“There was no one with him to tell him stories,” the young man pointed out. “At least, no one that we know of.”
“Yeah. Your father have lots of money, did he?”
“I believe so.”
“Do you get it now?”
“I don’t know,” said Frank Spinner, sourly. “He had a will leaving most everything to me, but he got angry with me a couple of days ago and said he was going to make a new will. I know he tore the old one up.”
“Uh huh. Who was his lawyer?”
“Harlan Mears.”
“I know Mears well,” said Oakes. He paused thoughtfully. “Now, most of these liquor dealers have lawyers, too. Do you happen to. know who Bill Nevvin had for a lawyer?”
“I certainly do,” said the young man. “He had the same lawyer — Mears.”
“And where is Nevvin now?” Oakes asked, with a chuckle.
“I rather think,” said Frank Spinner, “that he’s in his apartment right now. He’s usually in about this time. Would you like to see him?”
“You bet I would,” said Oakes vigorously.
“Very well. We’ll get him—”
“Wait a minute,” said Oakes. “First, I’m going to get a friend of mine down here from headquarters. Where’s your telephone?”
IV
Frank Spinner obligingly led Oakes into the apartment his father had occupied. Oakes, however, did not at once call headquarters. First he put in a call for his own office.
“Mamie,” he told his stenographer. “I want you to run over to the office of Harlan Mears — it’s right across the street.”
“Yes, sir,” Mamie’s voice came to him obediently.
“Mears is out of town,” Oakes went on. “But you can get around his stenographer somehow. Get her to show you any of his recent correspondence or records of interest to John Spinner, who was his client. Can you do that?”
“You bet!” said Mamie.
“Make a copy of anything you see, and bring it around to me at the Spinner Apartments right away.”
“I’m on the way right now,” said Mamie.
Oakes rang off, and soon had Inspector Mallory on the wire. There was a brief and rather bitter verbal tussle, at the conclusion of which Mallory agreed to join Oakes at the Spinner Apartments within a few minutes.
After all, Mallory’s experience with Oakes was such as to have encouraged him to treat the pudgy lawyer’s suggestions with greater respect than he was willing to admit outwardly.
Oakes, still accompanied by the young man, went back out to the hall, where Mary Sutter was waiting.
“This Bill Nevvin is a good revolver shot, too, ain’t he?” asked Oakes, apparently filling in the time with conversation.
“An excellent shot,” Frank Spinner agreed. “In fact, shooting was quite a popular topic of conversation in this house. Several good—”
“Yeah,” said Oakes. “So I’ve heard. By the way, who uses those garages back of the house here?”
“Oh, various tenants, of course.”
“Uh huh. And uses the one directly opposite that rear window?”
“Why, that’s Bill’s.”
“Bill Nevvin has his car in that garage?”
“Yes.” Young Spinner eyed Oakes curiously. “But surely that has nothing to do with the killing of my father. It’s quite certain, apparently, that the shot came from the opposite direction, judging by the position of the chair, which was facing down the hall, just as it is now.”
“Uh huh.” Oakes suddenly got up. “Me and Miss Sutter,” he said, “will go downstairs for a few minutes. Mallory will be along by the time we get back. You can wait in your apartment, young fellow.”
“Very well,” the young man smiled his cool, indifferent smile. “I’ll be here when you want me.”
“And don’t wise Bill Nevvin while I’m gone, either,” Oakes instructed gruffly.
He escorted the girl back down the stairs to her apartment.
“Mary,” he said kindly, “you can go rest in your own place. I don’t need you now. I’ll let you know when I want you.”
The girl smiled her thanks, and entered number seven.
Oakes proceeded the short distance to the rear door. Just inside the door he stopped and noted that at that point another door opened on some steps that led down to the basement.
He stared down into the gloom below, muttering to himself.
In a few minutes he swung about and walked out of the rear door. Here he was standing between the back of the house and the row of garages, just outside of the garage used by the bootlegger, Bill Nevvin.
Oakes casually examined the ground between the house and the garage, and was just about to open the door of the garage when he was hailed from the window immediately above. Frank Spinner’s smirking face was showing at the window.
“Inspector Mallory is here,” announced the young man.
“Tell the old scoundrel,” said Oakes, “that I’ll be right up.”
He trudged back into the house, along the hall, and back up the stairs. Mallory glowered at him grimly as he approached.
“What are you doing here?” grumbled Mallory.
“Just correcting another of your mistakes,” Oakes told him genially. “You ought to feel sorry for a good old guy like Jerry Sutter.”
“I can’t afford to feel sorry for nobody,” snapped Mallory. “What’s the dope, anyway?”
“Why,” said Oakes, “first, let’s go see this bootlegger guy, Bill Nevvin.”
Frank Spinner escorted them to the door of number ten, and knocked.
While they were waiting, Oakes nodded a greeting to a large man lounging at the top of the stairway. This was Mallory’s man, Carter.
“Who is it?” called a voice presently.
“It’s all right, Bill,” Frank assured him. “A couple of gentlemen to see you.”
The door opened. It was a flashily-dressed man of middle age who greeted them. Bill Nevvin, dark and roughly good-looking, had a naturally suspicious eye, and the suspicion in his eye was working overtime as he looked them over.
Oakes grinned at Nevvin, but it was Mallory’s grim insistence that prompted Nevvin to admit them. At a gesture from Oakes, however, young Spinner refrained from accompanying them into the apartment.
“About this killing last night,” Oakes said, when they were in the apartment. “You were in here at the time?”
“Sure,” said Nevvin, resentfully.
“Uh huh. And it was you who heard the old guy laugh, just as he was shot?”
“Sure. He laughed a minute before, see? I heard him plain. Then he laughed again, louder, but the laugh busted off right in the middle. It was funny—”
“It must have been,” said Oakes. “But you didn’t go out to see why he didn’t finish the laugh?”
“Hell, no,” said Bill Nevvin. “Why should I?”
“You’re supposed to answer questions, not me,” Oakes reproved him. “Now, how about your garage?”
Nevvin fixed him with a steady stare.
“Yeah, what about it? It’s right beneath the back window, ain’t it?”
“Sure. But I didn’t put it there.”
“No, but you use it. And the roof of that garage has needed fixing lately, ain’t it?”
“Sure. But who cares about that?”
Obviously, Bill Nevvin’s suspicion had not abated, and he was inclined to be defiant.
“Well,” said Oakes, placidly, “it’s a flat roof, and I noticed a little while ago that one or two, of them long boards in the roof seemed loose. You never made no kick about it, did you?”
“I sure did,” blurted Nevvin. “It let the rain leak in on my car. I told old man Spinner he’d have to have it fixed.”