Dinner that night was a tete-a-tete affair with Ann Roann Bedford serving the cocktails herself on a silver tray which had been one of the wedding presents.
Stewart Bedford felt thoroughly despicable as he slid the tray face down under the davenport while Ann Roann was momentarily in the serving pantry.
Later on, after a dinner during which he tried in vain to conceal the tension he was laboring under, he got the tray up to his study, attached it to a board with adhesive tape around the edges so that any latent fingerprints on the bottom would not be disfigured, and then fitted it in a pasteboard box in which he had recently received some shirts.
Ann Roann commented on the box the next day when her husband left for work carrying it under his arm. He told her in what he hoped was a casual manner that the color of the shirts hadn’t been satisfactory and he was going to exchange them. He said he’d get Elsa Griffin to wrap and mail the package.
For a moment Bedford thought that there was a fleeting mistrust in his wife’s slate gray eyes, but she said nothing and her good-by kiss was a clinging pledge of the happiness that had come to mean so much to him.
Safely ensconced in his private office, Bedford went to work on a problem that he knew absolutely nothing about. He had stopped at the art store downstairs to buy some drawing charcoal and a camel’s-hair brush. He rubbed the edge of the stick of drawing charcoal into fine dust and dusted this over the bottom of the tray. He was pleased to find that he had developed several perfectly legible latent fingerprints.
It now remained to compare those fingerprints with the fingerprints on the criminal record which had been left him by the apologetic little man who needed the loan” of twenty thousand dollars.
So engrossed was Stewart Bedford in what he was doing that he didn’t hear Elsa Griffin enter the office.
She was standing by his side at the desk, looking over his shoulder, before he glanced up with a start.
“I didn’t want to be disturbed,” he said irritably.
“I know,” she said in that voice of quiet understanding. “I thought perhaps I could be of help.”
“Well, you can’t.”
She said, “The technique used by detectives is to take a piece of transparent cellophane tape and place it over the latent fingerprints. Then when you remove the Scotch tape the dust adheres to the tape and you can put the print on a card and study it at leisure without damaging the latent print.”
Stewart Bedford whirled around in his chair. “Look here,” he said. “Just how much do you know and what are you talking about?”
She said, “Perhaps you didn’t remember, but you left the intercommunicating system open to my desk when you were talking with Mr. Denham yesterday.”
“The devil I did!”
She nodded.
“I wasn’t conscious of it. I’m almost sure I shut it off.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t.”
“All right,” he said. “Go get me some cellophane tape. We’ll try it.”
“I have some here,” she said. “Also a pair of scissors.”
Her long, skillful fingers deftly snipped pieces of the transparent tape, laid them over the back of the silver tray, smoothed them into position, and then removed the tape so they could study the fingerprints, line for line, whorl for whorl.
“You seem to know something about this,” Bedford said.
She laughed. “Believe it or not, I once took a correspondence course in how to be a detective.”
“Why?”
“I’m darned if I know,” she admitted cheerfully. “I just wanted something to do and I’ve always been fascinated with problems of detection. I thought it might sharpen my powers of observation.”
Bedford patted her affectionately. “Well, if you’re so dam good at it, draw up a chair and sit down. Take this magnifying glass and let’s see what we can find out.”
Elsa Griffin had, as it turned out, a considerable talent for matching fingerprints. She knew what to look for and how to find the different points of similarity. In a matter of fifteen minutes Stewart Bedford came to the sickening realization that there could be no doubt about it. The fingerprints on the police record were an identical match for the four perfect latents which had been lifted from the silver tray.
“Well,” Bedford said, “since you know all about it, what suggestions do you have, Elsa?”
She shook her head. “This is a problem you have to solve for yourself, S. G. If you once start paying, there’s no end to it.”
“And if I don’t?” he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
Bedford looked down at the silver tray which reflected a distorted image of his own harassed features. He knew what it would mean to Ann Roann to have something of this sort come out.
She was so full of life, vivacity, happiness. Bedford could visualize what would happen if one of these magazines that were becoming so popular should come out with the story of Ann Roann’s past; the story of an adventurous girl who had sought to finance her venture into the matrimonial market by defrauding an insurance company.
No matter what the alternative, he couldn’t let that happen.
