“Okay. How about—” He stopped in mid-sentence.
“How about what?” the sergeant asked patiently.
Horne hesitated. He winced, realizing how close he had come to putting his foot in his mouth for the second time that day. All he had to do was mention a man with a Geiger counter and he would quickly lose his liberty — for reasons of self-protection, of course. That’s the way the police blotter would read.
“I’m waiting,” Wiedenbeck reminded him.
“What about this business of blocking off the street this afternoon? I couldn’t get back to my office.”
“Now that’s too bad; that’s just too damned bad. You have my sympathy, Horne. And listen, what’s the big idea, trying to pump the professor in the restaurant?”
“Oh — so he is a professor. Thanks, sergeant.”
“Yes, he is. You ain’t fooling me, hot-shot. You never saw that guy before in your life.”
“That’s right. But when I found him prowling around Wilsey Street, I wanted to know why.”
There was a small, loaded silence from the phone. Wiedenbeck asked quietly, “And do you know why?”
“Nope,” Horne lied. The sergeant’s tone carried ample warning. “That is, not yet.”
“Look here, Horne; I know this is like dangling bait in front of you, but take some advice. Don’t find out. For if you do... well...”
“Well, what?”
“You might need protective custody,” he finished.
“Like that, eh? Thanks for the tip.”
“I think I’ll drop over there and have a talk with you, Horne. A heart-to-heart talk.”
“You’ll have to prove first that you’ve got one. A heart, I mean. I’ll be here for an hour or so.”
“Nope. Not tonight. You won’t get away. Suppose I drop around in the morning?”
“At your service, sergeant. Office hours from nine to sundown, with appropriate time out for wetting my whistle and whatnot. And if I go anywhere I’ll take my faithful shadow with me. He’s across the street having his twentieth cup of coffee now. Bad for the stomach.”
Sergeant Wiedenbeck hung up the phone with a grunt.
Horne turned to the typewriter on his desk and inserted a sheet of stationery provided by the insurance company. In a rich black ink on a light green background the letterhead bore the legend
THE UNION WORKMAN’S MUTUAL INSURANCE CO.
MERCHANDISE MART CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
and below that, in italics, the words, Direct communication, followed by a long blank line.
Horne typed in “Attn: Mr. E. E. Everetts” on the line.
The office was growing dark. He stood up, reached blindly over his head for the light cord and snapped it on. Then he slumped back in his chair to cogitate on the two men he had met so recently in the restaurant. Carefully he visualized the entire scene in his mind’s eye, recalling what each had said, had done.
One of those two men hadn’t said anything. Not a word.
The unmasked professor had carried on the whole conversation with him, surprised into talkiness. That other man at the table — he had been busy scrutinizing Horne while Horne was pumping the professor. One of those two men had carried Horne’s description back to Sergeant Wiedenbeck, a description sufficiently accurate as to enable the police sergeant to identify Horne immediately. The man hadn’t said a word; the man had been quite busy mentally photographing him.
“Government stuff!” Horne said softly, aloud.
The sheet of paper thrust into the typewriter caught his eye. He hitched his chair closer and extended two nimble index fingers.
Re: Policy G-388-017
Dear Mr. Everetts:
In compliance with your wired instructions of this morning I have thoroughly investigated all known facts and evidence in the death of Walter Alfred Channy, III, this city, holder of the above policy. In addition, I have interviewed Miss Deebie Bridges, beneficiary of the above policy as owner and proprieter of the Boone Animal Hotel.
Miss Bridges states she is sixty-one years old, holds a policy with our company in the amount of two thousand dollars, and believed I was joking when I informed her of the sum now due and payable to her establishment under the terms of the above policy. I must call your attention to the fact that her estate is now rather large, she is well along in years, and there are no apparent relatives or heirs.
As stated in her policy, one thousand dollars of the face amount is set aside for burial expenses and the remainder is payable to the person who assumes control of the animal hospital upon her demise. At the present time this appears to be a veterinarian named...
Horne broke off typing to leaf rapidly through the telephone book, and then continued:
...Dr. Bristol J. Lainey, sometimes referred to by Miss Bridges as Mr. Lainey. Lainey superseded a Dr. Ackerley as the hospital’s veterinarian. Miss Bridges states Ackerley died some months ago. May I suggest a check to determine if Dr. Ackerley was, and Dr. Lainey is insured by our company?
The local police department is extremely secretive concerning the nature of the explosion used in the crime; secretive to the point where I am barred from the investigations. In regard to these investigations, the police department has brought into town a professor from Northwestern University to examine the scene of the explosion, particularly the crater left in the street by the bomb.
This man is constantly accompanied by a bodyguard, a detective whom I believe to be in federal employ. He is not a local man nor do I believe him to be a commercial investigator. I’ve drawn certain conclusions from this development that tend to give the case a rather alarming nature.
Meanwhile I intend to again subject Miss Bridges and Dr. Lainey to the severest examination, for obviously only through them — the actual management of the animal hospital — can I hope to find the causes of Channy’s death. Will you please send the usual letter of introduction and papers of authorization which will permit me to obtain information from the banks about the principals involved?
Channy’s only known connection with Miss Bridges was upon one occasion when he brought a sick dog to the hospital for treatment. Hospital records show this was eleven months ago and that Channy was excessive in his appreciation of their curing the dog. However, the insurance application blank shows the policy, drawn in favor of the hospital, was taken out three years ago. It is this irregularity which may break the case, unless it was pure error on the part of Dr. Ackerley, who recorded it.
Both the police and myself have uncovered little of real value on Channy himself. He maintained a modest apartment here in the upper-bracket residential district, which, according to his landlady, he occupied only two or three weeks of each month. The local railway ticket agent states Channy purchased a round-trip ticket to Chicago (via chair car) regularly on the tenth of each month and has been doing so for perhaps a year. His periods of absence from his apartment agree with the ticket agent’s information.
Channy drove a new car each year in 1940, 1941, 1942 and 1946. He held the same license number, D-one million, each year by request. His first appearance in Boone coincides with the 1940 automobile record; he was killed in the 1946 car. He had a new one on order. He apparently had ample funds at all times.
You will note on his policy application he stated he had no other insurance, no living relatives, that his occupation was absentee-farmer, and that he had no drinking habits. If he owns a farm, no trace of it has yet been found. His only known address was the apartment.
As to his personal side: he wasn’t too well known here, apparently keeping much to himself. His only known acquaintances — not to be mistaken for friends — were those merchants and their employees from whom he made purchases and took his meals. He had no business, maintained no charge accounts that can be found in Credit Bureau files. All purchases were strictly cash. His apartment has a well-stocked library of some two thousand books.