Buddy
“Now that the money is paid, Phyllis, dear, and the whole matter is
hushed up, Louis will never be suspected of having had anything to do
with that Bill Halsey gang. It was a narrow escape—if the story had
come out, it would have stained the boy’s reputation badly. But,
thanks to your quick action and watchful care, your brother is
released from their clutches and you need worry about that no more.”
“Thanks, too, to your kindness in letting me have the money. I will
repay you just as soon as Mr Lane settles financial matters enough to
give it to me out of my inheritance.”
“No hurry about it. Instead of that, let’s talk about ourselves. When
are you going to let me give you a ring?”
“Oh, not yet,” and Phyllis looked distressed. “Wait till this awful
matter of the Gleason death is explained.”
“Will it ever be?” Pollard spoke gravely, and added, “Do you want it
to be?”
“Oh,” she cried, “don’t look like that! Do _you_ suspect Louis,
too? Buddy never did it! Never!”
“No, of course he didn’t. Do you sometimes think Phil——”
“Philip Barry! No! He says he did, to shield my brother——”
“And you.”
“Me!”
“Yes. Let’s speak frankly, Phyllis. I can’t bear to fence or quibble
with you. Now, you know, you and Louis were there——”
“Oh, no, we weren’t—well—maybe we were—oh, I don’t know what I’m
saying.”
“Poor little girl. Don’t try to make up stories to me. Tell me just
how it was—or, don’t tell me anything—as you wish, but don’t tell me
what isn’t so. I can’t help you if you do that.”
Phyllis looked at him searchingly. She trusted him—and yet, she
hesitated to put into words her own suspicions of Louis.
“I’m sure Phil Barry is shielding some one else,” she began.
“But, dear, that letter—how could that have been written, except by
Barry?”
“Now, don’t you prevaricate to me!” she cried; “you know whatever is
the explanation of the letter, Phil Barry isn’t guilty!”
“I don’t know any such thing! If Barry wrote the letter, he must have
meant something by it, and until he is proved innocent, there’s good
reason for suspecting him.”
“Don’t you suspect Louis?” Phyllis asked directly, facing Pollard with
a straightforward gaze.
“Don’t ask me, dear. If I did—if I do—I wouldn’t say so,
because—because I love you. Confide in me—please do, darling. If you
suspect your brother, tell me so, and I’ll do all I can to divert
suspicion from him.”
“Even if you think him guilty?”
“Certainly. If Louis did it—he was blinded by rage, or, moved by a
sudden homicidal impulse born of desperation——”
“But that doesn’t excuse him.”
“Not to the law—but to me, he is excused because he is your
brother——”
“Yes, my brother—my little Buddy—oh, Manning, I can’t face it!”
“You weren’t there, too—at the time?”
“At the time of the murder? Oh, no!” Phyllis’ eyes were wide with
horror.
“Do you know that Louis was there?”
Pollard pressed the question, glad that Phyllis had abandoned
pretense, and was telling truths.
“Yes, I do.” The pained eyes looked beseechingly into his. “I have the
evidence of an eye-witness—or, nearly.”
“What do you mean by nearly?”
“Why, somebody else was there, who didn’t see Louis, but who heard
him—or, rather, heard Mr Gleason talking to him.”
“Is that all? Phyllis, that isn’t enough to convict Louis!”
“Isn’t it? But, if they accuse him—he’ll break down and confess. I
know Buddy; as soon as a breath of suspicion touches him he’ll go all
to pieces——”
“Whether he’s guilty or not?”
Phyllis stared. “Why, no, of course not if he isn’t guilty. Oh,
Manning, do you think he isn’t? Tell me you do!”
“I wish I could, darling. But, I do say, there’s no real evidence and
we may be able to prevent any from coming to light. Even if Louis was
there, didn’t he leave before the time of the attack?”
“I don’t know. I can’t find out. I daren’t mention it to him. Oh,
Buddy, dear—I’m sure you never did it!”
“I’m sure, too,” said Pollard, decidedly, and, whatever was in his
mind there was conviction in his tone. “Now, see here, Phyllis, let’s
do nothing in the matter. As near as I can make out, Barry’s
confession is not believed at all by the police. They are sure he’s
shielding some one, but they don’t know who it is. Of course, Barry
won’t tell, so Louis is safe.”
“But suppose they do come to believe Phil, and he is arrested!”
“Not a chance.”
“But if they should?”
“Would you care so much?” Pollard spoke softly, and tenderly. “If it
should mean Louis’ safety——”
“At the expense of an innocent man? Oh, impossible!”
