Chapter 12

Paul Gregory came down the last step, but he did not loosen his clutch on the iron rail. He kept opening and closing his chinless mouth like a stranded fish. His watery eyes flitted from face to face to rest finally on Larry, a look of silent pleading in them.

“Well?” said Jasper Hale. “Well, Gregory?”

“I d-don’t know what he’s t-talking about,” said Gregory. “I b-bumped my head on the c-corner of the bureau.”

Bradley spoke to Jasper Hale. “Mr. Hale, I have a feeling this interview can’t be completed as quickly as I had hoped. Do you suppose there is some place we might sit down? Mr. Storm and  I have had a rather tiring evening. And Mr. Gregory doesn’t look too … er … robust.”

Hale frowned at him for a moment. “My study,” he said. He turned abruptly and walked back down the hall to the door through which he had first appeared. Larry and the inspector followed. Gregory brought up the rear. Larry could hear a bronchial rattle in the secretary’s throat.

Jasper Hale’s study was simplicity itself. It contained a roll-top desk, a safe, several comfortable leather chairs; around the walls, bookcases ran all the way up to the ceiling. A library ladder leaned against one section. Larry, glancing about, realized that this was probably the most extensive collection of books on stamps and stamp collecting he had ever seen. At the far end of the room was another door which, Larry guessed, must open into a lavatory.

Hale sat down in a high-backed wooden armchair near the bookcases. He waved vaguely at other chairs.

Bradley was, as usual, unhurried. He stood in the centre of the room, looking around at the book-lined walls.

“Well, get on with it!” said Jasper Hale, impatiently.

Bradley drew a deep breath and concentrated on filling his pipe. He was looking at Gregory when he finally got it going.

“I hate wasting time,” he said, almost apologetically. “Now, Mr. Gregory, Adrian’s secretary says that you had made an appointment with Adrian for seven o’clock tonight. You’re going to say you didn’t have an appointment, or that, if you did, you didn’t keep it. Then I’ll have to go to a lot of trouble. I’ll have to have a doctor examine that injury to your head. I’ll have to compare some of your hair with the hair we found sticking to the bottle with which you were struck. That will take a lot of time, and in the end we’ll be just where we are now. So please, Mr. Gregory, don’t make it necessary for us to go through all that. Just tell me what happened tonight.”

“Were you at Adrian’s office tonight, Gregory?” Jasper Hale demanded.

Very slowly the secretary nodded his head. “Yes.” It was a whisper.

“What the devil for?” Hale’s tone was short. “What sort of dealings would you be having with a man like that?”

“Perhaps I can explain that, Mr. Hale,” Larry said. “Under the circumstances, Gregory, there doesn’t seem to be much reason why—”

“No! No!” Gregory said. “I’ll explain! … I was d-doing a little collecting of my own, on the s-side. I had had some p-private dealings with Mr. Adrian.”

“By God!” said Hale.

“So you had an appointment to see him at seven o’clock tonight on personal business?” Bradley asked.

“Yes … yes, I had an appointment with him,” Gregory said. “I had to go after my d-day’s work was done here.”

“But you weren’t here all day,” said Bradley, gently. “You visited Mr. Storm’s office this afternoon, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Gregory admitted. “I took a few moments to visit Mr. Storm while I was out doing some errands for Mr. Hale. I commissioned Mr. Storm to find a stamp for me—a stamp for my own collection,” he added hastily.

Larry’s eyes never left Gregory’s face, but he didn’t contradict.

“Well, I’m damned,” said Jasper Hale. “Were all your private dealings with brokers who weren’t on my personal list, Gregory?”

Gregory nodded. “It seemed better,” he said.

“About tonight,” Bradley prompted the secretary. “Did you go to see Adrian?”

“Yes,” said Gregory.

“Did you see him?”

“Yes.”

“Alive?” Bradley asked.

Gregory jumped. “My God, yes!” he said.

Bradley nodded. “At what time did you see him, Mr. Gregory?”

“I got there early,” Gregory said. “At about a quarter to seven. Adrian was not engaged, so I saw him right away.”

“A friendly interview?”

“Yes, of course it was friendly. I … I wanted him to get a certain stamp for me. He said he would. Then I … then I …” He floundered again.

“Now we’re coming to the bottle with the tree in it,” said Bradley.

“God help me, I d-don’t know what happened then!” he stammered. “I … I walked out of the private office into the waiting room. Something struck me over the head. Everything went b-black.”

“You’re lucky if you haven’t got a concussion,” said Bradley. He seemed to be in no hurry. He waited calmly for Gregory to get control of himself.

“I … I c-came to after a while. I was lying on the f-floor. I c-couldn’t hear anything—any one talking. But something was thundering inside my head. Somehow I got up to my feet. First I w-wanted to run. I felt sick, w-wanted to throw up. I was afraid I couldn’t get down to the street. Then I decided to see Adrian, find out what had happened.” He moistened his lips. Nobody helped him, nobody prompted him. “I opened the door to the private office. There he was!”

“Dead?” Bradley asked.

“He was lying on the floor beside his desk. I … I didn’t go over to him. I  j-just got out of there as quickly as I could.” He leaned forward. “That’s exactly what happened, so help me God!”

Bradley tapped the stem of his pipe against his teeth. “It could be,” he said, thoughtfully. “On the other hand, maybe you quarrelled with Adrian and he slugged you. Maybe after you came to you went back into the office and shot him.”

“No! No!”

