told Selig I’m not interested in those animal pictures he’s so wild about. Comedy, yes. Drama’s my forte. But animals…no, I don’t think so.”

He was oblivious to the damage he’d almost done to Babe Greer. His ignorance seemed sincere, but then he was an actor.

“Is your romance with Miss Greer merely an act then?” I asked. I knew Whitbread would want to know the answer to that question as much as I did.

“Well…not exactly.” Swift turned red. “Of course, Miss Greer is a fantastic young lady and we’ve been discussing our future. So, no, it’s not an act…at least not entirely.”

“Mr. Swift, last night I heard that Mr. Leeder was sometimes known as ‘Leeder the lecher’ by the film people. Were you aware of that?” I asked.

Whitbread’s wiry eyebrows rose at my question while Fitz cringed in his seat. Alonzo Swift seemed embarrassed.

“I would have to say…I have heard that, yes. Mr. Leeder had a tendency to touch the actresses in a familiar way, presumably to show them how he wanted them to stand. Some of them didn’t like it.”

“What about Miss Greer? Was she the object of his attentions?”

“You’d have to ask her, but I believe so, yes.”

Whitbread jumped in. “Did you resent it that he tried to take advantage of Miss Greer?”

“Of course, but, no…no. Babe’s well able to take care of herself. She wouldn’t let him take advantage of her.”

I thought it was rather ungallant of him to phrase it that way. But perhaps he was more concerned with proving he had nothing against Leeder than with defending the young actress.

“What about Mr. Hyde?” Whitbread asked. “Did you know him? Did he perhaps show too much interest in Miss Greer?”

“The censor who was found shot? Oh, dear me, no. I didn’t know him. Babe may have but she never mentioned him.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about the dead men? Or who might have wanted to harm them?”

“No. I heard the censor was giving Kathlyn Williams a hard time but Selig was handling it. Leeder was just one of the producers.”

“Very well. We’ll ask Miss Greer to come in now. I’m sure she’ll tell us the same story about last night.”

Swift looked a little doubtful as he rose from the chair. “I’m afraid I really did drink too much last night,” he said.

§

“Poor darling, he was totally knocked out,” Babe Greer told us when she was asked about the previous evening. “I had to drive, but that was fine, because I love to drive. Have you seen Alonzo’s motor? It’s a lilac saloon with the most beautiful mauve leather seats. He was passed out before I finished cranking the engine. I can do that, you know. In fact, I’m a better driver than he is, any day.”

When asked about Leeder, she said, “He was still at the roadhouse when Alonzo and I left. I thought he must be meeting someone there…usually he’s the life of the party. Poor Arnold. What a horrible way to go. I don’t trust that Olga. Did you see how Kathlyn Williams got scratched by those nasty animals yesterday? That’s Olga’s idea of practice.”

She had her own opinions about Leeder’s reputation as well. “‘Leeder the lecher,’ sure, I’ve heard it. He was like that, always hanging over you or brushing past you. In this business, a girl has to be able to shrug that off, though. He’s not the only one, believe me. You have to be careful not to be caught alone in a closet with those types, that’s all. He didn’t bother me and I certainly didn’t complain to Alonzo. If I were going to complain to anyone, it would be to Col. Selig. But you don’t want to get a reputation as a complainer. That’s not good, either.”

“Miss Greer, were you with Mr. Swift all night last night? Can you tell us that he was never out of your sight?” Whitbread asked.

She blushed. “Well, yes. I can. I hope you’ll be discreet. Although, really, everyone knows. I expect we’ll announce our engagement any day now.”

Fitz, who’d been sitting silently, moved in his seat, and shuffled his feet. I looked at him, but he stared at the ceiling as if he saw something there.

Babe continued. “I think Alonzo and Col. Selig are just working with the publicity people to decide when’s the best time to make the announcement. For the films, you know.”

“Yes, Mr. Swift told us the romance between the two of you had been suggested by the publicity people,” I said.

She giggled. “I know. Isn’t it divine? Of course, I thought it was wonderful. What woman wouldn’t want a romance with Alonzo Swift? He’s so handsome.”

I thought of Delia and wondered if she’d be disappointed to hear of an engagement. Perhaps other fans would be as well. I wondered whether that kind of reaction would cause Selig and his publicity people to delay the announcement.

Asked if she had anything to add, Babe was quiet for a moment. She gave me a guilty look, then turned to address Whitbread. “There’s one thing. I saw Kathlyn Williams open an envelope while we were still at the roadhouse. She took out a letter and read it, then she turned very pale. I tried to ask her what was wrong but she ignored me. Mr. Cabot was with her, so I thought if anything was really wrong he’d be sure to take care of her. But it was odd.”

When she left, Whitbread told the officer we would see Miss Kathlyn Williams next. I hoped she would clear Alden of any involvement with the murder. The night before, many people had heard the argument between Alden and Arnold Leeder at the roadhouse. But I feared that, in order to clear Alden, Kathlyn Williams would be forced to reveal a liaison with him.

Fitz coughed. “Before you go on, there’s one thing you might need to know.” Whitbread and I both looked at him. “These film people, you see, they live by publicity. This little romance between Alonzo Swift and Babe Greer is just the sort of thing the papers love. The reporters follow the actors around, and they take pictures and write stories that the ladies eat up, about love in bloom and that sort of thing.”

“Yes, so, what’s your point, man?” Whitbread asked.

Fitz glanced at the door to be sure we weren’t disturbed. “Well, Alonzo Swift had a career in the theater back East you know. He was a matinee idol on the stage for years. And, the truth is, he also had…has a family.”

“He’s already married?” I asked.

“He has a wife and four children in Maryland.”

“And no one knows?”

“Col. Selig knows. And his publicity people, they know. They just keep it quiet. It’s not really a secret.”

“It is to Babe Greer,” I pointed out.

Just at that moment, Kathlyn Williams was ushered into the office.