He looked at his wrist-watch. It was a little after one o'clock. He lit a cigar and sat down at a window, smoking and staring at the grey church across the street. Out-blown cigar-smoke recoiled from the window-panes in grey clouds over his head. His teeth crushed the end of his cigar. He sat there for ten minutes, until his telephone-bell rang.
He went to the telephone. "Hello… Yes, Harry… Sure. Where are you?… I'm coming downtown. Wait there for me… Half an hour… Right."
He threw his cigar into the fireplace, put on his hat and overcoat, and went out. I-he walked six blocks to a restaurant, ate a salad and rolls, drank a cup of coffee, walked four blocks to a small hotel named Majestic, and rode to the fourth floor in an elevator operated by an undersized youth who called him Ned and asked what he thought of the third race.
Ned Beaumont thought and said: "Lord Byron ought to do it."
The elevator-operator said: "I hope you're wrong. I got Pipe-organ."
Ned Beaumont shrugged. "Maybe, but he's carrying a lot of weight." He went to room 417 and knocked on the door.
Harry Sloss, in his shirt-sleeves, opened the door. He was a thickset pale man of thirty-five, broad-faced and partially bald. He said: "On the dot. Come on in."
When Sloss had shut the door Ned Beaumont asked: "What's the diffugalty?"
The thickset man went over to the bed and sat down. He scowled anxiously at Ned Beaumont. "It don't look so damned good to me, Ned."
"What don't?"
"This thing of Ben going to the Hall with it."
Ned Beaumont said irritably: "All right. Any time you're ready to tell me what you're talking about's soon enough for me."
Sloss raised a pale broad hand. "Wait, Ned, I'll tell you what it's about. Just listen." He felt in his pocket for cigarettes, bringing out a package mashed limp. "You remember the night the Henry kid was pooped?"
Ned Beaumont's "Uh-huh" was carelessly uttered.
"Remember me and Ben had just come in when you got there, at the Club?"
"Yes."
"Well, listen: we saw Paul and the kid arguing up there under the trees."
Ned Beaumont brushed a side of his mustache with a thumb-nail, once, and spoke slowly, looking puzzled: "But I saw you get out of the car in front of the Club-that was just after I found him-and you came up the other way." He moved a forefinger. "And Paul was already in the Club ahead of you."
Sloss nodded his broad head vigorously. "That's all right," he said, "but we'd drove on down China Street to Pinky Klein's place and he wasn't there and we turned around and drove back to the Club."
Ned Beaumont nodded. "Just what did you see?"
"We saw Paul and the kid standing there under the trees arguing."
"You could see that as you rode past?"
Sloss nodded vigorously again.
"It was a dark spot," Ned Beaumont reminded him. "I don't see how you could've made out their faces riding past like that, unless you slowed up or stopped."
"No, we didn't, but I'd know Paul anywhere," Sloss insisted.
"Maybe, but how'd you know it was the kid with him?"
"It was. Sure, it was. We could see enough of him to know that."
"And you could see they were arguing? What do you mean by that? Fighting?"
"No, but standing like they were having an argument. You know how you can tell when people are arguing sometimes by the way they stand."
Ned Beaumont smiled mirthlessly. "Yes, if one of them's standing on the other's face." His smile vanished. "And that's what Ben went to the Hall with?"
"Yes. I don't know whether he went in with it on his own account or whether Farr got hold of it somehow and sent for him, but anyhow he spilled it to Farr. That was yesterday."
"How'd you hear about it, Harry?"
"Farr's hunting for me," Sloss said. "That's the way I heard about it. Beu'd told him I was with him and Farr sent word for me to drop in and see him, but I don't want any part of it."
"I hope you don't, Harry," Ned Beaumont said. "What are you going to say if Farr catches you?"
"I'm not going to let him catch me if I can help it. That's what I wanted to see you about." He cleared his throat and moistened his lips. "I thought maybe I ought to get out of town for a week or two, till it kind of blows over, and that'd take a little money."
Ned Beaumont smiled and shook his head. "That's not the thing to do," he told the thickset man. "If you want to help Paul go tell Fan you couldn't recognize the two men under the trees and that you don't think anybody in your car could."
"All right, that's what I'll do," Sloss said readily, "but, listen, Ned, I ought to get something out of it. I'm taking a chance and-well-you know how it is."
Ned Beaumont nodded. "We'll pick you out a soft job after election, one you'll have to show up on maybe an hour a day."
"That'll be-" Sloss stood up. His green-flecked palish eyes were urgent. "I'll tell you, Ned, I'm broke as hell. Couldn't you make it a little dough now instead? It'd come in damned handy."
