The District Attorney said hastily: “That’s all right, Ned. It’s none of my business what you and Paul do. I’m–you see, it’s just that I’m not so damned sure that maybe Despain didn’t happen to run into young Henry on the street by luck and take a crack at him. I think maybe I’ll hold him awhile to be safe.” His blunt undershot mouth curved in a smile that was somewhat ingratiating. “Don’t think I’m pushing my snoot into Paul’s affairs, or yours, but–” His florid face was turgid and shiny. He suddenly bent over and yanked a desk-drawer open. Paper rattled under his fingers. His hand came out of the drawer and went across the desk towards Ned Beaumont. In his hand was a small white envelope with a slit edge. “Here.” His voice was thick. “Look at this and see what you think of it, or is it only damned foolishness?”
Ned Beaumont took the envelope, but did not immediately look at it. He kept his eyes, now cold and bright, focused on the District Attorney’s red face.
Farr’s face became a darker red under the other man’s stare and he raised a beefy hand in a placatory gesture. His voice was placatory: “I don’t attach any importance to it, Ned, but–I mean we always get a lot of junk like that on every case that comes up and–well, read it and see.”
After another considerable moment Ned Beaumont shifted his gaze from Farr to the envelope. The address was typewritten:
M. J. Farr, Esq.
District Attorney
City Hall
City
Personal
The postmark was dated the previous Saturday. Inside was a single sheet of white paper on which three sentences with neither salutation nor signature were typewritten:
Why did Paul Madvig steal one of Taylor Henry’s hats after he was murdered?
What became of the hat that Taylor Henry was wearing when he was murdered?
Why was the man who claimed to have first found Taylor Henry’s body made a member of your staff?
Ned Beaumont folded this communication, returned it to its envelope, dropped it down on the desk, and brushed his mustache with a thumb-nail from center to left and from center to right, looking at the District Attorney with level eyes, addressing him in a level tone: “Well?”
Farr’s cheeks rippled again where they covered his jaw-muscles. He frowned over pleading eyes. “For God’s sake, Ned,” he said earnestly, “don’t think I’m taking that seriously. We get bales of that kind of crap every time anything happens. I only wanted to show it to you.”
Ned Beaumont said: “That’s all right as long as you keep on feeling that way about it.” He was still level of eye and voice. “Have you said anything to Paul about it?”
“About the letter? No. I haven’t seen him since it came this morning.”
Ned Beaumont picked the envelope up from the desk and put it in his inner coat-pocket. The District Attorney, watching the letter go into the pocket, seemed uncomfortable, but he did not say anything.
Ned Beaumont said, when he had stowed the letter away and had brought a thin dappled cigar out of another pocket: “I don’t think I’d say anything to him about it if I were you. He’s got enough on his mind.”
Farr was saying, “Sure, whatever you say, Ned,” before Ned Beaumont had finished his speech.
After that neither of them said anything for a while during which Farr resumed his staring at the desk-corner and Ned Beaumont stared thoughtfully at Farr. This period of silence was ended by a soft buzzing that came from under the District Attorney’s desk.
Farr picked up his telephone and said: “Yes Yes.” His undershot lip crept out over the edge of the upper lip and his florid face became mottled. “The hell he’s not!” he snarled. “Bring the bastard in and put him up against him and then if he don’t we’ll do some work on him.
Yes. . . . Do it.” He slammed the receiver on its prong and glared at Ned Beaumont.
Ned Beaumont had paused in the act of lighting his cigar. It was in one hand. His lighter, alight, was in the other. His face was thrust forward a little between them. His eyes glittered. He put the tip of his tongue between his lips, withdrew it, and moved his lips in a smile that had nothing to do with pleasure. “News?” he asked in a low persuasive voice.