"I know it's a very ordinary sort of thing," said Mendoza apologetically.
"My God, and you a detective!" said Harrington. "Of course, maybe only a specialist would spot it. I can tell you this and that about it, of course. To start with, it's obviously a button from the sleeve of a jacket. Too small to be an ordinary jacket button. It's-"
"The sleeve of a- But-"
"No, I know. Those conservative bastards,” said Harrington with a chuckle. "Grandpa had buttons on his sleeves, so naturally you go on putting buttons on sleeves. No scope-no progress. I haven't put any buttons on sleeves since, lessee, about 1939, but they still do. Most of 'em. I get some of their stuff in for repair occasionally."
Mendoza was staring at him. "Harrington," he said, "did you ever wonder how that fellow in the Bible felt when his ass started to talk to him? Not that I mean to imply- Whose stuff?"
Harrington tapped the button thoughtfully. "There you are," he said, "something else. Bone. Old-fashioned. Practically everybody uses plastic these days. Well, I could give a random guess. Either Rowlandson, or Herrick and King, or possibly Shattuck. Savile Row, of course."
"Of course," repeated Mendoza gently… And quite suddenly, in one single lucid moment, everything fell into place and he saw it unreel before him like a moving picture. Of course.
"Say something to you?" asked Harrington interestedly. But Mendoza was raptly placing the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle where they belonged. "A delightful Easter weekend," he said absorbedly. "Oh yes
… have announced the engagement… Five thousand bucks, but he'd be willing to pay high for- Oh yes, I see. Smart up to a point. And then-and then-" His eyes turned cold, and he whispered to himself, "The bastard-just a cop-to cover it up. And naturally, cops being morons or they wouldn't be cops, and he-"
"Did I say something?" asked Harrington, sounding more interested.
Mendoza focused on him with a little difficulty. "Harrington," he said earnestly, "you are indeed the knave of clubs. A bearer of news. I forgive you that tweed monstrosity you palmed off on me two years back. I forgive you- Well, never mind. My heartfelt thanks. Give me that thing." He almost ran out.
"Knave of clubs?” said Harrington after him, blankly. Mendoza gunned the Ferrari up Beverly as fast as the law allowed. By God, he'd have a siren installed in this thing before he was a week older… He got onto Wilshire and headed back downtown, and all the way the jigsaw pieces went on fitting themselves together, so nice and neat
…
Oh yes. Andrea Nestor. The belt, of course. And the button. Kenmore Avenue-but a dark stretch along there… And- It was ten-fifty when he came fast into the office and looked round. Palliser was just coming out of the sergeants' office with a teletype sheet in his hand.
"We've got in a little more on Tenney. The S.P. told us he listed his birthplace as Younker, Georgia, and we-"
"?No importa! " said Mendoza. "I only dropped in to pick up somebody-to keep an eye on me while we drop on the X who shot Nestor and sent Art over that cliff. Might as well be you, John.?Pues vamonos ya! Let's be on our way!".
Palliser stared at him and dropped the teletype. "You know-”
"I know all about it," said Mendoza grimly. "Let's go and take him. And if I will be resigning from this force, I'd like to leave a fairly clean record, so if I start to lose my temper, boy, you restrain me… That Goddamned self-important stupid bastard! That-"
"Evidence?" said Palliser.
"Oh, there'll be evidence," said Mendoza. "By God, there will! Has the hospital called?"
"Not yet."
"Come on-1et's go and take him," said Mendoza.
TWENTY
The impassive manservant blinked up at Mendoza. "I'm afraid Mr. Marlowe has just finished breakfast, sir, I don't know whether he'll see you-"
"Oh, he'll see me!" said Mendoza. He walked in past the man. "Where is he?"
His tone made the man blink again; a rather sly smile crept over his mouth. "In the library, sir."
