He called a number. Then: "Hello, I'd like to speak to Miss Henry, please." After a pause that he spent whistling tunelessly under his breath, he said: "Hello, Miss Henry? Yes ye just come from telling Paul all about it, about you… Yes, and you were right. He did what you counted on his doing He laughed. "You did. You knew he'd call me a liar, refuse to listen to me, and throw me out, and he did all of it… No, no, that's all right. It had to happen… No, really… Oh, it's probably permanent enough. Things were said that can't easily be unsaid… Yes, all evening, I think… That'll be fine… All right. 'By."
He poured out a glass of whisky then and drank it. After that he went into his darkening bedroom, set his alarm-clock for eight o'clock, and lay down fully clothed on his back on the bed. For a while he looked at the ceiling. Then he slept, breathing irregularly, until the alarm rang.
He got up sluggishly from his bed and, switching on lights, went into the bathroom, washed his face and hands, put on a fresh collar, and started a fire in the living-room fireplace. He read a newspaper until Janet Henry arrived.
She was excited. Though she at once began to assure Ned Beaumont that she had not foreseen the result of his telling Paul about her visit, had not counted on it, elation danced frankly in her eyes and she could not keep smiles from curving her lips while they shaped the apologetic words.
He said: "It doesn't matter. I'd've had to do it if I'd known how it was going to turn out. I suppose I did know down underneath. It's one of those things. And if you'd told me it would happen I'd only've taken that for a challenge and would've jumped to it."
She held her hands out to him. "I'm glad," she said. "I won't pretend I'm not."
"I'm sorry," he told her as he took her hands, "but I wouldn't have gone a step out of my way to avoid it."
She said: "And now you know I'm right. He did kill Taylor." Her eyes were inquisitive.
He nodded. "He told me he did."
"And you'll help me now?" Her hands pressed his. She came closer to him.
He hesitated, frowning down at her eager face. "It was self-defense, or an accident," he said slowly. "I can't-"
"It was murder!" she cried. "Of course he'd say it was self-defense!" She shook her head impatiently. "And even if it was self-defense or an accident, shouldn't he be made to go into court and prove it like anybody else?"
"He's waited too long. This month he's kept quiet would be against him."
"Well, whose fault was that?" she demanded. "And do you think he would have kept quiet so long if it had been self-defense?"
He nodded with slow emphasis. "That was on your account. He's in love with you. He didn't want you to know he'd killed your brother."
"I do know it!" she cried fiercely. "And everybody's going to know it!"
He moved his shoulders a little. His face was gloomy.
"You won't help me?" she asked.
"No."
"Why? You've quarreled with him."
"I believe his story. I know it's too late for him to put it across in court. We're through, but I won't do that to him." He moistened his lips. "Let him alone. It's likely they'll do it to him without your help or mine."
"I won't," she said. "I won't let him alone until he's been punished as he deserves." She caught her breath and her eyes darkened. "Do you believe him enough to risk finding proof that he lied to you?"
"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.
"Will you help me find proof of the truth, whether he's lying or not? There must be positive proof somewhere, some proof that we can find. If you really believe him you won't be afraid to help me find it."
He studied her face awhile before asking: "If I do and we find your positive proof, will you promise to accept it whichever way it stacks up?"
"Yes," she said readily, "if you will too."
"And you'll keep what we find to yourself till we've finished the job-found our positive proof-won't use what we find against him till we've got it all?"
"Yes."
"It's a bargain," he said.
She sobbed happily and tears came to her eyes.
He said: "Sit down." His face was lean and hard, his voice curt. "We've got to get schemes rigged. Have you heard from him this afternoon or evening, since he and I had our row?"
"No."
"Then we can't be sure how you stand with him. There's a chance he may have decided later that I was right. That won't make any difference between him and me now-we're done-but we've got to find out as soon as we can." He scowled at her feet and brushed his mustache with a thumb-nail. "You'll have to wait till he comes to you. You can't afford to call him up. If he's shaky about you that might decide him. How sure of him are you?"
She was sitting in the chair by the table. She said: "I'm as sure of him as a woman can be of a man." She uttered a little embarrassed laugh. "I know that sounds- But I am, Mr. Beaumont."
He nodded. "Then that's probably all right, but you ought to know definitely by tomorrow. Have you ever tried to pump him?"
"Not yet, not really. I was waiting-"
"Well, that's out for the time being. No matter how sure you are of him you'll have to be careful now. Have you picked up anything you haven't told me about?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I haven't known very well how to go about it. That's why I so wanted you to-"
He interrupted her again: "Didn't it occur to you to hire a private detective?"
"Yes, but I was afraid, afraid I'd go to one who'd tell Paul. I didn't know who to go to, who I could trust."
"I've got one we can use." He ran fingers through his dark hair. "Now there are two things I want you to find out, if you don't know them now. Are any of your brother's hats missing? Paul says he had a hat on. There was none there when I found him. See if you can find out how many he had and if they're all accounted for"-he smiled obliquely-"except the one I borrowed."
She paid no attention to his smile. She shook her head and raised her hands a little, dispiritedly. "I can't," she said. "We got rid of all his things some time ago and I doubt if anybody knew exactly what he had anyway."
Ned Beaumont shrugged. "I didn't think we'd get anywhere on that," he told her. "The other thing's a walking-stick, whether any of them-his or your father's-are missing, particularly a rough heavy brown one."
"It would be Father's," she said eagerly, "and I think it's there."
