IN WHICH AN ACCUSATION IS MADE
Detective Hagstrom was a phlegmatic man. He traced his ancestry to the
mountains of Norway, where stolidity was a virtue and stoicism the
ultimate cult. Nevertheless, as he leaned against a gleaming marble
wall on the twentieth floor of the Maddern Building, thirty feet to the
side of the bronze-and-glass door marked:
BENJAMIN MORGAN
_Attorney-at-Law_
his heart beat a trifle faster than usual. He shuffled his feet
nervously as his jaw masticated a wad of chewing-tobacco. If the truth
were told Detective Hagstrom, a man of varied experience in the service
of the police department, had never clamped his hand on the shoulder
of a female with intent to arrest. He faced his coming assignment
therefore in some trepidation, remembering with appalling clarity the
fiery temperament of the lady for whom he was waiting.
His apprehension was well founded. When he had been lounging in the
corridor some twenty minutes, and wondering whether his quarry had
not slipped away through another exit, Benjamin Morgan’s office-door
suddenly swung open and the large, curved figure of Mrs. Angela
Russo, garbed in a modish tweed ensemble, appeared. An unbecoming
snarl distorted her carefully made-up features; she swung her purse
menacingly as she strode toward the line of elevators. Hagstrom glanced
quickly at his wrist-watch. It was ten minutes to twelve. In a
short time the offices would be disgorging their occupants for the
lunch hour, and he was most desirous of making his arrest in the quiet
of the deserted hall.
Accordingly he straightened up, adjusted his orange-and-blue necktie
and stepped with a fair assumption of coolness into full view of the
approaching woman. As she caught sight of him she slackened her stride
perceptibly. Hagstrom hurried toward her, anticipating flight. But Mrs.
Angela Russo was made of sterner stuff. She tossed her head and came on
brazenly.
Hagstrom fixed his large red hand on her arm. “I guess you know what I
want you for,” he said fiercely. “Come along now, and don’t make a fuss
or I’ll put the nippers on you!”
Mrs. Russo shook off his hand. “My, my—aren’t you the big rough cop?”
she murmured. “Just what do you think you’re doing, anyway?”
Hagstrom glared. “None o’ your lip, now!” His finger pressed savagely
on the “Down” signal for the elevators. “You just shut up and come
along!”
She faced him sweetly. “Are you trying to arrest me, by any chance?”
she cooed. “Because you know, my big he-man, you’ve got to have a
warrant to do that!”
“Aw, stow it!” he growled. “I’m not arresting you—I’m just inviting you
to step down to headquarters for a little gab with Inspector Queen. You
coming, or do I have to call the wagon?”
An elevator flashed to a stop. The elevator-man snapped, “Going down!”
The woman glanced with momentary uncertainty at the car, peered slyly
at Hagstrom and finally stepped into the elevator, the detective’s
hand firmly clasped on her elbow. They descended in silence under the
curious scrutiny of several passengers.
Hagstrom, uneasy but determined, sensing somehow a storm brewing in the
breast of the woman who strode so calmly by his side, was taking
no chances. He did not relax his grasp until they sat side by side in a
taxicab, bound for headquarters. Mrs. Russo’s face had gone pasty under
her rouge, despite the bold smile curving her lips. She turned suddenly
to face her captor, leaning close to his rigidly official body.
“Mr. Cop, darling,” she whispered, “do you think you could use a
hundred-dollar bill?”
Her hand fumbled suggestively in her purse. Hagstrom lost his temper.
“Bribery, huh?” he sneered. “We’ll have to chalk that one up for the
Inspector!”
The woman’s smile faded. For the rest of the journey she sat looking
fixedly at the back of the driver’s neck.
It was only when she was being marched, like a soldier on parade, down
the dark corridors of the big police structure that her poise returned.
And when Hagstrom held open the door of Inspector Queen’s office, she
passed inside with an airy tilt to her head and a pleasant smile that
would have deceived a police matron.
Inspector Queen’s office was a cheery affair of sunlight and color. At
the moment it resembled a clubroom. Ellery’s long legs were stretched
comfortably across the thick carpet, his eyes pleasantly absorbed in
the contents of a small cheaply bound book entitled “The Complete
Guide to Handwriting Analysis.” The smoke of a cigarette curled from
his slack fingers. Sergeant Velie was sitting stolidly in a chair
against the far wall, engrossed in a contemplation of Inspector Queen’s
snuff-box, which was held lovingly between the thumb and forefinger of
the old police official himself. Queen was seated in his comfortable
armchair, smiling in hazy introspection at some secret thought.
