“Nope. Someone choked him with bare hands. The marks of the fingers are very pronounced.”
“Doctor.” Ellery sat well back in his chair, smoking lazily. “What did you find in that sample of stale water I gave you?”
“Oh, that!” The Assistant Medical Examiner looked bored. “You see, there are certain salts―calcium salts chiefly―present in all hard water. Our drinking water’s hard, y”know. Well, boiling precipitates these salts. It’s easy to make a chemical analysis and by the precipitated content determine whether the water was boiled or not. I’d say absolutely that the sample you gave me from the stale water you found in that percolator indicates boiling, and moreover that no unboiled water had been added after the original water was heated.”
“Blessings on your scientific head, Doctor,” murmured Ellery.
“Pipe down. Anything else?”
“No, and thanks a lot, Doc,” said the Inspector.
Dr. Prouty uncoiled himself like a cobra and smoked his way out of the Inspector’s office.
“Now, let’s see where we stand,” began the old man, briskly rubbing his hands. He consulted a memorandum. “This Vreeland chap. His Quebec trip substantiated by train officials, ticket-stub, hotel records, time of departure, etcetera. Hmm . . . Demetrios Khalkis. Spent the whole day in the office of Dr. Bellows―that’s last Saturday . . . Fingerprint report on Khalkis house―nothing doing; Grim-shaw’s prints found on the desk in the library with a bunch of others. Probably everybody in the house had his hands on that desk at some time or other, especially during that preliminary search for the will. Prints on the coffin―nothing either; a lot of smudges and clear prints, but everyone in the house was around the coffin as it lay in the drawing-room, and the presence of any specific prints would not incriminate their owners . . . Thomas, what did Piggott find out at Barrett’s?”
“Everything checks,” replied Velie. “Piggott found the clerk who took the telephoned order. Clerk says that Khalkis himself―he was dam” sure it was Khalkis; had spoken to him many times on the phone, he said―called up last Saturday morning, ordering half a dozen red moire ties; the time checks, and so does the style ordered. Barrett’s delivery-man’s receipt shows Weekes’ signature as receiver of the parcel. All in order.”
“Well, that ought to satisfy you,” said the Inspector maliciously to Ellery, “although what good it does you is beyond me.”
“How about that empty house, Sergeant?” asked Pepper. “Get the warrant all right?”
“Whole thing fell flat,” grumbled the Inspector.
“We got the warrant okay but Ritter, one of our men, reports searching the dump and says there’s nothing to be found there,” boomed Velie. “Place is stripped―no furniture except an old broken-down trunk in the basement. Ritter says he couldn’t find a thing.”
“Ritter, eh?” murmured Ellery, blinking through smoke.
“Well now,” said the Inspector, picking up another sheet of paper, ‘there’s Grimshaw himself.”
“Yes, the Chief asked me especially to find out what you’ve dug up on him,” said Pepper.
“Dug up plenty,” replied the old man grimly. “Released from Sing Sing on the Tuesday prior to his murder―that is, September twenty-eighth. No time off for good behaviour―of course you know he was in for forgery on a five-year stretch. He wasn’t jailed until three years after his crime―couldn’t be found. Previous record shows a two-year stretch in the pen about fifteen years ago on an unsuccessful attempt to steal a painting of some kind from the Chicago Museum, where he had a job as attendant.”
“That’s what I was referring to,” remarked Pepper, “when I said forgery was only one of his accomplishments.”
Ellery had pricked up his ears. “Museum theft? Doesn’t that strike you as rather a too felicitous coincidence? Here we have a great art-dealer, and a museum thief . . . . “
“Something in that,” muttered the Inspector. “Anyway, as far as his movements since September twenty-eighth are concerned, he was traced from Sing Sing to a hotel on West Forty-ninth Street in the city here―Hotel Benedict, third-rate sort of dump―where he registered under his own name of Grimshaw.”
“He doesn’t seem to have used an alias,” commented Pepper. “Brazen crook.”
“Have you questioned the hotel people?” asked Ellery.
Velie said: “Nothing to be got out of the day-clerk at the desk, or the manager. But I’ve put in a call for the night-clerk―he ought to be here soon. Maybe he’ll know something.”
“Anything else on his movements, Inspector?” asked Pepper.
“Yes, sirree. He was seen with a woman in a speakeasy on West Forty-fifth Street―one of his old hangouts―a week ago Wednesday night, the day after his release. Got Schick here, Thomas?”
“Outside.” Velie rose and went out.
“Who’s Schick?” demanded Ellery.
“Proprietor of the speakeasy. Old-timer.”
Velie returned with a large, robust, red-faced man in tow―a man with “ex-bartender” written all over his hail-fellow-well-met face. He was very nervous. “M-mornin”, Inspector. Nice day, ain’t it?”
“So-so,” grunted the old man. “Sit down, Barney. Want to ask you a few questions.”
Schick mopped his dripping face. “Nothin” personal about this here confab, Inspector, is there?”
“Hey? You mean the booze? Hell, no.” The Inspector rapped on his desk. “Now, you listen to me, Barney. We know that a “pen” named Albert Grimshaw who’d just been let out of stir visited your dive a week ago Wednesday night. Right?”
“Guess so, Inspector.” Schick stirred uneasily. “The guy that was bumped, hey?”
“You heard me the first time. Now, he was seen with a woman that night. What about it?”
“Well, Inspector, I’ll tell you.” Schick became hoarsely confidential. “This is the straight boloney. I don’t know the broad―never saw her before.”
“What’s she look like?”
“Hefty dame. Big blonde. Runnin” to beef. I’d say about thirty-five on a guess. Crow’s-feet under her lamps.”
“Go on. What happened?”
“Well, they came in around nine bells―pretty early; there ain’t much doin” round that hour―” Schick coughed―”an” they sets down an” Grimshaw, he orders a shot. The dame, she don’t want nothin’. Pretty soon they start jawin” at each other―reg”lar battle, I’d say. Couldn’t make out what they was sayin”, though I did catch the dame’s front handle―Lily, he calls her. Seems like he was tryin” to get her to do somethin”, an” she’s balky. Anyways, she ups and beats it all of a sudden and leaves the little squirt flat. He was all worked up―talkin” to himself. He sets there another five, ten minutes; then he faded. “S”all I know, Inspector.”
“Lily, big blonde, hey?” The Inspector grasped his small chin and thought deeply. “Okay, Barney. Did Grimshaw come in again, after Wednesday night?”
“Naw. Take me oath, Inspector,” said Schick at once.
“All right. Beat it.”
Schick rose with alacrity and fairly trotted from the office.
“Want me to tackle the big-blonde lead?” rumbled Velie.
“Hop to it, Thomas. She’s probably some moll he was tied up with before he was sent up. If they were quarrelling it’s a cinch she wasn’t somebody he picked up after only one day out of stir. Look up his record.”
Velie left the room. When he returned, he was herding before him a white-faced young man with shrinking eyes bleared by fright. “This is Bell, the Benedict night-clerk, Chief. Go on, go on, mug; nobody’s gonna bite you.” He shoved Bell into a chair, and towered over him.
The Inspector motioned Velie away. “All right, Bell,” he said kindly. “You’re among friends. We just want a little information. How long have you been on night-duty at the Hotel Benedict?”