he returned, bearing a bulging manila folder. Handing it to Markham, he said something in a low voice inaudible to the rest of us. Markham appeared both astonished and displeased. Waving the sergeant back to his seat, he turned to Cleaver.
“I’ll have to ask you to wait in the reception room for a few minutes. Another urgent matter has just arisen.”
Cleaver went out without a word, and Markham opened the folder. “I don’t like this sort of thing, Sergeant. I told you so yesterday when you suggested it.”
“I understand, sir.” Heath, I felt, was not as contrite as his tone indicated. “But if those letters and things are all right, and Cleaver hasn’t been lying to us about ’em, I’ll have my man put ’em back so’s no one’ll ever know they were taken. And if they do make Cleaver out a liar, then we’ve got a good excuse for grabbing ’em.”
Markham did not argue the point. With a gesture of distaste he began running through the letters, looking particularly at the dates. Two photographs he put back after a cursory glance; and one piece of paper, which appeared to contain a pen-and-ink sketch of some kind, he tore up with disgust and threw into the wastebasket. Three letters, I noticed, he placed to one side. After five minutes’ inspection of the others, he returned them to the folder. Then he nodded to Heath.
“Bring Cleaver back.” He rose and, turning, gazed out of the window.
As soon as Cleaver was again seated before the desk, Markham said, without looking round, “You told me it was last June that you bought your letters back from Miss Odell. Do you recall the date?”
“Not exactly,” said Cleaver easily. “It was early in the month, though—during the first week, I think.”
Markham now spun about and pointed to the three letters he had segregated.
“How, then, do you happen to have in your possession compromising letters which you wrote to Miss Odell from the Adirondacks late in July?”
Cleaver’s self-control was perfect. After a moment’s stoical silence, he merely said in a mild, quiet voice, “You of course came by those letters legally.”
Markham was stung, but he was also exasperated by the other’s persistent deceptions.
“I regret to confess,” he said, “that they were taken from your apartment—though, I assure you, it was against my instructions. But since they have come unexpectedly into my possession, the wisest thing you can do is to explain them. There was an empty document box in Miss Odell’s apartment the morning her body was found, and, from all appearances, it had been opened Monday night.”
“I see.” Cleaver laughed harshly. “Very well. The fact is—though I frankly don’t expect you to believe me—I didn’t pay my blackmail to Miss Odell until the middle of August, about three weeks ago. That’s when all my letters were returned. I told you it was June in order to set back the date as far as possible. The older the affair was, I figured, the less likelihood there’d be of your suspecting me.”
Markham stood fingering the letters undecidedly. It was Vance who put an end to his irresolution.
“I rather think, don’t y’ know,” he said, “that you’d be safe in accepting Mr. Cleaver’s explanation and returning his billets-doux.”
Markham, after a momentary hesitation, picked up the manila folder and, replacing the three letters, handed it to Cleaver.
“I wish you to understand that I did not sanction the appropriating of this correspondence. You’d better take it home and destroy it—I won’t detain you any longer now. But please arrange to remain where I can reach you if necessary.”
“I’m not going to run away,” said Cleaver; and Heath directed him to the elevator.
CHAPTER 22
A TELEPHONE CALL
(Saturday, September 15; 10 A.M.)
Heath returned to the office, shaking his head hopelessly. “There musta been a regular wake at Odell’s Monday night.”
“Quite,” agreed Vance. “A midnight conclave of the lady’s admirers. Mannix was there, unquestionably; and he saw Cleaver; and Cleaver saw Lindquist; and Lindquist saw Spotswoode—”
“Humph! But nobody saw Skeel.”
“The trouble is,” said Markham, “we don’t know how much of Cleaver’s story is true. And, by the way, Vance, do you believe he really bought his letters back in August?”
“If only we knew! Dashed confusin’, ain’t it?”
“Anyway,” argued Heath, “Cleaver’s statement about phoning Odell at twenty minutes to twelve, and a man answering, is verified by Jessup’s testimony. And I guess Cleaver saw Lindquist all right that night, for it was him who first tipped us off about the doc. He took a chance doing it, because the doc was liable to tell us he saw Cleaver.”
“But if Cleaver had an allurin’ alibi,” said Vance, “he could simply have said the doctor was lying. However, whether you accept Cleaver’s absorbin’ legend or not, you can take my word for it there was a visitor, other than Skeel, in the Odell apartment that night.”
“That’s all right, too,” conceded Heath reluctantly. “But, even so, this other fellow is only valuable to us as a possible source of evidence against Skeel.”
“That may be true, Sergeant.” Markham frowned perplexedly. “Only, I’d like to know how that side door was unbolted and then rebolted on the inside. We know now that it was open around midnight, and that Mannix and Cleaver both used it.”
“You worry so over trifles,” said Vance negligently. “The door problem will solve itself once we discover who was keeping company with Skeel in the Canary’s gilded cage.”
“I should say it boils down to Mannix, Cleaver, and Lindquist. They were the only three at all likely to be present; and if we accept Cleaver’s story in its essentials, each of them had an opportunity of getting into the apartment between half past eleven and midnight.”
“True. But you have only Cleaver’s word that Lindquist was in the neighborhood. And that evidence, uncorroborated, can’t be accepted as the lily-white truth.”
Heath stirred suddenly and looked at the clock. “Say, what about that nurse you wanted at eleven o’clock?”
“I’ve been worrying horribly about her for an hour.” Vance appeared actually troubled. “Really, y’ know, I haven’t the slightest desire to meet the lady. I’m hoping for a revelation, don’t y’ know. Let’s wait for the doctor until half past ten, Sergeant.”
He had scarcely finished speaking when Swacker informed Markham that Doctor Lindquist had arrived on a mission of great urgency. It was an amusing situation. Markham laughed outright, while Heath stared at Vance with uncomprehending astonishment.
“It’s not necromancy, Sergeant,” smiled Vance. “The doctor realized yesterday that we were about to catch him in a falsehood; so he decided to forestall us by explaining personally. Simple, what?”
“Sure.” Heath’s look of wonderment disappeared.
As