"Check it up." He bit his thumb-nail. "That'll be enough for you to do between now and tomorrow, that and maybe find out how you stand with Paul."
"What is it?" she asked. "I mean about the stick." She stood up, ex "Paul says your brother attacked him with it and was struck by it while Paul was taking it away from him. He says he carried the stick away and burned it."
"Oh, I'm sure Father's sticks are all there," she cried. Her face was white, her eyes wide.
"Didn't Taylor have any?"
"Only a silver-headed black one." She put a hand on his wrist. "If they're all there it will mean that-"
"It might mean something," he said and put a hand on her hand. "But no tricks," he warned her.
"I won't," she promised. "If you only knew how happy I am to have your help, how much I've wanted it, you'd know you could trust me."
"I hope so." He took his hand from hers.
The West Road Inn was a square white building-grey in the night-set among trees back from the road some three miles beyond the city limits. Its ground-floor was brightly lighted and half a dozen automobiles stood in front of it. Others were in a long dark shed off to the left.
Ned Beaumont, nodding familiarly at the doorman, went into a large dining-room where a three-man orchestra was playing extravagantly and eight or ten people were dancing. He passed down an aisle between tables, skirted the dance-floor, and stopped in front of the bar that occupied one corner of the room. He was alone on the customers' side of the bar.
The bar-tender, a fat man with a spongy nose, said: "Evening, Ned. We ain't been seeing you much lately."
"'Lo, Jimmy. Been behaving. Manhattan."
The bar-tender began to mix the cocktail. The orchestra finished its piece. A woman's voice rose thin and shrill: "I won't stay in the same place with that Beaumont bastard."
Ned Beaumont turned around, leaning back against the edge of the bar. The bar-tender became motionless with the cocktail-shaker in his hand.
Lee Wilshire was standing in the center of the dance-floor glaring at Ned Beaumont. One of her hands was on the forearm of a bulky youth in a blue suit a bit too tight for him. He too was looking at Ned Beaumont, rather stupidly. She said: "He's a no-good bastard and if you don't throw him out I'm going out."
Everyone else in the place was attentively silent.
The youth's face reddened. His attempt at a scowl increased his appearance of embarrassment.
The girl said: "I'll go over and slap him myself if you don't."
Ned Beaumont, smiling, said: " 'Lo, Lee. Seen Bernie since he got out?"
Lee cursed him and took an angry step forward.
The bulky youth put out a hand and stopped her. "I'll fix him," he said, "the bastard." He adjusted his coat-collar to his neck, pulled the front of his coat down, and stalked off the dance-floor to face Ned Beaumont. "What's the idea?" he demanded. "What's the idea of talking to the little lady like that?"
Ned Beaumont, staring soberly at the youth, stretched his right arm out to the side and laid his hand palm-up on the bar. "Give me something to tap him with, Jimmy," he said. "I don't feel like fist-fighting."
One of the bar-tender's hands was already out of sight beneath the bar. He brought it up holding a small bludgeon and put the bludgeon in Ned Beaumont's hand. Ned Beaumont let it lie there while he said: "She gets called a lot of things. The last guy I saw her with was calling her a dumb cluck."
The youth drew himself up straight, his eyes shifting from side to side. He said: "I won't forget you and some day me and you will meet when there's nobody around." He turned on his heel and addressed Lee Wilshire. "Come on, let's blow out of this dump."
"Go ahead and blow," she said spitefully. "I'll be God-damned if I'm going with you. I'm sick of you."
A thick-bodied man with nearly all gold teeth came up and said: "Yes you will, the both of you. Get."
Ned Beaumont laughed and said: "The-uh-little lady's with me, Corky."
Corky said, "Fair enough," and then to the youth: "Outside, bum."
The youth went out.
Lee Wilshire had returned to her table. She sat there with her cheeks between her fists, staring at the cloth.
Ned Beaumont sat down facing her. He said to the waiter: "Jimmy's got a Manhattan that belongs to me. And I want some food. Eaten yet, Lee?"
"Yes," she said without looking up. "I want a silver fizz."
Ned Beaumont said: "Fine. I want a minute steak with mushrooms, whatever vegetable Tony's got that didn't come out of a can, some lettuce and tomatoes with Roquefort dressing, and coffee."
When the waiter had gone Lee said bitterly: "Men are no good, none of them. That big false alarm!" She began to cry silently.
"Maybe you pick the wrong kind," Ned Beaumont suggested.
"You should tell me that," she said, looking up angrily at him, "after the lousy trick you played me."
"I didn't play you any lousy trick," he protested. "If Bernie had to hock your pretties to pay back the money he'd gypped me out of it wasn't my fault."
The orchestra began to play.
"Nothing's ever a man's fault," she complained. "Come on and dance."
"Oh, all right," he said reluctantly.
When they returned to the table his cocktail and her fizz were there.
"What's Bernie doing these days?" he asked as they drank.
"I don't know. I haven't seen him since he got out and I don't want to see him. Another swell guy! What breaks I've been getting this year! Him and Taylor and this bastard!"
"Taylor Henry?" he asked.
"Yes, but I didn't have much to do with him," she explained quickly, "because that's while I was living with Bernie."
Ned Beaumont finished his cocktail before he said: "You were just one of the girls who used to meet him in his Charter Street place now and then."
"Yes," she said, looking warily at him.
He said: "I think we ought to have a drink."
She powdered her face while he caught their waiter's attention and ordered their drinks.