IN WHICH THE PAST CASTS A SHADOW
The telephone bell tinkled.
“Q? Sampson speaking,” came the District Attorney’s voice over the wire.
“Good morning, Henry,” said Queen. “Where are you and how do you feel
this morning?”
“I’m at the office and I feel rotten,” returned Sampson, chuckling.
“The doctor insists I’ll be a corpse if I keep this up and the office
insists the City will go under unless I attend to business. So what’s a
feller to do?... I say, Q.”
The Inspector winked at Ellery across the table, as if to say, “I know
what’s coming!”
“Yes, Henry?”
“There’s a gentleman in my private office whom I think it would be
greatly to your advantage to meet,” continued Sampson in a subdued
tone. “He wants to see you and I’m afraid you’ll have to chuck whatever
you’re doing and hotfoot it up here. He”—Sampson’s voice became a
whisper—“he’s a man I can’t afford to antagonize unnecessarily, Q, old
boy.”
The Inspector frowned. “I suppose you’re referring to Ives-Pope,” he
said. “Riled, is he, because we questioned the apple of his eye last
night?”
“Not exactly,” said Sampson. “He’s really a decent old chap.
Just—er—just be nice to him, Q, won’t you?”
“I’ll handle him with silk gloves,” chuckled the old man. “If it will
ease your mind any I’ll drag my son along. He generally attends to our
social obligations.”
“That will be fine,” said Sampson gratefully.
The Inspector turned to Ellery as he hung up. “Poor Henry’s in
something of a mess,” he said quizzically, “and I can’t say I blame
him for trying to please. Sick as a dog and the politicians hopping on
him, this Crœsus howling in his front office.... Come along, son, we’re
going to meet the celebrated Franklin Ives-Pope!”
Ellery groaned, stretching his arms. “You’ll have another sick man on
your hands if this continues.” Nevertheless he jumped up and clamped
his hat on his head. “Let’s look over this captain of industry.”
Queen grinned at Velie. “Before I forget, Thomas.... I want you to do a
bit of sleuthing to-day. Your job is to find out why Monte Field, who
did a rushing legal business and lived in princely style, had only six
thousand dollars in his personal account. It’s probably Wall Street and
the racetrack but I want you to make sure. You might learn something
from the cancelled vouchers—Lewin down at Field’s office could help you
there.... And while you’re at it—this might be extremely important,
Thomas—get a complete line-up on Field’s movements all day yesterday.”
The two Queens departed for Sampson’s headquarters.
The office of the District Attorney was a busy place and even an
Inspector of Detectives was treated with scant ceremony in the sacred
chambers. Ellery was wroth, and his father smiled, and finally the
District Attorney himself came rushing out of his sanctum with a word
of displeasure to the clerk who had allowed his friends to cool their
heels on a hard bench.
“Watch your throat, young man,” warned Queen, as Sampson led the way to
his office, muttering maledictions on the head of the offender. “Are
you sure I look all right to meet the money-mogul?”
Sampson held the door open. The two Queens on the threshold saw a
man, hands clasped behind his back, looking through the window on the
uninteresting vista outside. As the District Attorney closed the door
the occupant of the room wheeled about with astonishing agility for a
man of his weight.
Franklin Ives-Pope was a relic of more virile financial days. He
resembled the strong self-assertive type of magnate who like old
Cornelius Vanderbilt had dominated Wall Street as much by force of
personality as by extent of wealth. Ives-Pope had clear grey eyes,
iron-grey hair, a grizzled mustache, a husky body still springy with
youth and an air of authority unmistakably masterful. Standing against
the light of the dingy window, he was a most impressive figure of a man
and Ellery and Queen, stepping forward, realized at once that here was
an individual whose intelligence required no patronage.
The financier spoke in a deep pleasant voice even before Sampson,
slightly embarrassed, could make the introduction. “I suppose you’re
Queen, the man-hunter,” he said. “I’ve been anxious to meet you for a
long time, Inspector.” He offered a large square hand, which Queen took
with dignity.
“It would be unnecessary for me to echo that statement, Mr. Ives-Pope,”
he said, smiling a little. “Once I took a flyer in Wall Street and I
think you’ve got some of my money.—This, sir, is my son Ellery, who is
the brains and beauty of the Queen family.”
