It was a large, square envelope addressed to a business firm downtown.
Your writing, Mr Pollard? said Prescott, not knowing, in fact, just what to say.
Yes, said Pollard, glancing at it. Open it, if you want to. Its not private business.
No; I dont want to. It looks very much as if you were in your room during the hour between six and seven.
It does have that appearance, said Pollard, but I make no claims.
He telephoned twice, vouchsafed the girl at the switchboard.
He did! Prescott wheeled on her.
Once not very long after he came in maybe fifteen or twenty minutes after.
To whom?
To a Cleaning Establishment. I remember, because I couldnt get them the shop was closed. And then, he telephoned again for a taxi, when he was ready to go out.
At what time?
About half-past seven or maybe a little earlier.
Earlier, said the doorman, who had drawn near again. Not moren twenty past. I put him in the taxi myself. And it wasnt as late as half past.
Where did he drive to?
I dont know. He most always gives the driver a slip of paper with the numbers on it specially if hes going to more than one address. He did this tonight.
Wheres that taxi man? asked Prescott, feeling his last prop being pulled from under him.
Hes outside now, said the doorman. Hes waiting for a man upstairs.
Call him in.
The taxi driver looked at Pollard, nodded respectfully, and replied to Prescotts queries by saying that Mr Pollard did give him a memorandum of the places he wanted to go to, and that they were, first, the Hotel Astor, where he went in for a moment, and came back with some theater tickets which he was putting in his pocket.
How do you know he had theater tickets?
Well, he had a little pink envelope, and he often does get tickets there. Next, he stopped at Bards, the Florists, and brought out a small square box with him, and next I took him up to a house on Park Avenue, and he stayed there, and I came back.
All right, Mr Pollard, my duty is done. The detective looked a respectful apology. But I had to find out all this. And remember you did make a surprising statement.
Surprising to you, perhaps. But my friends, who know my eccentricities, werent surprised at it.
No? Well, if its your habit to threaten to kill people you dont like
Id rather you didnt call it a threat. To my mind, a threat is spoken to the intended victim.
I dont know, Prescott gazed thoughtfully at the speaker. Cant you threaten
But I didnt threaten. I merely said I should kill Gleason some day. Its too late, now, to make good my promise, and youve satisfied yourself or, havent you? that I didnt do it?
Yes, Im satisfied. You couldnt be here at home and in a taxicab doing errands, between six-fifteen and seven-forty-five, and have any chance to get away long enough to get yourself down to Washington Square and do up that murder business, too.
It does look that way, Pollard agreed. Youve checked me up pretty thoroughly. Now do you want me any further? For, though Im as good-natured and patient as the average man, I have something else to do with my time when youre through with me.
Of course, of course. But, I say, Mr Pollard, can you give me a hint which way to look?
Sorry, but I cant.
The two had drawn aside from the hotel desk, and were by themselves in an alcove of the lobby. Prescott, eagerly trying to learn something further from his vindicated suspect Pollard, calm and polite, but quite evidently wishing to get away about his business.
You dont suspect anybody?
No; you see I knew Mr Gleason but slightly. I didnt like him, but I assure you I didnt kill him. And I dont know who did.
CHAPTER V Mrs Mansfields Story
Distrust the obvious, Prescott, said Belknap, didactically. It is the astute detectives weak point that he cannot see beyond the apparent the evident the obvious.
Oh, yes, Prescott sniffed; distrust the obvious is as hackneyed a phrase as Cherchez la femme! and about as useful in our every day work. You make a noise like a Detective Story.
And theyre the Big Noise, nowadays, Belknap returned, unruffled.
All the same, and Prescott spoke doggedly, when a guy says hes going to kill somebody, and that somebody is found croaked a few hours later, seems to me
Seems to me, your guy is the last person in the world to suspect. Its the obvious
Yes, an obvious that I sorta hate to distrust!
Nonsense! And youve disposed of Pollard anyway, havent you.
Yes, I have. Half a dozen people were in touch with him all through the time of the murder. Hes out of it.
Prescott looked as disheartened as he felt.
And youve wasted good time tracking him down, when you might have been investigating the evidence while it was fresh! Im disappointed in you, Prescott; you oughtnt to have fallen for a steer like that.
