Con Carson sang. He sang Moon on the Desert, then began singing it again. And then, suddenly a harsh voice said, said over the singing: “Damn you, Seebright...”
Johnny shut off the machine. “I appeal to you, gentlemen. Is that the voice of Joe Dorcas?”
“It is,” Seebright said promptly.
Armstrong nodded. Doniger looked popeyed.
“All right,” Dorcas admitted, “I forgot myself. But that doesn’t prove I killed anyone. It proves exactly one thing — that I was sore at Seebright at that particular moment. And that’s all it proves. That and not one thing more...”
“That’s right,” said Johnny, “that’s all it proves. Just that you were sore enough at Mr. Seebright for giving in to Charles Armstrong that you were willing to wreck the company. That’s all it proves. Gentlemen, you’ve all noticed a strange face in this room and some of you may wonder who this man is.”
He walked toward his hired hand. “You, sir, may I ask your name?”
“Clifton Mainwaring.”
“Do you mind telling us where you live, Mr. Mainwaring?”
“Why, at the Forty-fifth Street Hotel.”
“That’s the same place I live — and the same place Marjorie Fair lived...”
“That’s right. As a matter of fact, we all live on the same floor.”
“Oh? What is your room number?”
“Eight thirty-two. It’s right across the hall from Room eight twenty-nine.”
“Eight twenty-nine was Miss Fair’s room.” Johnny nodded, then suddenly stooped and looked straight into Clifton Mainwaring’s face. “Mr. Mainwaring, two mornings ago, at around eight-thirty in the morning, when you were leaving your room, did you happen to see someone coming out of Miss Fair’s room... someone who walked from the room very, very quietly, as if he was hoping no one would see him...?”
“Yes,” said Mainwaring.
“Did you get a look at that person’s face?”
“Why, yes — a rather good look, because I thought he was acting suspiciously.”
“And that face... have you seen it here in this office, today?”
“That’s a lie!” screamed Joe Dorcas. “You never saw me. There wasn’t a goddam soul out in that hall...”
He reeled to his feet and stood there, swaying.
Johnny faced him, coldly, remorselessly. “Mr. Mainwaring is going to identify you at the police station and he’s going to identify you again in court. He saw you and he’s going to swear to it...”
Joe Dorcas sobbed, reeled and suddenly ran... straight for the window. He went through the glass, head first.
Sam Cragg was quiet all the way back to the Forty-fifth Street Hotel. And Johnny Fletcher was not in a talkative mood, either. But as they entered Room 821, Johnny whirled on Sam and snarled: “All right, I bluffed him. But he was guilty as hell — and the cops would have sweated it out of him, anyway. All they needed was somebody to do their deducing for them. That’s all I did.”
“I didn’t say a word, Johnny.”
“But you’ve been thinking...”
“I was thinking of something else, Johnny. That grand that Esbenshade didn’t give us. Tomorrow we catch it.”
“Oh, that,” said Johnny, “forget it.”
“Forget eleven hundred bucks we ain’t got?”
“We’ve got four hundred dollars, haven’t we?”
“That’s seven hundred short.”
“Four hundred,” said Johnny, “will get the junk from the hockshop.”
“What good’s that going to do us?”
“It’s twelve o’clock,” said Johnny. “We’ve got all afternoon to take the stuff back—”
“Back to where?”
“The stores where we bought it — naturally. I kept the sales slips from all of them.”
“You think they’ll take it back?”
“What else can they do? They say, no, I tell them, I made a mistake — I didn’t have as much money in the bank as I thought I had. The check I gave them is going to bounce. Am I a crook, when I come back of my own free will and return merchandise for which I can’t pay? Are they going to turn me over to the cops, or the bonding companies?”
Sam stared at Johnny. “But can we come out that way?”
“Of course we can. Oh — we lose a little, yes, the interest we paid to all the pawnshops, but you remember we got three hundred from Esbenshade. So, we’re out that much.” He shrugged. “We had the use of the money for a couple of days... and you got your pants back...!”