Корнелл Вулрич - Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 50, No. 5, October 10, 1936

“What did you do with the body of Jonathan Steele?” the District Attorney asked sternly.

“In the dead of night, Patterson and I carried him to a boat, took him out to sea, put weights on him and dropped him overboard. I refused to do if unless Patterson went with me — I was determined he would be as deep in it as myself.

“Well,” he said with a faint smile, “it worked. Donnegan was a natural actor and he enjoyed his importance. I taught him to play golf and we continued Jonathan’s routine. Patterson sent a private detective named Morton to handle the protection angle.”

“ You mean the gangster, Maroni.” said the D. A.

“Well, he said he was a private detective. I could imitate Jonathan’s handwriting and signed what documents required his personal signature. Of course, I was always worried, but nothing happened. Nobody in the world had the slightest suspicion that Jonathan wasn’t alive and well.

“A few weeks ago the unexpected happened. The grandson arrived from Europe. He had inherited his mother’s estate and Patterson could no longer force him to remain abroad. Patterson was much disturbed, more so when I phoned him I had received a wire from Stephen Steele that he had to see his grandfather on an important matter.

“Now I had nothing to do with what happened. It was arranged by Patterson with Lafe Morton. When young Steele arrived at Santa Barbara Morton admitted him, led him to a room prepared, overpowered and bound him and put a man in to guard him. I protested and was told to mind my own business. In the meantime a man hired by Morton was impersonating Stephen in Los Angeles. After a wild drunk he was murdered in a negro joint.”

“By Morton’s orders?” demanded the District Attorney.

“No, sir. That wasn’t the idea. It was to give us a good excuse for disinheriting Stephen Steele—”

“If you remember, I told you so,” said Upton Reynolds to Dick with justifiable complacency.

“There was nothing to do, of course, but to identify him as Stephen Steele and that brought up the problem of what to do with Steele.”

“So you have murdered him,” thundered the District Attorney.

“ No, sir. We have removed him to a house near Palm Springs, an isolated place, until we could come to some decision.

“Being informed that Mr. Cody, accompanied by the ex-district attorney of Los Angeles, Mr. Barton, had broken into our grounds, I took Donnegan next day to the Steele place in Palm Springs. We had been there only a few days when an unfortunate incident happened. Leaving the golf links, we passed a car containing Miss Barton, who thought she recognized Jonathan as Donnegan. He told me she had been a frequent visitor at the Soldiers’ Home.”

While I assumed she realized she was mistaken, I could run no more risk of encountering her, so we came back to Santa Barbara. After the kidnaping of Donnegan last night, I sent the men who had been overpowered by the kidnapers in pursuit. By chance, a gas station attendant had heard one of the kidnapers tell somebody over the phone that they were going to the Stella Grey cottage in Tiger Cañon.

“They phoned the information to me and I got in touch with Morton in Los Angeles. From our angle it was vital to recapture Donnegan — out of our hands and in the hands of the police he would have told everything. Morton collected more men and started for Tiger Cañon as soon as possible. Whatever violence has occurred is Morton’s responsibility, Mr. District Attorney. I was against violence from the first.”

“Morton, or Maroni, is dead,” declared the District Attorney. “I think you and Patterson will be found responsible for the crimes of your hirelings. Write an order to whoever is guarding Stephen Steele at Palm Springs to release him. I’ll send officers down to escort him here.” He pressed a button and a policeman entered.

“Take this man to the County Jail and lock him in a cell,” he said.

When Farrell had been removed, the District Attorney passed around cigarettes. “I’ll phone New York to arrest Patterson on a murder charge. We may not be able to make it stick, but it will serve to hold him despite his political influence.”

“Are we under arrest?” asked Dick.

“Technically. Considering you broke and entered, killed a man, kidnaped another and shot several citizens up in Tiger Cañon, I’m treating you boys pretty well. Dick, I suppose you can be elected. Governor of this State if you want to run at the next election.”

“I’ll take the matter under consideration,” said Dick with his contagious laugh.

There was a dinner party at the house of Richard Barton to serve the double purpose of honoring Stephen Steele, head of the vast Jonathan Steele enterprises, and to announce the engagement of the beautiful Clarice Barton to one Timothy Cody. Though, as Clarice said, everybody at the dinner knew all about the engagement.

The guests were Steve and Rhoda and Upton Reynolds, the grand old sport, and myself, and Bill and Jim Bridgeman. Bill had his arm in a sling and both brothers were greatly embarrassed, even though, because of their point of view, none of us wore evening clothes.

Steve didn’t look bad at all and hadn’t had a bad time. They had fed him regularly, let him have books to read and told him nothing. He didn’t know that while he was locked in a room in his grandfather’s house, they were holding funeral services over what were supposed to be his remains in another part of the building. He hadn’t recognized me that night he looked out the window at the fight in the grounds below because he hadn’t expected to see me in California. His delight to find Rhoda waiting for him when he came back from the Castle in Palm Springs can be imagined.

Upton Reynolds was speaking. “My dear Mr. Steele,” he said, “while Roscoe Patterson was a criminal of the first water, while his intentions, of course, were to rook your estate, by concealing the death of your grandfather for a year, he actually performed a great service for you.”

Steve laughed in his good old way. “How do you make that out, sir?” he asked and squeezed Rhoda’s hand under the table.

“A year ago, the liquidation of the estate would have failed to bring enough to equal the total of Federal and State taxes. It is not impossible that such a forced liquidation would have caused a panic.

“Thanks to the great rise in the price of all sorts of securities and particularly motors, during the past year, the Steele holdings have almost tripled in value, while the taxes must be collected upon the valuation as of a year ago plus the nominal interest rates. Thus you will net sixty or seventy per cent of the value of your properties of a year ago after taxes have been paid instead of finding your inheritance amounting to nothing or only a few thousand dollars.”

“Just the same,” said Steve vindictively, “it’s lucky for him he committed suicide when he got the tip from Farrell that Donnegan was exposed — not because of what he tried to do to me but for his treatment of Rhoda and his attempt to have Tim put out of the way. Anyway I don’t care about the money. Rhoda and I would get along under any conditions.”

“Of course we would,” said Rhoda.

Steve laughed. “This Donnegan character appeals to me. I’m going to have a talk with him. Dick, can they jail the old man on this charge?”

“They certainly can.”

“But his impersonation seems to have saved me and my friends millions of dollars.”

“And he’s an old dear,” declared Clarice.

“So I’m going to keep him out of jail and give him a pension.”

Clarice rushed around the table, threw her arms around Steve’s neck and kissed him. For spite, I kissed Rhoda.

After quiet was restored Steve rapped on the table. “Dick,” he said, “I consider that you were acting as my attorney during this whole business. So present any bill you like over a million. As for you two boys” — he turned to Jim and Bill — “I rate your services in my behalf at ten thousand each.”