“The set-up was perfect for Bronson. He merely had to get in a little practice heaving man-sized objects from twelve-story heights. My guess is that he had experimented with several bundles before Dwight happened along.
“No parking was permitted in front of the Maramoor and beneath Ditson’s room. Bronson checked on Ditson’s window, planted his convertible there with the top down and ran into the hotel. The Maramoor is a big hotel. The odds were against anyone noticing Bronson enter or leave. He had only to rap on Ditson’s door, then rap Ditson and heave him out of the window with a mind to his Briarton Cliff ballistics. His human missile was well aimed.
“Of course his lovely victim could not dispute his subsequent statement that he had reached the curb on the opposite side of the street, waved, then seen Ditson’s plunge.
“I was fooled because I couldn’t find a motive for Bronson’s killing Ditson. Not until I realized that Ditson was merely the projectile he aimed at Sheila did I think about a motive for killing her. The answer must be in her diary, which he never knew existed until tonight My guess is that Bronson had converted securities she’d entrusted to him. The diary will probably tell how much his booty was.”
“It does!” said Dwight. He had come into the bath and picked up several pages. “It tells to the dollar — ninety-five thousand of them!”
Bronson groaned back into consciousness. Whirling, Dwight kicked him. I got him the hell out of there and back into the room where Hinchman stood in custody of two of Keever’s goons. Hinchman watched as Bronson was dragged out.
“Put us in the same cell, please,” said Hinchman. “It’ll raise my social standing.”
It was so corny I remembered my promise to myself, that I’d hit Hinchman before I got out of Midtown. So I did.