“But you love Buddy——”
“I do, yes—but if he is guilty—nobody else can be allowed to suffer
in his place. Least of all, Phil Barry.”
Phyllis said the name, with a gentler light in her eyes, a softer
inflection of her voice, and Pollard felt a sudden chill at his heart.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, quietly, “anything especial?”
“No—oh, no,” but Phyllis blushed.
“Remember, dear, you’re engaged to me,” Pollard said, smiling at her.
“I resent such implications of any other interest of yours.”
“You resent my interest in Phil Barry! Why, I thought he was your best
friend.”
“He is. But he can’t be yours. Not your best friend—only
second-best.”
“Well, he’s too dear a friend for me to let any undeserved suspicion
fall on him,” and Phyllis’ eyes shone with righteous indignation.
“First, we must be sure it is undeserved.”
“Very well, I will make sure!”
With a determined gesture, Phyllis pushed a bell button and a maid
responded.
“Ask Mr Lindsay to come here,” Phyllis directed, and then turning to
Pollard with a pretty gesture of confidence, she said:
“Let’s work together, Manning. You see what you think of the way Louis
meets my questions. I’ve decided to meet the issue straight.”
“What is it, Sis?” asked Louis, coming into the room. “What do you
want of me? Hello, Pollard, how are you?”
“Buddy, dear,” Phyllis began, “where were you the day Mr Gleason
died?”
“Out with it Phyl. Do you think I killed him?”
Louis looked at his sister. The boy was haggard, pale and worried
looking, but he met her eye and awaited her answer to his question.
“No, Louis, I can’t think so—but there are circumstances that make it
appear possible, and I want your word.”
“Well, then, Phyllis, I didn’t do it.”
Calmly the brother gazed at the sister. Anxiously, Phyllis scanned the
well-known face, the affectionate eyes, the sensitive, quivering
mouth, but though agitated, Louis had himself well in hand, and his
frank speech carried conviction.
Phyllis drew a long breath.
“I believe you, Buddy,” she said.
Pollard was quiet for a moment, and then observed, “All right,
Lindsay. And, in that case, you’re probably willing to tell all about
your presence there that afternoon. Why haven’t you done so?”
Pollard’s tone was not accusing so much as one of friendly inquiry,
and Louis, after a moment’s hesitation, replied:
“Why, Pol, I suppose I was a coward. I was afraid, if I admitted I was
in Gleason’s place that afternoon, I might be suspected of the
crime—and I’m innocent—before God, I am.”
The solemn voice rang true, and Phyllis clasped his hand as she said,
“I know it, Buddy, I know you never did it!”
“But, if it comes out I was there, I can’t help being suspected,”
Louis went on, a look of terror coming to his face. “I—oh, I hate to
confess it, but I _am_ afraid. Not afraid of justice—but afraid
I’ll be accused of something I didn’t do!”
“You would, too, Louis,” Pollard said. “Better keep still about the
whole matter, I think. You see, Louis, except for the murderer, you
are probably the last one who saw Gleason alive. Now, that, in itself
is troublesome evidence, especially if the murderer doesn’t turn up.
That is why, I think, my theory of the stranger from the West is
undoubtedly the true one. You see, none of the people hereabouts—I
mean you, Barry, Davenport, myself, or any of us Club men could have
been down there so late, and then turned up here for the dinner party.
Of course, that would have been possible, but highly improbable. While
an outsider, a man known to Gleason but not to any of use, could have
come and gone at will.”
“He had to reach the Gleason apartment soon after Buddy left,” Phyllis
mused, thinking it out. “Well, Manning, I’m convinced of Buddy’s
innocence. My boy can’t lie to me! I know him too well. He is worried
and anxious about the suspicions that may attach to him, but he’s
absolutely innocent of crime, aren’t you, dear?”
And Louis looked into his sister’s face, and quietly replied, “Yes,
Phyllis,” and she believed him.
“Now,” she said, “I’m going to free Phil Barry.”
“You!” exclaimed Pollard. “Are you going to turn detective?”
“I’m going to help the detectives work,” she declared. “Or, rather,
I’m going to get a detective that can work. I don’t think much of what
has been accomplished so far. I’m going to get another detective——”
“A private detective?” asked Pollard. “Better be careful, dear. Don’t
get mixed up in this thing too deeply.”
“No, I won’t. I’m not going to do anything myself. But, I want to tell
you something. Ivy Hayes knows of a girl——”
“Ivy Hayes!” exclaimed Louis, while Pollard raising his eyebrows,
murmured, “A girl!”
“I seem to have exploded two bombshells!” said Phyllis, smiling.