"Maybe. I'll talk it over with Paul."
"Do that, Ned, and give me a ring."
"Sure. So long."
The round-faced youth to whom he said it left the outer office, returning a minute later apologetic of mien. "I'm sorry, Mr. Beaumont, but Mr. Farr is not in."
"When will he be back?"
"I don't know. His secretary says he didn't leave word."
"I'll take a chance. I'll wait awhile in his office." The round-faced youth stood in his way. "Oh, you can't do-"
Ned Beaumont smiled his nicest smile at the youth and asked softly: "Don't you like this job, son?"
The youth hesitated, fidgeted, and stepped out of Ned Beaumont's way. Ned Beaumont walked down the inner corridor to the District Attorney's door and opened it.
Farr looked up from his desk, sprang to his feet. "Was that you?" he cried. "Damn that boy! He never gets anything right. A Mr. Bauman, he said."
"No harm done," Ned Beaumont said mildly. "I got in."
He let the District Attorney shake his hand up and down and lead him to a chair. When they were seated he asked idly: "Anything new?"
"Nothing." Farr rocked back in his chair, thumbs hooked in lower vest-pockets. "Just the same old grind, though God knows there's enough of that."
"How's the electioneering going?"
"It could be better"-a shadow passed over the District Attorney's pugnacious red face-"but I guess we'll manage all right."
Ned Beaumont kept idleness in his voice. "What's the matter?"
"This and that. Things always come up. That's politics, I guess."
"Anything I can do-or Paul-to help?" Ned Beaumont asked and then, when Farr had shaken his red-stubble-covered head: "This talk that Paul's got something to do with the Henry killing the worst thing you're up against?"
A frightened gleam came into Farr's eyes, disappeared as he blinked. He sat up straight in his chair. "Well," he said cautiously, "there's a lot of feeling that we ought to've cleared the murder up before this. That is one of the things-maybe one of the biggest."
"Made any progress since I saw you last? Turned up anything new on it?"
Farr shook his head. His eyes were wary.
Ned Beaumont smiled without warmth. "Still taking it slow on some of the angles?"
The District Attorney squirmed in his chair. "Well, yes, of course, Ned."
Ned Beaumont nodded approvingly. His eyes were shiny with malice. His voice was a taunt: "Is the Ben Ferriss angle one of them that you're taking it slow on?"
Farr's blunt undershot mouth opened and shut. He rubbed his lips together. His eyes, after their first startled widening, became devoid of expression. He said: "I don't know whether there's anything at all in Ferriss's story or not, Ned. I don't guess there is. I didn't even think enough of it to tell you about it."
Ned Beaumont laughed derisively.
Farr said: "You know I wouldn't hold out anything on you and Paul, anything that was important. You know me well enough for that."
"We knew you before you got nerves," Ned Beaumont replied. "But that's all right. If you want the fellow that was in the car with Ferriss you can pick him up right now in room 417 at the Majestic."
Farr was staring at his green desk-set, at the dancing nude figure holding an airplane aloft between two slanting pens. His face was lumpy. He said nothing.
Ned Beaumont rose from his chair smiling with thin lips. He said: "Paul's always glad to help the boys out of holes. Do you think it would help if he'd let himself be arrested and tried for the Henry murder?"
Fan did not move his eyes from the green desk-set. He said doggedly: "It's not for me to tell Paul what to do."
"There's a thought!" Ned Beaumont exclaimed. He leaned over the side of the desk until his face was near the District Attorney's ear and lowered his voice to a confidential key. "And here's another one that goes with it. It's not for you to do much Paul wouldn't tell you to do."
He went out grinning, but stopped grinning when he was outside.
1
Madvig raised his head and said: "Hello, Ned." He pushed the papers aside and told the small man: "Bring this junk back after while."
The small man gathered up his papers and, saying, "Certainly, sir," and, "How do you do, Mr. Beaumont?" left the room.
Madvig said: "You look like you'd had a tough night, Ned. What'd you do? Sit down."
Ned Beaumont had taken off his overcoat. He put it on a chair, put his hat on it, and took out a cigar. "No, I'm all right. What's new in your life?" He sat on a corner of the battered desk.
"I wish you'd go see M'Laughlin," the blond man said. "You can handle him if anybody can."
"All right. What's the matter with him?"
Madvig grimaced. "Christ knows! I thought I had him lined up, but he's going shifty on us."
A somber gleam came into Ned Beaumont's dark eyes. He looked down at the blond man and said: "Him too, huh?"
Madvig asked slowly, after a moment's deliberation: "What do you mean by that, Ned?"