“Maybe not,” said Bradley. “I don’t suppose you know what time it was when you finally left the office?”

“When I got d-down to the street,” Gregory said, “I called a cab. In the cab I  l-looked at my watch. You see, I didn’t k-know how long I had been unconscious. It was just twenty-five minutes past seven.”

Bradley nodded. “But before you got into the cab you went into the drug store on the corner, didn’t you?”

Gregory’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “I…yes, I did. My head was bleeding. I …”

“You telephoned to police headquarters, didn’t you, Mr. Gregory?”

“No, I …”

“Now, now, Mr. Gregory, you’re rattled,” said Bradley. “You’re not thinking. It’s a fact in your favour.”

Gregory looked at him anxiously, then he nodded, slowly. “Yes, I called the police,” he said. “I … I thought they should be told. B-but I didn’t give my name because I didn’t want any one to know I’d been there. I was afraid they’d think I killed him.” He hesitated. “Did some one see me in the drug store?”

The inspector smiled. “We have to do some guessing in this business,” he said.

“The whole thing’s incredible,” Jasper Hale said. “You mean to say, Gregory, that when you came out of Adrian’s office somebody hit you over the head with a bottle and then murdered Adrian while you were unconscious? Didn’t you get a glimpse of the man who struck you?”

“N-no, sir. He m-must have been standing behind the
d-door.”

“By heaven, the whole extraordinary business serves you right, Gregory. It’s what you get for dealing with a man like Adrian. You know what I’ve always said about him! You know I wouldn’t touch a thing that had passed through his hands.”

“I know, sir,” said Gregory, wearily.

“But you have done just that!” Larry said. Fatigue had put a sharp edge on his voice. “You bought a Newfoundland Number 10 from Adrian and paid a cockeyed price for it! How about that, Mr. Hale?”

Hale’s pale eyes flashed. “I never bought a stamp from Adrian in my life,” he thundered. “It’s true I bought a Number 10, but I—” He stopped abruptly and turned a baleful stare on his secretary. “Gregory!”

Gregory seemed to shrivel in his clothes. “Mr. Hale d-didn’t know that stamp came from Adrian, gentlemen,” he said. “I … I had been commissioned by Mr. Hale to get it. None of his regular dealers was able to locate one. One day, when I was seeing Adrian on my own business, I mentioned the Newfoundland Number 10. He had one, so … so I bought it for Mr. Hale. I d-didn’t tell Mr. Hale where I’d gotten it because I knew he wouldn’t be p-pleased.”

“There seem to be a lot of things you haven’t told me!” Hale said, angrily.

“That still doesn’t account for your willingness to pay thirty-five hundred dollars for a stamp that is listed at two thousand,” Larry said to Hale. “Particularly since you don’t collect Newfoundlands.”

Hale smiled, an acid smile. “I give you credit, at least, for asking an intelligent question, though it’s none of your business! However, I think you’ll understand. A collector friend of mine has a stamp I want badly, one of the 1861 Cape of Good Hope Triangulars—the Number 11, wood block.”

Larry nodded.

“Who’s your friend?” Bradley asked.

“My dear Inspector,” said Hale, dryly, “you don’t think I’d give out his name, and have Storm and every other dealer in town camping on his trail! The point is, this gentleman has a stamp I want, the one I’ve just mentioned.”

“It’s worth about five thousand,” said Larry.

“Quite right, Mr. Storm. But five thousand won’t buy it from my friend, nor ten thousand, nor any amount! Even though he does not specialize in Cape of Good Hope issues. But there was a way I thought I could get him to part with it. I knew he wanted that Newfoundland Number 10. If I could get one, he might be willing to make a trade. I wanted that stamp quickly—the Newfoundland, I mean—before my friend got hold of one on his own. Money was no object. That was why I paid a sucker price for it.”

“And have you made the trade?” Larry asked.

“That is my affair,” Hale said, stiffly.

Larry stood up. “That seems to be that, Bradley,” he said. “I’d like to be getting on.”

The inspector sat where he was for a moment, watching the smoke curl up from the bowl of his pipe. Then he, too, got up. “Yes, that seems to be that,” he admitted. “And very interesting, too.” He looked down at Gregory. “Of course you’ll keep yourself available, Mr. Gregory? Your testimony is important. I wouldn’t like to have to arrest you as a material witness, but if you should decide on any trips—”

“He’ll be here,” Hale said. “I’ll see to it.”

On the street Larry paused beside the inspector’s car. “I’ll take a taxi home,” he said. “If you’re planning to have me followed again, it might be simpler to have your man ride with me!”

Bradley smiled. “You look tired enough to do a little sleeping,” he said. “If I can see you first thing in the morning—”

“I’ll be at my office,” Larry said. He hailed a passing cab. “You believe Gregory’s story?”

Bradley shrugged. “It fits the facts. Didn’t you?”

Larry avoided the grey eyes. “As you say, it fits the facts.”

Bradley knocked his pipe against the heel of his shoe, “Of course he wasn’t telling the truth about his dealings with you and Adrian,” he said, placidly. “Not a good liar, Mr. Gregory. Too anxious to catch your eye, Storm. Too anxious to forestall anything you had to say.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “I wish you wouldn’t play detective,” he said, sadly. “You’re not helping, Storm. Really, you’re not helping.”

Larry looked at him. “That suspicious mind of yours is still working overtime,” he said, forcing a smile.

“‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,’” murmured Bradley. “Maybe when you’ve slept on it you’ll decide to come clean, Storm. I hope so. Good night.”