ALM06 Who Killed the Husband? (10 page)

"I'll do that. What line are you going to take?"

"I'm going to cultivate the acquaintance of the beautiful widow," said Lee with a smile.

"What about Al Yohe?"

"I was hoping you might be able to give me some news about him."

Loasby shook his head gloomily. "In addition to my own men every uniformed cop on the force is looking for him. No reports."

"I'm going down to Hasbroucks from here," said Lee. "There are several questions which I have no right to ask there, but the police are entitled to the information."

"What are they?"

"Get Mr. Gartrey's private secretary. Find out from her if Gartrey got a phone call on November 3rd before he went home, and so on."

"I'll see to it," said Loasby.

Lee proceeded further downtown to the offices of Hasbrouck and Company in the great building on Wall Street which bore their name. Hasbroucks, oldest and wealthiest private bankers in New York, was a name to conjure with in financial circles. None of the present generation of Hasbroucks was in the bank; one was an artist; one raised race horses; a third was simply an ornament to Newport and Palm Beach. For upwards of ten years Jules Gartrey had been president of the concern. On the day following his death, at a special meeting of the directors, George Coler, first vice president, had been elected president in Gartrey's stead. Everybody took it as a matter of course that Coler should succeed the man who had trained him.

The executive offices were on the top floor of the skyscraper. Lee, whose first visit it was, looked around him appreciatively; he enjoyed quality wherever he found it. Here, the lofty ceilings, the walls paneled with rare woods, the thick-piled rugs caressing the feet, expressed the highest quality without any suggestion of showiness. And space, plenty of space, the greatest luxury of all. This was a thoroughly modern office. The handsome young clerks and the beautiful secretaries moved through the rooms smiling, stopping to converse with each other cheerfully in order to show that there was no slave-driving here. Lee was particularly struck with the charming manners of the lovely receptionist at her desk. She smiled at him confidently as one nice person to another.

"You wish to see Mr. Coler? Have you an appointment, sir?"

Lee was obliged to confess that he had not.

Her face fell. "Oh, I'm so sorry! It is difficult to arrange a meeting on the spur of the moment. But I'll see what I can do. 'What name, sir?"

"Mr. Mappin. Amos Lee Mappin."

Her eyes widened. "Mr. Mappin! Oh, sir, I know Mr. Coler will want to see you. Please be seated for a moment." She swam away.

In no time at all she returned. "Mr. Coler will be delighted to see you, Mr. Mappin. Please come this way."

Lee was led through one magnificent room after another, where smiling employees worked at their desks or conversed happily together. "This cannot be a bank," said Lee to his beautiful conductress; "it is more like Heaven!"

She giggled politely, but it was evident she did not quite get it. Arriving at last at the holy of holies, the corner office, she announced: "Mr. Mappin," and disappeared. The door was ostentatiously left open.

Lee received an impression of an acre of rare Kermanshah rug, tulip wood panels, a beamed, polychrome ceiling. From behind a gigantic desk with a whole brigade of telephones on it, George Coler was rising to greet him. Coler was in perfect keeping with the rich, conservative apartment; well groomed, handsome, smiling and natural; indubitably one of Wall Street's aristocrats.

"Mr. Mappin! This is an unexpected pleasure!"

"Sorry, if I'm interrupting you," said Lee.

"Not at all! I am always at your service. Sit down, sir!"

"Thanks," said Lee dryly. "I am a little overwhelmed." He took in all the details of the room.

Coler laughed pleasantly. "Silly, isn't it?" he said, waving his hand about. "But, of course, a bit of swank is expected of Hasbroucks."

"I like swank," said Lee.

A shadow passed over Coler's face. "I have been promoted to the highest seat here," he said. "But how gladly I would give it up if I could have my friend back!"

"I feel for you," said Lee.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" asked Coler.

"You have read this morning's paper, I take it," said Lee.

A frown distorted Coler's handsome face; he struck his fist on the desk. "I have!" he cried, "and it is disgraceful that such a thing could happen! And I looked on the fellow as my friend, Mr. Mappin. I've been seeing a lot of him lately. His impudence passes all bearing!"

"Oh, you have got the wrong impression," said Lee. "Yohe's manners were most agreeable. I quite enjoyed his visit."

Coler wouldn't have it. "Disgraceful!" he repeated. "That a murderer should be able to thumb his nose at decent folk like that. What is the matter with our police?"

"Obviously, somebody is concealing Yohe," said Lee. "The police are up against it."

"If I was at the head of the force I would get something done!"

"Naturally, Yohe's visit to me was a kind of challenge," Lee went on, "and I have engaged myself to help the police in this case."

"Good!" cried Coler. "Then we'll get results. How can I help you, Mr. Mappin?"

"Mr. Coler," Lee said blandly, "the rumor persists that it is Mrs. Gartrey who is keeping him hidden."

Coler leaned toward Lee. "Mappin, there is nothing in it! I am with her part of every day--she depends on me for everything, you see, and I know what I am talking about. Mind you, I'm not saying that she wouldn't assist him; I will be very frank with you; there is an infatuation there that it grieves me to see. One can only hope that she may get over it quickly. But I know from her uncertainty, her anxiety, her desire to get some word of him, that she does not know where he is."

"I don't doubt you're right," said Lee, "but I must investigate this rumor along with everything else, just as a matter of routine."

Coler said: "Apart from assuring you that there's nothing in it, I don't see how I can help you."

"Yes, you can." Lee had come to the point he had been leading up to. "If there is any connection between Mrs. Gartrey and Yohe, she may be supplying him with money. I want to check her expenditures during the past week. Have you paid her any large sums?"

"From the estate, do you mean? Not a penny. Mr. Gartrey died intestate. She'll get the estate eventually, of course, but not until the preliminaries are settled."

