“Grimshaw?” The Inspector stopped short. “Not the forger?”
Pepper smiled. “Good memory, Inspector. But that was only one of his accomplishments. I defended him about five years ago when we were Jordan Pepper. We lost, and he was sentenced to five years, says Jordan. Say, he must have just got out of the pen!”
“That’s so? Sing Sing?”
“Yes!”
They moved into the room; everybody looked at them. The Inspector said to a detective, “Hesse, scoot back to h.q. and go over the files on Albert Grimshaw, forger, in Sing Sing for the past five years.” The man disappeared. “Thomas.” Velie loomed over him. “Put somebody on the job of tracing Grimshaw’s movements since his release from stir. Find out how long ago he was let out―might have got time off for good behaviour.”
Pepper said: “I called the Chief, too, and notified him of the new development. Told me to take care of his end down here―he’s busy on that bank investigation. Anything on the body to make identification certain?”
“Not a thing. Just a few odds and ends, a couple of coins, an old empty wallet. Not even an identifying mark on his clothing.”
Ellery caught Joan Brett’s eye. “Miss Brett,” he said quietly, “I couldn’t help noticing a moment ago, when you looked at the body in the drawing-room, that . . . Do you know the man? Why did you say you had never seen him?”
Joan coloured; she stamped her foot. “Mr. Queen, that’s insulting! I shan’t―”
The Inspector said coldly: “Do you know him or don’t you?”
She bit her lip. “It’s a dashed long story, and I didn’t see that it would do any good, since I didn’t know his name . . . .”
“The police are generally good judges of that,” said Pepper with conscientious severity. “If you know anything, Miss Brett, you can be prosecuted for withholding information.”
“Can I, indeed?” She tossed her head. “But I’m not withholding anything, Mr. Pepper. I wasn’t sure at first glance. His face was―was . . . .” She shivered. “Now that I think it over, I do recall having seen him. Once―no, twice. Although, as I said, I don’t know his name.”
“Where did you see him?” The Inspector was sharp, and he seemed not at all impressed by the fact that she was a pretty young lady.
“In this very house, Inspector.”
“Ha! When?”
“I’m coming to that, sir.” She paused deliberately, and something of her self-assurance returned. She favoured Ellery with a friendly smile, and he nodded encouragingly. “The first time I saw him was a week ago Thursday night.”
“September the thirtieth?”
“Yes. This man appeared at the door at about nine o’clock in the evening. As 1 said twice, I don’t know―”
“His name was Grimshaw, Albert Grimshaw. Go on, Miss Brett.”
“He was admitted by a maid, just as I chanced to be passing through the foyer . . . “
“What maid?” demanded the Inspector. 7 haven’t seen any maids in this house.”
“Oh!” She seemed startled. “But then―how silly of me!―of course you couldn’t have known. You see, there were two maids employed in the house, but they were both ignorant, superstitious women and they insisted on making off the day Mr. Khalkis died. We couldn’t prevail upon them to stay in what one called “a house of death, ma”am”.”
“Is that right, Weekes?”
The butler nodded dumbly.
“Go on, Miss Brett. What happened? Did you see anything further?”
Joan sighed. “Not very much, Inspector. I saw the maid go into Mr. Khalkis’s study, usher in the man Grimshaw, and then come out again. And that’s all that evening.”
“Did you see the man leave?” put in Pepper.
“No, Mr. Pepper . . . .” She lingered over the last syllable of his name and Pepper angrily turned his head away, as if to conceal an undesirable, unprosecutorlike emotion.
“And what was the second occasion on which you saw him, Miss Brett?” asked the Inspector. His eyes strayed slyly to the others; they were all listening attentively, straining forward.
“The next time I saw him was the night after―that is, a week ago Friday night.”
“By the way, Miss Brett,” interrupted Ellery with an odd inflexion, “I believe you acted as Khalkis’s secretary?”
“Right you are, Mr. Queen.”
“And Khalkis was blind and helpless?”
She made a little moue of disapproval. “Blind, but scarcely helpless. Why?”
“Well, didn’t Khalkis tell you anything Thursday about his visitor―the man to come in the evening? Didn’t he ask you to make the appointment?”
“Oh, I see! . . . No, he did not. Not a word to me about an expected visitor Thursday night. It was a complete surprise to me. In fact, it may have been as complete a surprise to Mr. Khalkis! But please let me continue.” She contrived, by the artful twitching of a dark unspoiled eyebrow, to convey maidenly annoyance. “You people interrupt so . . . . It was different on Friday. After dinner Friday night―that was the first of October, Inspector Queen―Mr. Khalkis summoned me to the library and gave me some very careful instructions. Some very careful instructions indeed, Inspector, and―”
“Come, come, Miss Brett,” said the Inspector impatiently. “Let’s have it without embroidery.”
“If you were on the witness-stand,” said Pepper with a trace of bitterness, “you’d make a distinctly undesirable witness, Miss Brett.”
“Not really?” she murmured. She heaved herself to a sitting position on Khalkis’s desk and crossed her legs, raising her skirt ever so little. “Very well. I shall be the model witness. Is this the correct pose, Mr. Pepper? . . . Mr. Khalkis told me that he expected two visitors that night. Quite late. One of them, he said, was coming incognito, so to speak―he was anxious, Mr. Khalkis said, to keep his identity secret and therefore I was to see that nobody caught a glimpse of him.*
“Curious,” muttered Ellery.
“Wasn’t it?” Joan said. “Very well, then. I was also to admit these two persons myself, and to see that the servants were out of the way. After admitting them I was to go to bed―just like that, upon my word! Naturally, when Mr. Khalkis added that the nature of his business with these two gentlemen was extremely private, I asked no questions and followed orders like the perfect secretary I’ve always been. Charming bit o” fluff, eh, Lord Higgin-botham?”
The Inspector frowned, and Joan looked down demurely. “The visitors arrived at eleven,” she went on, “and one of them, I saw at once, was the man who had called by himself the previous evening―the man you say was named Grimshaw. The other, the mysterious gentleman, was bundled up to the eyes; I couldn’t see his face. I did get the impression that he was middle-aged or older, but that’s really all I can tell you about him, Inspector.”
Inspector Queen sniffed. “That mysterious gentleman, as you say, may be mighty important from our standpoint, Miss Brett. Can’t you give us a better description? How was he dressed?”
Joan swung one leg reflectively. “He was wearing an overcoat and he kept his bowler on his head all the time, but I can’t even recall the style or colour of the coat. And that’s really all I can tell you about your―” she shuddered, “about your awful Mr. Grimshaw.”
The Inspector shook his head; he was distinctly not pleased. “But we’re not talking about Grimshaw now, Miss Brett! Come now. There must be something else about this second man. Didn’t anything happen that night that might be significant―anything at all that would help us to get to that fellow?”
“Oh, heavens.” She laughed and kicked out with her slim feet. “You guardians of law and order are so persistent. Very well―if you consider the incident of Mrs. Simms’ cat significant . . . .”