Back at the hotel the big man put in a long-distance call to Martin Robinson.
“Fancy!” the old man said sharply. “I’ve been going crazy waiting to hear from you. Have you seen Gene?”
“Yes,” Dan said shortly. “He’s bearing up. Think I have a lead.”
“Yes?” The old man’s voice was eager.
“For five thousand bucks and a guarantee of immunity one of the arresting officers will repudiate his original story and sign a full confession to the whole frame.”
“Five thousand?” Martin Robinson’s tone made it sound like five cents. “Well, for goodness sakes, Fancy, promise it to him. I’ll wire it imniediately.”
“Good. I’m in room five-twelve of the Lake view Hotel.”
He hung up before the old man could ask any questions.
The short, burly man with the bald head rapped quietly on the bar at the Downtown Athletic Club, bringing the bartender from his dreams of a chicken farm.
“Hello, Stub,” the barman said.
“Big Jim in?” The burly man’s voice was as soft as his manner. Everything about him was soft, except his eyes, which could have chipped sparks from a piece of flint.
“Yeah. He’s expecting you. Go on up.”
Stub approached a door at the side of the bar and waited. The bartender’s foot touched a concealed button, a low buzz sounded, and Stub pushed open the door. He followed a narrow hallway to the open door of a self-service elevator, pushed the button marked 2 and rose silently to the second floor. When the elevator door slid back, another steel-grilled door barred his exit from the car.
Facing him from behind a desk across the room sat Big Jim Calhoun.
“It’s Stub, Mr. Calhoun,” the baldheaded man called.
Another buzz sounded. Stub pushed open the steel door and let it swing shut behind him. His eyes flicked briefly at Lieutenant Morgan Hart, who sat with his back against one wall, then returned to Big Jim.
“I kept Fancy in sight all day,” Stub reported in his soft voice. “Gyp Fleming relieved me at five.”
“You didn’t make a special trip over here, just for that?” the blond giant asked.
“No.” The burly man glanced at Lieutenant Hart. “He rented a car and drove up to the prison to visit Gene Robinson. He took Adele Hudson along with him. Following your orders to take advantage of any situation where it would look like an... ah... accident, I cut him off on the mountain road so short it should have pushed him over a hundred-foot bank. He was expecting it and he crossed me up.”
“You still haven’t said anything that couldn’t have waited till tomorrow,” Big Jim said irritably.
“No,” Stub agreed. “It’s coming now. I left word for Gyp to phone me if anything special developed, and he just phoned me at home.” His eyes again flicked at Lieutenant Hart, then moved back to Big Jim. “I want to report this privately.”
A frown disturbed the cherubic blandness of Big Jim’s expression. “You can talk in front of Morg. You know that.”
“Yes, sir. Generally. I’d prefer to report this privately.”
Big Jim’s eyes narrowed and swung to Morgan Hart. The homicide officer rose with a mixture of puzzlement and suspicion tingeing his expression.
“What you getting at, Stub?” he asked belligerently.
“Speak up,” Big Jim commanded, his voice nearly as soft as Stub’s. “If Morg doesn’t like it, he can learn to.”
The baldheaded man shrugged. “I’ll give you the full report in order, including what we got from the phone tap. About a half hour after you left his room, Fancy put in a call to the state justice department and arranged to see Gene Robinson at the prison. Like I told you, he rented a car and took the girl with him. They were at the prison about forty-five minutes. When they got back to town, he dropped off the girl, returned the car and went back to the hotel. That’s when I dropped out and Gyp Fleming took over.
“Fancy had a bellhop find him a month’s back issues of the Star, and stayed in his room with them about an hour and a half. At seven he had dinner sent up. At seven-fifteen he started making phone calls. He made eight, and these are the numbers.” He laid a half-sheet of paper on Big Jim’s desk. “From the names he asked for whenever he got an answer, I guess he was calling all the witnesses in the Robinson trial.” Stub smiled briefly. “He didn’t have any luck.”
“He wouldn’t,” Big Jim said without interest.
“About eight he left the room and grabbed a cab to Larry Bull’s house. He was inside about fifteen minutes. Then he returned to the hotel and phoned Martin Robinson in Pittsburgh.”
Stub paused and for the third time his eyes moved to Lieutenant Morgan Hart. “This is where I wanted it to be private. Bull is a pal of the lieutenant’s.”
Hart’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What about Larry?”
“Go on,” Big Jim ordered.
The baldheaded man shrugged. “Fancy told Robinson he had a lead. He said one of the arresting officers in the Saunders murder was willing to repudiate his testimony for a guarantee of immunity and five thousand bucks. Robinson promised to wire the money.”
“I don’t believe it,” Morgan Hart said flatly.
Stub raised brows over eyes as hard as steel knives. “You mean I made it up?” he asked softly.
The homicide officer took a step toward the bald man, both of his fists clenched.
“Cut it!” Big Jim said. His eyes moved with displeasure from one to the other of his men. “Get Bull over here,” he ordered Morgan Hart. “Don’t tell him why. Just get him here.”
Without a word the lieutenant strode into the elevator. The steel door clanged and the elevator door slid shut.
“Think that’s wise?” Stub asked. “Sending Hart, I mean.”
Big Jim glared at him irritably. “Morgan would kill his mother if I told him to. And when I need punks to advise me, I’ll let you know. Sit down and shut up.”
The bald man blinked rapidly and a film settled over his eyes. He took the chair Morgan Hart had deserted and sat looking straight ahead. Big Jim opened a ledger and began adding figures.
Twenty minutes later Morgan Hart returned with Sergeant Larry Bull. He left the sergeant standing in front of Big Jim’s desk, and retired to a corner himself. Bull’s flat face wore a faintly worried expression.
“Dan Fancy called on you tonight,” Big Jim said without preamble. “What did he want?”
The sergeant flushed. “I don’t know. He just asked some silly questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like — I don’t know. I don’t remember exactly.”
“You mean you don’t want to remember?” Big Jim asked softly.
The sergeant looked alarmed. “No, sir. It wasn’t anything important. Nothing about the Saunders murder.”
Big Jim’s cherubic face became even more cherubic. “Now why would you mention the Saunders murder if he didn’t talk about it?”
Bull’s alarm visibly increased. “That’s why he’s down here, isn’t it? I mean, I thought it was funny he didn’t mention it.”
Big Jim nodded agreement. “Very funny. My sides practically ache.” He dropped his eyes to the ledger again. “That’s all I wanted, Bull,” he said quietly. “Go on home.”
An expression of incredulous relief flooded the sergeant’s flat face. “Sure, boss,” he said hurriedly, backing into the elevator.
When the elevator door had closed, Big Jim looked up at the two remaining men. “Arrange it as soon as you possibly can,” he said casually. “Dan Fancy will be the sucker, of course. And make it fool-proof. We’ll probably have the best defense lawyers in the country defending Fancy, and I want it so tight nothing can upset the apple-cart.”
Dan rose at eight, had breakfast in his room, and phoned Adele Hudson about nine. She was cool over the phone, apparently having not entirely forgiven him for his frank comments about her fiancé, but she agreed to have lunch with him. He arranged to meet her in the hotel cocktail lounge at eleven.