The stout woman’s exhalation of breath roared against Ellery’s eardrums. In an instant all trace of sleep had fled from her voice. “Yes! Yes! Who—”
“Listen to me. You don’t know me. You never saw me. When I hang up you’ll make no effort to trace this call. You also won’t tell the police about it. This is a little business deal just between you and me.”
“Business deal?” gasped Mrs. Constable. “What... what do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Right now I am looking at a photo. It shows you and a certain man who is dead in bed together in a hotel-room in Atlantic City; and he wasn’t dead then. It was a flashlight picture taken during the night; you were asleep and didn’t know about it until long after. I also have a roll of eight-millimeter motion-picture film. It shows you and this same man kissing, making love. It was taken in Central Park without your knowledge last fall. I also have a signed statement by a lady’s-maid who was in your employ last fall and winter, testifying to compromising things she saw and heard in your Central Park West apartment during that time when your family was away — things between you and this dead man. I also have six letters written by you to—”
“God in heaven,” said Mrs. Constable queerly. “Who are you? Where did you get them? He had them. I can’t—”
“Listen to me,” said the vague voice. “And never mind who I am or where I got them. The point is they’re in my possession. You’d like to have them, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. Yes,” whispered Mrs. Constable.
“Well, you can. For a price.”
The woman was silent for so long that Ellery wondered what had happened to her. But then she replied; in a tone so weary and broken and hopeless that Ellery’s heart contracted in a spasm of pity. “I can’t... pay your price.”
The blackmailer hesitated, as if surprised. “What do you mean — you can’t pay my price? If you’ve any idea that I’m bluffing, Mrs. Constable, that I haven’t got those films and letters—”
“I suppose you have,” muttered the stout woman. “They aren’t here. So some one must have got them—”
“You bet! I have. Maybe you’re afraid I won’t give up the stuff when you pay me? Listen, Mrs. Constable—”
Unusual blackmailer! thought Ellery grimly. It was the first time he had ever heard one stoop to argument. Could this be a false trail after all?
“He got thousands out of me,” croaked Mrs. Constable. “Thousands. All I had. Each time he promised me... But he didn’t. He didn’t! He fooled me. He was a cheat as well as a... a...”
“Not me,” said the muffled voice eagerly. “I’m on the level in this thing. I want my cut and I won’t bother you any more. I know just how you feel. You can take my word I’ll turn the stuff over on payment. Just you send me five thousand dollars by the route I’ll tell you, and you’ll have them back in the next mail.”
“Five thousand dollars!” Mrs. Constable laughed — such an eerie laugh that Ellery’s scalp prickled. “Is that all? I haven’t got five thousand cents. He milked me dry, damn him. I have no money, do you hear? Not a cent!”
“Oh, so that’s your angle, is it?” snarled the anonymous caller. “Pleading poverty! He got enough out of you. You’re a rich woman, Mrs. Constable. You’re not going to get out of this so easily, I tell you! I want that five thousand and you’re going to give it to me, or—”
“Please,” Ellery heard the woman whisper in agony.
“—or I’ll make you wish you had! What’s the matter with your husband? He made a fortune only two years ago. Can’t you get it from him?”
“No!” she shouted suddenly. “No! I’ll never ask him!” Her voice broke. “Please, don’t you understand? I’ve been married so long. I... I am really an old woman. I have grown children, nice children. He — my husband would die if he knew. He’s a very sick man. He’s always trusted me and we’ve always been happy together. I’d rather — die myself than tell him!”
“Mrs. Constable,” said the blackmailer with a note of desperation in his voice, “y°u evidently don’t realize what you’re up against. I’ll do anything, I tell you! This pig-headedness won’t get you anywhere. I’ll get that money out of you if I have to go to your husband myself!”
“You won’t find him. You don’t know where he is,” said Mrs. Constable hoarsely.
“I’ll go to your children!”
“It won’t do you any good. Neither of them has any money in their own right. Their money is tied up.”
“All right, damn you!” Even through the muffled tones Ellery detected the sheer, lashing fury. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll teach you a lesson. You think I’m fooling around. That photo, the film, the statement, and the letters will be in the hands of Inspector Moley so damn’ quick—”
“No, please, please!” cried Mrs. Constable. “Don’t! I tell you I’m helpless, haven’t got the money—”
“Then get it!”
“But I can’t, I tell you,” sobbed the woman. “I’ve no one to go to that I’d— Oh, don’t you understand? Can’t you get money from some one else? I’ve paid for my sin — oh, I’ve paid a thousand times with — with tears, with blood, with all the money I had. How can you be so heartless, so... so...”
“Maybe,” screamed the voice, “you’ll wish you’d scraped up that five thousand when Inspector Moley gets that stuff and turns it over to the newspapers! You damned fat, stupid cow!” And there was the crash of a slammed receiver.
Ellery’s fingers raced over the board, working feverishly. He barely made out Mrs. Constable’s whimper of pure despair as he broke the connection and dialed the operator.
“Operator! Trace that call. Just hung up. This is the police-the Godfrey house. Quick!”
He waited, chewing his fingernails. “Fat stupid cow.” The other things, the intimate knowledge apparently of Marco’s affairs. This was some one who knew more than mere chance possession of incriminating photographs and documents might indicate. Some one vitally involved. He felt sure of that. What he had learned crystallized his suspicions. When the time came his judgment would be vindicated. Meanwhile, if he could speed matters along...
“I’m sorry, sir,” sang the operator. “The call was made from a dial telephone. I have no way of tracing it. Thank you,” and there was a little click in Ellery’s ear.
Ellery sat back, frowning, and lit a cigaret. He sat there for some time in silence. Then he called Inspector Moley’s office in Poinsett. But Moley’s deskman informed him that the Inspector was out; and after leaving word for Moley to call him back Ellery put down the headset and wandered off.
In the main hall a thought struck him, for he ground out his cigaret in a cast-iron pot filled with sand and made his way upstairs to the door of Mrs. Constable’s room. He shamelessly put his ear against the center panel and listened. It seemed to him that the sound he heard was the choked result of sobbing.
He rapped. The sobbing ceased. Then Mrs. Constable’s voice said strangely: “Who is it?”
“May I see you a moment, Mrs. Constable?” called Ellery in a friendly tone.
Silence. Then: “Is that Mr. Queen?”
“Yes, it is.”
“No,” she said in the same strange voice. “No, I don’t want to talk to you, Mr. Queen. I... I don’t feel well. Please go away. Some other time, perhaps.”
“But I wanted to tell you—”
“Please, Mr. Queen. I’m really not at all well.”
Ellery stared at the door, shrugged, said: “Quite all right. I’m sorry,” and strolled off.
He went to his room, changed into bathing-trunks, slipped into canvas shoes and robe, and went down to the Cove. He would have at least one swim in the Atlantic Ocean, he thought grimly as he nodded to the trooper on guard at the terrace, before this accursed case was polished off. He felt sure that there was nothing to be gained by haunting the switchboard any longer that day. This was to be a lesson... to the others. He would hear from Inspector Moley soon enough.