“One hundred thousand dollars,” said Judd curtly.
“Nope. I would come even higher than Philip, and he’s asking for a million. I’m in this thing because I got my generosity appealed to, I got my curiosity aroused, and I got my pride hurt. Didn’t I tell you I was sore? I’m not interested in your family affairs as such, and no amount of money would make me interested. I am going to find out who killed Arthur Tingley. You and Philip had an appointment to meet at his office Tuesday evening, and you both went there. I know that a man like you will tell this kind of thing only under a compulsion that can’t be faced down or ignored or smashed or wiggled through. You’re under that compulsion right now. Either you give it to me, all of it, or Damon and the district attorney will be here within an hour. And we’ll start at the beginning, with a few test questions. Remember I’ve had a talk with your sister. Who was Philip’s father?”
Judd, moving with deliberate slowness, knocked the ashes from his pipe into a tray on the table, filled it again from a pouch he fished out of his pocket, applied the lighter, and got it going well. It was through a gray-blue cloud that he finally spoke:
“You are intelligent enough, I suppose, to have considered all the possible consequences — to you, I mean — of what you’re doing?”
“Sure. Don’t let that worry you.”
“Very well. Philip’s father was Thomas Tingley, the father of Arthur Tingley.”
To cover the faulty control which permitted an involuntary start of surprise at this remarkable news, Fox coughed and got out his handkerchief. “So,” he said, “Arthur was Philip’s brother.”
“Half brother.” Judd’s face and voice were completely expressionless. “Thomas was married and had two children, a son and daughter, by his wife. The son was Arthur.”
“Was the wife still alive when—”
“Yes. My sister went to work in the Tingley factory in 1909. I was then twenty-five years old, just getting started. She was nineteen. Arthur was a year or two younger than me. His father, Thomas, was approaching fifty. In 1911 my sister told me of her difficulty and who was responsible for it. I was making more money then, and I sent her to a place in the country. In September of that year the boy was born. My sister hated him without ever seeing him. She refused to look at him. He was placed in a charity home, and was forgotten by her and by me. At that time I was occupied with my own affairs to the exclusion of considerations that should have received my attention. Years later it occurred to me that there might be records at that place which would be better destroyed, and I had inquiries made.”
“When was that?”
“Only three years ago. I learned then what had happened. Thomas Tingley had died in 1913, and his wife a year later. Arthur had married in 1912, and his wife had died in childbirth in 1914, and the child had died too. And in 1915 Arthur had legally adopted the four-year-old boy from the charity home.”
“You’re sure it was that boy?”
“Yes. I went to see Arthur. He knew the boy was his half brother. His father, on his deathbed, had told him all about it and charged him with the child’s welfare — secretly, since at that time Thomas’s wife was still alive. Two years later, after Arthur’s wife had died and he was childless, he had decided on the adoption.”
Fox, from scribbling in his notebook, looked up. “When you saw Arthur, three years ago, did he have the records you wanted?”
“Yes, but he wouldn’t let me have them. I tried to persuade him. I offered an extravagant sum. He was stubborn, he didn’t like me, and he was bitterly disappointed in the boy, who turned out a blithering fool.”
Accounting probably, Fox thought, for Arthur Tingley’s strong feelings on the subject of unmarried mothers. He remarked, “So you made efforts to get the records by — uh — other methods.”
“No. I didn’t.” A corner of Judd’s mouth twisted faintly up. “You can’t work me into a melodrama. I don’t fit. Not even a murder. I knew Arthur’s character and had no fear of any molestation during his lifetime, and he conceded me a point. He put the papers in a locked box in his safe and willed the box and its contents to me. Not that he told me where they were. I found that out later.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
Fox’s brows went up. “Three days?”
“Yes. Monday morning Philip called at my office. I had never seen him since he was a month old, but he established his identity, and he had copies with him of those records. He demanded a million dollars as a donation to some imbecile thing he called Womon. He had it all figured out; it wasn’t to be paid to him personally; that was to avoid the income tax. A blackmailer evading the income tax!”
“What was the screw, a threat to publish?”
“Oh, no. He’s a blackguard, but he’s not a fool. He said that he came to me only because his adopted father would allow him nothing but a pittance — he said pittance — and had practically disinherited him in his will, and he wanted money for this Womon thing. Arthur had been fool enough to let him read the will, and the bequest of the locked box to me had made him smell a rat. As I say, he’s not a fool. He had stolen the box from the safe and busted it open, and there it was. His threat was not to publish, but to sue me and my sister for damages, for abandoning him as an infant. Which of course amounted to the same thing, but that put a face on it. And was something we could not allow to happen under any circumstances, and he knew it.”
Fox nodded, with no great display of sympathy. “So why didn’t you pay him?”
“Because it was — outrageous. You don’t just scribble a voucher for a teller to hand out a million dollars.”
“I don’t, but you could.”
“I didn’t. More, because I wanted a guaranty that that would end it. For one thing, I had to be sure I was getting all the original records, and Arthur was the only one who could satisfy me on that, and he wouldn’t see me Monday. When I intimated to him on the phone what I wanted to see him about, as plainly as I dared, he took it into his head that I was only using that as an excuse to get at him, in an effort to buy his business, and the stubborn ass refused to see me. I put Philip off for a day by giving him ten thousand dollars. The next morning Arthur phoned me that the box was gone from the safe, but even then he wouldn’t come to my office or meet me somewhere, so I had to go to him.”
Fox nodded. “Tuesday morning. Name of Brown. I saw you.”
“I know you did. But for that mischance—” Judd’s quick frown was at himself, at the feeble futility of bewailing a piece of bad luck. “I went to his office, and told him of Philip’s demand and threat. He was enraged. His attitude was stupid and dangerous on account of his misconception of Philip’s character. He thought Philip could be browbeaten, and I didn’t. But what I proposed — I couldn’t do anything with him. He would have it his way. It was left that he would talk with Philip at five o’clock that afternoon, and the three of us would have it out the next morning, Wednesday, in his office. I had to accept—”
“That won’t do.” Fox was shaking his head. “Positively not. Don’t try to bounce me off now.”
“I’m not trying anything. I am telling you, under coercion—”
“A lie, Mr. Judd. It’s no good. You were to meet at Tingley’s office Tuesday evening, not Wednesday morning. And you went there. It’s too bad that the door you want to keep shut happens to be one I must go through in order to get a murderer, but it does, and you’re going to open it. And frankly, the time’s getting short. I keep dangling Inspector Damon over you as a threat, but the fact is he’s dangling over me too, and—”
There was a knock at the door. They looked that way, and Judd said come in. The door opened and the man in uniform entered.