A. Fair - Gold Comes in Bricks

But it wasn’t Alta the cops were after. They banged around on the front door until Ashbury got up. Then it seemed they wanted to talk with Robert Tindle.

I slipped on a pair of pants over my pyjamas, put on my coat, and tiptoed to the head of the stairs immediately after Tindle had gone down to the library. The cops didn’t lower their voices or try to pull any punches. They wanted to know if he was acquainted with a man named Jed Ringold.

“Why, yes,” Tindle said. “We have a salesman by that name.”

“Where’d he live? Do you know?”

“No, I don’t. It’s on the records up at our office. Why? What’s he done?”

“He hasn’t done anything,” the cop said. “When did you see him last?”

“I haven’t seen him for three or four days.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a stock salesman. That is, he’s a scout. He gets prospects located and phones in a tip. Then the other boys close.”

“What kind of stock?”

“Mining.”

“What’s the company?”

“Foreclosed Farms Underwriters Company.”

“What kind of a company is it?”

“For any detailed information,” Tindle said, and it sounded to me as though it was something he’d memorized, “I must ask you to get in touch with our legal department, C. Layton Crumweather, with offices in the Fidelity Building.”

“Well, why can’t you answer the question?”

“Because there are certain legal matters involved, and in my status as an officer of the corporation I might bind the corporation in some pending litigation.” His voice got more friendly and he said, “If you can tell me what you want, I can give you more information, but the lawyer has cautioned me not to speak out of turn because anything I say would be binding on the company, and there are a lot of legal technicalities that—”

“Forget it,” the cop told him. “Ringold was murdered. Do you know anything about that?”

“Murdered!”

“That’s right.”

“Good heavens, who killed him?”

“We don’t know.”

“When was he killed?”

“Right around eleven o’clock tonight.”

Bob said, “This is a terrible shock to me. I didn’t know the man intimately, but he was a business associate. Parker Stold and I were talking about him — it must have been right around the time he was killed.”

“Who’s Parker Stold?”

“One of my associates.”

“Where were you when you were doing this talking?”

“At our office. Stold and I were there chatting and making some sales plans.”

“All right, what enemies did this man have?”

“I’m sure I know but very little about him,” Tindle said. “My work deals mostly with matters of policy. The personnel is handled by Mr. Bernard Carter.”

They fooled around and asked a few more questions, then left. I saw that Alta was tiptoeing out of her room. I pushed her back in. “It’s okay,” I said. “Go to sleep. They wanted to see Bob.”

“What about?”

“Seems Ringold was working for Bob.”

“But why did they want to see Bob about that?”

I figured it was time to hand it to her. I said, “Somebody killed Ringold.”

She stood staring at me without speech, without expression, almost without breath. She had removed her makeup, and I saw her lips grow pale.

“You!” she said. “Good God, Donald, not you! You didn’t—”

I shook my head.

“You must have. Otherwise, you couldn’t have got that—”

“Shut up,” I said.

She came walking toward me as though she had been walking in her sleep. Her fingers touched the back of my hand. They were cold. “What did you think he was to me?” she asked.

“I didn’t think.”

“But why did you — why did you—”

I said, “Listen, dopey, I kept your name out of it. Do you get me? Where would you have been if that had been found?”

I could see she was thinking that over.

“Go back to bed,” I said. “No, wait a minute. Go on downstairs. Ask what’s happened, and what all the noise is about. They’ll tell you. They’re pretty much up in the air now. They won’t notice your expressions, what you say, or what you do. Tomorrow, they’ll be more alert... Does anyone know that you knew him?”

“No.”

“Anyone know that you were seeing him?”

“No.”

“If they ask you,” I said, “avoid the question. Understand? Don’t lie — not yet.”

“But how can I avoid it — if they ask me?”

I said, “Keep asking questions. That’s the best way to avoid answering them. Ask your stepbrother why they were calling on him at this hour of the night. Ask anybody anything, but don’t put your neck in a noose. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

I pushed her down the stairs. “Go on down and don’t let anyone know you’ve seen me. I’m going back to bed.”

I went back to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I heard people talking downstairs, heard steps on the stairs, low voices in the corridor. Someone walked down the corridor to the door of my room, paused there, tense and listening. I didn’t know who it was. I hadn’t locked the door. There was just enough vague light in the room so I could make out the door. I waited for it to open.

It didn’t.

After a while it got daylight. Then, for the first time, I felt sleepy. I wanted to relax. My feet had been cold ever since I’d walked out into the corridor. Now they got warm, and a heavy drowsiness came over me.

The butler knocked on my door. It was time for me to go and give Henry C. Ashbury his physical culture lesson.

Down in the gymnasium Ashbury didn’t even take off his heavy woollen bathrobe. “Hear the commotion last night?” he asked.

“What commotion?”

“One of the men who’s been working for Robert’s company was killed.”

“Killed?”

“Yes.”

“Auto accident or what?”

“Or what,” he said, and then after a moment added, “Three shots with a thirty eight calibre revolver.”

I looked at him steadily. “Where was Robert?” I asked.

His eyes held mine. He didn’t answer the question. He said instead, “Where were you?”

“Working.”

“On what?”

“On my job.”

He pulled a cigar out of the pocket of his robe, bit off the end, lit it, and started smoking. “Getting anywhere?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think?”

“I think I’m making progress.”

“Find out whose been blackmailing her?”

“I’m not certain she’s being blackmailed.”

“She isn’t throwing cheques around like confetti for nothing.”

“No.”

“I want you to stop it.”

“I think I can.”

“Think there’s any chance she’ll make any further payments?”

“I don’t know.”

“It takes you a long time to make progress,” he said. “Remember I’m paying for results.”

I waited until the silence had made its own punctuation mark, and then said, “Bertha Cool handles all the business affairs.”

He laughed then. “I’ll say one thing for you, Donald. You’re a little guy, but I never saw a big one who had more guts... Let’s go up and dress.”

He didn’t say anything about the reason for his inquiries about where I’d been or what progress I was making with his daughter. I didn’t ask for any explanations. I went up and took my bath and came down to breakfast.

Mrs. Ashbury was all upset. Maids were running in and out of her room. Her doctor had been called. Ashbury explained she’d had a bad night. Robert Tindle looked as though someone had put him through a wringing machine. Ashbury didn’t say much. I studied him covertly and came to the conclusion that the guys in this world who have the money and keep it are the ones who can dish it out and take it.