Johnny threw down the book with an exclamation of delight.
"Hawker!" he 'said to himself, "Hawker!"
Chapter VI
That letter brought to a head the vague suspicions that had been germinating in Suggs' mind. But, after all, proof was needed to link the chauffeur with the triple murder. Without it the black shadow would still hang over Mildred Guerney.
Before leaving, Johnny stopped in his father's office. The elder Suggs leaned back in his swivel chair, and surveyed his son.
"Well, my boy," he asked cheerfully, "how is the Sherlock Holmes business coming along?"
The reporter sat down on his father's desk and grinned at him. "If you think I have been idle you've another guess coming, governor. That scoop we have on the murder of Jones and Tama Aping is worth the time I've spent on the case, isn't it?"
"Without question. Have a cigar, and consider your salary raised a dollar a week. But I'm interested in the detective side of the case — your system of solving criminal mysteries. Have you deduced anything today?"
Careless of his father's chaffing, Johnny sat swinging his legs, his eyes fixed on some papers on the desk. Then he looked up, square into the other's eyes.
"Yes, I have deduced something, dad, and if it isn't asking too much I'd like an explanation from you. Why did you send me those two notes, and sign Bradley's name?"
"How, may I ask, did you connect me with that incident?"
"You have an old letter of Bradley's there on your desk, and a sheet of paper covered with imitations of his chirography. You are something of a handwriting expert, so it wasn't hard to guess. But what is the big idea?"
The older man tossed away his cigar and laughed.
"You are doing so well on this, son, that I wanted to help, yet still keep you puzzled. I thought you would be able to follow that rather broad clue of mine, but I didn't want you to know that I left it. Have you seen Bradley?"
"Of course. The old fellow was all fussed up when I wanted to know what his message meant. He hadn't any idea" of what I was talking about."
The editor of the Star chuckled. "I suppose so. There isn't any doubt in my mind that he is not implicated in this affair. When things are cleared up I'll take care of him. Now, I want you to go out and check up on Hawker. No doubt he has what he thinks is a puncture-proof alibi. I suspected Hawker when I learned that he had a bank balance in excess of one hundred thousand dollars. That was sufficient proof that he isn't an ordinary chauffeur. So far as I know, he had no motive in killing either Guerney or Jones."
"Yes, he had," Johnny asserted. Then he repeated the story Hawker had told him an hour ago. "Now, I've mapped out a plan to catch him napping. If you'll co-operate with me I think we can put it across."
When he had finished his explanation the elder Suggs whistled. "It sounds good to me. I'll get busy on my end. Now you chase out, and check up every minute of his time."
Johnny followed instructions, but at the close of his investigation found himself up against the same blank wall that had blocked him when he checked up on Jones' day. The other chauffeurs at the St. Regis had played poker with Hawker until Jones had summoned him. That was at ten minutes to one, and the car had been marked out of the garage five minutes later. The traffic officer, on duty in the park that afternoon, distinctly remembered seeing the Rolls-Royce at about one-fifteen. He knew Mr. Jones personally, and that gentleman stopped and gave him some cigars. The reason that he remembered the time was that Jones asked him, saying his watch had stopped and the clock in the car was broken. Cursed a bit at the carelessness of the chauffeur in allowing it to happen, too.
Miss Daisy Graelis reiterated her statement that Jones had arrived at two-thirty, and that the chauffeur was with him. She did not see Hawker again until four, when he returned to the Ambassadeur for them. However, the manager of a poolroom across the street from the hotel stated that Hawker — who was an old customer of the place — had taken a table at three o'clock, and had not left until five minutes to four. That accounted for his time just as J. Sylvester Jones' had been accounted for.
Johnny puzzled over that. He was certain there was something in plain sight that he should see — something that would let him get a hand on Hawker. And suddenly it popped into his mind. Why hadn't he thought of that before? It was just as evident at first as it was now.
Now, if his plan to force a confession from the chauffeur — assuming that he was guilty — succeeded, everything would be all right. If Hawker really had killed Strickland Guerney he had left no clue, and he knew it. On the other hand, every murderer has a restless conscience — nerves that may be startled into betraying him. So Johnny felt fairly hopeful.
He called Mildred Guerney on the telephone, and outlined his plan to her. The girl — who had come to trust him implicitly — agreed to every detail. Then Johnny paid a visit to Hawker at the St. Regis garage, after a flying visit to the Star office.
The crooked-nosed chauffeur took the reporter to his room, and asked him what he wanted.
I'll tell you," said Suggs. "I'm up against it. If my father knew that I was up to my ears in a stock-market tangle he'd kick me out of the house. Naturally, I'm not anxious to pass up the prospects of inheriting his money. But I need something to tide me over right now."
"Why come to me?"
"Because you can help me."
Hawker began to worry a creased bit of "paper, stealthy eyes on the floor. He was studying Johnny's mental capacity, trying to figure out, too, just how far he would go. Finally he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what you mean."
The reporter hitched his chair a bit closer. "Yes, you do. I happen to know that you have a hundred thousand dollars in the Cathedral National Bank. I want a slice of it."
"Can you advance any reason why I should give it to you?" Hawker had dropped his servile air, and spoke out with a sharp assurance new to him.
"Several of them, but there is one in particular that will interest you."
The chauffeur's blood-shot eyes narrowed, and his fingers drummed uneasily on the arm of his chair.
"What is it?"
"Your alibi," explained Johnny carefully, "is apparently everything that could be desired. The police take it at its face value, anyway. But what were you doing between the hours of one-fifteen, when the traffic policeman recognized you in the park, and two-thirty, when you drove Jones to Miss Graelis' apartment?"
Hawker sprang to his feet with a sharp cry of anger, but Johnny did not shift his slouching position in his chair.
"There is no need for melodramatics," he said. "You know what I mean."
"What do you want?"
Ah, the cat was out now! Suggs did not move, but the muscles of his face relaxed, and he drew a deep, silent breath.
"Fifteen thousand dollars."
"You are high priced."
"Oh, very," returned the reporter, with a swagger.
"And what could I expect in return for that?"
"Listen: If the police ever think of that lost hour they'll be down on you quicker than a thousand bricks. You have a chance to get old Guerney's money. There are just two obstacles. The first one I've just mentioned; the second is Guerney's daughter. She is in the city."
He had expected the chauffeur to be astounded. Instead, Hawker merely scowled, and said, "I know it."
"You know it? What are you going to do about it?"