“No savvy,” said Grant tonelessly.
“Any idea who might have killed your friend?”
“No. Buck—” his voice trembled, “Buck was just a big kid, Inspect’r. Best-natured critter you ever saw. Didn’t have an enemy in the world, I’ll swear. Ev’ry-body knew him liked him — loved him.”
“How about Woody?” said Kit Horne in a low, dangerous tone. Her eyes remained unwaveringly on Grant’s florid face.
Something troubled came into the showman’s eyes. “Oh, Woody,” he said. “He—”
“Who’s Woody?” demanded the Inspector.
“My reg’lar top-rider. Star of the show until — until Buck joined the outfit, Inspect’r.”
“Jealousy, eh?” said the Inspector with a sparkle in his eye, as he glanced slyly at Kit. “Sorehead, I’ll bet. Well, what’s the story? Must be a story, or Miss Horne wouldn’t have said what she did.”
“Woody,” said Ellery thoughtfully. “That isn’t by an odd chance the chap with one arm?”
“Yeah,” said Grant. “Why?”
“No reason,” murmured Ellery. “I just didn’t know.”
“Well, there’s no story,” replied Grant wearily. “As you say, there might ’a’ been some peeve on Woody’s part, Inspect’r. Maybe some bad feelin’ between him an’ Buck... Woody’s got only one arm, so he’s made capital of it. Doesn’t hinder him none from ridin’ an’ shootin’, an’ he’s sort o’ proud of himself. When Buck came along... I tole Woody this was only temp’rary, this business of Buck’s bein’ with the show. Yeah, maybe he resented Buck’s buttin’ in, Inspect’r, but I’d swear he wouldn’t do nothin’ so damn foolish as murder.”
“That remains to be seen. Anybody else got a suggestion? You — the curly lad.”
Curly said in a sort of despair: “Inspector, I wish to God I — we could help you. But this is just — hell, it ain’t human! None of the people in our wickiup could possibly’ve—”
“Hope not, son,” said the Inspector gloomily, in the tone of one who quaffs hope merely to quench despair. “You, Miss Horne?”
“Except for Woody,” she replied stonily, “I don’t know of a living soul who might have desired Buck’s death.”
“That’s hard lines on Woody, Kit,” began old Grant with a frown.
“It will be hard lines on whoever did it, Bill,” said Kit in a conversational tone. They all looked at her quickly; but her eyes stared at the floor. There was an uncomfortable pause.
“S’pose,” said the Inspector, clearing his throat, “s’pose you tell us how Buck Horne came to be with your show, Mr. Grant. We’ve got to start somewhere. What was he doin’ with a circus outfit?”
“Circus outfit?” repeated Grant. “I — Oh. Buck’s been out of the public eye fer nine-ten years. ’Ceptin’ fer a spell maybe three-four years back, when he made one pitcher in a come-back try. Pitcher flopped, an’ he took it passable hard. Went back to ’is ranch in Wyoming.”
“Took it hard?”
Grant cracked his big knuckles. “I tell ya he was heartbroken! He was gettin’ along in years, but he was a stubborn cuss an’ wouldn’t admit he was licked. Then the talkies came in an’ he perked up again. Tole me on one o’ my stopovers at the ranch that he was good as ever — wanted another crack at the movies. I tried to talk ’im out of it, but he says: ‘Bill,’ he says, ‘I’m goin’ loco out here, all alone. Kit, she’s busy in Hollywood...’ Well, I says: ‘Right, Buck. I’ll pitch in, help much as I can.’ So I helped — helped kill ’im,” said Grant bitterly.
“And this stunt here, at the rodeo, was a build-up?”
“I had to do somethin’.”
“You mean there wasn’t much chance?”
Grant cracked his knuckles again. “At first I thought he didn’t stand a show. But this last week — I dunno. He caught on. Papers took ’im up — Grand Ole Man o’ the Movies business; that kind o’ bunk...”
“I beg your pardon,” said Ellery, “for interrupting, but was this scheme for Horne’s re-entry into motion pictures based on an actual connection with a producer?”
“You mean was it more’n a pipe-dream?” muttered Grant. “Well — No producer — they wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. But — well, I was goin’ to help put up the ante. We’d form our own comp’ny...”
“You alone?” demanded the Inspector.
Tony Mars said quietly: “I was considering it, too. And Hunter — Julian Hunter.”
“Oho!” said the Inspector. “Hunter, the night-club bird — this Gay woman’s husband we met tonight. Well, well.” His little eyes twinkled frostily. “And now will somebody please tell me how it happens that Horne’s best friend, and you, Tony, and Hunter were willing to put up the jack for Horne — and yet his own daughter didn’t put up a cent?”
Grant swallowed hard, and his face settled into dusty bench lines. Curly made an impatient little gesture, and instantly relaxed. Kit sat very straight had been sitting very straight for long minutes. There were tears in her eyes — not weak tears, but tears of pure rage and chagrin.
“Bill Grant,” she choked, “do you mean to stand there and say there wasn’t a producer? Why, you yourself told me—”
The Queens said nothing; the Inspector, having some experience in this business of letting unexpected little dramas play themselves out, watched with bright inquisitiveness.
Grant mumbled: “Kit, Kit, I’m awful sorry. But it wasn’t my fault; it was Buck himself made me say that. He didn’t want yore money risked; said to tell you there was a producer so you wouldn’t insist on puttin’ up the cash. Business proposition, it was to him; plain business. Said if he couldn’t int’rest hard-headed business men in his come-back he’d duck out altogether.”
“You might add, pop,” said Curly suddenly, “that Buck didn’t know yore mazuma was in it, either!”
“Here, here,” murmured the Inspector. “Regular fairytale, this is. We’re getting more tangled up every minute. What is this?”
Grant shot a hard look at his son. “You, Curly, keep yore damn mouth shut when yo’re not asked.” Curly blushed and muttered: “Yes, pop.” Grant waved his beefy right hand. “He’s spilled it. All right, Buck didn’t know my dough was in it. Wouldn’t hear of it. Just wanted me to be his manager. We even signed a contract. That’s why I had to go out an’ bluff — make a stab at gettin’ Mars here to come in with us. But on the sly I tole Mars I’d stand the whole business. That’s what I was meanin’ to do from the start, anyway.”
“Do you think Horne suspected your real intention?”
Grant muttered: “Hard to say. He’s always been a hard hombre to fool. These last couple o’ days, he’s acted kind o’ funny. Mebbe he caught on. All his life he shied away from anything that — well, smacked o’ charity, ’specially from his friends.”
Kit rose suddenly and went up to Grant, standing very close. They looked into each other’s eyes, and Kit said simply: “I’m sorry, Bill,” and returned to her chair. Nobody said anything for some time.
“All of which goes to prove,” said Ellery cheerfully in the silence, “that murder is the most effective cathartic for vocal indigestion. Miss Horne, whom will it be necessary to notify of your foster-father’s death?”