The big man’s eyes measured Ellery’s bulk appreciatively. He shook
hands, saying, “You’ve got a smart father there, son!”
“Well!” sighed the District Attorney, setting three chairs. “I’m glad
that’s over. You haven’t the slightest idea, Mr. Ives-Pope, how nervous
I’ve been about this meeting. Queen is the devil himself when it comes
to the social amenities, and I shouldn’t have been surprised if he
had clapped his handcuffs on you as you shook hands!”
The tension snapped with the big man’s hearty chuckle.
The District Attorney came abruptly to the point. “Mr. Ives-Pope is
here, Q, to find out for himself just what can be done in the matter
of his daughter.” Queen nodded. Sampson turned to the financier.
“As I told you before, sir, we have every confidence in Inspector
Queen—always have had. He generally works without any check or
supervision from the District Attorney’s office. In view of the
circumstances, I thought I should make that clear.”
“That’s a sane method, Sampson,” said Ives-Pope, with approval. “I’ve
always worked on that principle in my own business. Besides, from what
I’ve heard about Inspector Queen, your confidence is well placed.”
“Sometimes,” said Queen gravely, “I have to do things that go against
the grain. I will be frank to say that some things I did last night
in the line of duty were extremely disagreeable to me. I suppose, Mr.
Ives-Pope, your daughter is upset because of our little talk last
night?”
Ives-Pope was silent for a moment. Then he raised his head and met
the Inspector’s gaze squarely. “Look here, Inspector,” he said.
“We’re both men of the world and men of business. We’ve had dealings
with all sorts of queer people, both of us; and we have, too, solved
problems that presented enormous difficulties to others. So I think
we can converse frankly.... Yes, my daughter Frances is more than a
little upset. Incidentally, so is her mother, who is an ill woman at
the best of times; and her brother Stanford, my son—but we needn’t go
into that.... Frances told me last night when she got home with—her
friends—everything that happened. I know my daughter, Inspector; and
I’d stake my fortune that there isn’t the slightest connection between
her and Field.”
“My dear sir,” returned the Inspector quietly, “I didn’t accuse
her of anything. Nobody knows better than I what peculiar things can
happen in the course of a criminal investigation; therefore I never let
the slightest blind spot escape my notice. All I did was to ask her to
identify the bag. When she did so, I told her where it was found. I was
waiting, of course, for an explanation. It did not come.... You must
understand, Mr. Ives-Pope, that when a man is murdered and a woman’s
bag is found in his pocket it is the duty of the police to discover
the owner of the bag and his or her connection with the crime. But of
course—I do not have to convince you of that.”
The magnate drummed on the arm of his chair. “I see your point of view,
Inspector,” he said. “It was obviously your duty, and it is still your
duty to go to the bottom of the thing. In fact, I want you to make
every effort to. My own personal opinion is that she is the victim
of circumstances. But I don’t want to plead her case. I trust you
sufficiently to rely on your judgment after you’ve thoroughly probed
the problem.” He paused. “Inspector Queen, how would you like to have
me arrange a little interview at my home to-morrow morning? I would not
ask you to go to this trouble,” he added apologetically, “except that
Frances is quite ill, and her mother insists she stay at home. May we
expect you?”
“Very good of you, Mr. Ives-Pope,” remarked Queen calmly. “We’ll be
there.”
The financier seemed indisposed to end the interview. He shifted
heavily in his chair. “I’ve always been a fair man, Inspector,” he
said. “I feel somehow that I may be accused of using my position as a
means of securing special privileges. That is not so. The shock of your
tactics last night made it impossible for Frances to tell her story.
At home, among the members of her family, I am sure she will be able
to clear up her connection with the affair to your satisfaction.” He
hesitated for a moment, then continued in a colder tone. “Her
fiancé will be there and perhaps his presence will help to calm her.”
His voice expressed the thought that he personally did not think so.
“May we expect you, let us say, at ten-thirty?”
“That will be fine,” said Queen, nodding. “I should like to know more
definitely, sir, just who will be present.”