“Ah! Mrs. Russo! Come in, come in!” exclaimed the Inspector, bouncing
to his feet. “Thomas—a chair for Mrs. Russo, if you please.” The
Sergeant silently placed one of the bare wooden chairs by the side of
the Inspector’s desk and as silently retreated to his corner. Ellery
had not even glanced in the woman’s direction. He read on, the same
pleasantly abstracted smile on his lips. The old man was bowing with
hospitable courtesy to Mrs. Russo.
She looked about at the peaceful scene with bewilderment. She had been
prepared for severity, harshness, brutality—the domestic atmosphere of
the little office took her completely by surprise. Nevertheless she
seated herself and, the instant of hesitation gone, she exhibited the
same agreeable smile, the same ladylike demeanor that she had practiced
so successfully in the corridors.
Hagstrom was standing inside the doorway, glaring with offended dignity
at the profile of the seated woman.
“She tried to slip me a century note,” he said indignantly. “Tried to
bribe me, Chief!”
Queen’s eyebrows instantly rose in shocked surprise. “My dear Mrs.
Russo!” he exclaimed in a sorrowful voice. “You really didn’t intend
to make this excellent officer forget his duty to the City, did you?
But of course not! How stupid of me! Hagstrom, certainly you must
be mistaken, my dear fellow. A hundred dollars—” He shook his head
dolefully, sinking back into the leather swivel-chair.
Mrs. Russo smiled. “Isn’t it queer how these cops get the wrong
impression?” she asked in a lovely voice. “I assure you, Inspector—I
was just having a little fun with him....”
“Exactly,” said the Inspector, smiling again, as if this statement
restored his faith in human nature. “Hagstrom, that’ll be all.”
The detective, who was staring open-mouthed from his superior to the
smiling woman, recovered in time to intercept a wink which passed
from Velie to Queen across the woman’s head. He went out quickly,
muttering to himself.
“Now, Mrs. Russo,” began the Inspector, in a businesslike tone, “what
can we do for you to-day?”
She stared at him. “Why—why, I thought you wanted to see me....” Her
lips tightened. “Cut the comedy, Inspector!” she said shortly. “I’m not
paying any social calls on my own hook to this place and you know it.
What did you pinch me for?”
The Inspector spread his sensitive fingers deprecatingly, his mouth
pursed in protest. “But, my dear lady!” he said. “Certainly you have
something to tell me. Because, if you are here—and we cannot evade that
evident fact—you are here for a reason. Granted that you did not come
exactly of your own free will—still you were brought here because you
have something to say to me. Don’t you see?”
Mrs. Russo stared fixedly into his eyes. “What the—Hey, look here,
Inspector Queen, what are you driving at? What do you think I’ve got to
tell you? I answered everything you asked me Tuesday morning.”
“Well!” The old man frowned. “Let us say that you did _not_ answer
every question Tuesday morning with absolute veracity. For example—do
you know Benjamin Morgan?”
She did not flinch. “All right. You take the cake on that one. Your
bloodhound caught me coming out of Morgan’s office—what of it?” She
deliberately opened her purse and began to dab powder on her nose. As
she did so she glanced slyly at Ellery from the corner of her eye. He
was still engrossed in his book, oblivious to her presence. She turned
back to the Inspector with a toss of the head.
Queen was looking at her sadly. “My dear Mrs. Russo, you’re not
being fair to a poor old man. I wanted merely to point out that you
had—shall I say—lied to me the last time I spoke to you. Now that’s
a very dangerous procedure with police Inspectors, my dear—very
dangerous.”
“Listen here!” the woman said suddenly. “You’re not going to get
anywhere with this soft soap, Inspector. I _did_ lie to you Tuesday
morning. Because, you see, I didn’t think you had anyone here who could
follow me very long. Well, I took a gambler’s chance and I lost. So you
found out I was lying, and you want to know what it’s all about. I’ll
tell you—and then maybe again I won’t!”
“Oho!” exclaimed Queen softly. “So you feel you’re in a safe enough
position to dictate terms, eh? But Mrs. Russo—believe me you’re putting
your very charming neck into a noose!”
“Yeh?” The mask was fairly off now; the woman’s face was stripped to
its essential character of intrigue. “You got nothing on me and you
know it damn’ well. All right—I did lie to you—what are you going to do
about it? I’m admitting it now. And I’ll even tell you what I was doing
in that guy Morgan’s office, if that’ll help you any! That’s the kind
of a square-shooter _I_ am, Mr. Inspector!”
“My dear Mrs. Russo,” returned the Inspector in a pained voice, a
little puffed smile in his cheeks, “we know already what you were doing
in Mr. Morgan’s office this morning, so you won’t be conferring such a
great favor on us after all.... I’m really surprised that you should be
willing to incriminate yourself to that extent, Mrs. Russo. Blackmail
is a mighty serious offense!”
The woman grew deathly white. She half rose in the chair, gripping its
arms.
