“I’ve got one we can use.” He ran fingers through his dark hair. “Now there are two things I want you to find out, if you don’t know them now. Are any of your brother’s hats missing? Paul says he had a hat on. There was none there when I found him. See if you can find out how many he had and if they’re all accounted for”–he smiled obliquely–“except the one I borrowed.”
She paid no attention to his smile. She shook her head and raised her hands a little, dispiritedly. “I can’t,” she said. “We got rid of all his things some time ago and I doubt if anybody knew exactly what he had anyway.”
Ned Beaumont shrugged. “I didn’t think we’d get anywhere on that,” he told her. “The other thing’s a walking-stick, whether any of them–his or your father’s–are missing, particularly a rough heavy brown one.”
“It would be Father’s,” she said eagerly, “and I think it’s there.”
“Check it up.” He bit his thumb-nail. “That’ll be enough for you to do between now and tomorrow, that and maybe find out how you stand with Paul.”
“What is it?” she asked. “I mean about the stick.” She stood up, ex
“Paul says your brother attacked him with it and was struck by it while Paul was taking it away from him. He says he carried the stick away and burned it.”
“Oh, I’m sure Father’s sticks are all there,” she cried. Her face was white, her eyes wide.
“Didn’t Taylor have any?”
“Only a silver-headed black one.” She put a hand on his wrist. “If they’re all there it will mean that–”
“It might mean something,” he said and put a hand on her hand. “But no tricks,” he warned her.
“I won’t,” she promised. “If you only knew how happy I am to have your help, how much I’ve wanted it, you’d know you could trust me.”
“I hope so.” He took his hand from hers.
3
Alone in his rooms Ned Beaumont walked the floor awhile, his face pinched, his eyes shiny. At twenty minutes to ten he looked at his wristwatch. Then he put on his overcoat and went down to the Majestic Hotel, where he was told that Harry Sloss was not in. He left the hotel, found a taxicab, got into it, and said: “West Road Inn.”
The West Road Inn was a square white building–grey in the night–set among trees back from the road some three miles beyond the city limits. Its ground-floor was brightly lighted and half a dozen automobiles stood in front of it. Others were in a long dark shed off to the left.
Ned Beaumont, nodding familiarly at the doorman, went into a large dining-room where a three-man orchestra was playing extravagantly and eight or ten people were dancing. He passed down an aisle between tables, skirted the dance-floor, and stopped in front of the bar that occupied one corner of the room. He was alone on the customers’ side of the bar.
The bar-tender, a fat man with a spongy nose, said: “Evening, Ned. We ain’t been seeing you much lately.”
“‘Lo, Jimmy. Been behaving. Manhattan.”
The bar-tender began to mix the cocktail. The orchestra finished its piece. A woman’s voice rose thin and shrill: “I won’t stay in the same place with that Beaumont bastard.”
Ned Beaumont turned around, leaning back against the edge of the bar. The bar-tender became motionless with the cocktail-shaker in his hand.
Lee Wilshire was standing in the center of the dance-floor glaring at Ned Beaumont. One of her hands was on the forearm of a bulky youth in a blue suit a bit too tight for him. He too was looking at Ned Beaumont, rather stupidly. She said: “He’s a no-good bastard and if you don’t throw him out I’m going out.”
Everyone else in the place was attentively silent.
The youth’s face reddened. His attempt at a scowl increased his appearance of embarrassment.
The girl said: “I’ll go over and slap him myself if you don’t.”
Ned Beaumont, smiling, said: ” ‘Lo, Lee. Seen Bernie since he got out?”
Lee cursed him and took an angry step forward.