“Certainly,” said Sampson, frowning, ‘this story changes the complexion of things, Mr. Knox . . . . Smart of Grimshaw, or his partner, who probably engineered the business. Keeping the partner’s identity secret was a protection to Grimshaw as well as the partner.”
“Obvious, Sampson,” said Knox. “To get on. Khalkis, blind as he was, made out the promissory note, to bearer, signed it and gave it to Grimshaw, who took it and stowed it away in a tattered old wallet he carried.”
“We found the wallet,” put in the Inspector severely, “and nothing in it.”
“So I understand from the papers. I then told Khalkis I washed my hands of the entire affair. Told him to take his medicine. Khalkis was a broken, blind old man when we left. Over-reached himself. Bad business. We left the house together, Grimshaw and I; didn’t meet anyone on the way out, fortunately for me. Told Grimshaw on the steps outside that so long as he steered clear of me I’d forget everything. Bamboozle me, would they! Mad clear through.”
“When did you see Grimshaw last, Mr. Knox?” asked the Inspector.
“At that time. Glad to be rid of him. Crossed over to the corner of Fifth Avenue, hailed a cab and went home.”
“Where was Grimshaw?”
“Last I saw of him he was standing on the sidewalk looking at me. Swear I saw a malicious grin on his face.”
“Directly in front of the Khalkis house?”
“Yes. There’s more. Next afternoon, after I’d already heard of Khalkis’s death―that was last Saturday―I received a personal note from Khalkis. By the postmark it was mailed that morning, before Khalkis died. Must have written it just after Grimshaw and I left the house Friday night and had it mailed in the morning. Got it with me.” Knox dug into one of his pockets and produced an envelope. He handed it to the Inspector, who took a single sheet of notepaper from it and read the scrawled message aloud:
Dear J. J. K.: What happened tonight must put me in a bad light. But I could not help it. I lost money and my hand was forced. I didn’t mean to involve you, didn’t think this rascal Grimshaw would approach you and try to blackmail you. I can assure you that from now on you will be in no way implicated. I shall try to shut up Grimshaw and this partner of his, although it will mean I shall probably have to sell my business, auctioning off the items in my own galleries and if necessary borrowing against my insurance. At any rate you are safe, because the only ones who know of your possession of the painting are ourselves and Grimshaw―and of course his partner, and I’ll shut those two up as they ask. I’ve never told a soul of this Leonardo business, not even Sloane, who runs things for me . . . K.
“This must be the letter, growled the Inspector, ‘that Khalkis gave the Brett girl to mail last Saturday morning. Scrawly sort of writing. Pretty good for a blind man.”
Ellery asked quietly: “You’ve never told anyone about this affair, Mr. Knox?”
Knox grunted: “No indeed. Up to last Friday naturally I thought Khalkis’s yarn gilt-edged―no publicity on the Museum end, so on. My private collection at home is visited very often―friends, collectors, connoisseurs. So I’ve always kept the Leonardo hidden. And never told a soul. Since last Friday I’ve naturally had even less reason to talk. Nobody on my end knows about the Leonardo, or my possession of it.”
Sampson looked worried. “Of course, Mr. Knox, you realize that you’re in a peculiar position ..
“Eh? What’s that?”
“What I meant to say,” Sampson went on lamely, “was that your possession of stolen property is in the nature of―”
“What Mr. Sampson meant to say,” explained the Inspector, “is that technically you’ve compounded a felony.”
“Nonsense.” Knox chuckled suddenly. “What proof have you?”
“Your own admission that you have the painting.”
“Pshaw! And suppose I chose to deny this story of mine?”
“Now, you wouldn’t do that,” said the Inspector steadily, “I’m sure.”
“The painting would prove the story,” said Sampson; he was gnawing his hps nervously.
Knox did not lose his good humour. “Could you produce the painting, gentlemen? Without that Leonardo you haven’t a leg to stand on. Not a wooden leg.”
The Inspector’s eyes narrowed. “You mean, Mr. Knox, that you would deliberately secrete that painting―refuse to hand it over, refuse to admit your possession of it?”
Knox massaged his jaw, looking from Sampson to the Inspector. “Look here. You’re tackling this the wrong way. What is this―a murder or a felony you’re investigating?” He was smiling.
“It seems to me, Mr. Knox,” said the Inspector, rising, ‘that you are adopting a very peculiar attitude. It’s our province to investigate any criminal aspect of public relations. If you feel this way about it, why have you told us all this?”
“Now you’re talking, Inspector,” said Knox briskly. “Two reasons. One, I want to help solve the murder. Two, I’ve my own axe to grind.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been buffaloed, that’s what I mean. That Leonardo I paid three quarters of a million for isn’t a Leonardo at all!”
“So.” The Inspector eyed him shrewdly. “That’s the angle, is it? When did you find this out?”
“Yesterday. Last night. Had the painting examined by my own expert. Guarantee his discretion―he won’t talk; only one knows I have it; and he didn’t know until late yesterday. He thinks the painting is by a pupil of Leonardo’s, or maybe by Lorenzo di Credi, one of Leonardo’s contemporaries―they were both pupils of Verrocchio. His words I’m quoting. Perfect Leonardo technique, he says―but bases his opinion on certain internal evidence I won’t go into now. Damned thing isn’t worth more than a few thousands . . . I’ve been stuck. That’s the one I bought.”
“In any event, it belongs to the Victoria Museum, Mr. Knox,” said the District Attorney defensively. “It should be returned―”
“How do I know it belongs to the Victoria Museum? How do I know that the one I bought isn’t a copy someone dug up? Suppose the Victoria’s Leonardo was stolen. Doesn’t mean that that’s the one offered to me. Maybe Grimshaw pulled a fast one―believe he did. Maybe it was Khalkis. Who knows? And what are you going to do about it?”
Ellery said, “I suggest everyone here keep perfectly quiet about the whole story.”
They let it go at that. Knox was master of the situation. The District Attorney was a most uncomfortable man; he whispered heatedly to the Inspector, and the Inspector shrugged his shoulders.
“Forgive me if I return to the scene of my ignominy.” Ellery spoke with unfamiliar humility. “Mr. Knox, what actually occurred last Friday night with regard to the will?”
“When Grimshaw refused it, Khalkis mechanically went back to his wall-safe and, locking the will in a steel box there, closed the safe.”
“And the tea-things?”
Knox said abruptly, “Grimshaw and I entered the library. The tea-things were on the tabouret near the desk. Khalkis asked us if we would have tea―he had already, I noticed, started the water in the percolator to boiling. We both refused. As we talked, Khalkis poured himself a cup of tea―”
“Using a tea-bag and a slice of lemon?”
“Yes. Took the tea-bag out again, though. But in the excitement of the conversation that followed, he did not drink. Tea got cold. He didn’t drink all the time we were there.”
“There were three cups and saucers all told, on the tray?”
“Yes. Other two remained clean. No water was poured into them.”
* * *
Ellery said in a bitter-cold voice, “It is necessary for me to adjust certain misconceptions. I seem to be, plainly speaking, the goat of a clever adversary. I have been toyed with in Machiavellian fashion. Made to appear ridiculous.