Endicott had a visitor last Friday afternoon. It was a young man, not too well dressed, good-looking, not more than twenty-one years of age, reddish-blond hair, tall, and rather thin. He wouldn’t give his name. He said he had something to sell. He had a box with him and he opened it up and inside was the statue of a horse. Endicott thought it was a rare Chinese antique and he was interested. The boy wanted ten thousand dollars for it.”
There was a small wrought-iron bench in the rose arbor. Paris sat down. Kay watched him stoically.
“All right,” Paris said. “Ten thousand dollars for the statue of a horse. It’s a lot of money. But Endicott would pay it if he knew it wasn’t stolen from somewhere. He asked the boy where he got it but the boy was evasive. Endicott asked him to leave the statue. That was so his curator, John Noble, could examine it to see if the statue was genuine. The boy refused to do this. However he did agree to bring back the statue Monday night at ten o’clock. Mr. Noble would be there then and he’d look it over. The boy was driving an old green sedan and when he left, Endicott took down the registration number.”
Kay took off his cap and scratched his head. “Did the boy see him do that?”
“That’s what we don’t know,” Paris said. “It’s possible the boy saw him through the rear-view mirror. Now Endicott did nothing about this Saturday and Sunday. But on Monday morning we know he left here and went into Eastern City. We don’t know if he looked up this registration number. But Monday evening he called the State Police and told them the whole story. He said the boy was supposed to come back that night at ten o’clock. Endicott had a .357 Smith and Wesson Magnum revolver in the desk drawer of his library. But he also wanted a cop there for protection. He was an Endicott, so they sent their best man. That was Lieutenant Hallmark.”
“I don’t understand it,” Kay said. “I’m the police here. Why didn’t he call me?”
“I don’t know that,” Paris said. “But he didn’t. Hallmark left his office at the Waretown County Courthouse at eight-thirty. It took him twenty minutes to get to the Endicott house. He was found dead fifteen minutes later. During that time no car was seen or heard driving up to the Endicott house. Not until you and Coats came.”
“Then Coyne is right,” Kay said. “That boy was in the boat. He came by water, killed both of them and took the boat back. He had seen Mr. Charles take down the registration number of his car. He cased the house for a couple of days, then he came an hour earlier last night. I’ve heard about those baby-faced killers. They could do a job like that and eat a ham sandwich at the same time.”
“And I’ve seen them too,” Paris said. “That’s the most logical way of looking at it and part of it might be right. Because there were a half-dozen rowboats tied up at the wharf of Sunset Harbor and the killer could have used any one of them.”
“Those boats belong to the cabin cruisers in the basin,” Kay said. “Whose boat did he use?”
“A Mr. Fred Lincolns,” Paris said. “Coyne sent a man over to the wharf. They found one of the motors was warm. But it was wiped clean of prints.”
“I know Mr. Lincoln,” Kay said. “A fine man. He owns the Lincoln Manufacturing Company and he’s had a summer home here for fifteen years.”
“I’ll go along with that too,” Paris said. “The killer just happened to pick his boat. They think the gun used is the one that was in the desk drawer, the .357 Magnum. That’s missing. From the type of the wounds, it was a power weapon. A Magnum is a gun with tremendous shock power. They’ve got the bullets and they’re calibrating them now at the lab. But without the gun, the micrometer reading isn’t much good. Bullets lose their shape once they’re fired.”
“I figured everything was scientific now,” Kay said.
“Up to a point,” Paris said. “Well, that’s the story to date, Chief.” He stood up and looked at the Endicott house. “Right now I’d like to talk to Mrs. Endicott. Would you come with me?”
“I sure would,” Kay said. “So far I ain’t been of much use around here. There’s troopers all around asking questions, but nobody’s told me to do anything. I sure want to help. I’d known Mr. Charles for a long time and I never knew a finer boy. It kind of hurts inside.”
“I know,” Paris said. “I’ve got the same hurt.”
“And something else keeps bothering me,” Kay said.
“What’s that?” Paris asked, walking with him toward the entrance of the house.
“You’re up against a killer who ain’t afraid of cops,” Kay said. “He’s killed one cop already, and he was a good one. That’s why you’d better watch yourself, Inspector. You come too close to him and he’ll try to get you too.”
3
THEY WENT UP THE BROAD PORTICO, PAST THE STATE trooper on guard there, and rang the bell. They stepped inside. The foyer was dim and cool. Near the door there was a large inlaid wood table with a silver card tray on it. The rug was deep, rich and Oriental. There were chairs with gilt legs and high backs, finished in tapestry. To their left was the wide staircase. The newel post was intricately carved mahogany, the balusters shiny with polish.
At the far end of the hall a door opened. A woman, middle-aged and thin, came down to meet them. She was wearing a gray starched uniform with white collar and cuffs. Her face was worn and tired, her eyes swollen red.
“Elizabeth,” Kay said to her, “you’ve been crying.”
“All these years with Mr. Charles,” the woman said. “I watched him grow up. That boy was more like a son to me.”
“We all watched him grow,” Gus Kay said. “That’s the sad part of it.” He put his hand up and pinched the skin between his eyes. “Well, this is Inspector Paris, Elizabeth. Inspector, Elizabeth Davis. She’s the housekeeper here. We’ve been friends twenty years or more.”
“This policeman is a young one, Gus,” Elizabeth Davis said to him. “They’re all so much younger these days.”
“The Inspector is young, but he’s good,” Kay said. “You’ll see.”
She looked at Paris. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to see my husband Henry too.”
“Yes,” Paris said. “It would save time.”
“I’ll fetch him,” she said. She left the foyer. Paris, moving near to the wall, touched a large black-onyx pedestal with a carved ivory figure on it.
“Antique,” Kay said to him. “You’ll see a lot of them around here.”
“I’d like to look at the library first,” Paris said.
“It’s down this way,” Kay said.
Paris followed him down a carpeted hallway. There was a massive, burled-walnut door. Kay stopped, opened it gingerly.
The library was big. There was a large walnut flat-topped desk, and a high-backed leather chair behind it. Along one side was a large fireplace with a woven-mesh fire screen. Above the black marble mantel there was an oil painting in a gilt frame, the picture of a man with a calm, serene face and a white Vandyke beard.
Along
