The commissioner stared at Bradley. Then he spoke in a soothing voice.
“That sounds like the end of a chapter in a detective story!” he said. “You don’t have to keep me in suspense, you know.”
“I don’t want to, Commissioner. The case has taken on a kind of shape, sir, and I’ll give it to you as far as it goes. I think Gloria Prayne was indulging in blackmail. If you consider the letter, and the implications of her visit to Linda Marsh, you’ll see why. In the group are only two who have anything to be blackmailed out of … Severied and Miss Marsh. Since the letter was left with Miss Marsh to turn over to the police in case something went wrong, that makes it Severied.”
“But that’s all the more reason why you should … ”
“Let me finish, sir. Severied knew that letter was in Miss Marsh’s keeping. Drunk as he was, the moment he heard of the murder he made straight for Miss Marsh. He did his best to dissuade us from opening it.”
“But …”
“When you’re blackmailing, Commissioner, you have to make it evident to the victim that he can’t slide off the hook by silencing you. Therefore Gloria told Severied what she’d done. But … and here’s the big but, sir. When we refused to burn the letter, Severied gave up … resigned himself to our discovery of something unpleasant and damaging. See what that brings us to?”
“No, I don’t.”
“If the secret bad been anything ruinous to him, personally, he would have gone a lot further in his efforts to stop us. If he were the murderer, he would have known there was nothing in the letter and he wouldn’t have made any fuss at all. So I conclude: (a) that he is not the murderer; (b) that he was paying blackmail not to protect himself, but someone else!”
“I see. It’s smart reasoning, Bradley. No doubt of it.”
Bradley continued, “There is one person whom Severied has been in the habit of helping and protecting for a long time. Pelham! I think — and now it’s guesswork, sir — that when he heard about Gloria he jumped to the instant conclusion that it was Pelham who’d killed her. And I think this morning, when he heard about Prayne, he was still playing with that notion. That’s why he, too, went to Pelham’s apartment to see if the gun was there.”
“But you think he took the gun, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. I think he found it missing … just as we should have if we’d beaten him to the search.”
“And you think he’s prepared to protect Pelham, even against a murder charge?”
“I’m still guessing, Commissioner, but I don’t think he’s sure yet. I think the reason he’s hiding is that he doesn’t want to be forced to talk until he is sure. He’s been willing to pay blackmail for a long time.”
“But what secret is he keeping, Bradley? If he knows that Pelham murdered his wife, and he’s covering for him, then he’s an accessory.”
“Perhaps murder isn’t his secret. If I knew, this case would be on ice. But I feel this, sir. Severied has facts that we haven’t. He’s doing a bit of detective work of his own. I think if he finds that Pelham is guilty of murder he’ll turn him in. I think if he finds Pelham is innocent he’ll keep dodging until we hit on the truth and he can come into the clear without having to divulge his secret.”
“You think then, that … ”
“I think the story behind the blackmailing is the crux of the whole case, Commissioner. Severied knows it, and the murderer knows it. Right now Severied, in possession of that information, is much more dangerous to the murderer than we are. That’s why I say he is logically the next victim. If we arrest him, bring him back into focus so that the murderer can get on his trail, we may have a third crime on our hands. As I see it, my job is to get hold of that secret if I can. Once I have it too, Severied’s danger becomes instantly minimized. The murderer will have to worry about me then. And if he makes a move against me ... ” Bradley’s smile was grim. “I would like that, Commissioner, very much.”
The commissioner nodded. “But this secret. It’s so intangible! Where do you begin?”
Bradley knocked out his pipe. He sounded tired. “I’ve got a one-track mind, Commissioner. When I know more about Dorothy Pelham, I think I’ll be on the way.”
The commissioner drummed on the edge of his desk with his fingers. Then he made a decision. “Okay, you stubborn red-headed cluck! Handle it your own way. And good luck.”
“Thank you, sir, I’m going to need it.”
***
Mr. Jerry Bonesteel, private investigator, sat on a high stool in Al Muller’s Restaurant and Bar adjoining Madison Square Garden. Muller’s is a hangout for everyone who has business at the Garden — fight managers and their charges, hockey players, rodeo performers, circus people; and during Horse Show week you’ll see a good many dinner coats and top hats. Al Muller himself, short, stocky, shirt-sleeved host, who looks as if in his youth he might have been a wrestler or a gymnast, knows everyone, remembers everyone. In the late afternoon Muller’s bar magically becomes decorated with slabs of rye bread and platters of cold meat. It is the nearest thing to the old-fashioned free lunch you can find in New York.
