“Not a thing. You mentioned his name to me.”
“No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t ever mention Pelkey’s name to anyone. The dirty thief!”
“What did he steal, petty cash?”
“No, that was Haley, or maybe Hanson Hill. Pelkey was worse than either of them. A man I called my friend, my only friend. And then to do to me what he did.”
“What was that?”
“That doesn’t concern you, Sargent. For a brand-new employee you’re altogether too inquisitive.”
“I’m sorry,” Sargent retorted. “But you insisted on giving me your confidence.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How do I know you won’t side with the others? You probably will. Editors always stick together against their publishers and employers. You’d think they’d know which side their bread is buttered, but no—”
“Excuse me,” said a voice at the door to the living room, “am I interrupting something?”
Lieutenant Fanning smiled pleasantly. Ben O. Chapman’s face darkened in anger. “What right have you to invade the privacy of my home, officer?” he demanded.
“The people downstairs are complaining about the noise up here.” Lieutenant Fanning grinned.
“They telephoned the Police Department? And you came. I thought you were a Homicide detective?”
“I am. The folks downstairs didn’t telephone the station. Matter of fact I was coming in and they grabbed me on the stairs and complained about the racket.”
“How’d they know you were a policeman?”
Lieutenant Fanning scratched his head, while his eyes twinkled. “Darned if I know. You suppose I should go back and ask them?”
Chapman regarded the detective coldly. “I suppose you have some information regarding the Sligo matter?”
“Not exactly. Only we got a rather strange call at Headquarters. About a fellow disappearing. His name is Pelkey. Ernest Pel—”
“Ohmigawd!” groaned Chapman, clapping both hands to his head. “Where is he?”
“Pelkey? I don’t know. That’s what I was telling you. He disappeared. His wife is rather worried about him, because it seems Pelkey has been ill.”
“He’s crazy! And he’ll kill me. He threatened to do it and he will. Lieutenant, you’ve got to find Pelkey and put him under lock and key. I tell you the man is dangerous. He’s a homicidal maniac!”
Fanning stared at Chapman in astonishment; whether pretended or real, Sargent could not determine. “But his wife said he was suffering merely from a slight nervous disorder.”
“That’s what she calls it. Pelkey is a victim of dementia praecox. He’s stark, raving mad and he’ll kill me.”
“Why should he have such a down on you, Mr. Chapman?”
“I don’t know. He worked for me two years. Naturally, when he became a victim of this disease I couldn’t keep him on at the office, so he blames me... Yes, that’s it. He’s down on me because I had to let him go.”
“What were his relations with Daniel Sligo?”
“Bad,” said Chapman, “very bad. Nobody liked Sligo.”
“For instance?” prodded Lieutenant Fanning.
“The employees, all of them.”
“Mmm, and how did you get along with Sligo?”
“Excellent. Two more amicable partners you never saw in a business.”
“I didn’t gather that from what Mrs. Sligo said this afternoon.”
“Mrs. Sligo! She’s distraught, naturally. Daniel’s untimely end is a great shock to her, no doubt. And a financial loss, too — unless Daniel had heavy insurance, which I doubt.”
“Why a financial loss, if Sligo owned half the business?”
“Forty-nine per cent, but unfortunately, Business Journals hasn’t paid any dividends in some years. Sligo was dependent upon his salary.”
“But what about his stock? Couldn’t Mrs. Sligo sell it?”
“Oh, yes, although she may find it a little difficult to sell stock in a trade publishing company. Not a great many people would be interested in buying it, I imagine.”
“I see. Well, look, Mr. Chapman, I don’t want to spoil your party here. There’s just one thing more I’d like to ask you this evening. That’s regarding the missing advertising salesman. Have you any idea where I might locate him?”
Frank Sargent tried to catch Chapman’s eye, but it was too much to expect that Chapman would defend one of his employees... or anyone.
“He’s here!” Chapman cried. “He’s the wild Irishman in the next room. Give him a good grilling, will you?”
Lieutenant Fanning’s face tightened. “I will. Some interesting questions I want to ask him. Excuse me!”
He stepped out of the kitchen. Sargent turned an accusing look at his employer, but before he could say a word Eileen Prescott burst in, waving a slip of paper.
“Oh, Mr. Chapman!” she cried. “Look what I’ve got. Mr. Crombie, the darling, gave it to me. A six months’ advertising contract, for a page of space every month. Isn’t that marvelous?”
Ben O. Chapman scowled. “Why, the chiseler! It should have been a twelve months’ contract.”
Miss Prescott was taken aback and Sargent thought for a moment that she would break into tears. “Oh, you’re disappointed in Eileen!” she said, pouting. “And I thought I was doing simply marvelous. I was just thinking a hundred and forty dollars for one evening’s work...”
“It could have been two hundred and eighty dollars just as well.”
And now Eileen did shed tears. Sargent slipped quietly out of the kitchen and rejoined the party in the living room. He looked for Eli Crombie and found him sitting in an easy chair, looking despondent.
Lieutenant Fanning and Lew Thayer were in a corner of the room. Lieutenant Fanning’s big body was blocking Thayer’s small, chunky one, but Thayer was giving the detective plenty of trouble if his booming profanity meant anything.
Sargent eased over to Eli Crombie. “Don’t take it so hard, Eli, old man.”
“What?”
“Advertising in Turkey Talk. You might get some business out of it.”
“Yah!” Mr. Crombie rubbed his bald head vigorously. “I ain’t sore. A few pages of advertising don’t mean nothin’ to me. I can spend a few dollars to see my name in print. It ain’t that. I just don’t understand this head. I take her to dinner at Harding’s on Wabash, then I bring her here, so I figure natcherly I’ll take her home. I’m a gentleman, I am. So what does she spring on me?”
“Her husband’s calling for her?”
“Huh! She got a husband?”
“Not that I know of. I was just wondering.”
“Naw, she says Ben O. Chapman won’t let strange men take her home. Says he’ll fire her if I take her away from here. What the hell! Who does this Chapman think he is, her guardeen or something?”
Sargent’s respect for Eileen Prescott came out of the cellar and climbed part way up the stairs. He said:
“After all, she’s pretty young.”
“She’s over eighteen. If you ask me, she’s over twenty-one, some years. You know what I think?”
“No.”
Across the room, Lew Thayer roared, “Who you callin’ a liar, you thick-headed flatfoot? Put up your dukes and I’ll chop you down to my size, you...”
Lieutenant Fanning tried to pin down Thayer’s arms, but the wiry redhead started wrestling with him. Ben O. Chapman came out of the kitchen with Eileen Prescott and both rushed over to the scene of the struggle. The other guests converged likewise and the hostilities were somewhat quieted down, deteriorating to loud talk rather than physical combat.
While the commotion was going on, Sargent, got his hat and slipped out. He’d had enough party for one evening. He’d made up his mind about one thing, though; there would never be a dull moment where Ben O. Chapman was.