Ned Beaumont's reply was another question: "Is everything going along to suit you?"
Madvig moved his big shoulders impatiently, but his eyes did not lose their surveying stare. "Nor so damned bad either," he said. "We can get along without M'Laughlin's batch of votes if we have to."
"Maybe," Ned Beaumont's lips had become thin, "but we can't keep on losing them and come out all right." He put his cigar in a corner of his mouth and said around it: "You know we're not as well off as we were two weeks ago."
Madvig grinned indulgently at the man on his desk. "Jesus, you like to sing them, Ned! Don't anything ever look right to you?" He did not wait for a reply, but went on placidly: "I've never been through a campaign yet that didn't look like it was going to hell at some time or other. They don't, though."
Ned Beaumont was lighting his cigar. He blew smoke out and said: "That doesn't mean they never will." He pointed the cigar at Madvig's chest. "If Taylor Henry's killing isn't cleared up pronto you won't have to worry about the campaign. You'll be sunk whoever wins."
Madvig's blue eyes became opaque. There was no other change in his face. His voice was unchanged. "Just what do you mean by that, Ned?"
"Everybody in town thinks you killed him."
"Yes?" Madvig put a hand up to his chin, rubbed it thoughtfully. "Don't let that worry you. I've had things said about me before."
Ned Beaumont smiled tepidly and asked with mock admiration: "Is there anything you haven't been through before? Ever been given the electric cure?"
The blond man laughed. "And don't think I ever will," he said.
"You're not very far from it right now, Paul," Ned Beaumont said softly.
Madvig laughed again. "Jesus Christ!" he scoffed.
Ned Beaumont shrugged. "You're not busy?" he asked. "I'm not taking up your time with my nonsense?"
"I'm listening to you," Madvig told him quietly. "I never lost anything listening to you."
"Thank you, sir. Why do you suppose M'Laughlin's wiggling out from under?"
Madvig shook his head.
"He figures you're licked," Ned Beaumont said. "Everybody knows the police haven't tried to find Taylor's murderer and everybody thinks it's because you killed him. M'Laughlin figures that's enough to lick you at the polls this time."
"Yes? He figures they'd rather have Shad running the city than me? He figures being suspected of one murder makes my rep worse than Shad's?"
Ned Beaumont scowled at the blond man. "You're either kidding yourself or trying to kid me. What's Shad's reputation got to do with it? He's not out in the open behind his candidates. You are and it's your candidates who're responsible for nothing being done about the murder."
Madvig put his hand to his chin again and leaned his elbow on the desk. His handsome ruddy face was unlined. He said: "We've been talking a lot about what other people figure, Ned. Let's talk about what you figure. Figure I'm licked?"
"You probably are," Ned Beaumont said in a low sure voice. "It's a cinch you are if you sit still." He smiled. "But your candidates ought to come out all right."
"That," Madvig said phlegmatically, "ought to be explained."
Ned Beaumont leaned over and carefully knocked cigar-ash into the brass spittoon beside the desk. Then he said, unemotionally: "They're going to cross you up."
"Yes?"
"Why not? You've let Shad take most of the riffraff from behind you. You're counting on the respectable people, the better element, to carry the election. They're getting leery. Well, your candidates make a grandstand-play, arrest you for murder, and the respectable citizens-delighted with these noble officials who are brave enough to jail their own acknowledged boss when he breaks the law-trample each other to death in their hurry to get to the polls and elect the heroes to four more years of city-administering. You can't blame the boys much. They know they're sitting pretty if they do it and out of work if they don't."
Madvig took his hand from his chin to ask: "You don't count much on their loyalty, do you, Ned?"
Ned Beaumont smiled. "Just as much as you do," he replied. His smile went away. "I'm not guessing, Paul. I went in to see Farr this afternoon. I had to walk in, crash the gate-he tried to dodge me. He pretended he hadn't been digging into the killing. He tried to stall me on what he'd found out. In the end he dummied up on me." He made a disdainful mouth. "Farr, the guy I could always make jump through hoops."
"Well, that's only Farr," Madvig began.
Ned Beaumont cut him short. "Only Farr, and that's the tip-off. Rutlege or Brody or even Rainey might clip you on their own, but if Farr's doing anything it's a pipe he knows the others are with him." He frowned at the blond man's stolid face. "You can stop believing me any time you want to, Paul."
Madvig made a careless gesture with the hand he had held to his chin. "I'll let you know when I stop," he said. "How'd you happen to drop in on Farr?"
