Say Yes to Murder - Todhunter Ballard (book club recommendations .TXT) 📗

“I’ll only be a minute,” hurried in across the lobby, and rode the elevator up to his floor.

He fumbled in his pockets until he found the keys, and unlocked the door. Not until he had it wide did he notice that the light was burning inside. He started to back out, but it was too late. There was a man partly screened by the door—a man holding a gun.

“Come in, Lennox,” the man invited. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Lennox went in. The man shut the door and walked Lennox into the front room. There was a handkerchief tied over the lower part of the man’s face, and his voice coming through it had a curiously muffled sound.

The room was a mess. Pillows were ripped apart, the rug rolled back, even the seat torn out of his occasional chair. Anger burned up in Lennox as he viewed the wreckage.

A second man came out of the bedroom. His face wasn’t hidden, and as far as Lennox could remember he hadn’t seen him before. The man said: “Where’s that girl, and that paper you took out of Kingstone’s apartment?”

William Lennox watched him bleakly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man hit him directly in the face. “If you think we’re kidding, think again. You’ve got that girl hidden somewhere. Stop stalling. The passport isn’t so important.”

Lennox didn’t answer. He wiped his bruised lips with the back of his hand. There were two streaks of blood across his brown skin, and he stared at them groggily.

The man in the mask said: “Don’t make us get too rough. We hate to hurt people, but this time we won’t miss you, pal.”

“So you put the hole in Jake’s coupe?”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t in your head. Where’s that girl?”

William Lennox tried to say, “Now wait…” He was scared. There was no use pretending that he wasn’t. But they gave him no chance to speak. They walked him down the long hall toward the rear stairs. He walked all right, but his insides had a funny feeling as if they had turned to jelly.

2.

He went down the stairs slowly, taking all the time he could. If he could only get a break, but he didn’t really expect one. These gentlemen were very nasty. They hadn’t wasted much time on threats, but he felt they meant exactly what they said.

He reached the next floor and walked around the post to continue his descent. Something happened behind him. For a full instant he did not know what.

He was knocked aside, and his captors dove down the stairs. Before Lennox could more than gasp they were gone, the metal fire door clanging after them. He spun around and found himself staring at Jake’s grinning features.

The short man was holding a gun in one hand and sucking the knuckles of the other. “Boy! Look at them go.”

Lennox laughed in sudden relief. Automatically he started for the stairs, then stopped. Pursuit was useless. He turned around and looked at Jake.

“Where’d you come from?”

Jake was belligerent. “Where do you think? You leave me in the car without an overcoat. What are you training me for? An Alaskan fifth-columnist?”

Lennox said: “Everything works out for the best.”

Jake sneezed. “That’s what you think. If this keeps up, they’ll have me in the hospital with pneumonia and feeding me that sculpha—sulpha—sulphuric acid.”

“You don’t need any,” Lennox told him. “Thanks for clubbing those birds. It’s lucky you chose the back stairs.”

“I didn’t,” said Jake. “It was that high-hat desk clerk. He wouldn’t let me in the front door. I’m going back and bop that guy. Remind me when I get the time.”

Lennox said: “Fine. How are you at picking locks? You used to be O.K. at it.”

“I don’t know,” the little man said uncertainly. “I haven’t had much practice lately. Maybe we’d better hunt up the guy and make him open the lock for us. If we talk to him sweetly, he’ll probably listen.”

“We’ll try the other first,” Lennox decided. “I’m not running a publicity campaign for my vices.” He turned toward the elevator, and they rode it down. As they crossed the lobby the clerk stared at Lennox’ companion with widened eyes.

The building in which Austin, Clemente, South, and Smyth had their offices was brand-new. It still smelled faintly of varnish as they came through the door. According to the indicator the single elevator was on the top floor. They took the stairs, and Jake was panting after the third flight.

“I feel like a mountain goat,” he grunted. “Why didn’t we take the elevator?”

Lennox said: “Because they make you register in these places after hours. Do you want to advertise to every cop in town that we’re turning burglar?”

They climbed up to the fifth floor and went down the darkened hall, around an ell, and paused before an office.

Jake examined the lock with the help of a pencil-flash. He pulled a screwdriver from his coat pocket and took off the plate. “It’s a wonder anyone ever bothers to close one of these doors. A child could pick it.” He had it open in less than three minutes. Then he put the lock back together.

While he was busy Lennox turned on the light. The suite was big and impressive. There was a reception room with a desk, a small switchboard, and a row of leather-seated chrome chairs for waiting clients. A private hall ran past a law library, a file room and a set of offices.

Austin’s was at the end—a big square room with high windows that looked out over the gleaming white buildings of the civic center. The desk was locked, and Lennox called Jake, who opened it readily.