She was in better spirits now, since the assurance of Louis that he
was not guilty.
“But it is the truth. Ivy Hayes knows of a girl detective——”
“Oh, Phyllis, don’t!” begged Pollard. “A private detective is bad
enough—but a girl one! Please don’t.”
“But she’s a wonder—Ivy says so.”
“Sister, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell me you know Ivy Hayes!”
“Certainly I do, Louis. If you may know her why can’t I? And I like
her, too. And she’ll get this person for me, and I know Millicent will
agree——”
“Quite a feminine bunch,” Pollard laughed. “Do you think you and Mrs
Lindsay and Miss Hayes and the girl sleuth can succeed where several
men have failed?”
“That’s just what I do think,” cried Phyllis, triumphantly. “This is
the era of feminine achievement, and why not in detection as well as
in other lines?”
“Have it your own way,” said Pollard, looking at her fondly. “I must
go now, but if I can help you—though, being a mere man, I suppose I
can’t——”
“Oh, yes, you can,” Phyllis smiled at him. “I’ll be only too glad to
call upon you for assistance.” Pollard left, and Phyllis at once
called Ivy on the telephone to get more information about the girl
detective.
“Oh, it isn’t a girl!” Ivy replied; “that is, it is a girl, but it’s a
man, too. They’re associated, you see. Of course, the man is the head
of the firm—but the girl, who is his assistant, does quite as much of
the work as he does. And, she’s my friend, that’s why I spoke of her
as the detective. But he’s the one to call on. He’s Pennington
Wise—they call him Penny Wise—how could they help it! Well, he’s
your man, and she’s your girl. I used to know her, when we were both
kids, and I don’t see her often nowadays, but we’re good friends, and
she’s a wonder.”
“You’re a wonder, too, Ivy,” Phyllis said; “thank you lots and heaps.
Give me the address, and I’ll excuse you.”
Ivy gave the number, and Phyllis went at once and told the story to
Millicent.
“Oh, do get him!” cried Mrs Lindsay. “I’ve heard of Penny Wise—he’s a
wizard! I don’t know anything about his girl assistant—but that
doesn’t matter. Penny Wise is great! I’ve often heard of him. He’s
frightfully expensive, but they say he never loses a case. But,
Phyllis, I never suspected Louis! How could you think I did!
But—don’t faint now—I do suspect Phil Barry!”
“It doesn’t matter much whom you suspect to-day, Millicent, it will be
somebody else to-morrow! Aren’t you about due to suspect me again?”
“You! oh, Phyllis, don’t remind me of the foolish things I said, when
I was hysterical and almost crazy! You know how you’d feel if Louis
had been killed! You’d suspect anybody!”
“All right, Millicent, I’ll forget it. But I don’t believe for one
minute that Philip Barry is the guilty man.”
“You don’t! Why, Phyllis, I thought you did!”
“Oh, I don’t know what I think,” and Phyllis broke down and sobbed.
“There, there, dear child,” Millicent soothed her. “Don’t cry. You’re
all worried to pieces. Now, let’s get the Wise man, and then you shift
all care and anxiety on to him.”
“But, Millicent, suppose he should prove it to be Phil!”
“If it is Phil, he ought to be shown up. We can’t stop now, for
sentiment or preference. We must go ahead and prove positively who is
the criminal.”
When Millicent took the tone of an avenging justice, she was almost
humorous, so ill did the role fit her. But she was in earnest, and she
immediately set to work to engage the services of Pennington Wise.
Her efforts were vain, however, as the detective politely informed her
that his press of business would not permit him to take on another
case at present.
Greatly disappointed, she told Phyllis, who at once told Ivy Hayes,
over the telephone, of her defeat.
“Huh,” said the young woman, “won’t come, won’t he? Well, I guess he
will. Expect him this evening, to talk over the preliminaries.”
For the sanguine Ivy felt sure her childhood friend could somehow
persuade the great detective to meet the engagement she had just
committed him to.
“Zizi,” Miss Hayes later remarked, to her friend, “You just simply got
to take on the Gleason case. You hear me?”
“Hear you perfectly,” Zizi’s engaging little voice replied. “But——”
“No buts. You just do it. Why, Ziz, it’s all mixed up with friends of
mine. And say, dearie, I want you to do it for old times’ sake.”
“But, Ivy, truly——”
“Truly you will? All right, Ziz. You make Penny Wise stand around—you
fix it somehow—and you send him or go yourself to the Lindsay home
this evening at eight o’clock. Love and kisses. Your own Ivy.”
