A murmur of greetings came from them as Archie entered. “Hello, A.L.. Hi, D.M. ’Lo, P.F. Hi, M.F.,” he returned their greetings.
“O.F." The last gman he'd greeted corrected him. “I had to change my first name because of the connotation. Some of my employees were using the initials M.F. most disrespectfull .”
Sorry, O.F.,” Archie corrected himself. “My apologies to all of you,” he added. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting. I was looking for J. P.”
“He excused himself to go into the parlor. There was someone there waiting to see him.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you gentlemen later.” Archie excused himself and went to the parlor. The door was closed. He knocked.
“I’m busy in here,” the voice of J. P. Jones called out gruffly. “I’ll be out in a little while.”
“It's me, J. P.,” Archie called back.
“Oh.” The door was opened. “Come on in, Archie. This concerns you, anyway."
Archie entered and saw Howard Kupp sitting in one of the armchairs. He was smoking one of J. P.’s expensive cigars and sipping some cognac. There were some photographs spread out on a table across from him.
“How’s the wife and kiddies?” Archie greeted him blithely.
“Just fine. Send their regards. Sorry about intruding this way. But you were so stubborn I figured I’d better take up our business with your stepfather here. And it certainly is a pleasure doing business with such a gentleman.” Howard Kupp puffed on the cigar contentedly.
“Of course we haven’t really done any business yet,” J. P. told Archie smoothly. “Mr. Kupp was just showing me his merchandise when you arrived. It’s really very interesting. Would you like to see it?”
“All right.” Archie picked up the pictures and went through them slowly.
J. P. looked over his shoulder. “Bad angle in that one,” he commented. “Makes you look even skinnier than you are."
“Sorry about that,” Kupp interjected. “That’s the trouble with candid photography. It isn’t always flattering to the subject.”
“I quite understand, Mr. Kupp,” J. P. said soothingly. “It wasn’t my intention to disparage the quality of your work.”
Kupp nodded, mollified. “The wife wasn't too happy with the way they came out, either,” he admitted. “But then let’s face it, she isn’t as young as she used to be.”
“She certainly looks quite young and energetic here,” J. P. observed. “Well, Archie, what do you think?" he added as Archie set the pictures back down.
“I think it’s blackmail."
“Of course it is, my boy. Nobody denies that. Mr. Kupp is a realist, or he wouldn't be here. And of course I too am a realist. Morality is not an issue here. The question is whether we pay Mr. Kupp for his photos or call the police and charge him with being a blackmailer."
“If you do that," Howard Kupp said mildly, “my wife will see that these photos get to every exposé magazine in town. Also, I will sue her for divorce and name Archie here as correspondent. Besides which I'll sue him for alienation of her affections. My kids will testify to that. They could be very pathetic in a courtroom.”
“I’ll vouch for that,” Archie agreed.
“It would be a very nasty mess for you and your family, Mr. Jones. It probably wouldn’t do you any good in the business world, either,” Kupp pointed out.
“My position in the business world is unassailable," J. P. told him icily. “As to any publication of these pictures, you can rest assured, Mr. Kupp, that they would be squelched the moment any editor obtained them. A man in my position has many ways of exerting pressure to suppress unwanted publicity. And as far as any lawsuits are concerned, I maintain a legal staff on a million-dollar-a-year retainer. Do you seriously think you could stand up against such talent in a court of law? I would destroy you and your wife and your children, Mr. Kupp. I would squash you all as if you were a family of ants. And that’s what you are, Mr. Kupp. An annoying bug. Nothing but that!”
“That's no way for one gentleman to talk to another,” Howard Kupp whined. “Besides, you’re bluffing. A guy in your position can't afford to take the chance on being able to squelch the publicity over something like this. It’s too big. The papers would have a field day. No matter what kind of influence you’ve got, they wouldn't pass it by. You’re bluffing! ”
“Am I?” J. P. picked up the telephone and dialed. “Hello,” he said into the mouthpiece after a moment. “This is J. P. Jones. There is a man in my home who is attempting to blackmail me. Will you send a detective right over?” He gave the address and hung up. “Do you still think I’m bluffing, Mr. Kupp?”
“You’ll be sorry,” Kupp muttered, getting to his feet and starting for the door.
Before he could reach it there was a discreet knock from the other side. “What is it?” J. P. called out in response.
“Excuse me, sir,” It was the voice of Lester, the butler. “There are some gentlemen from the police department here.”
“So fast?” Even J. P. was surprised. And Kupp looked green. “All right, show them in,” he told Lester.
As they were trooping in, the phone rang again. Archie, standing closest to it, picked it up. “Hello, Archie,” the voice said in his ear as the policemen began trooping into the room. “This is Helen Riley. I’ve been trying to get you all day. To warn you.”
“Warn me about what?” Archie watched as J. P. greeted the police officers, some of whom were in uniform and some in plainclothes. The tycoon pointed toward Kupp, who was trying to edge past them and out the door.
“About Angie. Angelo Valenti, I mean. He’s really got it in for you. He was to tail you last night. And he called me today and says he’s going to arrest you and that you’re going to fry.”
“What?” Archie was dazed. “Arrest me for what? Fry for what?”
The plainclothes man who seemed to be in charge walked right past Howard Kupp, ignoring J. P.’s accusations, and came straight up to Archie. There was a cop at his elbow, and Archie took a good look at him for the first time. It was Angelo Valenti, and he had a triumphal grin on his face.
“Archimedes Jones.” The plainclothes man gripped Archie’s arm firmly. “You’re under arrest on suspicion of murdering Professor André Beaumarchais!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was chaos!
On the heels of the police, reporters and photographers stormed the Jones mansion. They rode roughshod over Lester, stampeded past the frenetic party going on in the main living room, attracting quite a few of Carlotta’s guests in their wake, whooped it up in the room where J. P.’s confreres were gathered as if they’d discovered gold, and finally descended on Archie with shouted questions and popping flashbulbs.
“How did you guys get wind of this?” the detective in charge demanded disgustedly. He looked from one to the other of his men searchingly. “Which one of you finks tipped them off?" he wanted to know.
But all their faces were blank. Even the face of Patrolman Angelo Valenti gave nothing away to his superior. It was only when his eyes met Archie’s that the youth detected the fleeting sneer crossing Valenti’s features and realized that it had been he who had fingered him for the law and the press alike.
“Archie?” Helen Riley’s voice on the telephone was urgent in his ear. “Archie, what’s happening? Archie, you don’t have any time to waste. You have to get away before Angie gets there.”
“He’s already here,” Archie told her.
“Hang up that phone now, son,” the head cop instructed him.
“Okay,” Archie agreed. “I have to hang up now,” he told Helen. “Any message for your boyfriend?”