XXVII

Clancy felt no impulse to slam the door in Spofford's face. Instead, she

opened it wider.

"Come in," she said.

He stepped across the threshold. Just beyond, he paused uncertainly. And

now his lips, which had been sullen, Clancy thought, shaped themselves

into a smile that was deprecatory, apologetic.

"I hope I ain't disturbin' you, Miss Deane," he said.

Clancy stared at him. She had never felt so completely in command of a

situation.

"That depends," she said curtly. "If you are to annoy me further----"

Spofford's grin was extremely conciliating.

"Aw, don't hit a man when he's down, Miss Deane. Every one has to be a

sucker once in a while. It ain't every guy that's willin' to admit it,

apologize, and ask for a new deal. Now, if I go that far, don't you

think you ought to come a little way and meet me?"

Clancy's eyes widened.

"Suppose," she said, "we sit down."

"Thank you, Miss Deane." Spofford's tone was as properly humble as

Clancy could possibly have wished. "A nice little friendly talk, me

tryin' to show you I'm a regular guy, and you, maybe, bein, a little

helpful. That's it--helpful."

He followed her as she led the way into the drawing-room and he seated

himself carefully upon the edge of a chair whose slim legs justified his

caution.

Clancy sat down opposite him. She leaned the poker against the wall.

Spofford laughed.

"I'll just bet you'd 'a' beaned me one with that as soon as not, eh,

Miss Deane?"

Clancy suddenly grew cautious. Perhaps this was an attempt to make her

admit that she would not shrink from violence. Detectives were uncanny

creatures.

"I should hate to do anything like that," she said.

Spofford guffawed heartily.

"I'd sure hate to have you, Miss Deane. But you don't need to be afraid

of me."

"I'm not," said Clancy.

Spofford's nod was the acme of appreciation of a remark that held no

particular humor, so far as Clancy could see. He slipped a trifle

further back in the chair. He crossed his legs, assisting one fat knee

with his hands. He leaned back. From his upper waistcoat pocket he took

a cigar.

"You wouldn't mind, would you, Miss Deane? I can talk easier."

The downward and inward jerk of Clancy's chin gave him consent. From his

lower waistcoat pocket, attached to the same heavy chain that Clancy

assumed secured his watch, Spofford produced a cigar-clipper.

Deliberately he clipped the end from the cigar, lighted it, tilted it

upward from one corner of his mouth, and leaned toward Clancy.

"Miss Deane, you gotta right to point the door to me; I know it.

But--you'd like to know who killed this Beiner guy, wouldn't you? Bein'

sort of mixed up in it--bein' involved, so to speak----" His voice died

away questioningly.

Despite herself, Clancy sighed with relief. Spofford was really the only

man she had to fear. And if he believed in her innocence----

"How do you know I didn't do it?" she demanded.

"Well, it's this way, Miss Deane: When you come into Mr. Vandervent's

office and fainted away after announcin' yourself as Florine Ladue, I

couldn't quite swallow what you said about playin' a joke. You don't

look like the sort of lady that would play that kind of a joke. Anyway,

I have a hunch, and I play it. I get this elevator-man from the

Heberworth Building to come down to your living-place----"

"How did you know where I lived?" demanded Clancy.

Spofford grinned.

"Same way I found out that you were down here to-day, Miss Deane. I had

a guy follow you. You can't blame me, now, can you?" he asked

apologetically.

Clancy hid a grin at her own magnanimous wave of her hand.

"Well, this elevator-man tells me that he took you up to the fourth

floor of the Heberworth Building on Tuesday afternoon. I think I have

something. But, then, Judge Walbrough butts in. Well, I begin to figure

that I'm _goin'_ a trifle fast. Judge Walbrough ain't the sort of man to

monkey with the law. And nobody ain't goin' to fool him, either. So, if

Walbrough strings along with you, maybe I'm a sucker to think you got

anything to do with this Beiner affair.

"And when the guy I have watching the house tells me that you've gone up

to Walbrough's, and when I learn that Mr. Vandervent is down at

Walbrough's house--well, I do some more figurin'. There's lots of

influence in this town; but a pull that will make a man like Walbrough

and a man like Vandervent hide a murderess--there ain't that pull here.

'Course, I figure that Walbrough is sendin' for Vandervent to help you

out, not to pinch you.

"Anyway, what I'm guessin' is that maybe I'd better examine my take-off

before I do too much leapin'. And my take-off is that the elevator-man

says he saw you in the Heberworth Building. That ain't a hangin' matter,

exactly, I tells myself. Suppose I get a little more.

"What sort of a lady is this Florine Ladue, I asks myself. An actress,

or somebody that wants to be an actress; well, where would she be

livin'? Somewhere in the Tenderloin, most likely. So, last evenin', I

get busy. And I find at the Napoli that Miss Florine Ladue registered

there last Monday and beat it away after breakfast Wednesday mornin'.

And that's proof to me that Florine Ladue didn't do the killing.

