He was awakened by the jolt of the car as it stopped and Prye’s voice saying, “You’ve got either a good conscience or no conscience, Revel.”
Revel got out of the car, yawning, and put on his hat. He looked toward the house, expecting to see a crowd of curiosity-seekers, but there was nobody visible at all.
“Where’s my public?” he asked Prye with a thin smile.
“The police keep a thumb on the reporters in this city,” Prye said. “As for the neighbors, this is a well-bred section of the city. People may peer out of windows but they don’t show themselves.”
Revel followed him up the flagstone walk. Prye pointed. “He was lying here. See the blood?”
“I am not,” Revel said carefully, “as a rule interested in blood. I have a tender stomach.”
Jackson let them in. He stared at Revel with interest, but there was no sign of recognition in his eyes.
“You wouldn’t remember Jackson, Mr. Revel,” Prye said. “He’s after your time.”
Jackson said, “Welcome on the doormat, sir.”
Revel glanced at him warily. If he’s a servant, he thought, I’m a bishop with five wives. Aloud he said, “Hello, Jackson. My bag’s in the car if I’m invited to stay.”
There was a soft gasp from the top of the staircase. The three men looked up and saw Jane clinging to the banister. She was dressed in a green chiffon negligee and she looked, Prye decided, like trailing ivy growing over the staircase.
She said, “Oh. It’s— Isn’t it George?” Her voice was cold, as if she considered Revel’s presence a personal insult.
Revel ignored the tone. He went up the stairs to meet her, smiling.
“My dear Jane,” he said, stretching out his hands, “you have my deepest sympathy.”
Jane hesitated. The trace of suspicion vanished from her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“Oh, George!” she wailed plaintively.
Jackson moved discreetly toward the kitchen. Revel coaxed Jane down the stairs and held one arm around her while she wept copiously into his brown tweed coat. Revel was quite unmoved. His only emotion was a kind of wonder that anyone should cry over that ass Duncan. He was still standing absorbing tears when Dinah came into the hall. When she saw him she stopped short, her face white, her mouth tightened into a thin red line.
“Well,” she said in a brittle voice, “if it isn’t God’s gift to all the tarts in Montreal. And at it already, I see.”
Revel thrust Jane away from him. His face was flushed but his voice as steady and cool as Dinah’s.
“Hello, Dinah. Fancy meeting you here. It’s a small world.”
“Too damn small,” Dinah said. “What are you doing here?”
Revel said, “I was kidnaped. Sorry if I’ve ruined love’s young dream for you. How is Dennis, by the way?”
Jane stopped weeping and was listening hard. Prye was listening pretty hard himself. Dinah turned on him savagely.
“Did you invite him here, Paul?”
“Invite,” Revel said, “is understatement. I told you, Dinah, I had to come. I’ll leave as soon as the police let me.”
Dinah said, “If I thought it would make it any sooner I’d seduce the commissioner.”
Jane cried, “Oh!” in a shocked voice.
Prye took her arm and gave her a little push toward the drawing room. Over his shoulder he said, “The inspector’s in the library, Revel. When you and Dinah finish your tête-à-tête drop in and see him.”
“I’ve finished,” Dinah said.
Revel said nothing. She’s wearing her hair differently, he thought, and she’s too thin. I wonder if she’s on that damfool diet again.
“Sorry,” he said, and walked across the hall to the library and rapped. The inspector opened the door. Revel said, “I’m George Revel. Were you looking for me?”
The inspector showed no surprise. “I was. Come in, Mr. Revel. My name is Sands.”
They were both very polite and very careful.
Revel gave no indications of being nervous. He crossed the room and settled himself in the most comfortable chair. He lit a cigarette and through the smoke he studied Sands lazily. An odd little man, he decided, colorless, negative, the type who encourages you to talk by his very quietness, until you talk too much. I’ll have to warn Williams about this.
“Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Revel,” Sands said, “but you probably know what has happened.”
He wasn’t looking at Revel. His eyes were fixed on the wall beside Revel’s right shoulder. From there they wandered to Revel’s feet, shod in brown English brogues, and up to his tie of yellow-and-brown knitted silk. Revel shifted his feet and put his hand up to his tie. The two movements pleased the inspector.
Revel was not accustomed to silences in which his wardrobe was examined minutely from top to bottom. He cleared his throat nervously. “Yes. Prye told me Duncan Stevens has been killed.”
Sands said nothing.
“I’m sorry about it,” Revel went on. “I’d honestly like to help you find out who did it hut I’m afraid I can’t. I didn’t know Stevens very well.”
“How long have you been in Toronto, Mr. Revel?” Revel hesitated. “Three days. I come here frequently on business.”
“What is your business?”
“I’m a broker.”
“Stevens was a broker too. Quite a coincidence.”
Revel laughed. “Hardly a coincidence. Brokers are so common most of them are broke.”
Sands looked pointedly at Revel’s brown tweeds and said, “Unless they have — ah, other sources of income perhaps. Ever do any business with Stevens’ office?”
“Occasionally he’d recommend a client to me. I did the same for him. Other than that we had no business relations.”
“I understand you employ Dennis Williams?”
“I do. He’s a good man in his job. Personal relations department.”
The inspector looked bored and unconvinced. “Dear me,” he said with a slight smile, “I didn’t realize that brokers’ offices had personal relations departments. Of course so much of my work deals with crooks. Contact men, you know. Some of these confidence swindles are pretty clever. Aren’t they?”
“I don’t know,” Revel said. “I’ve never been swindled.”
“I can believe that,” Sands said mildly. “What did your personal relations representative have to say to you at the hotel?”
Revel ground out his cigarette in the ash tray. The action made him somewhat calmer. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper.
“So you were trailing him,” he said, smiling. “Williams is a bit naive. He thought he’d shaken the man.”
Sands coughed apologetically. “He did. I thoughtfully provided a man in a green suit to be shaken. And of course if you concentrate on shaking a green suit you miss anyone else who happens to be around.” He coughed again. “I’m afraid that your personal relations department has done little to aid Mr. Williams’ native intelligence. I wouldn’t dream of trying such an old dodge on you, Mr. Revel.”
“I had no idea the police were so subtle,” Revel said coolly.
“Answer the question. What did Mr. Williams say to you at the hotel?”
“Certainly. He was a little upset by the murder, you see. He knew I was in town because I had just telephoned him from the hotel. So he came down to see me. He seemed quite perturbed by a letter you’d found.”
“We found a letter, yes,” Sands said. “It was written by Stevens to you.”
“Was it?” Revel leaned forward, frowning. “That’s strange. I should hardly have thought Stevens would be writing to me. I suppose you’re sure it was to me?”
“Reasonably sure,” Sands replied.