“I said that Cunningham was prepared to testify that way,” Shayne reminded him, and grinned crookedly. “I think Mrs. Meredith may have influenced him somewhat in that direction.”
“You dirty louse,” Mrs. Meredith said distinctly and with sharp emphasis. “I don’t know what your game is. I don’t know why you pulled that stunt on me a few minutes ago. If you’re going to accuse someone of accepting a bribe, maybe the inspector will like to see this.” She took the signed copy of the agreement from her purse and flung it on the desk. Contempt dulled her eyes when she faced Quinlan. “Just before you arrived he induced me to sign that by promising that the diary would not be produced as evidence.”
“Which merely proves my innate honesty,” Shayne said with a cheerful grin. “That little document shows my ability to withstand temptation. It should convince even the inspector, who has unjustly suspected me several times in the past.”
Quinlan’s cold eyes were glaring at him, frosty eyebrows drawn together in undisguised distrust.
“Let’s get down to a couple of murders.” Shayne went on harshly, ignoring Quinlan’s anger. “Since the diary contains no actual blackmail material, and no one connected with the case is presumed to have known the importance of the date of Albert Hawley’s death at the time Groat was killed, let’s see if we can figure out why he was murdered as he reached the Hawley house at eight o’clock and his body thrown into the river.”
Still glaring at Shayne, Quinlan slammed the book shut. “Let’s do that,” he agreed caustically. “All I get out this, so far, is that Hawley told Groat something when he was dying and that it disturbed Groat’s conscience greatly.”
“Something about Leon Wallace,” Shayne said. “I think the whole thing goes back to that day two years ago when Wallace disappeared. A couple of significant things happened about that time. Albert Hawley was coming up for induction into the army. His wife went to Reno to divorce him. Why did she do that?” He looked at Mrs. Meredith. She wasn’t looking at him. “It wasn’t a very patriotic gesture, to say the least. It couldn’t have helped Albert much.”
Mrs. Meredith stiffened. “Albert’s induction had nothing to do with it,” she burst out. “We decided on a divorce, that’s all.”
“But you wouldn’t expect a man to be too happy about his wife deserting him just when he was to be drafted,” Shayne pointed out. “Yet Hawley seems to have approved your action. So much so, in fact, that he made a new will leaving everything to you in case of death, even though you remarried after your divorce. That’s something that has stuck in my craw all along.” Shayne lit a cigarette and puffed on it rapidly.
“Albert loved me devotedly,” Mrs. Meredith said acidly, her chin high. “He willed me everything because he wanted me to have it rather than his devil of a mother and that—” she caught herself up quickly and ended — “that no-good married to Beatrice.”
Gerald Meany said meekly: “That’s a falsehood. Albert and I were friends.”
Shayne glanced at Gerald through half-closed eyes. He was relaxed in his swivel chair. He said impatiently: “Someone furnished Leon Wallace ten thousand dollars in cash for his wife to prevent her from going to the police about his disappearance. Who? Wallace didn’t have any such sum. He worked as a gardener to earn money for his wife to keep their farm going. What service did Leon Wallace perform that was worth ten grand to someone — and two thousand a year thereafter as long as she kept quiet?”
“I’m sure I don’t know anything about it,” Mrs. Meredith said. “I scarcely remember the man.”
Shayne opened his eyes wide. “Do you know, Meany?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meany muttered wearily. He was still standing. “I don’t know anybody named Leon Wallace. I don’t know the name of any of the servants except the butler.”
Shayne said slowly: “There’s only one answer that makes any sense and adds up to an explanation of Wallace’s disappearance, Albert’s willing his money to his ex-wife, and the secret that weighed on Jasper Groat’s conscience.”
He turned to Cunningham and said: “Come over here.” He pointed to the picture of Albert Hawley in the newspaper. “Have you ever seen this man before?”
Thick silence gripped the office. Cunningham licked his thick, cracked lips as he studied the photograph. He glanced at Mrs. Meredith before saying: “Sure. That’s Albert Hawley. Can’t you read what it says?”
“It’s a picture of Albert Hawley,” Shayne said grimly, “but I don’t think you ever saw him. How could you, when he’s living in Chicago under the name of Theodore Meredith?” Shayne disregarded the loud gasp from Mrs. Meredith. He pulled out a drawer and laid the photograph of Theodore Meredith which Ben Ames had sent him. “This was taken in Chicago last night,” he explained casually.
Quinlan stepped quickly behind Shayne and stared at the two pictures. The silence grew thick again. After a little while, the inspector fixed his cold eyes on Cunningham and asked: “How could the same guy have died in a lifeboat and still be in Chicago?”
“I... don’t know,” Cunningham stammered. “That picture in the paper looks like the soldier named Albert Hawley.”
Mrs. Meredith jumped up and started for the door. Quinlan made a gesture and his plainclothesman blocked the way. Quinlan said: “We’ll all stick around until this thing is cleared up.” He circled the desk and asked Shayne: “Are you suggesting that Hawley never entered the army? That he went to Chicago, took the name of Meredith and remarried his wife after she got a Reno divorce?”
“It’s the only answer that fits. Here’s a picture of the man who died in the lifeboat, Cunningham.” He brought out the picture of Mr. and Mrs. Leon Wallace. “Leon Wallace, for ten grand and promise of ample support of his wife and children, impersonated Albert Hawley in the draft, and entered the army under a false name.”
Quinlan cleared his throat loudly, started to say something.
Shayne went on inexorably to Cunningham: “You knew the truth all the time. You crept up close that night while Leon Wallace was dying and heard his confession to Groat. It was a beautiful opportunity to blackmail Mrs. Hawley because you thought she was rich — and Albert, if you could persuade Groat to go along with you. But Groat wasn’t a blackmailer. He was sincerely religious. He decided to make a clean breast of it, and called Mrs. Wallace to come in to see him. Then he called Beatrice Meany and told her he was coming out.
“But, he made the mistake of calling you immediately afterward and telling you what he had decided to do. You couldn’t have that. It would have upset your plans. You hurried out there and lurked in the shadows until the taxi was gone, and killed him. You were upset when you didn’t find the diary on him. You didn’t know exactly what he had written in it and you feared publication, even though at that time you didn’t realize the importance of the date of Albert’s supposed death.”
Cunningham growled, “Nuts,” through bared buck teeth. “You can’t prove a word of it. I’ve got an alibi.”
“If Beatrice were alive we could prove it,” Shayne told him quietly. “But you took care of that, too. When you heard me say, in Mrs. Meredith’s apartment, that she was waiting for me, you had to get there before I did and kill her. I made the mistake of killing time after I left Mrs. Meredith’s room. I talked for a few minutes with Kurt Davis and stopped by at the telegraph office. You were the only person involved who knew my home address and knew Beatrice was there, and had the opportunity. Don’t expect Mrs. Meredith to alibi you for that. I know you hurried back to her room after killing Beatrice, and together you planned to say you’d been there all the time. That was when she thought she was in the clear. She knows better now.”