Christopher Buck swore. “I’m still on this case. Christopher Buck never quits until he gets his man, even if his client is murdered!”
Quade almost grinned at the man’s dramatic self-appreciation. He left the building and almost bumped into Charlie Boston who was arguing with one of the policemen.
“Ollie!” cried Boston. “I just got back and they told me at the jail that you’d been let out. I brought my cousin, Paul.”
“Jail?” cried a cameraman nearby. “You’re Oliver Quade, the man who was jailed last night?”
Quade gritted his teeth and smiled. “All right, boys, Oliver Quade was never modest. Bring up your cameras.”
They did with a will. They snapped Quade from all angles. It was ten minutes before Boston could drag up his lawyer cousin, a mousy looking man of indeterminate age, who was, in Boston’s own words, “the best lawyer on the east side.”
“Sorry you won’t be needed,” Quade said to him. “But as you see, I’m a free man. Give me your card though and I’ll give you a ring the next time I’m pinched.”
“It’ll be a pleasure to defend you, Mr. Quade.”
The liveried butler came up then and spoke to Quade in a low voice. “Beg pardon, sir, but could you come into the house for a moment?”
“Yes, I could. Charlie, wait out front by the car.”
Quade trudged behind the butler to the house. In the living-room, his face strained and white, was Guy Lanyard. And Lois. Lois, in a black dress and clutching a wadded handkerchief in her hand. Her eyes were dry, but they had been wet before, Quade knew. Quade mumbled his sympathies and Guy Lanyard nodded.
“Mr. Quade,” Lois said. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have told the police about seeing you unchain that dog.”
“I had it coming to me. It was a dirty trick I pulled on you.”
Guy Lanyard cleared his throat. “Lois had the idea that Bob didn’t shoot himself.”
“He didn’t,” said Quade.
Guy Lanyard gasped. Lois sprang to her feet. “I told you so, Dad. I knew Bob wouldn’t do that. He was moody and all that, but I know he’d never take his own life.”
“Someone killed Bob,” Quade said.
“Mr. Quade,” said Guy Lanyard. “My son had employed — that detective person, who hasn’t impressed me much. I wonder if I could persuade you to do some investigating for us. I’d expect to pay, of course.”
“That won’t be necessary. After the things that have happened nothing could stop me from running down the killer.”
Lanyard heaved a great sigh of relief. “That will be some small satisfaction. Even though it won’t bring back Bob. Perhaps you suspect someone already?”
“I don’t suspect. I know. I’ve known right from the start, but I couldn’t prove it. I can’t yet.”
“Who is it?” cried Lois. “Tell me and I’ll—”
Quade shook his head. “It isn’t time yet. I’m going into the city today — on this case — but I expect to be back this evening. Don’t worry.”
Outside, Christopher Buck pounced on Quade. “What’d the family want, Quade?”
Quade shook his head, continued walking. Buck swore, caught hold of his arm. “Come clean. I just heard through the grapevine about that fellow who tried to kill you in jail.”
Quade stopped. “So?”
“Where does this Demetros fit into the picture?”
“Demetros and Wesley Peters were brothers!”
Christopher Buck gasped. “Say, this Peters fellow was dark complected. I get the picture now. Lanyard killed Peters because he was hanging around his wife, and then Demetros killed Lanyard.”
“Then all you have to do is find Demetros.”
“Yes, but where? Where are you going?”
“To the city. To find Demetros.”
Christopher Buck ran back to his own car. He would burn up the roads to the city, knowing that he could get there an hour before Quade could make it in the dilapidated flivver. Quade wondered what Buck would do if he found Bill Demetros, ex-racketeer and ex-convict.
“First though,” he said to Boston and the latter’s cousin. “I’m going to the hotel and clean up. The facilities in the Westfield jail aren’t as good as those at the hotel.”
Seated in the lobby of the hotel, a big Eskimo dog at her feet, was Jessie Lanyard. She sprang up when she saw Quade. “I slipped out of the house when you were out there, Mr. Quade,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”
The hotel lobby was hardly the place for a private talk. “Come up to my room, Mrs. Lanyard,” Quade said. He introduced her to Charlie’s cousin, then all three of them crowded into the elevator.
Jessie had the husky on a leash, but the dog was skittish and growled ominously. Charlie Boston promptly backed as far away from the dog as he could. Charlie wasn’t afraid of anything in the world except dogs.
In Quade’s room, Jessie said, “It’s about Peters. You asked me yesterday about him. Well, I came to tell you that he was really George Demetros, the brother of Bill Demetros.”
“If you’d told me that yesterday,” said Quade, “it would have been news. But I figured it out for myself last night, in jail.”
She sat up stiffly.
Quade said, without looking at her, “Tell me, Mrs. Lanyard, wasn’t Peters blackmailing you?”
“That was the other thing I came to tell you. Yes, the dirty rat! He blackmailed me. I gave him thousands of dollars and he kept wanting more and more.”
“He threatened to tip off his brother about you. Your new name and your whereabouts. Isn’t that it?”
Her eyes dropped. “Bill will kill me if he finds me. He’s that sort. I was afraid to tell Bob about him. And so I paid all that money to Wes Peters, to keep him from talking. Oh, I know Demetros was in prison all these years, but that didn’t mean I was safe. He had friends on the outside, members of his gang who’d do anything he ordered them to, even though he was in prison.”
“I can believe that,” said Quade. “This morning, here in the local jail, a prisoner got a note from Demetros and inside of a half-hour tried to murder me.”
Jessie cried out. “He — he knows then! Oh, I was afraid he did. I hadn’t even seen him for five years, but I thought I recognized him yesterday at the dog show!”
It was Quade’s turn to be surprised. “Demetros was at the show when Peters was killed?”
“There was a man there I’d have sworn was him. He didn’t talk to me and kept his distance but I’m sure it was him!”
Quade looked at her with clouded eyes. Then he sighed. “Thanks for telling me all this, Mrs. Lanyard.”
She rose. “I’m going away after the funeral. I couldn’t stand it here without Bob — and Demetros loose.”
“Perhaps he won’t be loose very long. He’s known to the police and he’ll have a hard time hiding from them. I don’t think you have to worry about him, right now. Too much excitement around here and too many police and newspapermen.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Quade,” Jessie said. She smiled wanly at Boston who heaved a sigh of relief when the Eskimo dog padded out of the room.
“What do you make of that?” Boston asked when the door was closed.
“All roads lead to Athens — meaning Bill Demetros. So I guess we’ll have to find him.”
“Buck’s got a long headstart,” said Boston. “But somehow I’m not worried about him. From what I hear this Demetros fellow is a very hard customer, indeed.”
Buck was taking the easy way of finding Demetros. When Quade, Boston and the lawyer reached the city, the newspapers already carried screaming headlines: “Police Seek Demetros in Murder Quiz.”
The story mentioned Buck’s name in every other line. He had solved, he claimed, “The Westfield Dog Murders” as the papers called them. And he wanted Demetros. The city police knowing that Demetros made his headquarters here, started a search for him.