"Now, I'm pretty sure that you're Florine Ladue all right. Madame Napoli

described you pretty thoroughly. Even told me that you was readin' a

paper, at breakfast, what paper it was, how you got a telegram supposed

to be from your mother that called you away. Now, I figure it out to

myself: If Miss Ladue's mother wired her, and the wire made Miss Ladue

pack her stuff and beat it, why didn't she go home? Because the wire's a

fake, most likely. Then why, the next question is, did Miss Ladue put

over that fake? The answer's easy. Because she'd just read in the

mornin' paper about Beiner's murder. She's read about a young woman

climbin' down the fire-escape, thinks she'll be pinched as that young

woman, and--beats it. Pretty good?"

Clancy nodded. She looked at the man with narrowed eyes.

"Still," she said, "I don't understand why you're sure that Miss Ladue

didn't kill him."

Spofford's smile was complacent.

"I'll tell you why, Miss Deane. This Ladue lady is no fool. The way she

beat it from the Napoli proves that she was clever. But a clever woman,

if she'd murdered Beiner, would have beat it Tuesday afternoon! Miss

Deane, if you'd left the Napoli on Tuesday, I'd stake my life that you

killed Beiner. No woman, leastwise a young girl like you, would have had

the nerve to sit tight like you did on Tuesday night. I may be all

wrong, but you gotta show me if I am," he went on emphatically. "Suppose

you had killed Beiner, but didn't know that any one had seen you on the

fire-escape! Even then, you'd have moved away from the Napoli. I tell

you I been twenty-seven years on the force. I know what regular

criminals do, and amachures, too. And even if you'd killed Beiner, I'd

put you in the amachure class, Miss Deane."

"Let's go a little farther," suggested Clancy. "Why did I announce

myself to Mr. Vandervent as Florine Ladue and then deny it?"

"You was scared," said Spofford. "Then, after you'd sent in that name,

you read a paper sayin' Fanchon DeLisle was dead. You knew no one could

identify you as Florine. You see, I picked up the paper on the bench

where you'd been sittin'."

"Mr. Spofford," said Clancy slowly, "I think that you are a very able

detective."

"'Able?'" Spofford grinned ingenuously. "I'm a _great_ detective, Miss

Deane. I got ideas, I have. Now, listen: I've put my cards on the table,

I'm goin' to tell the chief that I've been barkin' up the wrong tree.

Now, you be helpful."

"Just how?" Clancy inquired.

"Tell me all that happened that afternoon in Beiner's office," said

Spofford. "You see, I _got_ to land the guy that killed Beiner. It'll

make me. Miss Deane, I want an agency of my own. I want some jack. If I

land this guy, I can get clients enough to make my fortune in ten years.

Will you come through?"

Clancy "came through." Calmly, conscious of the flattering attention of

Spofford, she told of her adventures in Beiner's office; and when he put

it in a pertinent question, she hesitated only momentarily before

telling him of the part that Ike Weber and Fay Marston had played in her

brief career in New York.

Spofford stared at her a full minute after she had finished. She brought

her story down to her presence in the Carey house and the reason

thereof. Then he puffed at his cigar.

"Be helpful, Miss Deane, be helpful y' know; somebody else is liable to

tumble onto what I tumbled to; he's liable to have his own suspicions.

'S long as you live, you'll have a queer feelin' every time you spot a

bull unless the _guy that killed Beiner is caught_. Finish your spiel,

eh?" He raised his pudgy hand quickly. "Now, wait a minute. I wouldn't

for the world have you say anything that you'd have to take back a

minute later. What's the use of stallin'? Tell me, what did Garland say

to you?"

"'Garland?'" Clancy echoed the name.

"Sure, the elevator-man from Beiner's building. Listen, Miss Deane: I

get the tip from one of the boys that you've left this Miss Henderson's

place and come down here. I beat it down to have a little talk with you,

same as we been havin'. And whiles I'm hangin' around, out comes

Garland. Why'd you send for him?"

"I didn't," said Clancy.

Spofford shot a glance at her.

"You didn't?" His lips pursed over the end of his cigar. "Then who did

send for him? Say, isn't this the Carey house? Mrs. Sophie Carey, the

artist? Wife of Don Carey? Wasn't it them that just left the house?"

"Yes," said Clancy.

"Well, I'm a boob. Don Carey, eh? And him bein' the gossip of Times

Square because of the agency he run. Hm; that _might_ be it."

"What might be it?" asked Clancy.

"A li'l bit of jack to Garland for keepin' his face closed about what

went on in Carey's fake office," explained Spofford. "Still---- I dunno.

Say, look here, Miss Deane: Loosen up, won'tcha? I been a square guy

with you. I come right down and put my cards on the table. I admit I got

my reasons; I don't want a bad stand-in with Mr. Vandervent. But still I

could 'a' been nasty, and I ain't tried to. Are you tellin' me all you

know? Y' know, coppin' off the murderer would put--put a lot of pennies

in my pocket."

For a moment, Clancy hesitated. Then she seemed to see Sophie Carey's

pleading face. Her smile was apparently genuinely bewildered as she

replied,

"Why, I'd like to help you, Mr. Spofford, but I really don't know any

more than I've told you."

It was another falsehood. It was the sort of falsehood that might

interfere with the execution of justice, and so be frowned upon by good

citizens. But it is hard to believe that the recording angel frowned.