Brokay lunged forward. His left hand caught the woman’s arm, pulled it down and to one side as she fired. Then he wrested the gun from her, backed to the door and stood with the guns covering the pair. “Call the police, Rhoda,” he said.
Chapter Six
Brokay Entertains the Law
Grigsby, the butler, coughed apologetically as George Brokay latchkeyed the front door of his residence. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, “but—”
A gruff voice from the shadows of the corridor interrupted. “Stow that stuff,” said the voice, “we’ll do our own talking.”
Two men stepped forward.
“You’re Brokay?” asked one of the men.
“Yes,” said George Brokay.
“We’ve got some questions to ask you.”
“All right,” said Brokay, “I’ll be glad to answer them.”
“How does it happen that there was a roadster in your garage with a bullet hole in the back of the body? How does it happen that your hat was found in the grounds of the John C. Ordway residence? How does it happen that you were running away from the police last night, when the police radio car tried to stop you? How does it happen that there was a monkey clinging to your neck, and fingerprints that have been developed in the room where Gladys Ordway was murdered show that there had been a monkey sitting on the head of the bed?”
Brokay nodded.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “come in. Sit down and have a drink. It happens that you gentlemen are just a little bit behind the times. I can explain those points very readily, but, before I do so, you might be interested in learning something about the murder of Miss Gladys Ordway.”
“Yes,” said one of the men, “we’d be interested in learning a lot about it.”
They followed Brokay into the library.
“Highballs, Grigsby,” said Brokay.
“Go ahead and talk, guy,” one of the men said.
“It happens,” said Brokay, “that Gladys Ordway had been blackmailed by a man named Charles Giddings. She had been rather indiscreet. Some of the high-powered stuff, that is indulged in at times by the younger set. There were photographs, and, altogether, it would have made a nasty scandal. Giddings had been blackmailing her; she finally decided that she was going to report to the police; she told Giddings that she was finished and that she was going to tell everything.
“Giddings had an accomplice, a Thelma Grebe. They tried to keep Gladys Ordway from telling her father, or reporting to the police. She had reached her decision, however, and the decision was final as far as she was concerned. Thelma Grebe had been cultivating Rhoda Koline, the social secretary of Glady’s Ordway’s father. Giddings had a cane, the lower portion of which was rubber made to represent wood. There was a steel blade inside of the cane. While Thelma Grebe was talking with Rhoda Koline, Giddings entered Gladys Ordway’s bedroom and stabbed her in the back, simply reaching out and stabbing her with the cane.
“He had been drinking some that night, and, acting upon impulse, had purchased a pet monkey. The monkey was clinging to his shoulder. When the monkey saw the blood, and saw what had happened, it became terrified.
“Rhoda Koline didn’t know that Thelma Grebe had been accompanied by a man. Thelma had entered the house, using Rhoda’s latchkey which Rhoda had given her, because Thelma Grebe said she didn’t want to face the servants. Thelma Grebe was a moll, and professed an interest in Rhoda, saying she wanted Rhoda to take here away from the life of crime she was leading.”
“Rather a slick story,” said one of the men. “How about a little proof for it?”
“Plenty of proof for it,” Brokay said. “It seems that there was a burglar by the name of Sam West, who got a clue to what had happened. Giddings was acquainted with West. He entered West’s room, shook hands with him and when West turned his back, Giddings ran him through the back and deposited the body on the bed. He was assisted by Thelma Grebe.
“I had a pretty good idea of what had happened. Giddings tried the same stunt with me. It didn’t work.”
“And your proof of all this?” asked one of the detectives.
“The fact that the police just a few minutes ago took Thelma Grebe and Giddings into custody, and that Thelma Grebe is making a complete confession, in order to save her own neck.”
The men looked at each other.
“Call headquarters,” said one of the men.
As one of the detectives went to the telephone to call headquarters, the other stared at George Brokay. “The thing that you still haven’t explained,” he said, “is how it happens that you were mixed into this and were running around through the night with a monkey clinging to your shoulders.”
Brokay smiled at him. “That,” he said, “is unfortunately one of the things that I can’t explain. That is, if I did explain it you wouldn’t believe me, and since it isn’t any of your damn business in the first place, and doesn’t have any bearing on the murder in the second place I don’t think I’ll try.”
“Yeah?” said the detective. “Well, buddy, you may have another think coming about that.”
Brokay shook his head.
“Oh, no,” he said, “I think I’m in the clear in the matter.”
“Then how about this car that was in your garage. What was it doing there?”
“Staying there,” said Brokay.
“And how about this monkey?”
Brokay shrugged his shoulders. “The monkey,” he said, “is a different story. It’s really too bad that you’re never going to learn the inside story about that monkey.”
“Listen,” asked the man, “how did you get wise to all this?”
“I got wise to it,” Brokay said slowly, facing the man with steady, belligerent eyes, “by doing a little thinking that the police might well have done for themselves. I got wise to it by realizing that Sam West, the burglar, had been murdered because he knew too much, and that I could expect Giddings to try to murder me, because I knew too much. I baited a trap. I used myself as human bait. I knew that it was time for a murder, and that I was to be the victim. Does that answer your question?”
The other detective rushed from the outer corridor into the library. “It’s true,” he said, “every damn word of it. He’s caught the pair and turned them over to the homicide squad. They’re at headquarters now. The woman is spilling her guts.”
Brokay smiled. “And now, gentlemen,” he said, “if you will excuse me, I want to shave and change my clothes. You see, I have a date for dinner with a very estimable young lady, who, because of some very poor advice which was given her by Thelma Grebe, was taking it on the lam. You see, Thelma Grebe wanted to have a goat, a fall guy for the police, so she persuaded this young lady to, as they so quaintly express it in underworld circles, ‘take it on the lam’.”
“You mean, Rhoda Koline, the social secretary?” asked the detective.
Brokay nodded.
“That’s another thing you haven’t told us about,” the detective said. “Tell us some more about this Rhoda Koline.”
Brokay smiled at them. “Gentlemen,” he said, “your murder case is solved. The murderers are making a complete confession. Rhoda Koline is exonerated. I am exonerated. We don’t have to answer any more of your questions. Frankly, I don’t know very much about Rhoda Koline and that’s why I’m taking her to dinner. I want to find out.”
Hard as Nails
Chapter One
Gilbert E. Best was as full of dynamic energy as a busy coffee percolator. He started out of the elevator before the door was more than half open, pounded his way down the flagged floor of the skyscraper hallway, not as a man who is in a frantic rush, but as one who is so filled with surplus energy that he finds an outlet in pounding the floor with his feet.