“So Morgan squealed after all, the dirty dog!” she snarled. “And
I thought he was a wise guy. I’ll give him something to squeal about,
take it from me!”
“Ah, now you’re beginning to talk my language,” murmured the Inspector,
leaning forward. “And just what is it you know about our friend Morgan?”
“I know this about him—but look here, Inspector, I can give you a
red-hot tip. You wouldn’t frame a poor lonely woman on a blackmail
charge, would you?”
The Inspector’s face lengthened. “Now, now, Mrs. Russo!” he said. “Is
that a nice thing to say? Certainly I can’t make any promises....” He
rose, his slender body deadly in its immobility. She shrank back a
little. “You will tell me what you have on your mind, Mrs. Russo,” he
said deliberately, “on the bare chance that I may show my gratitude in
the generally accepted fashion. You will please talk—truthfully, do you
understand?”
“Oh, I know well enough you’re a tough nut, Inspector!” she muttered.
“But I guess you’re fair, too.... What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Well, it isn’t my funeral,” she said, in a more composed voice. There
was a pause while Queen examined her curiously. In accusing her of
blackmailing Morgan he had made a successful stab in the dark; now a
flash of doubt assailed him. She seemed much too sure of herself if all
she knew were the details of Morgan’s past, as the Inspector had taken
for granted from the beginning of the interview. He glanced at Ellery
and was apprehensively quick to note that his son’s eyes were no longer
on the book but riveted on the profile of Mrs. Russo.
“Inspector,” said Mrs. Russo, a shrill triumph creeping into her voice,
“I know who killed Monte Field!”
“What’s that?” Queen jumped out of his seat, a flush suffusing his
white features. Ellery had straightened convulsively in his chair, his
sharp eyes boring into the woman’s face. The book he had been
reading slipped out of his fingers and dropped to the floor with a thud.
“I said I know who killed Monte Field,” repeated Mrs. Russo, evidently
enjoying the sensation she had caused. “It’s Benjamin Morgan, and I
heard him threaten Monte _the night before he was murdered_!”
“Oh!” said the Inspector, sitting down. Ellery picked up his book and
resumed his interrupted study of “The Complete Guide to Handwriting
Analysis.” Quiet descended once more. Velie, who had been staring at
father and son in struggling amazement, seemed at a loss to understand
their suddenly changed manner.
Mrs. Russo grew angry. “I suppose you think I’m lying again, but I’m
not!” she screamed. “I tell you I heard with my own ears Ben Morgan
tell Monte Sunday night that he’d put him away!”
The Inspector was grave, but undisturbed. “I don’t doubt your word in
the least, Mrs. Russo. Are you sure it was Sunday night?”
“Sure?” she shrilled. “I’ll say I’m sure!”
“And where did this happen?”
“Right in Monte Field’s own apartment, that’s where!” she said
bitingly. “I was with Monte all evening Sunday, and as far I know
he wasn’t expecting company, because we didn’t usually have company
when we spent the evening together.... Monte himself jumped when the
door-bell rang about eleven o’clock and said, ‘Who in hell could that
be?’ We were in the living-room at the time. But he got up and went
to the door, and right after that I heard a man’s voice outside. I
figured Monte wouldn’t want me to be seen by anybody, so I went into
the bedroom and closed the door, just leaving a crack open. I could
hear Monte trying to stall the man off. Anyway, they finally came into
the living-room. Through the crack in the door I saw it was this fellow
Morgan—I didn’t know who he was at the time, but later on I got it
during the talk they had. And afterward Monte told me.”
She stopped. The Inspector listened imperturbably and Ellery was paying
not the slightest attention to her words. She went on desperately.
“For about a half hour they talked till I could have howled. Morgan was
sort of cold and set; he didn’t get excited till the last. From which I
gathered, Monte had asked Morgan not long before for a big wad of dough
in return for some papers; and Morgan said he didn’t have the money,
couldn’t raise it. Said he’d decided to drop into Monte’s place for
one last reckoning. Monte was kind of sarcastic and mean—he could be
awfully mean when he wanted to. Morgan kept getting madder and madder,
and I could see he was holding his temper in....”
The Inspector interrupted. “Just what was the reason for Field’s demand
for money?”
“I wish I knew, Inspector,” she returned savagely. “But both of ’em
were mighty careful not to mention the reason.... Anyway, it was
something about those papers that Monte wanted Morgan to buy. It
wouldn’t take much brains to guess that Monte had something on Morgan
and was pushing it to the limit.”
At the mention of the word “papers” Ellery’s interest in Mrs. Russo’s
story had revived. He had put the book down and begun to listen
intently. The Inspector gave him a fleeting glance as he addressed the
woman.
“Just how much money was Field demanding, Mrs. Russo?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said, laughing
disdainfully. “Monte was no piker. All he wanted was—fifty thousand
dollars!”