“I can arrange it as you wish, Inspector,” replied Ives-Pope, “but
I imagine Mrs. Ives-Pope will want to be there and I know that Mr.
Barry will—my future son-in-law,” he explained dryly. “Perhaps a few
of Frances’ friends—theatrical friends. My son Stanford may also grace
us with his presence—a very busy young man, you know,” he added with a
suspicion of bitterness.
The three men shifted embarrassedly. Ives-Pope rose with a sigh
and Ellery, Queen and Sampson followed suit. “That’s all, I think,
Inspector,” said the financier in a lighter tone. “Is there anything
else I can do?”
“Not a thing.”
“Then I’ll be getting along.” Ives-Pope turned to Ellery and Sampson.
“Of course, Sampson, if you can get away, I’d like you to be there.
Do you think you can make it?” The District Attorney nodded. “And Mr.
Queen”—the big man turned to Ellery—“will you come also? I understand
that you have been following the investigation very closely at your
father’s side. We shall be happy to have you.”
“I’ll be there,” said Ellery softly, and Ives-Pope left the office.
“Well, what do you think, Q?” asked Sampson, fidgeting in his
swivel-chair.
“A most interesting man,” returned the Inspector. “How fair-minded he
is!”
“Oh, yes—yes,” said Sampson. “Er—Q, he asked me before you came if you
wouldn’t go easy on the publicity. Sort of special favor, you know.”
“He didn’t have the nerve to come out with it to me, eh?” chuckled
the Inspector. “He’s quite human.... Well, Henry, I’ll do my best, but
if that young woman is implicated seriously, I won’t vouch for hands
off with the press.”
“All right, all right, Q—it’s up to you,” said Sampson irritably.
“Damn this throat of mine!” He took an atomizer from a desk-drawer and
sprinkled his throat wryly.
“Didn’t Ives-Pope recently donate a hundred thousand dollars to the
Chemical Research Foundation?” asked Ellery suddenly, turning to
Sampson.
“I seem to remember something of that sort,” said Sampson, gargling.
“Why?”
Ellery mumbled an inaudible explanation that was lost in Sampson’s
violent gyrations with the sprayer. Queen, who was regarding his son
speculatively, shook his head, consulted his watch and said, “Well,
son, it’s time we knocked off for lunch. What do you say—Henry,
think you’d like to join us in a bite?”
Sampson grinned with an effort. “I’m full up to my neck with work, but
even a District Attorney has to eat,” he said. “I’ll go on only one
condition—that I pay the check. I owe you something, anyway.”
As they donned their coats Queen picked up Sampson’s telephone.
“Mr. Morgan?.... Oh, hello, Morgan. I say, do you think you can find
a little time this afternoon for a chat?... Right. Two-thirty will be
fine. Good-by.”
“That settles that,” said the Inspector comfortably. “Always pays to be
polite, Ellery—remember that.”
At two-thirty promptly the two Queens were ushered into the quiet
law-office of Benjamin Morgan. It was noticeably different from Field’s
lavish suite—richly furnished but with a more business-like simplicity.
A smiling young woman closed the door after them. Morgan greeted
them with some reserve. He held out a box of cigars as they sat down.
“No thanks—my snuff will do,” said the Inspector genially, while Ellery
after being introduced lit a cigarette and blew smoke-rings. Morgan lit
a cigar with shaking fingers.
“I suppose you’re here to continue that talk of ours last night,
Inspector?” said Morgan.
Queen sneezed, replaced his snuff-box, and leaned back in the chair.
“Look here, Morgan old man,” he said evenly. “You haven’t been quite on
the up-and-up with me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Morgan, coloring.
“You told me last night,” said the Inspector reflectively, “you told me
last night that you parted amicably with Field two years ago, when you
dissolved the firm of Field & Morgan. Did you say that?”
“I did,” said Morgan.
“How, then, my dear fellow,” asked Queen, “do you explain the little
incident of the quarrel at the Webster Club? I certainly would not call
a threat against another man’s life an ‘amicable’ way of dissolving a
partnership!”
Morgan sat quietly for several minutes while Queen stared patiently
at him and Ellery sighed. Then he looked up and began to speak in a
passionate undertone.