Ivy hung up the receiver, satisfied that if her friend didn’t or
couldn’t meet her wishes, she would call her up and tell her so. Not
hearing from Zizi, Ivy concluded all was going well.
And it was. Zizi, the wonderful little assistant of the great
detective, coaxed and finally persuaded him to take the case, assuring
him that she, herself, would do most of the work. She put it on the
grounds of a personal favor to herself, and as this was so unusual a
condition as to be almost unique, Pennington Wise gave in.
And so, promptly at eight, he presented himself at the Lindsays’ and
was received with welcome.
For an hour Wise listened to the accounts of the case from the three
Lindsays. No one else was present, and Wise asked them to tell him all
they could, both of direct evidence or their own leanings or
suspicions.
The detective was a man of great personal magnetism. Tall and strong,
his very bearing inspired confidence and hope. His face was fine and
mobile, his wavy chestnut hair, brushed over back, was fine and thick,
and his keen blue eyes took in everything without any undue curiosity.
He was both receptive and responsive, and in an hour he had the
history of the case, clearly and definitely in his mind.
“Now, then,” he said, “we can admit of several suspects already. There
was a motive, let us say, for any one who benefited by Mr Gleason’s
will. That includes Mr and Miss as well as Mrs Lindsay.”
Millicent frowned at him. “Me!” she cried, explosively.
“I only say you benefited by the will,” said Wise, mildly. “I have as
much right to mention your name as those of the other two.”
“Louis didn’t get anything from the will,” said Phyllis.
“He did, in a way,” the detective returned. “You’re so fond of your
brother, that whatever is yours, is pretty much the same as belonging
to him. Now, I’m not going to consider you two ladies as suspects at
all. But Mr Lindsay’s cause I shall look into.”
Louis colored, angrily, and was about to make a sharp retort, when the
kindness of Wise’s expression caught his notice, and he suddenly
decided he’d like to be friends with the detective.
“Look into it all you like,” he said, with an air of relief at giving
his troubles over to this capable person. “I’m glad to have you. You
see, Mr Wise, I was there so fearfully close to the time of the crime,
that I’ve been afraid to have it known how close.”
“Don’t be afraid, my boy. If you’re guilty I’ll find it out, anyway;
and if not, you’ve more to gain than lose by being frank and honest.”
“Who are your other suspects?” Phyllis asked, anxiously.
“Everybody,” said Wise, smiling at her. “First, Doctor Davenport——”
“Oh, no!”
“First, Doctor Davenport, because, he first raised the alarm. Next, Mr
Pollard, because he declared an intention of killing Mr Gleason. Next,
Mr Monroe, because——”
“Dean Monroe!” exclaimed Louis, “why he has never been thought of!”
“That’s the answer!” said Wise. “He was in that group who discussed
murder that afternoon, he went away, his subsequent movements have not
been traced, and, as you say, he’s never been questioned or even
thought of in the matter. Therefore, I investigate his case.”
“And Philip Barry?” Phyllis could hold back the question no longer.
“Ah, yes, Mr Barry.” Pennington Wise looked at her. “You are
interested in him? Especially? Forgive me if I seem intrusive. I am
not really, but I have to know some things to know how to go about
others.”
“Miss Lindsay is engaged to Mr Pollard,” Millicent informed the
inquirer. “She’s a firm friend of Mr Barry’s, but, I think you ought
to know that Manning Pollard is her fiance.”
“Yes,” Phyllis said, as Wise asked the question by a glance. “I am
engaged to Mr Pollard, but I don’t want Mr Barry suspected.”
“Not if he did it?”
“He didn’t do it.”
“But the letter? He wrote that?”
“No; he did not.”
“He says he did. It is signed by him. It is in keeping with his nature
and his attitude toward Mr Gleason. Why do you say he didn’t write
it?”
“I don’t know, Mr Wise. I have a feeling, a conviction that somebody
forged that letter.”
“But how would that be possible?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell you. But I’m sure.”
“I haven’t seen the letter yet, Miss Lindsay,” Pennington Wise looked
at her reflectively. “And until I do, I can’t speak positively. But
I’ve read up this case, more or less, and I can’t see how a forgery
could pass the experts as this has done. I incline to think it is
genuine. But it need not have implied murder at all.”
“No,” repeated Phyllis, “he didn’t write it. I know he didn’t.”
“If he didn’t, trust me to find it out,” Wise reassured her. And, as
they heard the bell ring, “I dare say that’s my little assistant. She
agreed to come later. I want you to like her.”
“I know I shall,” said Phyllis, enthusiastically; “I’ve heard about her
from Miss Hayes.”
And in another moment Zizi appeared in the doorway.