There would, he knew, be frigid expressions of sympathy, the formal denunciation of “those horrible scandal sheets.” There would be an attempt on the part of some to be “charitable” to Ann Roann. Others would cut her at once, deliberately and coldly.
Gradually the circle would tighten. Ann Roann would have to plead a nervous breakdown … a foreign cruise somewhere. She would never come back—not the way Ann Roann would want to come back.
Elsa Griffin seemed to be reading his mind.
“You might,” she said, “play along with him for a while; stall for time as much as possible, but try to find out something about who this man is. After all, he must have his own weaknesses.
“I remember reading a story one time where a man was faced with a somewhat similar problem and—”
“Yes?” Bedford said as she paused.
“Of course, it was just a story.”
“Go ahead.”
“The man couldn’t afford to deny their blackmail claims. He didn’t dare to have the thing they were holding over him become public, but he … well, he was clever and … of course, it was just a story. There were two of them just as there are here.”
“Go on! What did he do?”
“He killed one of the blackmailers and made the evidence indicate the other blackmailer had committed the murder. The frantic blackmailer tried to tell the true story to the jury, but the jury just laughed at him and sent him to the electric chair.”
“That’s farfetched,” Bedford said. “It could only work in a story.”
“I know,” she said. “It was just a story, but it was so convincingly told that it … well, it just seemed terribly plausible. I remembered it. It stuck in my mind.”
Bedford looked at her in amazement, seeing a new phase of her character which he had never dreamed existed.
“I never knew you were so bloodthirsty, Elsa.”
“It was only a story.”
“But you stored it in your mind. How did you become interested in this detective business?”
“Through reading the magazines which feature true crime stories.”
“I love them.”
Again he looked at her.
“They keep your mind busy,” she explained.
“I guess I’m learning a lot about people very fast,” he said, still studying her.
“A girl has to have something to occupy her mind when she’s left all alone,” she said defensively but not defiantly.
He hastily looked back at the tray, then gently put it back in the shirt box. “We’ll just have to wait it out now, Elsa. Whenever Denham calls on the telephone or tries to get in touch with me, stall him off if you can. But when he gets insistent, put the call through. I’ll talk with him.”
“What about these?” she asked, indicating the lifted fingerprints on the Scotch tape.
“Destroy them,” Bedford said. “Get rid of them. And don’t just put them in a wastebasket. Cut them into small pieces with scissors and burn them.”
She nodded and quietly left the office.
There was no word from Binney Denham all that day. It got so his very failure to try to communicate got on Bedford’s nerves. Twice during the afternoon he called Elsa in.
“Anything from Denham?”
She shook her head.
“Never mind trying to stall him,” Bedford said. “When he calls, put the call through. If he comes to see me, let him come in. I can’t stand the strain of this suspense. Let’s find out what we’re up against as soon as we can.”
“Do you want a firm of private detectives?” she asked. “Would you like to have them shadow him when he leaves the office and—”
“Hell, no!” Bedford said. “How do I know that I could trust the private detectives? They might shadow him and find out all about what he knows. Then I’d be paying blackmail to two people instead of one. Let’s keep this on a basis where we’re handling it ourselves … and, of course, there is a possibility that the guy is right. It may be just a loan. It may be that this partner—this Delbert he refers to—is really a screwball who needs some capital and is taking this way of raising it. He may really be hesitating between selling his information to a magazine and letting me advance the loan. Elsa, if Denham telephones, put through the call immediately. I want to get these fellows tied up before there’s any possibility they’ll peddle that stuff to a magazine. It would be dynamite!”
“All right,” she promised. “I’ll put him through the minute he calls.”
But Binney Denham didn’t call, and Bedford went home that evening feeling like a condemned criminal whose application for a commutation of sentence is in the hands of the governor. Every minute became sixty seconds of agonizing suspense.
Ann Roann was wearing a hostess gown which plunged daringly to a low V in front and was fastened with an embroidered frog. She had been to the beauty parlor, and her hair glinted with soft high lights.
Stewart Bedford found himself hoping that they would have another tête-à-tête dinner, with candelight and cocktails, but she reminded him that a few friends were coming in and that he had to change to a dinner coat and black tie.
Bedford lugged the cardboard box up to his room, opened it, tore off the strips of adhesive tape which held the silver cocktail tray to the board, and managed to get the tray down to the serving pantry without being noticed.