“I’m sorry, Inspector,” he muttered, glancing away. “I might have
known that a threat like that would be remembered by somebody.... Yes,
it’s true enough. We had lunch one day in the Webster Club at Field’s
suggestion. As far as I was concerned, the less I had to do with him
socially the better I liked it. But the purpose of the luncheon was to
go over some last details of the dissolution, and of ♦course I had no
choice.... I’m afraid I lost my temper. I did make a threat against his
life, but it was—well, it was said in the heat of an angry moment.
I forgot the whole thing before the week was over.”
♦ “couse” replaced with “course”
The Inspector nodded sagely. “Yes, things do happen like that
sometimes. But”—and Morgan licked his lips in despairing
anticipation—“a man doesn’t threaten another man’s life, even if he
doesn’t mean it, merely over a matter of business detail.” He leveled
his finger at Morgan’s shrinking body. “Come on now, man—out with it.
What are you holding back?”
Morgan’s entire body had gone flaccid. His lips were ashy as he turned
from one Queen to the other, mute appeal in his eyes. But their
glances were inexorable and Ellery, who was regarding him much as a
vivisectionist regards a guinea-pig, interrupted.
“My dear Morgan,” he said coldly, “Field had something on you, and he
thought that that was a good time to tell you about it. It’s as obvious
as the red in your eye.”
“You’ve guessed it in part, Mr. Queen. I’ve been one of the most
unfortunate men God ever created. That devil Field—whoever killed
him deserves to be decorated for his service to humanity. He was an
octopus—a soulless beast in human form. I can’t tell you how happy—yes,
happy!—I am that he is dead!”
“Softly there, Morgan,” said Queen. “Although I gather our mutual
friend was a good deal of a skunk, your remarks might be overheard by a
less sympathetic audience. And—?”
“Here’s the whole story,” mumbled Morgan, his eyes fixed on the
desk-blotter. “It’s a hard one to tell.... When I was a kid at
college I got into some trouble with a girl—a waitress in the college
restaurant. She was not bad—just weak, and I suppose I was wild in
those days. At any rate she had a child—my child.... I suppose you
know that I come from a strait-laced family. If you don’t, you would
find out soon enough on investigation. They had great plans for
me, they were socially ambitious—to cut it short, I couldn’t very well
marry the girl and bring her to father’s house as my wife. It was a
caddish thing to do....”
He paused.
“But it was done, and that’s all that matters. I’ve—I’ve always loved
her. She was sensible enough about the arrangements.... I managed
to provide for her out of my generous allowance. No one—I’ll swear
not a soul in this world with the exception of her widowed mother, a
fine old lady—knew about the affair. I’ll swear to that, I say. And
yet—” His fist clenched, but he resumed with a sigh. “Eventually, I
married the girl whom my family had selected for me.” There was a
painful silence as he stopped to clear his throat. “It was a _mariage
de convenance_—just that and nothing more. She came from an old
aristocratic family, and I had the money. We have lived fairly happily
together.... Then I met Field. I curse the day I ever consented to
go into partnership with him—but my own business was not exactly all
it might have been and Field, if nothing else, was an aggressive and
clever lawyer.”
The Inspector took a pinch of snuff.
“Everything went smoothly at first,” continued Morgan in the same
low tone. “But by degrees I began to suspect that my partner was
not everything he should have been. Queer clients—queer clients
indeed—would enter his private office after hours; he would evade
my questions about them; things began to look peculiar. Finally I
decided my own reputation would suffer if I continued to be linked with
the man, and I broached the subject of dissolution. Field objected
strenuously, but I was stubborn and after all he could not dominate my
desires. We dissolved.”
Ellery’s fingers tapped an absent tattoo on the handle of his stick.
“Then the affair at the Webster. He insisted we have lunch
together for the settlement of the last few details. That wasn’t his
purpose at all, of course. You can guess, I suppose, his intentions....
He came out quite suavely with the overwhelming statement that he knew
I was supporting a woman and my illegitimate child. He said that he
had some of my letters to prove it, and a number of cancelled vouchers
of checks I had sent her.... He admitted he had stolen them from me.