"Harry Sloss called me up today. It seems he and Ben Ferriss saw you arguing with Taylor in China Street the night of the murder, or claim they did." Ned Beaumont was looking with eyes that held no particular expression at the blond man and his voice was matter-of-fact. "Ben had gone to Farr with it. Harry wanted to be paid for not going. There's a couple of your Club-members reading the signs. I've been watching Farr lose his nerve for some time, so I went in to check him up."
Madvig nodded. "And you're sure he's knifing me?"
"Yes."
Madvig got up from his chair and went to the window. He stood there, hands in trousers-pockets, looking through the glass for perhaps three minutes while Ned Beaumont, sitting on the desk, smoked and looked at the blond man's wide back. Then, not turning his head, Madvig asked: "What'd you say to Harry?"
"Stalled him."
Madvig left the window and came back to the desk, but he did not sit down. His ruddiness had deepened. Otherwise no change had come into his face. His voice was level. "What do you think we ought to do?"
"About Sloss? Nothing. The other monkey's already gone to Farr. It doesn't make much difference what Sloss does."
"I didn't mean that. I meant about the whole thing."
Ned Beaumont dropped his cigar into the spittoon. "I've told you. If Taylor Henry's murder isn't cleared up pronto you're sunk. That's the whole thing. That's the only thing worth doing anything about."
Madvig stopped looking at Ned Beaumont. He looked at a wide vacant space on the wall. He pressed his full lips together. Moisture appeared on his temples. He said from deep in his chest: "That won't do. Think up something else."
Ned Beaumont's nostrils moved with his breathing and the brown of his eyes seemed dark as the pupils. He said: "There isn't anything else, Paul. Any other way plays into the hands of either Shad or Farr and his crew and either of them will ruin you."
Madvig said somewhat hoarsely: "There must be an out, Ned. Think."
Ned Beaumont left the desk and stood close in front of the blond man. "There isn't. That's the only way. You're going to take it whether you like it or not, or I'm going to take it for you."
Madvig shook his head violently. "No. Lay off."
Ned Beaumont said: "That's one thing I won't do for you, Paul."
Then Madvig looked Ned Beaumont in the eyes and said in a harsh whisper: "I killed him, Ned."
Ned Beaumont drew a breath in and let it out in a long sigh.
Madvig put his hands on Ned Beaumont's shoulders and his words came out thick and blurred. "It was an accident, Ned. He ran down the street after me when I left, with a cane he'd picked up on the way out. We'd had-there'd been some trouble there and he caught up with me and tried to hit me with the stick. I don't know how it happened, but pulling it away from him I hit him on the head with it-not hard-it couldn't've been very hard-but he fell back and smashed his head on the curb."
Ned Beaumont nodded. His face had suddenly become empty of all expression except hard concentration on Madvig's words. He asked in a crisp voice that matched his face: "What happened to the cane?"
"I took it away under my overcoat and burned it. After I knew he was dead I found it in my hand, when I was walking down to the Club, so I put it under my overcoat and then burned it."
"What kind of cane was it?"
"A rough brown one, heavy."
"And his hat?"
"I don't know, Ned. I guess it was knocked off and somebody picked it up."
"He had one on?"
"Yes, sure."
Ned Beaumont brushed a side of his mustache with a thumb-nail. "You remember Sloss's and Ferriss's car passing you?"
Madvig shook his head. "No, though they may have."
Ned Beaumont frowned at the blond man. "You gummed things up plenty by running off with the stick and burning it and keeping quiet all this time," he grumbled. "You had a clear self-defense plea."
"I know, but I didn't want that, Ned," Madvig said hoarsely. "I want Janet Henry more than I ever wanted anything in my life and what chance would I have then, even if it was an accident?"
Ned Beaumont laughed in Madvig's face. It was a low laugh and bitter. He said: "You'd have more chance than you've got now."
Madvig, staring at him, said nothing.
Ned Beaumont said: "She's always thought you killed her brother. She hates you. She's been trying to play you into the electric chair. She's responsible for first throwing suspicion on you with anonymous letters sent around to everybody that might be interested. She's the one that turned Opal against you. She was in my rooms this morning telling me this, trying to turn me. She-"
Madvig said: "That's enough." He stood erect, a big blond man whose eyes were cold blue disks. "What is it, Ned? Do you want her yourself or is it-" He broke off contemptuously. "It doesn't make any difference." He jerked a thumb carelessly at the door. "Get out, you heel, this is the kiss-off."
Ned Beaumont said: "I'll get out when I've finished talking."
Madvig said: "You'll get out when you're told to. You can't say anything I'll believe. You haven't said anything I believe. You never will now."
Ned Beaumont said: "Oke." He picked up his hat and overcoat and went out.