The little dinner was a distinct success. Ann Roann was at her best, and Bedford noted with satisfaction the glances that came his way from men who had for years taken him for granted. Now they were looking at him as though appraising some new hidden quality which they had overlooked. There was a combination of envy and admiration in their expressions that made him feel a lot younger than his years. He found himself squaring his shoulders, bringing in his stomach, holding his head erect.
After all, it was a pretty good world. Nothing was so bad that it couldn’t be cured somehow. Things were never as bad as they seemed.
Then came the call to the telephone. The butler said that a Mr. D. said the call was quite important, and he was certain that Mr. Bedford would want to be advised.
Bedford made a great show of firmness. “Tell him that I’m not receiving any calls at the moment,” he said. “Tell him he can call me at the office tomorrow, or leave me a number where I can call him back in an hour or two.”
The butler nodded and vanished, and for a moment Bedford felt as though he had won a point. After all, he’d show these damn blackmailers that he wasn’t going to jump every time they snapped their fingers. Then the butler was back.
“Beg your pardon, sir,” he said, “but Mr. D. said the message is most important, that I was to tell you his associate is getting entirely out of control. He said he’d call you back in twenty minutes, that that was the best he could do.”
“Very well,” Bedford said, trying to keep up the external semblance of poise, but filled with sudden panic. “I’ll talk with him when he calls.”
He didn’t realize how frequently he was consulting his wrist watch during the next interminable quarter of an hour, until he saw Ann Roann watching him speculatively; then he cursed himself for letting his tension show. He should have gone to the telephone immediately.
None of the guests seemed to notice anything unusual. Only Ann Roann’s deep slate eyes followed him with that peculiarly withdrawn look which she had at times when she was thinking something out.
It was exactly twenty minutes from the time of the first call that the butler came to the door. He caught Bedford’s eye and nodded. This time Bedford, moving in a manner which he tried to make elaborately casual, started toward the door, said, “All right, Harvey. I’ll take the call in my upstairs office. Hang up the downstairs phone as soon as I get on the line.”
“Very good, sir,” the butler said.
Bedford excused himself to his guests, climbed the stairs hurriedly to his den, closed the door tightly, picked up the receiver, said, “Yes, hello. This is Bedford speaking.” He heard Denham’s voice filled with apologies.
“I’m terribly sorry I had to disturb you tonight, sir, but I thought you’d like to know. You see, Delbert talked with someone who knows the people who run this magazine and it seems he wouldn’t have any difficulty at all getting—”
“Whom did he talk with?” Bedford asked.
“I don’t know, sir. I’m sure I don’t know. It was just someone who knew about the magazine. It seems that they do pay a lot of money for some of the things they publish and—”
“Bosh and nonsense!” Bedford interrupted. “No scandal sheet is going to pay that sort of money for a tip of that sort. Besides, if they publish I’ll sue them for libel.”
“Yes, sir. I know. I wish you could talk with Delbert. I think you could convince him. But the point is I couldn’t convince him. He’s going to go to the magazine first thing in the morning. I daresay that when they learn what he has, they’ll offer him a very paltry sum, but I thought you’d like to know, sir.”
“Now look,” Bedford said. “Let’s be sensible about this thing. Delbert doesn’t want to deal with that magazine. You tell Delbert to get in touch with me.”
“Oh, Delbert wouldn’t do that, sir! He’s terribly afraid of you, sir.”
“Afraid of me?”
“Yes, of course, sir. That’s why I … well, I thought you’d understand. I thought we should tell you. I thought we owed you that much out of respect for your position. It was all my idea coming to you. Delbert, you see, just wanted to make an outright sale. He says there’re certain disadvantages doing business this way, that you might trap him in something. He’s … well, he doesn’t want to do it this way at all. He wants to give the magazine a piece of legitimate news and take whatever they give him as legitimate compensation. He tried to keep me from going to you. He says there’s every possibility you could trap us in some way.”
“Now look,” Bedford said. “This man Delbert is a fool. I am not going to be told what to do and what not to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m not going to be terrified by anybody.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I also know this information is phony. I know there’s something cockeyed about it somewhere.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear you say that, sir, because Delbert—”
“Now, wait a minute,” Bedford interrupted. “Just hold your horses. I’ve told you where I stand, but I’ve also made up my mind that rather than have any trouble about it, I’m willing to go ahead and do what you people want. Now is that clear?”