I hadn’t looked at them for years, of course.... Then he blandly
announced that he meant to make capital out of this evidence!”
“Blackmail!” muttered Ellery, a light creeping into his eyes.
“Yes, blackmail,” retorted Morgan bitterly. “Nothing less. He described
in very graphic terms what would happen if the story should come out.
Oh, Field was a clever crook! I saw the entire structure of social
position I had built up—a process which took years—destroyed in an
instant. My wife, her family, my own family—and more than that, the
circle in which we moved—I shouldn’t have been able to lift my head out
of the muck. And as for business—well, it doesn’t take much to make
important clients go elsewhere for their legal work. I was trapped—I
knew it and he knew it.”
“Just how much did he want, Morgan?” asked Queen.
“Enough! He wanted twenty-five thousand dollars—just to keep quiet. I
didn’t even have any assurances that the affair would end there. I was
caught and caught properly. Because, remember, this was not an affair
which had died years before. I was still supporting that poor woman and
my son. I am supporting them now. I will—continue to support them.” He
stared at his fingernails.
“I paid the money,” he resumed morosely. “It meant stretching a
bit, but I paid it. But the harm was done. I saw red there at the Club,
and—but you know what happened.”
“And this blackmail has continued all the while, Morgan?” asked the
Inspector.
“Yes, sir—for two solid years. The man was insatiable, I tell you! Even
to-day I can’t completely understand it. He must have been earning
tremendous fees in his own practice, and yet he always seemed to be
needing money. No small change, either—I have never paid him less than
ten thousand dollars at one time!”
Queen and Ellery looked at each other fleetingly. Queen said, “Well,
Morgan, it’s a pretty kettle of fish. The more I hear about Field the
more I dislike putting the irons on the fellow who did away with him.
However! In the light of what you’ve told me, your statement last night
that you hadn’t seen Field for two years is patently untrue. When _did_
you see him last?”
Morgan appeared to be racking his memory. “Oh, it was about two months
ago, Inspector,” he said at last.
The Inspector shifted in his chair. “I see.... I’m sorry you didn’t
tell me all this last night. You understand, of course, that your story
is perfectly safe with the police. And it’s mighty vital information.
Now then—do you happen to know a woman by the name of Angela Russo?”
Morgan stared. “Why, no, Inspector. I’ve never heard of her.”
Queen was silent for a moment. “Do you know a gentleman called ‘Parson
Johnny’?”
“I think I can give you some information there, Inspector. I’m certain
that during our partnership Field was using the little thug for some
shady business of his own. I caught him sneaking up into the office a
number of times after hours, and when I asked Field about him, he would
sneer and say, ‘Oh, that’s only Parson Johnny, a friend of mine!’
But it was sufficient to establish the man’s identity. What their
connection was I can’t tell you, because I don’t know.”
“Thanks, Morgan,” said the Inspector. “I’m glad you told me that. And
now—one last question. Have you ever heard the name Charles Michaels?”
“To be sure I have,” responded Morgan grimly. “Michaels was Field’s
so-called valet—he acted in the capacity of bodyguard and was really a
blackguard, or I’m greatly mistaken in my judgment of men. He came to
the office once in a while. I can’t think of anything else about him,
Inspector.”
“He knows you, of course?” asked Queen.
“Why—I suppose so,” returned Morgan doubtfully. “I never spoke to him,
but undoubtedly he saw me during his visits to the office.”
“Well, now, that’s fine, Morgan,” grunted Queen, rising. “This has been
a most interesting and informative chat. And—no, I don’t think there’s
anything else. That is, at the moment. Just ride along, Morgan, and
keep in town—available if we need you for anything. Remember that,
won’t you?”
“I’m not likely to forget it,” said Morgan dully. “And—of course the
story I told you—about my son—it won’t come out?”
“You needn’t have the slightest fear—about that, Morgan,” said Queen,
and a few moments later he and Ellery were on the sidewalk.
“So it was blackmail, dad,” murmured Ellery. “That gives me an idea, do
you know?”
“Well, son, I’ve a few ideas of my own!” chuckled Queen, and in a
telepathic silence they walked briskly down the street in the direction
of headquarters.