“I’ll talk,” said Farrell. “I never thought we’d win out. I was forced into this. I want to say here and now that no murder was ever contemplated by Mr. Patterson or myself. We were victims of accident — we were the puppets of economic conditions.”
“Afraid I don’t get you,” said the District Attorney.
“I’ll explain. Mr. Steele died of a heart attack on Feb. 28th, 1935, a few days after our arrival here from Detroit I phoned Mr. Patterson in New York. He said to conceal his death. He would fly out immediately and take charge.”
“You mean there was no attending physician?”
“He died in the night. I discovered his death, phoned immediately and received my orders. I at once discharged his valet, who had been with him for some years. I let nobody enter and remained in the room with the body for twenty-four hours until Mr. Patterson arrived.
“Mr. Patterson was in a frightful state. He said that Jonathan’s death at this time would bankrupt the company, ruin himself and hundreds of thousands of people — that death and inheritance taxes would pick the carcass of the Steele Corporations clean. ‘The market is in such a state that liquidation will probably cause a general panic and throw national recovery back for years. If there was only some way we could carry on for six months. It would give me time to prepare, to arrange things,’ he said.
“I told him it was impossible. That concealing a death was a felony. ‘That’s of no consequence,’ he said. ‘Jonathan Steele can’t die; he mustn’t be allowed to die. Farrell, if we could get somebody, an actor — somebody whom we could hedge around, let people see him at a distance. Farrell, how would you like to make a hundred thousand dollars?’
“ ‘Very much. How?’
“ ‘I don’t know. It ought not to be hard to find a man who could do it. His grandson is in Europe and I’ll arrange that he stays there. Get rid of everybody in this place who knows him. I’ll have a doctor come from New York, a nurse — he’s ill — see. We’ll confine him to his room.’
“While he was talking I had — well,” he smiled faintly — “it seemed an inspiration at the time. Some years ago I was a clerk at the Soldiers’ Home in Sawtelle and there was a veteran there who looked a little like Jonathan Steele’s pictures. I had remarked about it once to him and he was quite tickled. I remembered that we had to discipline him once for stealing some money from another inmate. I told Patterson about him.
“ ‘He might serve if he’s still alive,’ he said excitedly. ‘Find out. Get him here.’
“Well, that’s the way we fixed it. Donnegan was ten years younger than Jonathan, and healthy. Jonathan had had no personal friends for years. They had all died and he wanted no new friends. He had been practically a recluse. We installed new servants—”
“What did you do with the body of Jonathan Steele?” the District Attorney asked sternly.
“In the dead of night, Patterson and I carried him to a boat, took him out to sea, put weights on him and dropped him overboard. I refused to do if unless Patterson went with me — I was determined he would be as deep in it as myself.
“Well,” he said with a faint smile, “it worked. Donnegan was a natural actor and he enjoyed his importance. I taught him to play golf and we continued Jonathan’s routine. Patterson sent a private detective named Morton to handle the protection angle.”
“You mean the gangster, Maroni.” said the D. A.
“Well, he said he was a private detective. I could imitate Jonathan’s handwriting and signed what documents required his personal signature. Of course, I was always worried, but nothing happened. Nobody in the world had the slightest suspicion that Jonathan wasn’t alive and well.
“A few weeks ago the unexpected happened. The grandson arrived from Europe. He had inherited his mother’s estate and Patterson could no longer force him to remain abroad. Patterson was much disturbed, more so when I phoned him I had received a wire from Stephen Steele that he had to see his grandfather on an important matter.
“Now I had nothing to do with what happened. It was arranged by Patterson with Lafe Morton. When young Steele arrived at Santa Barbara Morton admitted him, led him to a room prepared, overpowered and bound him and put a man in to guard him. I protested and was told to mind my own business. In the meantime a man hired by Morton was impersonating Stephen in Los Angeles. After a wild drunk he was murdered in a negro joint.”
“By Morton’s orders?” demanded the District Attorney.
“No, sir. That wasn’t the idea. It was to give us a good excuse for disinheriting Stephen Steele—”
“If you remember, I told you so,” said Upton Reynolds to Dick with justifiable complacency.
“There was nothing to do, of course, but to identify him as Stephen Steele and that brought up the problem of what to do with Steele.”
“So you have murdered him,” thundered the District Attorney.
“No, sir. We have removed him to a house near Palm Springs, an isolated place, until we could come to some decision.
“Being informed that Mr. Cody, accompanied by the ex-district attorney of Los Angeles, Mr. Barton, had broken into our grounds, I took Donnegan next day to the Steele place in Palm Springs. We had been there only a few days when an unfortunate incident happened. Leaving the golf links, we passed a car containing Miss Barton, who thought she recognized Jonathan as Donnegan. He told me she had been a frequent visitor at the Soldiers’ Home.”
While I assumed she realized she was mistaken, I could run no more risk of encountering her, so we came back to Santa Barbara. After the kidnaping of Donnegan last night, I sent the men who had been overpowered by the kidnapers in pursuit. By chance, a gas station attendant had heard one of the kidnapers tell somebody over the phone that they were going to the Stella Grey cottage in Tiger Cañon.
“They phoned the information to me and I got in touch with Morton in Los Angeles. From our angle it was vital to recapture Donnegan — out of our hands and in the hands of the police he would have told everything. Morton collected more men and started for Tiger Cañon as soon as possible. Whatever violence has occurred is Morton’s responsibility, Mr. District Attorney. I was against violence from the first.”
“Morton, or Maroni, is dead,” declared the District Attorney. “I think you and Patterson will be found responsible for the crimes of your hirelings. Write an order to whoever is guarding Stephen Steele at Palm Springs to release him. I’ll send officers down to escort him here.” He pressed a button and a policeman entered.
“Take this man to the County Jail and lock him in a cell,” he said.
When Farrell had been removed, the District Attorney passed around cigarettes. “I’ll phone New York to arrest Patterson on a murder charge. We may not be able to make it stick, but it will serve to hold him despite his political influence.”
“Are we under arrest?” asked Dick.
“Technically. Considering you broke and entered, killed a man, kidnaped another and shot several citizens up in Tiger Cañon, I’m treating you boys pretty well. Dick, I suppose you can be elected. Governor of this State if you want to run at the next election.”
“I’ll take the matter under consideration,” said Dick with his contagious laugh.