“Took the liberty of removing your gun from the bag,” the chief said. “Also checked with Buffalo by phone. It’s yours all right, and they got no record of you owning another. But your prints are on the murder gun and Ainslie’s on the cane.”
The little man began removing shaving equipment from the suitcase. “They could have been put there after Ainslie was dead and I was unconscious.”
“Maybe,” the chief said non-committally. “Also checked your story with Erickson and Mrs. Larson. They both say far as they’re concerned, you can rot in jail.”
Tony looked up quickly. “You mean they refused to verify my phone call from Ainslie?”
“Not refused, exactly. Said they didn’t know. Both remembered you got a phone call, but all they heard was your side of the conversation and you didn’t call the other party by name.”
“That’s kind of interesting,” the little man said slowly. “Ainslie’s voice carried, because Mrs. Larson remarked it sounded like him. And if she could recognize the voice, maybe she could hear everything he said. Apparently the mayor was alone when he phoned, so Mrs. Larson and Erickson were the only ones aside from me knew he’d discovered something about the murder. They got in a car together, and could have made it to the theatre ten minutes before I got there.”
Tony turned the hot water spigot on the bowl in one corner of the cell, found it did not work and filled the bowl with cold water.
“Also talked to Maggie, the cleaning woman at the Bijou,” the chief said. “Had her check over everything in the dressing room. She knows the place by heart, and there ain’t a thing missing.”
Tony stopped lathering his face and turned slowly. “Then what the devil was Ainslie talking about?”
“Thought maybe you might know,” Murphy said. “You’re a big city cop.”
Tony said, “What was in the dressing room when you checked it with Maggie?”
“Not much. That’s why she’s so sure nothing is missing. It ain’t exactly furnished in luxury.” The chief brought a scrap of paper from his pocket. “Three dressing tables with mirrors and three chairs. One small stand with a phone and phone book on it. Washstand in one corner. Dozen clothes hooks around the walls. On each dressing table is a box of face tissue, a makeup kit, jar of cold cream and a water tumbler. Think of anything else that ought to be in a dressing room?”
“Not offhand,” Tony said. “You don’t really think I killed Ainslie, do you?”
“Don’t know. But you’re staying locked up till I find out.”
Tony finished his shave and was repacking his suitcase when breakfast arrived. It was restaurant fare, brought in from outside, and it was good, consisting of eggs, bacon, toast and coffee.
“At least you feed well,” he said to Murphy, who still stood outside the cell.
“We can afford to. Don’t have many prisoners. That’s from the Missouri Cafe.”
As he ate, Tony kept turning over in his mind the list of items the chief had read off as being in the dressing room, and suddenly the item Mayor Ainslie might have meant occurred to him.
Carefully he set down his coffee cup, looked up at the fat chief and said, “You know, I just figured this whole thing out.”
VI
Chief Murphy regarded his prisoner placidly and waited for him to go on.
“I got it figured out,” Tony repeated, “provided I can find out one thing.” He frowned thoughtfully at his empty coffee cup, then glanced up at the chief. “Stone’s body is due on a train at noon. Think you could get an autopsy done right quick?”
“Might. Why?”
“We don’t need a complete autopsy. Just want to know whether or not he’d been doped. Tell the doc to look for knockout drops first. Chloral hydrate. If he can’t find that, tell him to test for the other hypnotics. Sodium amytal, for instance.”
“Sodium what?”
“Amytal. A-m-y-t-a-l.”
“Better write it down,” the chief said.
For the next three hours Tony lay on his bunk staring at the ceiling. At eleven o’clock, when Chief Murphy returned, he had just fallen asleep. He was awakened by the chief tossing spit balls through the bars at his head. Tony stretched and sat up.
“The doc found the stuff,” Murphy announced. “Chloral hydrate. Now tell me how you knew.”
“Genius,” the little man said modestly. “Do I get out of here now?”
The chief shook his head. “Finding Stone full of knockout drops proves nothing about Ainslie’s killing. You’re still the only suspect I got, and I’m hanging onto you till I get a better one.” He contemplated the prisoner and added consolingly. “I’m a pretty cooperative guy though. You keep calling the bets and I’ll fade them.”
“Listen,” Tony said. “Let me out of here and I’ll crack both cases. How you expect me to do anything from jail?”
“Is a tough problem,” Chief Murphy admitted. “Good thing you’re a genius so you can figure it out.”
The little man stared at his gaoler coldly. “All right,” he said finally. “Break them yourself.” He lay back on his bunk again and deliberately rolled his face to the wall.
“Want to talk to you, Ransome,” said the chief. “Turn over.”
Tony continued to ignore him.
“Don’t you think it’s time we stopped calling this dead kid ‘Stone’ and started calling him Sam Ransome?”
Slowly Tony rolled over and sat on the edge of the bunk. “You’re not as sleepy as you look,” he said.
The chief put his hands behind him and teetered back and forth. “Thought it kind of funny Buffalo would send a cop nine-hundred miles to check up on a dead guy. So when I phoned last night, I asked them. Found out you weren’t sent here at all. You’re on leave of absence.”
“The kid was my brother,” Tony said. “Now you know why I was so sure he was framed. Listen, why don’t you let me out of here? If I can’t crack this case in twenty-four hours, I’ll come back voluntarily.”
The fat chief shook his head. “Not a chance. If I turned you loose when the whole town thinks you shot the mayor, I might as well resign. The gossip you spread backfired a little. Talk is Ainslie hired Larson killed, you found it out and killed Ainslie instead of just arresting him, as you ought.” For a moment he examined the little man expressionlessly. “Matter of fact, not only ain’t I going to turn you loose, I’m aiming to stay up all night on guard, case you make a break. This jail ain’t as strong as it might be.”
“I won’t make a break,” Tony said irritably.
“Good. Be embarrassing to the town council if you broke out. I been asking for repair money two years now. Keep telling them the jail’s falling apart.”
Tony gazed at the fat man in astonishment. Was the chief subtly suggesting he would not be opposed if he broke jail, but could not be officially released? The thought was fantastic, but what other interpretation could be put on the man’s remarkable comment that the jail was falling apart? Again Tony got the impression that Chief Murphy was on his side, but for some reason must keep up a public front of unrelenting opposition.
He waited until the middle of the afternoon to test the chief’s description of the jail. Then he rose from his bunk and wandered to the single window, which contained three verticle bars set in mortar. Since the jail was in the basement, the window was scarcely a foot above ground level.
None of the loiterers on the town square seemed to be looking his way. Tentatively Tony reached out and grasped the center bar. He shook it slightly and a minute shower of crumbling mortar fell from the upper hole in which the bar was imbedded.
Satisfied, he returned to his bunk and took a nap until suppertime. After supper he sat doing nothing until the chief came back at nine, announced, “Lights out,” and threw a switch in the hall.