I hung up and told Warren Day, “Farmer Cole is still on me. He walked into Mohl and Townsend right after we left and tried to find out what I wanted there.”
“That disproves your whole theory,” Fausta said. “If he was following you simply because he wanted to kill Mr. Knight, he would have stopped after accomplishing his mission. Probably Laurie Davis has him following you to make sure you do not loaf.”
Ignoring her, I asked Day, “What do you make of that?”
The inspector shook his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t make sense. Was Davis on the list of directors?”
“Yeah. So maybe you better make that call to the Illinois police.”
That evening Don Bell, the local radio gossip, had the full story of Fausta’s narrow escape from poisoning on his nine o’clock broadcast. I was rather surprised, inasmuch as the evening papers had carried nothing but the bare announcement of the waiter’s death, with the additional information that the police were investigating.
Fausta’s phone rang just as the broadcast ended and Fausta went into her bedroom to answer it.
When she returned to the front room, she announced, “That was Lieutenant Hannegan. Inspector Day wants you to meet him at your apartment right away. The inspector is already on his way and Lieutenant Hannegan has been phoning everywhere trying to reach you.”
“Hannegan said all that?” I asked, surprised. “Usually he isn’t so voluble.”
Then, not because I had the least suspicion the call was faked, but merely from the habit of double-checking, I went into the bedroom and phoned Headquarters. Since both Day and Hannegan went off duty at five, I was not surprised to find neither there. The sergeant on duty at Homicide knew nothing about their whereabouts.
I tried Day’s apartment, but when the phone had rung six times without answer, hung up. Then I tried my own number, and again hung up after six rings. Apparently Day had not yet arrived, for while I kept my apartment locked, the apartment manager knew the inspector well enough to let him in with a pass key, and I was certain Day would not stand out in the hall waiting when he could just as easily be inside drinking up my rye.
I made one more call, this time to the bar phone downstairs, and this time I got an answer. I told the bartender to send up Mouldy Greene.
When I returned to the front room, Fausta was freshening her lipstick with the obvious intention of going out.
I said, “You’re staying right here in this nice safe apartment.”
“I thought you were going to protect me twenty-four hours a day,” Fausta said. “Suppose that was not Lieutenant Hannegan at all, but the killer trying to lure you away so I would be alone?”
“You won’t be alone. Mouldy’s coming up. And wasn’t it Hannegan?”
Fausta shrugged. “I suppose. I haven’t heard him speak more than twice, and never over the phone.”
“I’m reasonably sure it was the lieutenant,” I assured her. “Warren Day is out, and he rarely goes anywhere except on business. He hates spending the money on foolish things like women and strong drink. His idea of a good time is to run down to the bank and deposit his pay check. And since the banks aren’t open at this time of night, he must be out on business. Anyway, if our killer was trying to get at you, he’d probably assume I was dragging you along and plan to pot you from some ambush.”
“Why not have the inspector come here?”
I said, “In the first place I can’t reach him. In the second, he’d only swear at me and tell me to get home fast even if I did reach him. And in the third place, I forgot my pajamas and tooth brush, so I can kill two birds with one stone.”
“It is too hot to sleep in pajamas,” Fausta said. “And you may share my toothbrush.”
“Stop acting like a suspicious wife,” I told her. “You’d think we were on a honeymoon and I was trying to sneak out with the boys.”
Mouldy arrived at that moment. I told him he was Fausta’s bodyguard until I got back and I wanted him in the apartment with the door locked.
“How about my job?” he asked. “Nobody’s on the door.”
“The customers will just have to put up with a bow from the head waiter instead of a slap on the back from you,” I said. “You stay here and don’t unlock that door for anyone but me.”
I left my car in the “no parking” space in front of my apartment inasmuch as I was on police business. As I expected, I found my front door unlocked, but when I opened it, the front room was dark.
Assuming the inspector was in the kitchen investigating my refrigerator, I pushed the door shut behind me and felt for the wall switch in the dark. When light sprang into the room, I found myself looking into the familiar bore of a short-barrelled revolver.
The flat-faced pseudo cop who had dumped me in the center of Midland Park sat in my favorite easy chair and it was he who held the gun. His driver, Slim, reclined on the couch.
I asked, “Which one of you is Lieutenant Hannegan?”
“Slim,” Flat-face said. “Slim can be real clever when he manages to stay awake.”
Slim growled something and his partner went on, “You wouldn’t believe it, but the whole idea was Slim’s. Phoning Warren Day to make sure he wasn’t home, in case you got suspicious and checked back. Imitating Lieutenant Hannegan to Miss Moreni. Ain’t he a little genius?”
“Shut up and let’s get going,” Slim said.
“Sure,” Flat-face said. His tone shed its mock politeness. “Turn around with your hands on top of your head, Buster.”
Since the order was accompanied by the snick of his revolver hammer being drawn back, I turned around and clasped my hands atop my head. An instant later his left hand snaked under my armpit from behind and removed my .38. I heard it clank as it was laid on the mantel.
“Let’s go,” Flat-face said, prodding my spine with the cocked revolver.
The ride in the blue sedan wasn’t long, although our destination was Maddon, across the state line. A four lane highway leads almost from the bridge ramp on the Illinois side straight into Maddon. Within ten minutes of the time we left the bridge we were pulling into the driveway of a neat white cottage on the outskirts of the little town.
At a prod from the revolver, I climbed out of the car and preceded my companions to a side door. Stepping ahead of me, Slim opened the door and led the way into a small hallway, then to the basement.
The basement, or at least that part of it we found ourselves in, had been converted into a large play room, fully equipped.
Other than we three new arrivals, only one person occupied the play room. Attired in formal trousers, a purple smoking jacket and leather sneakers, Barney Seldon sat on one of the bar stools watching television.
The moment we entered Barney jerked a thumb at the television screen, Slim walked over and cut off one of TV’s highest paid comics in the middle of a gag.
Seldon said, “Evening, Mr. Moon.”
I took a bar stool a seat or two away from Seldon.
Barney examined me coldly, finally said, “You were a little bit rough on my boy, Percy Sweet.”
“Tit for tat,” I told him. “Percy tried to be a little rough on me.”
“And then you yelled cop,” Barney said. “Really I was a little disappointed. Fausta built you up as such a tough guy, but instead of fighting your own battles, you yell cop.”
I looked at him in astonishment. “My own battles? When you try to scare me off a murder case, it isn’t a simple matter of Moon versus Seldon. It becomes Seldon versus the People.”
Barney’s eyebrows went up. “Murder case? You talking about the Lancaster affair?”
“That and Willard Knight. You had anyone else bumped recently?”
Barney laughed a short unpleasant laugh. “Is that why you think you’re on my stink list?”