Mendoza led Palliser down to that door and opened it. Marlowe, in a handsome tailored silk dressing gown, was sitting at the desk opening his mail. He glanced up, and his expression darkened. "What do you-"
"I've come for you, Marlowe," said Mendoza. "I've run across a lot of stupid killers before now, but you're one of the silliest. I want you on the charge of murdering Francis Nestor and assauly with intent to murder on Arthur Hackett. Will you wait for the warrant here or downtown?"
Marlowe went an ugly red. "You must be a lunatic, sir. I don't know what you're- That's quite absurd! Why should I have wanted-Paul! My servant can tell you that I was here all that evening, and I'm sure you must- Ah, Paul. Just-"
"I'll do the asking," said Mendoza. "Was Mr. Marlowe here, from about eight forty-five on, a week ago Tuesday night?"
The man said, wooden-faced, "He certainly came in around then, sir. He came to this room and said he didn't want to be disturbed. I didn't see Mr. Marlowe again that evening, sir."
"Interesting," said Mendoza.
"But of course you knew I was here, man! Why on earth-"
"I can tell you the whole story now," said Mendoza. "And I don't give a damn about Nestor, but for what you did to Hackett, we're going to get you but good. It's never very smart to try to kill a cop, Marlowe. First let me ask you if you own a gun?"
Marlowe said coldly, "You needn't think you'll get away with such highhanded- Yes, I own several guns, but-"
The manservant coughed. "There is a small amateur target-shooting range in the basement, sir, beside the recreation room. The young gentlemen-"
Marlowe said furiously, "You may go, Paul!"
Mendoza sat down on the arm of a chair. "And that just about puts the lid on your stupidity, doesn't it? You did get rid of the gun, and the way you did that wasn't such a bad idea either, but you never really expected to be connected to the case in any way. You stupid bastard, don't you realize we can dig all those slugs out of the sandbags or whatever your target backs up to down there, and find quite a few to match up to that gun that killed Nestor?"
Marlowe took a step back, and his mouth tightened. "I had no reason-"
"You had a couple of very good reasons. You want to know what I know? I'll tell you," said Mendoza. "A little over three years ago you found that your youngest daughter Susan had got herself, as they say, in trouble. You think the hell of a lot of your line old family name, don't you? Yes, so maybe you didn't think the young man was good enough for her-inconceivable that he wouldn't have jumped at marrying this kind of money! Well, you didn't have any contacts with an abortionist, and anyway you wanted to be sure of a good safe job. And you thought of Frank Nestor, the bright young man you'd staked to the chiropractic course. It's quite a serious training these days, and he'd know enough to do the job and do it nice and clean. And you didn't think he'd jib much at it. He didn't, did he? Maybe it wasn't that Easter weekend she was supposed to be yachting, but maybe it was too. Anyway, he obliged you-and Susan-for, I think, the cancellation of his debt and the nice round sum of five grand… How am I doing, Marlowe?"
Marlowe sat down again in the desk chair. "That's-no, I-"
"We'1l cut this short," said Mendoza abruptly. "That was that. I don't suppose you knew you'd put ideas in Nestor's head and he'd set up a profitable little abortion mill. But he did like the long green, didn't he, and when your daughter recently got engaged he saw how he might get some more out of you. For his silence." Mendoza smiled. "Has she, maybe, caused you a little trouble, Marlowe? The wild type? So you were only too pleased at the prospect of getting her respectably married? And in this one case Nestor could have told what he knew. Could have told the young man-or his parents-how he knew she'd once been in the market for an abortion, because you had asked him to do it, which of course he'd righteously refused to do. Not a thing a young man-or his parents-would like to hear about his fiancee, was it? Especially a young man named Baxter W. Stevens III. And you saw right then that if you paid him once-this time-every time Nestor ran a little short, or was in the mood, he was going to threaten that again. And, yes, you're very proud of your name and your social position, aren't you? You'd feel a lot happier if the one outsider who knew about that was-out of the way.