A. Fair - Gold Comes in Bricks

“Yes, I know. You loaned someone your hands for the evening.”

I said, “Show me where they check.”

The detectives huddled together, began comparing my prints with some photographs they had. I heard the sound of heavy steps in the upper corridor, and Mrs. Ashbury and Bernard Carter came walking down the stairs. He was tenderly solicitous. She was prepared either to make a scene or put on an act, as the occasion might require.

There was something in the ponderous dignity of her appearance that impressed the officers more than Alta Ashbury’s clean-cut patrician manner. The officers became deferential.

“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Ashbury asked.

“We’ve caught the murderer,” one of the detectives said, and motioned toward me.

“Donald!” she exclaimed in surprise.

He nodded.

I heard quick, pounding steps, and Bob, running up from the billiard room, came to stand in the doorway.

Alta Ashbury moved over to my side and said, “Dad’s on his way out here.”

He came in while the officers were still in a huddle over the finger-prints. I saw things weren’t going to suit them. They shifted photographs around and stared in scowling concentration at the prints they’d taken of my fingers. I was glad I’d remembered to wear gloves there in that hotel room.

Ashbury came over to stand near me.

The sergeant of detectives moved over to talk with Markham, the night clerk. Markham was more and more positive. He kept nodding his head emphatically. They moved over and had a whispered conference with Esther Clarde, and she continued to shake her head.

Ashbury said, “What’s all this all about, Donald?” Bertha Cool took his arm, pulled him off to one side, and started to whisper.

I said to the sergeant, “It’s too bad those finger-prints don’t check. You wanted to crack the case, didn’t you?”

“All right, wise guy,” he said, “go ahead and shoot off your mouth. You’ll sing a different tune before we’re done with you.”

I motioned toward Bernard Carter.

“Why don’t you try his fingers?” I asked. “See if they match.”

“Nuts. The man we’re looking for is a man of your build, your complexion— In short, we’re looking for you!”

“All right,” I said, “if you don’t try his finger-prints, you have yourselves to thank for passing up a chance of advancement.”

At that, I don’t think they’d have done it if it hadn’t been for the look on Carter’s face.

The officer moved over toward him. “Just a routine checkup,” he said.

Carter shot his hands behind his back. “What the hell do you fellows think this is? Who do you think you’re pushing around? I’ll have you busted wide open.”

I lit a cigarette.

The officers looked at each other and then converged on Carter.

He put up quite a fight, first with a lot of threats, and then by trying to break away. They got his finger-prints. It took only one look at the finger-prints and the photograph, a quick consultation, and one of the officers pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

Mrs. Ashbury said, “Bernard, what’s the meaning of this? What are they trying to do?”

“It’s a frame-up,” he yelled. “I’ll be damned if I stand for it.” He broke loose, and started for the door.

“That’s far enough, buddy,” the sergeant in charge said.

Carter shot through the door and started to run through the corridor. The officer pulled out a gun. Mrs. Ashbury screamed.

The officer yelled, “I’ll shoot! By God, I will!”

We heard Carter’s running feet come to a stop. The officer walked toward him.

I said to Ashbury, “That’ll just about wind it up,” and turned to encounter Alta’s eyes.

Bertha Cool found us in the solarium. She looked at me and said, “Donald, lover, I’m damned if I know how you do it, but you certainly reached in the grab bag and came out with first prize.”

“Has he confessed?” I asked.

“No, but those finger-prints tally. They found a gun on him that the officers think is the murder gun. They’ve rushed it to the ballistics department.”

Alta patted my hand.

Bertha stood looking down at us. “All right, Donald,” she said, “break it up. The rest of it’s up to the police. We’re going back.”

“Back where?” Alta asked.

“Back to work.”

“But he’s working.”

“Not on this case. It’s all washed up.”

She walked calmly out of the solarium.

“Want to try something?” I asked Alta.

“What?”

I said, “Those letters. There’s only one place they might be.”

She looked around in quick apprehension to make certain that no one was listening.

“Where?” she asked.

“Got your car out here?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.”

We sneaked out the back way, got in it, and drove out of the yard. Police cars were arriving, a steady procession of sirens.

“Donald, tell me how did you figure that out?”

“I was dumb,” I said.

“You, dumb!”

“Uh-huh.”

She laughed.

I said, “That’s the way it figures. It looked like an inside job to me. It had to be. Esther Clarde knew about the switch on letters — everything that was going on here. When the officers took me up to her apartment, she was going to let them in. Then she saw me, and decided to talk in the corridor. I figured someone was in there I knew. It just about had to be Bob. I pegged Bob for the whole business, but it didn’t exactly fit. I overlooked the most logical bet.”

“What do you mean? You surely don’t mean that Carter got in my room and—”

“No,” I said. “Your stepmother. Don’t you get the picture? You were really the one who made a home for your father. When you went away and he was left to shift for himself, he got desperately lonely. He wouldn’t say anything to you because he thought you had your own life to live, that you’d sooner or later get married and leave him anyway. So he decided to carry on and try to make another home for himself. When you came back, he realised how he’d made a fool of himself. Mrs. Ashbury saw the picture in its true light. Little things you did gave her the clue.”

“You mean she got the letters?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To involve you in that wife murder and get you thoroughly discredited. She thought it would give her the whip hand.”

“And what did she do with them?”

“Gave them to Carter to turn over to the district attorney. Carter turned them over to Jed Ringold because he needed an outside point of contact. Ringold saw a chance to collect twenty grand, and still have enough letters for the D.A. Then he lost his dough gambling and decided to go the rest of the way on the letters.

“Your dad found out you were paying out money. Mrs. Ashbury found it out from him. Carter found out Ringold was double-crossing your stepmother. She wanted the D.A. to get those letters. He wanted the D.A. to get some of them. They were prepared for a little delay while Ringold was rigging a plant, but Ringold made the mistake of carrying things too far.”

“I still don’t see,” she said.

“Crumweather, of course, knew about the letters because Lasster told him. When a man gets into jail on a murder rap, he tells his lawyer everything. Crumweather wanted to make certain those letters were destroyed. He supposed, of course, that you’d burnt them, but he wanted to make certain.

“Crumweather knew Carter, had business dealings with him, and knew Carter had an entrée to your house, so he suggested to Carter that it would be a good plan to make certain the letters were destroyed.

“Then Carter must have passed the word on to Mrs. Ashbury, and she saw a chance to double-cross Crumweather, get you involved in a scandal, and make things so hot for you you’d want to leave the country and never show your face in it again.