At seven-thirty-two the phone rang. Elwell said, “Hello,” and the voice of Ned Fielding came over the wire. “Just wanted to make sure you were there, Jack.”
“Uh huh.”
“Anything come in?”
“No. The mail isn’t here yet.”
Fielding said, “Well, the lawyer says we aren’t safe until after the morning mail’s been delivered. If he put an acceptance in the mail Saturday, it sticks us. I don’t think there’s any chance he did. I’ve made an appointment with this other outfit for lunch.”
Elwell said, “Old Stearne is just that sort of an egg. He’ll play with you as a cat plays with a mouse. He’s got lawyers, and he knows exactly what he can do and what he can’t do. You coming up here?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen or twenty minutes. I’m just grabbing a cup of coffee at a restaurant now.”
“You were supposed to be here at quarter past seven,” Elwell said.
“I know. I slept a little late — that is, my alarm clock didn’t go off. I made a mistake in setting it, Jack. I had to see the lawyer last night. We had a long conference. I got in pretty late, and when I wound the clock...”
“Nuts,” Elwell interrupted. “Cut out the excuses, finish your coffee and get up here.”
He hung up the telephone, read a few minutes longer on the sporting page, then turned to the first page, and glanced at the headlines. Abruptly he jerked to startled attention, sucked in a quick breath, and held it for several seconds. He reached for the telephone, and tried to dial a number. He was so nervous that his first two attempts were failures, then on the third try, he heard Fielding’s voice on the line.
“Hello, Ned...”
“Oh, all right, all right!” Fielding interrupted irritably. “If you want to be a damn snoop and play detective, go ahead. I was stalling! I’d just woke up when I telephoned you. So what? I was crocked last night, and...”
“Shut up,” Elwell yelled into the telephone. “Listen to me. Go out and get a paper. Don’t stop to shave, don’t do anything, just grab a newspaper.”
“What’s in the newspaper?”
“All over the front page. Someone bumped the old man off. He was killed on his yacht at Santa Delbarra. They found the bodies yesterday. C. Arthur Right was on the yacht with him, and got his. The police haven’t any clue. They don’t know who did it. It was done Saturday, but they don’t even know what time it was done. Get that?”
Fielding gave a low whistle, said, “Suppose he died before midnight?”
“I don’t know. That’s up to the lawyers, but dead men sign no options. That’s a cinch.”
“He might have mailed one before...”
“Get dressed, grab a paper, and get up here. Make it snappy.”
“Okay, Jack, I’ll be right up.”
Ned Fielding slammed down the telephone. Elwell dropped the receiver back into place, but kept his hand on the telephone, too engrossed to even change his position as he read the details of the murder.
When he had finished, he dialed a number, and when he received no answer, looked at his watch, dropped the receiver back into place, took a cigar from his pocket, and was clipping off the end when he heard steps in the corridor. The events of the last few minutes had distracted his attention from the significance of those steps, and it wasn’t until he heard the sound of mail being shoved through the letter slot in the door that he pushed back his chair, got up, and walked quietly over to stand where he could see the mail, yet far enough back so his silhouette would not be thrown against the frosted glass.
When the postman had moved away Elwell grabbed up the mail, and carried it over to the secretary’s desk. He riffled rapidly through the envelopes, looking quickly at the imprints in the upper left-hand corners. A slow smile appeared on his lips, and then, as he came to the envelope next to the bottom of the pile, the corners of his mouth turned sharply down. He stood for the space of four or five seconds staring at the envelope which bore the imprint, ADDISON STEARNE. The envelope was postmarked “Santa Delbarra, California,” and had been mailed at four-fifty-five P.M. on Saturday, the tenth. It had not been sent by registered mail.
Elwell turned it over and over in his fingers before he finally slipped a knife from his pocket, carefully and methodically slit down the side of the envelope, and shook out a folded piece of paper.
Instinctively Elwell looked at his watch to mark the time. It was exactly twelve minutes before eight o’clock.
He unfolded the letter, and read an epistle which was so entirely typical of Addison Stearne that there could be no question of its authenticity.
The letter was addressed to Elwell & Fielding and read:
GENTLEMEN:
With reference to the option on the Ventura Oil Properties dated the tenth ultimo and under the terms of which I was to have up to and including midnight of the tenth instant to register an acceptance, please be advised that I have deferred action because of well-authenticated rumors which have come to my ears that favorable oil indications had been found in holes which were being put down on an adjoining property. I heard that the owners of this property had approached you and, at first, being in ignorance of my outstanding option, had offered you an amount vastly in excess of the purchase price specified in that option, that you decided to accept this new offer if you could trick me into letting my option expire. You took the drilling company into your confidence and found them only too glad to co-operate. For this reason, work virtually ceased upon the adjoining property. The owner thereof gave the widest publicity to a statement that there had been no favorable indications.
I have, of course, given no credence to any such wild rumor. I merely mention it to show to what extravagant lengths garbled gossip will go, and to explain why my acceptance has been delayed. Had there been any truth in the report, you can well imagine how much satisfaction I would have derived from sitting on the sidelines and watching your machinations; but, since there is no foundation for this entirely unwarranted rumor, there is no need to comment upon this.
However, that there may be no doubt, you are hereby notified that the undersigned elects to exercise the option given him by you under date of the tenth ultimo, and will proceed with the purchase of the said properties in accordance with the terms in said option contained. The undersigned is ready, able, and willing to pay the purchase price at the time and in the manner specified, and will expect full and faithful performance on your part of the terms of said agreement.
Trusting that this will not greatly interfere with any of your plans, and assuring you that had it not been for a slight uneasiness caused by those false rumors, this acceptance would have been communicated to you at an earlier date, I remain,
Sincerely yours,
Elwell threw the letter down on the desk, and clenched his fist. His face darkened with purplish anger. He said slowly and with emphasis, “The damned bastard!”
After a few moments, he picked up the letter again and held it out in front of him at arm’s length. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the envelope, stared speculatively at the door, once more consulted his watch. For a few moments he was lost in thought, then he hastily folded the letter, pushed it back in the envelope, shoved letter and envelope in his pocket, picked up the balance of the mail, walked over to the door, and arranged the letters in a pile at the bottom of the letter chute. He stepped back to inspect the general effect, shook his head, and tried rearranging the pile. Midway in this, he was struck with another idea. He scooped up all the letters, jerked open the door of the office, stepped outside, and pushed the letters in a bundle through the letter drop, leaving them jammed in the brass mail slot, held in place by the pressure of the bundle.