“Do you realize, young man,” said Miss Pruitt, “that a national election is coming up? that I have a million things to do in the next few weeks?”
“I certainly do, Miss Pruitt. Everyone knows how important your work is but we’re all caught in the law. The Department, however, has agreed to allow you ladies and gentlemen to leave the house on urgent business, on condition that we always know where you are. Mrs. Rhodes has kindly consented to let us keep you here in the house for the next few days so that you’ll be available for questioning. I realize how inconvenient this must be but those are my orders.” And the law took command. There were a few more complaints but the comparative freedom allowed us put everyone in a better mood. The Lieutenant then permitted a recess until five o’clock, at which time there would be more questioning. Like children we trooped out of the dining room.
Verbena Pruitt was the first to leave and, from the grim look on her face, I was quite sure that she would be in touch with the White House before many minutes had passed: after all she was, in a sense, The American Woman. Mr. Pomeroy murmured something to his wife and also left. Walter Langdon went upstairs and Rufus Hollister tangled with the Lieutenant in my presence.
“Lieutenant, you must let me get certain papers out of the Senator’s file. It’s extremely urgent, as I’ve said before.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hollister, but those papers are all being gone over by the Department. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I don’t think you realize how serious this is, Lieutenant,” said Hollister, flushing angrily. “The papers I want have nothing to do with the murder … I swear to you they don’t. They involve, however, certain people of the greatest importance—the leaders of this country—and they were meant only for the Senator’s eyes.”
“We’re not politicians,” said the Lieutenant quietly … a little inaccurately, I thought. “We’re not interested in the political implications of all this. Those papers are being gone over by men who are looking for only one thing: clues to the murder of Senator Rhodes. I don’t need to tell you that they are discreet men. In any case, all the papers will be returned to your office in a day or two.”
“You don’t understand,” said Rufus furiously, but there was very little he could say: the Lieutenant’s attitude was perfectly reasonable, and legal. “I shall talk to the District Commissioners about this,” he said, finally; then he was gone. The Lieutenant sighed. I looked about me and saw that we were the only two left in the room. Ellen had quietly vanished … in pursuit of Walter Langdon, I presumed. The other policemen were all upstairs in the study. In the dining room behind us, the servants were cleaning up.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” I said sympathetically.
He nodded. “It’s like doing a tightrope act. Do you realize the influence this gang has? I don’t dare offend any of them.”
“Or dare make a mistake.”
“We don’t make mistakes,” said the Lieutenant, suddenly stuffy, a policeman after all in spite of his college manners and Grecian profile.
“I might be able to help you,” I said, going off on another tack: one which would interest him. He didn’t react quite the way I would have liked, though.
“Why do you want to do that?” He was suspicious. It gave me quite a turn to realize that this man regarded me as a possible murderer.
“Money,” I said callously. Self-interest makes beasts of us all … and all men understand self-interest: it is the most plausible of motives, the one which is seldom ever questioned.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I would like very much to be the first to know who did the murder because I could then get quite a large sum of money from my old newspaper the New York Globe for an exclusive story on the murder.”
“I thought you were in public relations.”
“Before that I was assistant drama critic on the Globe. You may recall I was the one who did the story on the murder of Ella Sutton, the ballerina, last year. I made a good deal out of that particular story.”
“I remember.” I couldn’t tell how he was reacting. Then: “Just how do you think you can help us?”
“Through the family,” I said glibly. “Through Ellen Rhodes. You see we used to be engaged. I can find out quickly a lot of things you people might never know.”
“Such as?”
“What’s really going on. What the Senator’s true relationships were with this gang. By an odd coincidence almost everyone here disliked him, or had reason to.”
“Except you?”
I was getting nowhere; I was also getting rather put out with this decorative arm of the law. “Except me. No, I didn’t murder the old goat so that I could marry his daughter and get all his money. Having sat next to her at lunch you are probably quite aware of Miss Rhodes’ true nature.”
Against his will, the Lieutenant grinned. I had made a chink in the official mask. I charged ahead. “We’re old friends, that’s all, Ellen and I. I have a hunch she knows a good deal about this and I can find out what she knows, quickly.”
“All just for a newspaper story?”
“Just!” I was genuinely outraged. “Yes,” I said, more calmly, “just for a newspaper story, for the money and the publicity.”
“We’re not supposed to work with the press … not like this, at this stage of an investigation.”
“On the other hand, I’m not just the press either.”
“I’ll say you’re not. You’re a murder suspect.”
This was putting it too coldly, I thought. I shrugged and turned away, “In that case, you’ll get no coöperation from me, Lieutenant. What I do know I’ll keep to myself.”
“What’s the deal?” He was abrupt.
“I want to know what’s going on. In exchange I’ll find out things for you … family skeletons. On top of that, remember the pieces I’ll do for the Globe’ll be widely reprinted and you, Lieutenant Winters, will be getting a good deal of attention.”
“What do you know?” I had won the first round.
“Pomeroy,” I said. There was no need to explain further: we understood each other.
“Why Pomeroy?”
“Old enemy. The Senator was blackmailing him over that 5-X … at least that’s my guess. Rhodes wanted to be paid off either in cash or votes, probably the last. Pomeroy’s a big gun in their state.”
“How did you find this out?”
“I know a little about politics,” I said quietly; as a matter of fact I had figured out the whole plot at lunch. I didn’t care to admit, at this point however, that I was relying rather heavily on intuition and a few chance remarks dropped my way the day before by Rufus Hollister.
The Lieutenant extended to me his first confidence. “That’s one way of looking at it,” he said. “But the fact is the Senator refused yesterday to recommend Pomeroy to the Defense Department … Pomeroy admitted as much.”
“I wonder, though, why the Senator’s recommendation should be so important?” I asked, a little puzzled.
“Pomeroy was in bad with the Defense Department. They canceled his contract last month.”
I nodded as if I knew all this; actually it was a surprise; the first real lead. “I knew,” I lied, “that he hoped his 5-X would put him back into business again.”
“It’s not very clear, though,” said the Lieutenant sadly, moving over to the window which overlooked the street. Several newspapermen were trying to get past the guards. Most of the crowd, however, had gone on about their business. “Why would Pomeroy want to kill the one man who could help him get his contract?”