“Oh, yes, sir. That’s very clear! If I can tell Delbert that, it will make him feel very much different—that is, I hope it does. Of course, he’s afraid that you’re too smart for us. He’s afraid that you’ll lay a trap.”
“Trap, nothing!” Bedford said. “Now, let’s get this straight. When I do business, I do business on a basis of good faith. My word is good. I’m not setting any traps. Now, you tell Delbert to keep in line, and you call at my office tomorrow and well arrange to fix things up.”
“I’m afraid it has to be done tonight, sir.”
“Tonight! That’s impossible!”
“Well, that’s all right then,” Denham said. “If you feel that way, that’s—”
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Bedford shouted. “Don’t hang up. I’m just telling you it’s impossible to get things lined up for tonight.”
“Well, I don’t know whether I can hold Delbert in line or not”
“I’ll give you a check,” Bedford said.
“Oh, good heavens, no, sir! Not a check! Delbert wouldn’t ever hear of that, sir. He’d feel certain that was an attempt to trap him. The money would have to be in cash, if you know what I mean, sir. It would have to be money … well … money that couldn’t be traced. Delbert is very suspicious, Mr. Bedford, and he thinks you’re a very smart businessman.”
“Let’s quit playing cops and robbers,” Bedford said. “Let’s get down to a business basis on this thing. I’ll go to the bank tomorrow morning and get some money, and you can—”
“Just a moment, please,” Denham’s voice said. “Delbert said never mind. Just let the matter drop.”
“Let’s quit playing cops and robbers,” Bedford said. Bedford could hear voices at the other end of the line. He could hear the sound of Denham’s pleading, and once or twice he fancied he could hear a gruff voice, then Denham would cut in in that same apologetic drone. He couldn’t hear the words, just the tone of voice.
Then Denham was back on the phone again.
“I’ll tell you what you do, Mr. Bedford. This is probably the best way of handling it. Now, tomorrow morning just as soon as your bank opens you go to your bank and get twenty thousand dollars in traveler’s checks. The checks are to be one hundred dollars each. You get those checks and go to your office and then I’ll get in touch with you at your office. I’m awfully sorry I bothered you tonight, Mr. Bedford. I knew we shouldn’t have done it. I told Delbert that it was an imposition. But Delbert gets terribly impatient and he is suspicious. You see, this deal means a lot to him, and … well, you’d have to know him to understand.
“I’m just trying to do the best I can, Mr. Bedford, and it puts me in a terribly embarrassing position. I’m terribly sorry I called you.”
“Not at all,” Bedford heard himself saying. “Now you look here, Denham. You keep this Delbert person, whoever he is, in line. I’ll see that you get the money tomorrow. Now don’t let him get out of line. You stay with him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you be with him all the time tonight? Don’t let him out of your sight. I don’t want him to get any foolish ideas.”
“Well, I’ll try.”
“All right. You do that,” Bedford said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-by.”
He heard Binney Denham hang up, and reached for his handkerchief to wipe the cold sweat on his forehead before dropping the receiver into place. It was then he heard the second unmistakable click on the line.
In an agony of apprehension he tried to remember if he had heard the sound of the butler hanging up the receiver on the lower phone after he came on the line. He had no recollection of the sound.
Was it possible the lower phone had been open during the conversation? Had someone been listening?
Who?
How long had they had this damned butler anyway? Ann Roann had hired him. What did she know about him? Was it possible this whole thing was an inside job?
Who was this damned Delbert? How the devil did he know that there actually was any Delbert at all? How did he know that he wasn’t dealing with Denham, and with Denham alone?
Filled with a savage determination, Bedford opened the drawer of his dresser, took out the snub-nosed blued steel .38 caliber gun and shoved it in his brief case. Damn it, if these blackmailers wanted to play tough, he’d be just as tough as they were.
He opened the door from the den, descended the stairs quietly, and then at the foot of the stairs came to a sudden pause as he saw Ann Roann in the butler’s pantry. She had found the silver serving tray and was holding it so that the light shone on the back.
The silver tray hadn’t been washed and there remained a very faint impression of charcoal-dusted fingerprints, of places where the strips of adhesive tape had left marks on the polished silver.