Belknap was the Assistant District Attorney, and the Gleason case seemed to him important and absorbing. In his office the morning after the murder, he was getting all the information Prescott could give him, and he was really disgusted with the detective for having followed up the wild goose chase of Manning Pollards impulsive speech about the Western millionaire.
Belknap was an earnest, honest investigator, not so much brilliant by deduction as clear-sighted, hard-headed and practical.
He distrusted the obvious, not so much because of the hackneyed aphorism as because his own experience had proved to him that nine times out of ten, or oftener, the obvious was wrong. It must be looked into, of course, but not to the exclusion of other evidence or the neglect of other lines of investigation. And now, he felt, the trail had cooled somewhat, and valuable clews might be lost because of Prescotts conviction of Pollards guilt.
Belknap was of a higher mentality than Pollard, and he also was a man of more education and refinement. He was especially interested on this case, for the Lindsays were an exclusive family and kept themselves out of the limelight of publicity.
But there were rumors that the lovely daughter was a harum-scarum, that the son of the house was addicted to bright lights and high stakes, and that the still young stepmother was quite as fond of social life as her two charges.
But never were their names seen on the society columns or in the gossip papers and now, Belknap reflected, they could be approached by reporters.
Indeed, he saw himself admitted to that hitherto inaccessible home, and in imagination he was already preening himself for the occasion.
But Belknap was methodical, and he was preparing to go at once to the Gleason apartment, to begin his line of investigation.
How does Mrs Lindsay act? he allowed himself to ask as he and Prescott started for Washington Square.
Oh, I dont know, returned Prescott; about like youd expect a sister to act. She was fond of her brother, I take it, but well, I didnt see much of her; still, Ive a vague impression that shes revengeful anxious to find and punish the murderer that struck me more than her grief.
You cant tell. She may be sorrowing deeply, and also be desirous of avenging her brothers death. No question of suicide?
Not now, no. There was at first. But an autopsy showed the second shot was fired first.
What do you mean?
The one they thought was second was first. It seems the first shot through the temple killed Gleason. And then, for some unexplained reason, the slayer fired again, through the dead mans shoulder.
Whatever for? And how do they know?
Oh, the doctors could tell, by the blood coagulation or something. As to why it was done, Ive no idea. Whats the obvious I want to distrust it.
Dont be too funny, Prescott. This is a big case. Not only because of the prominence of the people involved, but its pretty mysterious, I think. We ought to get something out of the other people in the house.
Not a chance. I tried it.
Belknap said nothing, but a close observer might have thought his silence not altogether an assent to Prescotts corollary.
In fact, Prescott went on, I believe youll find your murderer among Gleasons own bunch. Not the people in the house he lived in. You see that place was wished on him by a friend, and Gleason hated it. I got this from those men who know him. Miss Lindsay agreed to it. Gleason meant to move out only took it because it was represented to him as a bijou apartment, and he thought it was a luxurious little nest and, it isnt. As you can now see for yourself.
At the house, Prescott pushed the button below McIlvaines card, and after a moment the door clicked, and grudgingly, as it seemed, moved itself a little, and Prescott pushed it open.
Thats the way the murderer got in, he said positively.
Maybe not, demurred Belknap. Maybe he came in with Gleason.
Oh, maybe he came in at the window, or down the chimney! exclaimed Prescott shortly; you cant admit the obvious ever, can you?
Belknap chuckled at the others quick temper, and they went upstairs.
They found Policeman Kelly in charge, and he greeted them gladly.
Get busy, he said, genially. Sure, theres enough to engage your attention.
Belknap, beyond a word of greeting, ignored the officer, and took a swift, comprehensive survey of the place.
It was a large front room, apparently library and cutting room. A bedroom was back of it and a bath room behind that. An old house, quite evidently remodeled for bachelor or small family apartments.
Though up to date as to plumbing, lighting and decoration, the window and door frames proclaimed it an old building. The furniture was over ornate, and the pictures and ornaments a bit flamboyant. But it was a comfortable enough place, and the personal belongings of the dead Gleason were scattered about and gave a homey appearance. A silver framed photograph of Mrs Lindsay was on a table, and on another were two more portraits of less distinguished-looking ladies.