Lennox went through the desk and didn’t find anything. From the contents he might have guessed that Austin had no business at all, but he knew better than that. Often the busiest man will have an almost empty desk. He turned his attention to the file room.

One file was labeled, “Catherine Foster”; a second read, “Leon Heyworth.” Lennox frowned. He hadn’t known Austin was the attorney for either of them. He had known that the man handled business for many show people. There was certainly nothing wrong with the fact that he represented both Kitty Foster and the deceased Heyworth, but Lennox cursed himself for his stupidity in not ascertaining the fact. Heyworth must have persuaded Kitty Foster to let the lawyer handle her affairs. Her agent had handled them as long as Lennox had known her.

He motioned to Jake, and the little man obligingly opened the two files. There was not much of interest—a mass of correspondence, receipted bills, items of various kinds. Lennox was surprised to find that Heyworth had died broke.

The actor had earned plenty in his time, but he had spent it on riotous living. Either that, or he had other assets which did not show in the lawyer’s accounts. Or, it was possible, the lawyer had doctored the accounts. After all, Heyworth was dead. Austin would have to account only to his estate, and the chances were that his heirs and relatives did not know too much about the dead man’s business.

In that case Austin would definitely profit by his client’s murder. Just as he might profit by Mary Morris’ death.

Lennox’ frown deepened as he turned to the Foster file. Kitty had done all right for herself, much better than if she had stayed behind the notion counter. You didn’t earn six-figure incomes selling thread, even if it was all silk.

He had purposely left the file on Mary Morris until last, and he went over it with care. It represented the business of many years, back to the days when vaudeville was still the high light of American entertainment, and Mary had drawn six thousand for one week at the Palace. You learned a lot about people by going over the records of their business dealings.

There were receipts from the school in France where her granddaughter had been educated. From the receipts Lennox learned that the girl had been sent abroad at the age of ten and had not returned until the German drive into the low countries had pushed her home. No wonder she and Mary had been almost strangers.

But what else could the old lady have done? She herself had grown up on the stage. Her daughter had been born in a dressing room and raised in a trunk. Mary Morris hadn’t wanted her granddaughter to have that kind of a life. She’d wanted her to be a lady.

Several letters written in a round childish hand were in the file. The kid had been lonesome—there could be no doubt of that. He went over the accounts minutely. Mary had a lot of money and a lot of investments. How much, it was hard to ascertain. He realized that it was a job for an expert. He was just replacing the papers in the file when the noise of the outside office door opening jerked him upright. He swung around.

Jake, who had been amusing himself by opening other files and then re-locking them, straightened also. He looked quickly at Lennox, who was already moving toward the light switch, then without a word Jake stole into the hall.

There was an exclamation, a scuffle, and Jake breathlessly called Lennox’ name. Bill ran quickly toward the front office. Jake was sitting on a man’s head. He seemed to be very happy about the whole thing. The grin widened on his battered features as he twisted his prisoner’s hand up toward the small of his back.

The hand held a revolver. It was a nickel-plated thing, and to Lennox it looked more like a popgun than a weapon of defense. Even as he reached the door the man’s fingers relaxed and the gun slipped from his grasp.

Lennox scooped it up and nodded to the grinning Jake. “O.K. Get off and let’s have a look at him.”

Jake got off the man’s head. Bernard Austin came sputtering to his feet. Even with his clothes twisted and his hair awry he managed to keep something of his dignity. He glared from the still grinning Jake to Lennox.

He took one uncertain step toward the phone, then stopped. “What were you looking for, Lennox?”

Bill said: “Proof that you killed Mary Morris.”

If Austin was taken aback, he gave no sign. “I suppose you were looking for proof that I killed Heyworth—and that Kingstone woman also.”

“That’s the general idea,” Lennox said. “Once a murderer, always a murderer.”

Instead of going to the phone Austin sank into a chair. “You know, you rather amaze me. I can’t figure you out at all. You’re on bail, and while I’ll admit that the police lack enough evidence for a murder charge, they most certainly could send you over the road for moving that body. And yet, you wander around breaking into offices and doing pretty much as you please.”

Lennox didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem to be watching the lawyer, but he was listening carefully to every word the man said.

Austin cleared his throat. “I wish I knew,” his voice was almost plaintive, “whether you’re trustworthy or not. Mary Morris thought you were. She wouldn’t have made you one of her executors if she hadn’t.”

Lennox said: “For fun, let’s assume that I am. Would you tell me anything if I was?”

“The trouble is,” Austin complained, “that I don’t know what I’m talking about. Leon Heyworth and Tina Kingstone were both clients of mine. For the last few weeks they both have been asking some leading questions about Mary Morris’ affairs. Naturally I put them off, but after the happenings of the last few days, I couldn’t help but remember.”

Lennox said,