Mr. Jerry Bonesteel, nattily dressed in a double-breasted serge, a stiff-bosomed shirt with a large diamond stud, a crisp bow tie, and a carefully brushed derby hat, was availing himself of Herr Muller’s largesse when Bradley’s hand dropped on his shoulder. He turned on his stool.
“Why, you old son of a bitch!” he cried. “Where you been keeping yourself?”
“Around,” said Bradley, occupying the next stool.
“Say, it’s great to see you. It’s great to see a guy in a nice clean business who doesn’t have to chisel expense accounts to make a living.”
“Business tough?”
“Terrible. About the only way you can get by is hiding under beds for evidence in divorce cases. It stinks. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“No kidding!”
“No kidding. I finally located one of your operatives who said you were apt to be here between five and six almost any day.”
“Know why? They have the best damn salami in New York.”
“I could bear to find out for myself,” said Bradley. “And a bottle of ale,” he added to the bartender.
“What’s on your mind, Red? Got a case?”
“Don’t you read the papers?”
“Not if I can help it!” Then Bonesteel’s eyebrows went up. “Not the Prayne case?”
“The Prayne case in person, Jerry.”
“Oh, boy!”
“That’s why I’ve been hunting for you.”
“I don’t get it”
“You know the Praynes, don’t you?” Bradley was loading a piece of rye bread with salami. “In connection with the disappearance of Dorothy Pelham back in ’35.”
“So that’s the way it is,” said Bonesteel. He tapped his highball glass on the bar and slid it across to the bartender with a nod. “Double,” he said.
Bradley munched his sandwich, indicated approval, and reached for his glass of ale.
“I’m a smart guy,” said Bonesteel. “Mind like a steel trap. You’re interested in Dorothy Pelham. You’re homicide with a capital Hom. You think maybe little Dorothy might not have shuffled off to Buffalo of her own free will.”
“I’d like to know what you think,” Jerry.” Bradley was watching the private detective in the mirror behind the bar. Bonesteel was looking thoughtfully into his drink.
“Nothing to it, Red,” he said after a pause. “Mind you, I wasn’t hired to investigate a crime. Just to find the gal.”
“Uh-huh,” said Bradley.
“But the department went into that,” Bonesteel said quickly. “Bird named Williams was in charge. He dug around quite a lot and then washed it up. Nothing against anyone.”
Bradley arranged two fresh pieces of salami on a slice of bread, making certain that the entire surface was covered. “Retired now.”
“That’s right. He’s got a farm in Peekskill. I stopped off there last summer to see him. He’d asked me to a long time ago.”
“Nice place?”
“A top-notch dairy farm,” said Bonesteel, looking away. “Must have cost him a lot of dough.”
“Thanks,” said Bradley quietly. “About Dorothy Pelham?”
“Red, I’m not really a chiseler at heart. I shagged around for nearly three months trying to find some kind of a lead, and then I went to Severied and told him, frankly, he was wasting his dough.”
“Severied?”
“Sure, Guy Severied, the society sportsman. He’s the one who hired me and paid my fee. He was a buddy of the gal’s husband.”
“You must have found out something of interest in three months,” said Bradley.
“I did. I found out I’d like to work for Severied for life. That bird never once checked an expense account, Red.”
“Nice kind of a fellow, huh?”
“A prince.”
Bradley sighed. “About Dorothy?”
“Red, that gal just went up in smoke. That’s on the level. If you think there was dirty work, I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you a thing to back it up.”
Bradley drained his glass. “Well, there was no harm in asking you.” He slid off the stool and handed the bartender a five-dollar bill. “It’s all on me,” he said.
“Gee, Red, thanks. Wish I could have helped you,” Bonesteel said. He was frowning.
“I wish you could. Well, so long, Jerry.”
“So long.”
Bradley started for the door.
“Red!” Bonesteel called after him.
Bradley turned.
The private detective avoided the stare of his level gray eyes. “There’s one thing you might not know about Dotty Pelham.”
“Yes?”
Bonesteel gave his bow tie a straightening tug. “She was crazy about the boys, Red.”
Bradley waited for more, but Bonesteel had turned back to his bread and salami.