“Yeah?” he said to Martin as he waited. “Yeah? I’ll call your bluff, buddy. I got you, and you know it. Hullo. This Professor John North’s house? Who’s this speaking? The maid? I’m trying to find out where I can get hold of Martin Jones. Happen to know? He called today, you say? Around three o’clock. Wanted to find North to get into the museum to get some of his papers, huh? I see. You told him North was going to a bookstore? What store? Oh, he was going first to the shops on Corn Hill, and then Pemberton Square and around that section. North had a list, you say? And Jones was going to follow. He said he might!”
There was something about the inspector’s smile which reminded Dot of a cat about to pounce on a mouse.
“I just wanted to get my papers at the museum,” Martin said desperately. “Some old papers and a thesis I’d forgotten about. I—”
“Hullo, there. Got the list, have you? That’s fine. Will you read it to me? Peters was fourth, you say? Peters on Pemberton Square? You told Martin Jones that, did you? Okay, sister. Thanks.”
He rang off and turned around to Martin.
“Let’s go, Jones.”
CHAPTER 3
Ten minutes later Martin, in a borrowed overcoat, strode off between two patrolmen, jauntily whistling “Frankie and Johnnie”. Once out of the store, however, his chirruping ceased. He exchanged bantering remarks with the policemen as he climbed into the patrol wagon, knowing full well that if he didn’t laugh, he would undeniably break down and bawl his head off like a baby. He was done for. Washed up.
“This,” he said, “is the end to what was generally regarded as a pretty smart career. It—”
“Cheer up,” one of the cops said, “you done a lot in a short time, kid. Now you’re gonna be able to sit an’ think.” Inside the store, Mrs. Jordan drew on her gloves.
“The police,” she told Dot, “are simply unspeakable. So are these reporters. I want six books, my dear. Here’s the list. Send them to me at the Mayflower.”
She passed over a bill.
“This should cover them.” Head in the air, Mrs. Jordan started for the door.
“Hey, you!” Gilroy grabbed her by the arm. “Hey, who do you think you are, huh? You can’t leave here. You can’t go till I tell you! You got to stay—”
“My good man, you’ve solved this situation to your own entire satisfaction without my aid. I see no reason for my being detained any longer.”
“See here, lady—”
“Jones,” Mrs. Jordan announced, “is innocent. A child—in fact, rather a simple-minded child—could grasp that without effort. You’ve given him no earthly chance, and I trust that you will suffer for it. You know my name and address—”
“Yeah, but that don’t make no difference to me, lady. You got to stay here just the same. Ain’t goin’ to be detained, huh? Say, who do you think you are, huh?”
The store door opened and four men walked in. Even Dot, who never read the newspapers, knew them instantly—a senator, a world-famous lawyer, an ex-cabinet member and a renowned millionaire. The police force gasped, and the photographers audibly bemoaned the flash bulbs they had wasted on Martin and the books.
The lawyer spoke first to Mrs. Jordan.
“My dear Agatha, I’m so sorry for the delay. But—”
“Quite all right, Harry. Quite. Please tell these persons who I am. Really, Harry, something simply must be done about the police. I don’t know when I’ve been more thoroughly irritated. Of course I shall take no notice of it, not officially, but it’s been very trying. Very trying indeed.” Gilroy drew a deep breath and the captain’s face blanched as the ex-cabinet member swung around and stared at them coldly.
“Of course you know,” he said, “that Mrs. Jordan’s late husband was a former governor of this state?”
“I—er—no, sir. She never said nothing—”
“I should think,” the senator’s tones were severe, “that even the—that anyone might know without being told. The reporters—but, of course, one has to make allowances for police reporters.”
“Quite,” Mrs. Jordan agreed. “Now, Harry, will you be good enough to fix this all up, and arrange everything for the rest here? If we’re needed later, I suppose we must appear, but I know positively that none of us is even remotely connected with this affair.”
The lawyer nodded and reached for the phone. It took him eight minutes to unravel red tape.
“Politics,” Mrs. Jordan murmured to Dot, “but—er—the other side. Now, my dear, call me immediately if you need any sort of help, and let me know if anything happens. Harry, will you drop me at the Mayflower? Good. Personally,” she spoke directly to the captain, “I for one had no fault to find with the old police. One could invariably rely on the old police. They knew one. One could tell them by their helmets.” Scornfully she surveyed the visored caps of Gilroy and the captain. “Milkmen,” she said very distinctly. “Milkmen!”
The millionaire held the door open for her, and she swept out on the arm of the ex-cabinet member. The only detail lacking in the triumphal exit was a brass band.
Harbottle scuttled out in their wake, and during the silent interval that followed, two orderlies appeared and bore North’s body away on a stretcher.
“I guess,” the captain said, mopping his face with a limp handkerchief, “we’ll get out of here. Hanson,” he pointed to one of the plain-clothes men, “you stay outside. You two,” he jerked his head towards Dot and Leonidas, “can do what you want, but we’ll need you Monday. Mrs. Sebastian Jordan,” he muttered to himself. “Hell, I sort of thought she looked kind of familiar!”
The police and the reporters departed.
“What a woman, Bill!” Dot said. “What a woman! Why, with a few more calls, she could have got all the social register here! She’s priceless. She’s unique!”
“She—er—always was. I—er—Dot, let’s go out and get some dinner and consider all this. Martin seems to have been correct about the Give-a-Dog-a-Bad-Name Club.”
“But Bill,” Dot said plaintively as she took a seat opposite him later in a white enameled restaurant, “Bill, what can we do about Mart? Don’t you think that Lady Jordan—”
“No, if she’d thought she could help, she’d have included him in her high-handedness. You know,” he twirled his pince-nez, “I’m inclined to believe that the police are almost as dull as Mrs. Jordan is inclined to think. Yet they’re entirely justified in all that they’ve done. That much must be admitted.”
“I don’t see how,” Dot said. “Why, they—”
“Martin has publicly threatened North on more than one occasion. He apparently had called the North house, and must have known that North was coming to the store. Mrs. Jordan and Mr. Harbottle both knew North was in the store, therefore, why should Martin not have known? He had ample opportunity to strike North not only before the time of the crash outside, but after it. He knew all about that type of blow. Furthermore, he admits it all. I do not for an instant doubt Martin’s ability to explain everything satisfactorily, but there you are. I don’t believe he killed North, any more than you do. I don’t think Martin is guilty of any of the other crimes for which the police have held him. But in all fairness to the force, I am forced to acknowledge the case which the police have against him. There’s really only one thing we can do, Dot. That’s to find out who really killed North ourselves.”
Ignoring Dot’s blank stare, Leonidas blandly continued. “I taught Martin for six years. I know he’s honest and decent. It would be psychologically impossible for him to tiptoe up behind someone and bash