They found a small table and the man with the derby seated himself at the counter.
“It’s okay,” Robertson said, “but the lieutenant-copper put a shadow on us. Just in case. Well, what do you think?”
“About Sligo?”
“Everything. Ben O. Chapman, Sligo, the publishing business.”
Sargent smiled wryly. “Things happen, don’t they?”
“Don’t they! Ben tell you anything about Sligo yesterday?”
“Would he be likely to tell a new man?” Sargent asked cautiously.
“Ben would stop a stranger on the street and tell him his life history. He’s told me about the Sugar Beet Review a thousand times. Sligo, too. Ben hated his guts.”
“They didn’t see eye to eye on the business, I suppose?”
“Or anything. Ernie Pelkey told me...” Robertson frowned and broke off, then sighed wearily. “Look, Sargent, I think you’re okay. But if I spill my nut and you blab to Chapman my goose is cooked. And I’ve been trying to save up enough money to get married.”
“Mildred?”
Robertson colored. “Mildred’s a good kid, but it isn’t her. Well?”
“All right,” said Sargent, “I’ll come clean. My coming up to the office yesterday wasn’t exactly an accident. But I’d met Ernest Pelkey—”
“Where?”
“At his home in River Forest. Oh, I went there by accident. Mrs. Pelkey answered the door and tried to shoosh me away quietly and then Pelkey came out. I never saw a man in such a state of nerves.”
“Ernie blew his top. Do you know why?”
“It had something to do with Chapman, didn’t it?”
Robertson screwed up his mouth. “What did you think of Mrs. Pelkey?”
It was Sargent’s turn to redden. “She bowled me over. And when I saw Pelkey and he began to froth at the mouth I wondered, well, I wanted to see what sort of man could have turned him into that.”
“Pelkey mentioned Chapman?”
“Yes. I happened to ask him his vocation and he began to curse Chapman up and down.”
“I saw Ernie two days ago. He’s in a bad way. I told you — didn’t I? — that Ernie worked for Chapman two years. Longer than anyone ever worked for him. They come and go at Chapman’s?”
“That bad?”
Robertson grinned crookedly. “Oh, you might last a long time. Sligo was a troublemaker. With him out of the way... mmm, maybe we’d better not talk about that.”
“Because it was Chapman’s scissors that were found stuck in Sligo?”
“That little fellow who came in just before the cops — he’s a private detective, you know. Works for the Decker Agency. Fanning gave him the once-over in Chapman’s office. The panels are kinda thin and my office is right next door, you know. It seems Chapman had hired this Wilting — that’s the detective — to shadow Sligo. Chapman claimed that Sligo had hired someone to kill him. What do you think of that?”
Sargent whistled. “He hinted at that to me. Why, I don’t know. But he said if anything happened to him Sligo was the man to tell the police about.”
“So if Ben Chapman had been killed, Sligo would have been the murderer. But it’s Sligo who’s been killed.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m not a policeman. I’m a trade paper editor.”
“So am I — for the nonce.” Sargent frowned. “Do you suppose the business will fold up now?”
“Hardly. Ben O. is Business Journals, Incorporated. Sligo was excess baggage. He wasn’t even a brake on Ben. Complained about everything, yes, but Ben just went ahead and did what he wanted.”
“Which brings you down to the question I’ve wanted to ask you ever since yesterday. Barring yourself... is everyone at the office insane?”
Robertson laughed so suddenly that particles of food flew from his mouth. “It is the wackiest crowd you ever saw, isn’t it? Beginning at the bottom, with Mildred O’Kelly; if ever there was a rattlebrained stenographer it’s Mildred. She even misspells one-syllable words. And Andy Lawrence with his dramatics! He played in a summer theater once and never got over it. Grosvenor, well, how would you describe him?”
“A race-track tout.”
“Perfect. But the lad’s the smartest editor of the lot. He can write like nobody’s business and he’s a corking salesman when he wants to be. Well, we’ll skip me and carry on to Ben O. Chapman. He’s the king screwball. You must know that by now. At the same time, don’t underestimate him. Ben O. knows the trade paper field. He knows every publishing trick and invents new ones himself almost every day. Sligo...”
“Ah, yes, Sligo,” said Sargent. “In what way was he wacky?”
“He wasn’t. He was the misfit of the office. He was sour and sarcastic and downright mean at times, but there wasn’t anything screwy about him. He’d put money into the business and he was trying to protect it — to the best of his ability.”
“You’ve overlooked one member of the staff,” said Sargent. “Lew Thayer.”
Robertson whistled softly. “So I did! And that reminds me, he didn’t show up today. Thayer is a wild Irishman. When he’s got a few drinks under his belt...!”
Sargent nodded. “And now what about Ernie Pelkey? You said he blew his top. How did you mean that?”
“Literally. Ernie’s had a complete nervous breakdown and ought to be in a sanitarium right now. Only Hester wouldn’t have him committed.”
They had finished their meal by now and the waiter brought their checks. Robertson picked up his own and left a nickel tip. Sargent followed his example.
They paid their checks at the door and started back to the Dockery Building. Their shadow was fifty feet behind them.
When they entered the office, Lieutenant Fanning crooked a finger at Sargent and led the way into the latter’s office.
“I’ve been correlating a few bits of information, Sargent,” the lieutenant said. “I understand you were the first one down at the office this morning.”
“That’s right, but since I had no key I waited outside until someone came along.”
“Who was that?”
Sargent hesitated a moment and the lieutenant made an impatient gesture. “It was Miss O’Kelly who told me you were the first one here. I’m merely trying to corroborate her testimony. She came along with Robertson.”
“That’s right.”
“And which one had the key?”
“Miss O’Kelly, I believe.”
“Check. Now, think carefully. Did you try the door when you. first arrived?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have known it was locked if I hadn’t.”
“You might merely have assumed it was locked. By the way, the elevator operator reports that he brought you up a half hour before the others. What did you do during that time?”
“Nothing, I tried the door and when I discovered it was locked, I waited in the hall.”
Lieutenant Fanning looked steadily at Sargent. “The janitor has checked with the cleaning woman and she insists that the office was empty last night when she cleaned it between six and seven.”
“What does that prove?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Sligo could have come here afterwards although the night operator has no record of it. The man admits, however, that anyone could come in while he was on an upper floor and climb the stairs. Sligo was dead approximately fifteen hours, the medical examiner tells me. That means he was killed last night.”
“That would make it around seven o’clock last night. At that time I was in the public library... if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Well, I was kinda. What were you doing at the library?”