Роберт Колби - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 17, No. 4, April 1972

“I know,” I said. “They don’t make them that way anymore.”

“Such a scholar,” Mrs. Finley said. “So kind and gentle. I’m meeting him later this afternoon.”

Twenty minutes later Morris phoned. “We struck pay dirt. Uncle Charles is Charles Neilson, and he’s wanted by the police.”

“What for?”

“He slugged his parole officer.”

“What did he get sent to jail for in the first place?”

“Jewel theft. Served almost four years and then was paroled. Two weeks later he socked the parole officer and wisely disappeared.”

“Why in the world would he hit his parole officer?”

“I don’t know. According to the clipping read to me over the phone, the parole officer, somebody named Zander, said the attack was ‘entirely unprovoked.’ ”

“This happened in Minnesota?”

“No. Oregon. That’s where he served his time. The reason it got any play at all in the St. Paul newspapers is because St. Paul was Neilson’s official residence and he also happened to be the brother-in-law of the prominent Hector Collier.”

“What was Hector prominent for?”

“He owned a string of pea, corn, and string bean canneries throughout the Midwest. They’re still in the family but being run for Mrs. Collier by a bank.”

“Why the devil would Charles Neilson be stealing jewels?”

“For a living maybe. His sister was an airline stewardess before she married Hector. Have you got any leads on Neilson yet?”

I hesitated. “No. Nothing at all yet.”

When he hung up, I drummed my fingers on the desk. So Uncle Charles was wanted by the police? Then why did he go around winning archery tournaments and risk exposure and then a prison cell?

After a little thinking I worked it out. Just how much was he really risking by entering regional tournaments? Not much. After all, he wasn’t exactly on the F.B.I.’s most-wanted list. Outside of Oregon and Minnesota, probably no one knew about him or his troubles. Raising the beard and putting distance between him and those two states made him about as safe as a man can be. He could indulge in his hobby with near impunity, as long as he kept it low-key.

Ariana showed up at two-thirty in the afternoon.

“You lied to me,” I said immediately.

Her honest violet eyes veiled. “In what possible way?”

“You did not mention that your Uncle Charles is a jewel thief and former convict and that at this moment he is wanted by the police.”

She stared at me for a while and then gave up. “How did you find that out?”

“I have agents,” I said. “Informers; connections; people who owe me favors. You also neglected to mention that your father has been dead six years and therefore could not possibly have had that quarrel with Uncle Charles three years ago.”

She acknowledged the discrepancy and volunteered further information. “Actually, Uncle Charles wasn’t just a jewel thief. He preferred cash. But hardly anybody keeps cash in his safe anymore, so Uncle Charles had to settle for whatever he could find.”

“Why did he have to steal? Couldn’t his brother-in-law have gotten him a decent job?”

“Uncle Charles is an independent kind of man. Besides, he’d been a thief all his life, though none of us knew it until he got caught.” She sighed. “Mother and I were so positive he would go straight after leaving prison, because of the letters he sent us while he was there. He’d never served time before and the experience made quite an impression on him. But then he had to go and hit that parole officer.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. Uncle Charles never communicated with us after he disappeared, except for the Christmas cards. I guess he didn’t want to get us into trouble by corresponding with him and the cards were his way of telling us that he was all right and not to worry.”

“Now you want to find him? Why?”

“Because of my mother. She intends to marry Randall Clay and I think she shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I believe he’s just a fortune hunter. He doesn’t really care for her at all. It’s not possible.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because he made his... play... for me first. Clay is at least twenty-five years older than I am and I really don’t know why he did it unless he’s just terribly self-confident. Anyway, when he found out that I regarded him as at least one generation removed, he simply switched his attentions to my mother.”

“That made you jealous?”

She regarded me coldly. “No.”

“What does Uncle Charles have to do with all of this?”

“I’ve tried to convince mother that Clay is just after her money, but she simply won’t listen. I thought that if I could get Uncle Charles to talk to her, it might turn the trick. They were always very close.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this in the first place?”

“I thought it was really none of your business. I mean, it’s family and you were a complete stranger. I just wanted you to find Uncle Charles. Have you any idea yet where he might be?”

I looked out of the window. “I have a few leads, but it will take a few days to track them down.” I turned back to her. “Did it ever occur to you to hire a private detective to check up on Randall Clay?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. The Belmont Detective Agency in St. Paul. Mr. Belmont did a ‘run’, as he called it, on Randall Clay.”

“What did he find?”

“Nothing. At least nothing bad. He found that Clay was exactly what he said he was: from a prominent New Orleans family, had an adequate income from stocks, and like that.”

“But you still don’t trust him?”

“No. It’s just instinct. ”

I reached for my desk pen. “Do you know his address and telephone number?”

“All I know is that he’s at the Oakland Hotel in St. Paul.”

She watched me write that down. “How did you ever get into this business?”

“From my mother.”

“Oh?”

“Actually my father founded the agency, but he died when I was quite young. The lease on his office still had four months to go at the time, so mother said, ‘Oh, what the hell,’ and she began answering the phone. One thing led to another until she decided to get a license. She’s on vacation in California right now.” I put the pen back in its stand. “It just occurred to me that being alone in a strange city can get boring. How about dinner tonight and a show? I happen to have two tickets to Son of the Student Prince. ”

After a moment she nodded. “All right. Actually I am very seldom bored, but I do get hungry and I’ve heard of the play.”

“I’ll pick you up in the lobby of your hotel at seven. Stanton Arms, isn’t it?”

She paused at the door. “How did you know that?”

“Agents,” I said again. “Informers; connections; people who owe me favors.”

When she was gone, I dialed Manfred Haggerty. He promised to search his soul and the city for a pair of tickets to Son of the Student Prince, and they would cost me only thirty-four dollars.

When I hung up, I sat in my chair for a while, thinking, and then I reached for the phone again. I got the long-distance operator and had her connect me with the Better Business Bureau in St. Paul.

A man answered. “Better Business Bureau.”

“I’m thinking of employing the Belmont Detective Agency on a plant security matter, but first I thought it wouldn’t harm to check with you about its reliability.”

He agreed. “Just a moment. I’ll have someone look in our files and see if there’s anything.”

A minute later he was back on the phone. “Hm,” he said thoughtfully.