The Inspector seemed unmoved. “Go on.”
“So there they were,” she continued, “jabbering back and forth, with
Monte getting colder and Morgan getting madder. Finally Morgan
picked up his hat and yelled, ‘I’ll be damned, you crook, if I’m going
to be milked any more! You can do what you please—I’m through, do you
understand? I’m through for good!’ He was blue in the face. Monte
didn’t get up from his chair. He just said, ‘You can do as you please,
Benjamin my friend, but I give you exactly three days to hand that
money over. And no bargaining, remember! Fifty thousand, or—but surely
I don’t have to remind you of the unpleasant consequences of refusal.’
Monte sure was slick,” she added admiringly. “Could sling the lingo
like a professional.
“Morgan kept fiddling with his hat,” she went on, “just as if he didn’t
know what to do with his hands. Then he exploded with, ‘I told you
where you get off, Field, and I mean every word of it. Publish those
papers, and if it means ruin to me—I’ll see to it that it’s the last
time you’ll ever blackmail _anybody_!’ He shook his fist under Monte’s
nose, and looked for a minute as if he was going to do him in then and
there. Then all of a sudden he quieted down and without saying another
word walked himself out of the apartment.”
“And that’s the story, Mrs. Russo?”
“Isn’t it enough?” she flared. “What are you trying to do—protect that
murdering coward?... But it isn’t all. After Morgan left, Monte said
to me, ‘Did you hear why my friend said?’ I made believe I didn’t, but
Monte was wise. He took me on his lap and said playfully, ‘He’ll regret
it, Angel....’ He always called me Angel,” she added coyly.
“I see....” The Inspector mused. “And just what did Mr. Morgan say—that
you took for a threat against Field’s life?”
She stared at him incredulously. “Good gravy, are you dumb, or what?”
she cried. “He said, ‘I’ll see to it it’s the last time you’ll ever
blackmail _anybody_!’ And then when my darling Monte was killed
the very next night....”
“A very natural conclusion,” smiled Queen. “Do I understand that you
are preferring charges against Benjamin Morgan?”
“I’m not preferring anything except a little peace, Inspector,” she
retorted. “I’ve told you the story—now do what you want with it.” She
shrugged her shoulders and made as if to rise.
“One moment, Mrs. Russo.” The Inspector held up a small and delicate
finger. “You referred in your story to some ‘papers’ that Field was
holding over Morgan’s head. Did Field at any time during the quarrel
between them actually bring out these papers?”
Mrs. Russo looked the old man coolly in the eye. “No sir, he didn’t.
And make believe I’m not sorry he didn’t, too!”
“A charming attitude of yours, Mrs. Russo. One of these days.... I
hope you understand that your skirts are not entirely—ah—clean in
this matter, in a manner of speaking,” said the Inspector. “So please
consider very carefully before you answer my next question. Where did
Monte Field keep his private documents?”
“I don’t have to consider, Inspector,” she snapped, “I just don’t know.
If there was any chance of my knowing I would, don’t worry.”
“Perhaps you made a few personal forays of your own when Field was
absent from his apartment?” pursued Queen, smiling.
“Perhaps I did,” she answered with a dimpling cheek. “But it didn’t do
any good. I’d swear they’re not in those rooms.... Well, Inspector,
anything else?”
The clear voice of Ellery seemed to startle her. But she coquettishly
patted her hair as she turned towards him.
“As far as you know, Mrs. Russo,” said Ellery icily, “from long
and no doubt intimate association with your gallant Leander—how many
different silk tophats did he possess?”
“You’re the original cross-word puzzle, aren’t you?” she gurgled. “As
far as I know, Mr. Man, he had only one. How many does a guy need?”
“You’re certain of that, I suppose,” said Ellery.
“Sure’s you’re born, Mr.—Queen.” She contrived to slip a caress into
her voice. Ellery stared at her as one stares at a strange zoological
specimen. She made a little _moué_ and turned about gayly.
“I’m not so popular around here so I’ll beat it.... You’re not going to
put me in a nasty cell, are you, Inspector? I can go now, can’t I?”
The Inspector bowed. “Oh yes—you may go, Mrs. Russo, under a certain
amount of surveillance.... But please understand that we may still
require your delightful company at some not distant date. Will you
remain in town?”
“Charmed, I’m sure!” she laughed and swept out of the room.
Velie snapped to his feet like a soldier and said, “Well, Inspector, I
guess that settles it!”
The Inspector sank wearily into his chair. “Are you insinuating,
Thomas, like some of Ellery’s stupid fiction-sergeants—which you are
not—that Mr. Morgan be arrested for the murder of Monte Field?”
“Why—what else?” Velie seemed at a loss.
“We’ll wait a while, Thomas,” returned the old man heavily.