“Remember the guy now?” Tony quietly asked the cashier.
The man moved his pale face back and forth sidewise. “No sir. He wasn’t here.”
Harry Short’s dazed expression turned to malevolence, but he made no attempt to regain his feet. Amid the silent scrutiny of the horse-players, Tony stalked to the stair head and went on down the steps.
Five minutes later when he entered the hotel lobby and passed the desk, he was stopped by the day clerk.
“Mr. Ransome,” the clerk said. “Is it true the police think the Missouri Cafe robbery was a put up job by some local person?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Tony said. “You’d have to ask Chief Murphy.”
After dinner the little man sat in his room and waited for the moving tide of gossip to flow over the town. He had no idea what effect his plan would have, merely having proceeded on the principle that stirring a muddy pond could not make it muddier, and might bring something to the surface. At eight o’clock the first tangible effects appeared in the persons of the mayor and the chief of police.
Politely offering His Honor the lone easy chair, and the fat chief the only other chair, an uncomfortable straight-back, Tony seated himself on the bed.
“You been misrepresenting the truth, Ransome,” Chief Murphy said reproachfully. “You been creating the impression you got my backing in your poking around.”
Tony raised innocent eyebrows. “I merely said I had your permission to ask questions.”
“But people got the idea I put you up to it. Thought I made it clear you was on your own.”
“That’s unimportant now,” Ainslie broke in. “Sergeant Ransome, your rather loose talk around town has started a lot of gossip I resent exceedingly.”
Tony turned his head to survey the mayor and was surprised to note the man’s thin face was pale and pinched, not with anger, but with fright. “What kind of gossip?” he asked.
“You know very well what kind of gossip, since you started it,” Ainslie said irritably. “The whole town is suddenly convinced that man Stone was hired to kill Larson by someone local. Opinion on who did the hiring seems divided between the team of Erickson and Mrs. Larson and the team of Art Jason, Harry Short and myself.”
“Tough,” Tony said unfeelingly. “Wouldn’t be surprised if one of those views is correct.”
The mayor raised a hand that shook slightly. “I wouldn’t so much resent speculation that I hired the killer myself, since it’s public knowledge Larson wanted me impeached. But linking me with Jason and Short is hitting below the belt. People are saying they pay me protection money to let them operate unmolested, the implication being we constitute some kind of criminal organization. But I assure you my five-hundred a year salary is every cent I receive from the mayor’s office, directly or indirectly.”
Tony said, “That story must have been kicking around before Larson was killed, else why the petition to impeach you?”
The mayor said indignantly, “There was no question of dishonesty behind that. Even the Citizens’ Committee never accused me of anything but dereliction of duty. The whole argument on gambling is simply a difference of opinion about what is best for the town. My own opinion is that it stimulates trade and benefits the merchants. The gambling enterprises draw people from all over the county, and aside from my theatre, there certainly is nothing else in St. Michael to attract visitors. Many business men agree with me, and the Citizens’ Committee simply represents the blue-nosed faction which doesn’t.”
All this Tony absorbed in silence. Finally he said, “If I understand you straight, you don’t mind being accused of hiring a guy murdered, but you resent being accused of accepting bribes.”
“You’re twisting my meaning,” Ainslie objected. “I meant I could understand why people think I had a motive to kill Larson, mistaken as their opinion is, but linking me with Jason and Short is the most vicious kind of speculation without the slightest foundation.” Tony said, “This is all very interesting, but just what do you expect me to do about it?”
Mayor Ainslie cleared his throat and glanced over at his fat companion, who pointedly missed the invitation to take the floor by blowing his nose.
“The chief and I think you should drop this investigation and return to Buffalo,” the mayor said finally.
Tony glanced at Chief Ward Murphy. “What do you think, Chief?”
“I’m here at Mayor Ainslie’s request,” the fat man said carefully. “I’ve explained to him my official interest in the case is closed, and I was willing to repeat to you that your investigation doesn’t have my sanction.”
“Suppose I continue anyway?”
The chief shrugged. “No law I know of to prevent a man asking questions.”
“You’re virtually telling him he can stay in town!” the mayor said sharply.
Chief Murphy regarded the mayor from half-closed eyes. “You sign a charge of some kind, Sir, and I’ll put him on the next train.”
Ainslie’s pale face reddened and abruptly he got to his feet. “I seem to have wasted my time talking to either of you,” he said, and stalked from the room.
The fat chief’s left eyelid drooped in what might have been a wink, then he surged to his feet with a grunt and started to follow the mayor.
“Just a minute, Chief,” Tony called.
In the doorway the fat man turned to look back.
“About this Art Jason and this Harry Short. How they get along?”
“So so, I guess. Just how you mean?”
“Occurred to me this is a kind of small town to support two gamblers. They got a partnership or something?”
The fat man grinned a peculiar grin. “You’re wasting your time looking for an underworld setup of some kind in this town. You been in a city too long. Jason and Short are just business men. Friendly competitors, like two grocery stores would be. Far as I know they’re not in partnership, but they ain’t gunning for each other either.”
“Thanks for dropping in,” Tony said.
The chief lingered for a minute. “You shouldn’t have swung on Harry, Ransome. He’s not a mug who has to take pushing around from cops. Around here he’s considered a prominent citizen. Member of the town council, in fact.”
One of Tony’s eyebrows raised. “That so? How about Art Jason?”
“Member of the council too.” The peculiar grin formed again. “So’s George Erickson. Three of your suspects are part of the local governing body. Ain’t that interesting? Almost a majority, because there’s only seven of the council.”
When the chief left the little man mulled over the visit without getting anywhere. About Mayor Ainslie he was even more puzzled than before, but at least Chief Ward Murphy’s position seemed a little clearer. Apparently the fat man wanted Tony to continue his investigation, but wanted no personal connection with it. That could mean either that he was afraid of someone, or was merely taking the politic attitude that a small-town police chief could not afford to step on the toes of influential local citizens unless he had more than suspicion to go on. In either event, if the chief was not exactly on Tony’s side, apparently he was not against him.
V
Nearly an hour passed before Tony’s next visitor arrived. At an imperious rap he opened the door to a striking brunette about his own age. She was taller than Tony, with ebon hair and luminous eyes in a square-jawed, olive face. Her nose curved slightly over a sulky mouth which gave her an appearance of restlessness.
“I’m Mrs. Larson,” she announced.
“Come in,” Tony said, stepping back and waving her toward the easy chair.