Эллери Куин - The Devil To Pay

“Yeah?”

“This afternoon one of my men discovered a bank account of Jardin’s we didn’t know anything about.”

“I thought he was busted!”

“So did I. The auction fooled me. But he’s got five million dollars salted away in the Pacific Coastal, Spaeth’s old bank. So the auction must have been a cover-up.”

“Five million!”

“Deposited last Wednesday.”

“But cripe, Van, that blows a hole in the motive.”

“I’m not so sure. Anyway, a private dick came in today, scared as the devil. Did a confidential job for Jardin not long ago; and when Spaeth was murdered he decided that maybe he’d better talk.”

“Well!”

“He claims he found out that Spaeth had monkeyed with Ohippi’s cash position and had sent out a prospectus falsifying their financial standing. He reported that to Jardin early last week.”

Glücke stared. “Jardin was broke, threatened to expose Spaeth, blackmailed him. Spaeth gave him the five million to shut him up. Jardin thought it wasn’t enough — Spaeth made ten times that. They had a couple of serious quarrels. So Jardin bumped Spaeth off to get a whack. How’s that?”

“It’s a damn lie!” said Pink, clenching his left fist.

“Shut up,” hissed Ellery.

“How’s this yarn of Walter Spaeth’s hit you?” mumbled the Inspector.

“I’m not sure.”

“Spaeth and the girl are nuts about each other. He’s screwy as hell, anyway. I wouldn’t put it past that loony galoot to stick his head in a noose just to protect her old man.”

“Well, let’s see how they act when they come out. Our only smart course is to give them rope.”

“Maybe,” said the Inspector hopefully, “they’ll hang one another.”

“There’s another angle on that five million,” said the District Attorney after another pause. “Right now Jardin’s a tin god to the public — it’s the most popular crime this country’s ever had, damn it. But they’re for him only because they think he was a victim of Spaeth’s rapacity, too. If we hold back the evidence of that five-million deposit until just before the trial, we’ll swing public opinion against him when the swing will do us the most good.”

“That’s smart, Van! Hold it. Here they come.”

Ellery turned the dictograph receiver off. “Finis.”

Pink snarled: “The bastards!”

“Pink, did you know about that five million?”

“Found the bankbook in Rhys’s golf-bag Monday morning, while I was packin’ up. Hey!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Ellery innocently.

“You ask too damn’ many questions!”

“I’m on your side, Pink,” said Ellery in a soothing voice. “What did Rhys say?”

“Well... Late Monday night he swore he didn’t know a thing about it. And I believe him, too!”

“Of course, Pink. Of course.”

“He reminded me that last Wednesday, when the deposit was made, he and I were away all day tryin’ to sell the yacht to a guy down in Long Beach. The bankbook was a plant.”

“Spaeth,” said Ellery thoughtfully.

“That’s what Rhys says, too.”

“Uh... Pink, have you any idea what the Jardins and Spaeth have been talking about in there?”

“They didn’t tell me anything, so it’s none of my business. Or,” said Pink, eying him stonily, “yours.”

“But I want to help them, Pink.”

Pink grabbed Ellery’s red-and-blue necktie with his freckled left fist. “Listen, mugg. Lay off or I’ll cripple you!”

“My, my, such muscles,” murmured Ellery. “Well, let’s see what the conferees have decided.”

In Inspector Glücke’s office the two Jardins and Walter were standing close together, like people threatened with a common peril and united in a common defense.

The Inspector was saying incredulously: “ What? ”

“You heard me,” said Walter.

Glücke was speechless. District Attorney Van Every rose and said sternly: “Look here, Spaeth, you can’t pull a stunt like this and hope to get away with it. You said—”

“I know what I said. I was lying.”

“Why?”

Walter put his right arm about Val. “Rhys Jardin happens to be my fiancée’s father.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that you’d deliberately say you were on the scene of a murder when you weren’t — just for sentimental reasons! That happens in books.”

“I’m an incurable romantic,” sighed Walter.

“Well, you’re not getting away with it!” shouted Glücke.

“Please,” smiled Rhys. “Walter’s a quixotic young fool. Naturally I can’t let him sacrifice himself for me—”

“Then you admit you murdered Spaeth?” snapped the District Attorney.

“Nothing of the sort, Van Every,” said Rhys coolly. “I’m not saying anything, as I’ve told you before. But I won’t allow Walter to get himself in trouble on my account. My troubles are my own.”

Van Every tapped his mouth pettishly. The Jardins, Walter, stood very still.

Then Glücke stamped to the main door. “Take Jardin back to his cell. As for you,” he went on, eying Walter malevolently, “if you ever pull a stunt like this again I’ll send you up for obstructing justice. Now beat it.”

The two detectives closed in on Rhys and took him away. Walter and Val, who wore a demure expression, sauntered after. Pink glared from the Inspector to the retreating figures, jammed on his hat, and ran after them.

Ellery sighed and closed the door.

“What’s on your mind, King?” snapped the Inspector. “Let’s have that phony information of yours and then scram.”

“Don’t you think we ought to discuss this new development first?”

“Who’s we? Say, you’re one fresh jigger!”

“You won’t lose anything by letting me coöperate with you,” murmured Ellery.

“I’ll be damned,” said Glücke in amazement.

“Let the man talk,” said the thin man with a smile. “I rather like the cut of his jib. How does this retraction of Spaeth’s strike you, King?”

Ellery made a face.

“Oh, he lied all right,” said the Inspector disgustedly.

“On the contrary,” said Ellery, “he told the exact truth. He lied when he took the admission back. If you ask me, boys, you’re further from a solution of this case now than you were Monday night.”

“Go on,” said the District Attorney, intent.

“There aren’t enough facts to play with, but I’m convinced Walter Spaeth was the man in Jardin’s camel’s-hair coat and furthermore that he knows enough about what went on in his father’s study Monday afternoon to settle this grimy business in five minutes.”

“It’s all balled up,” muttered the Inspector. “Jardin’s attitude, how Spaeth figures, that closed corporation of theirs. By God, could they be accomplices?”

“Tell me something,” said Ellery suddenly. “Did your crew search Sans Souci thoroughly, Inspector?”

“Sure.”

“Then how is it,” said Ellery, taking the handkerchief-wrapped binoculars out of his pocket, “that they missed this?”

He unfolded the handkerchief. Glücke licked his lips. “Where?” he asked hoarsely.

Ellery told him. Glücke turned a deep scarlet.

“Some one,” said Ellery, lighting a cigaret, “was on the Jardin terrace Monday afternoon watching Spaeth’s study through these glasses. Whoever it was, he left the imprint of a thumb and a little finger on that iron table. You might have that table examined.”

“Yeah. Sure,” said Glücke with a stricken look.

“And the binoculars.”

“And the binoculars.”

“I’m beginning to fill up with notions,” Ellery continued. “I snooped about the grounds yesterday and tried to locate the spot where Walter Spaeth parked his car and was slugged. Wasn’t it on the south side, near a sewer?”