Richard Deming: Tweak the Devil’s Nose

He felt it a moral duty for the current stockholders to bear the loss, Lancaster concluded. He himself had no intention of unloading his own stock, even though it meant immediate loss of three fourths of his fortune.

I found myself mentally giving Lancaster points for unselfishness, but at the same time it occurred to me that if Laurie Davis’s estimate of his protégé’s worth was accurate, a seventy-five percent loss would still leave him a rich man. Knight, on the other hand, probably lacked the cushion of two million dollars to fall back on.

Matilda Graves verified my thought when she went on to tell that Knight angrily assured Lancaster he had no intention of being ruined by the latter’s misguided sense of honesty, and he would “find a way” to prevent the announcement being made.

At that point the lieutenant governor had walked out of the office and slammed the door.

“What was Jones’s reaction to all this?” I asked curiously.

“Oh, he didn’t know it,” the woman said. “You see, he left shortly after four, while they were still arguing. At five he phoned from home and asked if Mr. Knight was still tied up in conference. I told him Mr. Lancaster had just left, but Mr. Knight was still here. He said to tell Mr. Knight he was flying to Kansas City at six and would be back in the morning. I didn’t tell him anything about the argument.”

“And you haven’t mentioned it since?”

“No. I hated to upset Mr. Jones. He’s such a nice man. You see, when the police talked to Mr. Jones this morning, he told them Mr. Lancaster had left the office alone at five and he didn’t know where he went from here. I guess they got the impression Mr. Jones had seen him leave, whereas actually he was merely repeating what I told him over the phone. And they never asked me anything.”

“Didn’t the police talk to Knight also?”

She shook her head. “Mr. Knight didn’t come in today. When he failed to arrive this morning, Mr. Jones had me phone his home and Mrs. Knight said he was out of town visiting a customer.”

“Where?” I asked.

“She didn’t say.” Her lips trembled a trifle and she blurted out, “I think he’s hiding!”

“Hiding? Why? Even if he killed Lancaster, presumably he would figure no one had reason to suspect him. Unless you told him the key to his call box was open.”

“I did,” she said.

“What?”

“I did tell him. Right after Mr. Lancaster left, Mr. Knight called me over the intercom. He said, ‘My key seems to be open, Miss Graves. Has it been all along?’ I said, ‘Yes, sir.’ He growled, ‘Hope you got an earful,’ and shut it off.”

“Sounds like a pleasant guy to work for,” I said. “Do you have access to all company records?”

She nodded. “I keep the books.”

“Think you could figure out what company Lancaster was talking about to Knight?”

She pursed her lips dubiously. “I doubt that it would appear in our records. Both partners handle their own personal financial transactions, so they don’t run through our books. I doubt that this office even has a record of the stock Mr. Knight owns. He would have that at home.”

“Look anyway, will you, and I’ll phone you tomorrow. I can narrow the search somewhat for you, because Lancaster held stock in only five corporations: Illinois Telegraph, Rockaway Distributors, Ilco Utilities, Eastern Plow, and Palmer Tool.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised.

One good turn deserves another, and since she was willing to go to some trouble for me, I felt the least I could do in return was try to ease her worry over possessing knowledge she felt the police should have.

Rising, I said, “Thanks very much for your information, Miss Graves. And don’t fret about the police any more. I’m working with them, and I’ll pass everything along.”

She seemed as pathetically grateful as a death-row prisoner who unexpectedly receives a pardon.

My next stop was the scene of the crime. By arriving at El Patio so early, I missed the pleasure of having my back bruised by Mouldy Greene’s greeting, as he did not assume his post inside the entrance until seven.

I found Fausta in the office beyond the dining room, which at the moment was only half full, but by seven would be crammed to the walls with people eager to pay El Patio’s outrageous prices. She was seated at the desk, which always looked too large for her, frowning at a newly printed menu.

The previous evening, Lancaster’s murder and the attendant excitement had dampened Fausta’s normal exuberance, but tonight she was back in usual form.

“Manny!” she cried, running around the desk, flinging herself into my arms and planting an impassioned kiss on my chin.

After this spontaneous display of affection, she pushed me away just as though I had been the aggressor, narrowed her eyes at me and lightly slapped my face.

“You rat,” she said. “Where have you been all day?”

“Did you expect me earlier?” I asked. “You know what a social whirl I whirl in. Other women expect some of my time.”

“Pooh!” she said. “No woman but me would want a man of such ugliness.” Jumping up to seat herself on the desktop, she folded her arms and regarded me like a traffic-court judge. “I can give you only a few minutes. You are not the only one chased by the opposite sex. I expect a man who loves me at any moment.”

“Well, if you’ve got a date, I’ll come back later.”

But she was past me with her back to the door before I could even turn around. “Not so fast, my love. What do you want?”

“Why, I just stopped to see you, Fausta.”

“Pooh! Your heart is an adding machine, only good for adding up fees. You never come just to see me any more. You are here on business.”

“Partly,” I admitted. “But mainly to tell you to stop broadcasting the lie that you were an eyewitness to the murder.”

She looked puzzled. “Broadcasting?”

“You told Laurie Davis. I appreciate your motive was to make sure he didn’t suspect me, but you’ve got to cut it out. I don’t want to be picking bullets out of your lovely skin.”

Fausta looked interested. “You are worried about me, Manny?”

“Enough to straighten you out for good if I hear of you telling anyone else,” I said grimly. “You so much as mention you’re Day’s key witness again, and I’ll arrange to have the inspector stick you in protective custody. You want to sit in jail till we catch this killer?”

She shook her head. “You would not be so mean. And if you were, I would not tell you what I kept back from Inspector Day last night.”

“You kept something back?” I asked cautiously.

“Yes. You may have it for taking me out just once.”

I laughed with false heartiness. “You don’t have to blackmail me, Fausta. You know I’d rather take you out than do anything.”

I would too, but it only starts me wondering whether it really matters which partner has the money, and by the time I decide it does and back off, the pain is likely to be as acute as that of a man suddenly pulled off the dope habit.

Fausta said, “Will you take me out tomorrow night?”

“The next night.”

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “Or I phone Inspector Day and tell him what I forgot.”

I gave up, as I always do. “All right. Ten o’clock.”

“Nine.”

“Nine,” I agreed. “Now give.”

The bargaining expression disappeared and she smiled. “Barney Seldon was here last night.”

I said, “Both the inspector and I already know that.”

“Be silent until I finish. He entered just after Mr. Lancaster and took a table facing his. The reason I noticed is because Barney has been paying me attention. In fact he is the man I am awaiting now.”