"Intestate? You shock me! A man of his wealth?"

"It seems that he had lately destroyed his last will and had procrastinated in making another."

"Have you made payments to Mrs. Gartrey from other sources?"

"No. She doesn't require it. Besides having credit everywhere, she has a fortune of her own. Gartrey settled money on her when she married him."

"Does she bank here?" asked Lee.

Coler laughed. "No indeed! She wouldn't have her account in a place where her husband could overlook it. She banks with the Fulton National."

"Has she more than one account?"

"Only the one account."

"Let me see, who is President of the Fulton?"

"Canby Griffiths."

"Will you give me a note to Mr. Griffiths that will smooth my way?"

"I'd rather not," said Coler with his engaging frankness, "because it would look as if I were going behind Agnes' back. You don't need any note from me. Your name is a sufficient password anywhere in town."

When Lee arose, Coler accompanied him to the outer office. "I'm so glad you came in. We must keep in touch with each other. Our interests are the same. If money is needed for the prosecution of the case, you may call on me for any amount."

"Thanks, Mr. Coler. It won't be necessary for the present."

Coler opened a door exhibiting another handsome office only less grand than the one they had left. "My former office," he said.

It had the same collection of telephones. "Why does a banker need so many telephones?" asked Lee.

"Well, there's the inter-office phone, the connection with the regular switchboard, a connection with the banking office downstairs, a private wire to the Stock Exchange, my own personal telephone, and so on."

As they shook hands at the outer door, Coler said: "Dine with me some night, will you? So we can go into things more particularly."

"I'd be glad to," said Lee.

Lee Mappin's name proved to be sufficient to pass him into the private office of the President of the Fulton National. Mr. Griffiths was so anxious to help Lee, and so impressed with the necessity of keeping the matter secret, that he went himself to consult the book which contained Mrs. Gartrey's checking account. The result, as far as Lee was concerned, was nil. Mr. Griffiths said:

"Mrs. Gartrey's balance as of yesterday was $113,000. She has made no withdrawals this past week. She hasn't visited the bank. All the checks that have been paid on her account were dated previous to the tragedy. I expect she has been too prostrated since to attend to any business."

"I expect so," said Lee dryly. "Anyhow, thank you very much."

On his way uptown in a taxi, Lee read the latest extra on the Al Yohe case. Every edition of the newspapers furnished an avid public with added details of Al's spectacular life; his love affairs, his wardrobe, his tastes in food and wine. Al had a passion for fresh caviar, Lee read, and it made him thoughtful. Fresh caviar had become a scarce article since the war, and scandalously expensive. It ought not to be too difficult to discover who still had a stock of the delicacy and to trace the sales during the past week. Al's present host, whoever he was, might try to procure some. It was a faint lead, but worth following up.

Lee stopped at the office of Stan Oberry, a private investigator whom he had employed with success in former cases, and put the matter in his hands. "Fresh Beluga caviar is the choicest sort," said Lee.

Chapter 8

It was now that hour of the afternoon when a gentleman might properly call on a lady, and Lee drove on uptown to the Gartrey apartment. The door was opened to him by a manservant he had not seen before, a dark young fellow, handsome in the face and shapely of limb. His eyes, however, were too close together; it gave him a foxy look.

"Are you Denman?" asked Lee.

"Yes, Mr. Mappin."

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Certainly not, sir. Mrs. Gartrey said you might wish to question me."

Lee thought: The deuce you say! I'm sorry I didn't get hold of you before she did.

"Mrs. Gartrey said I was to give you every assistance I could," added Denman.

"Thanks," said Lee. "I understand that you were out of the house when the tragedy occurred."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Hawkins, the butler, had given me leave to take my watch to be repaired."

"Where did you take it? You understand, this is merely a formal question."

"Oh, quite, sir. It's all right with me. I have nothing to hide. I took my watch to a jeweler called Lohmeyer on West Thirty-fourth Street, and waited for it while he put in a new escapement."

"What time did you get back here?"

"It would be about half past four, sir."

"What did you find here?"

"Oh, sir, it was terrible. The master was still lying where he had fallen! The place was full of police, medical examiners, fingerprint men, photographers, I couldn't tell you who all. And the maids hysterical and all!"

"Your mistress?"

"I didn't see her, sir. She was in her room under care of the doctor."

"What did you do?"

"Mr. Coler told me to stand at the service door and keep everybody out. Mr. Coler had taken charge of everything. Mr. Hawkins was minding the front door. Many people were trying to get into the apartment. Seems people have no shame at such a time."

"What is your theory as to what happened?" Lee asked bluntly.

Denman was startled. "Oh, sir, how should I know what happened? I wasn't here. Some of the servants seem to think it was Mr. Hawkins did it, but I wouldn't go as far as to say that. I am only an underservant; I don't know anything."

Lee shrugged and let it go at that. The young man's manners were perfect, but somehow he left a bad taste in the mouth; he was too smooth, too watchful. Lee made a mental note to check his story with the watchmaker. "Can I see Mrs. Gartrey?" he asked. "I'll see, sir."

Lee was shown into the music room, which lay between the vast living room on one side and Agnes' boudoir on the other. In order to reach it he had to step over the spot where Jules Gartrey's dead body had lain on the parquet. Denman betrayed no consciousness of recent tragedy. The windows of the music room looked out on the familiar panorama of the park with its leafless trees, the East Drive, the reservoir beyond, the towers of Central Park West in the distance.

In a surprisingly short space of time, the door from the boudoir was thrown open and Agnes Gartrey appeared, holding out both her hands. Lee thought: Hm! I appear to be welcome. Meanwhile Denman had disappeared.