"Two keys." observed the rabbi. "The stem in the center hole must be for resetting the hands. It's smaller than the other. Where would he have kept the keys, do you suppose?"
"Well, we have a clock in the living room that you wind, we keep the key on the mantelpiece behind it." He strode over to the mantelpiece, pointed and called out. "One key. Rabbi, but it's a double key. One end is for winding the spring and the other for setting the hands, the one we have at home, you wind in front and you set the hands by just moving them."
"Martha wouldn't have bothered to wipe that." said the rabbi, "especially if it were kept behind the clock."
"Certainly not if she were wearing cleaning mitts." He went back to his folder. "The summary doesn't mention it. I doubt if our man checked it for prints. I'm going to call him."
52
AS THEY SAT IN THE DINING ROOM AWAITING THE ARRIVAL of the fingerprint expert. Lanigan ruminated about the case. "I dismissed Gore as a suspect even before we dug out his alibi for him. I figured he was the one person who couldn't have done it, because he was the one person who knew there was someone else in the house, he was the only one who saw Billy sent to his room and locked in. Somehow he must have found out that he had left."
The rabbi nodded. "When I met with Billy on the island, he said Gore knew that he did it regularly when the old man sent him to his room, he had told him and they had laughed about it. Still, my guess is that Gore didn't just gamble on it, he may have heard the window go up—"
"Yeah, it's wooden sash and the door is thin. If Gore was standing just outside the door, he'd hear it all right." Lanigan agreed.
They talked of Gore and the kind of man he was. "He's well thought of in town." said Lanigan. "Public-spirited fellow, like getting up this silver collection, for instance, he's divorced and I heard it said at the time that maybe it was because he was so public spirited. You know, being active in all kinds of causes and not being home too much. I don't know the kind of money he makes as president of the bank, but he lives moderately, we may find when we start checking that he's been gambling. If he's tight for money, Jordon's couple of million would help out."
"You don't have to be short of money to try to acquire a couple of million." observed the rabbi.
"That's for sure."
"And if he were certain the money was coming to him, after a while he might get to thinking it was actually his and Jordon only a sort of temporary custodian."
The doorbell rang. It was the fingerprint expert. Lanigan led him over to the mantelpiece and pointed at the key. "When you were working here. Joe, did you check that key?"
"I didn't even see it, Chief." He felt that he had to defend himself. "Look, we don't go over everything, we'd be here for a week. Just the likely things and places. I wouldn't go dusting the ceiling, for instance, or the floor or—"
"All right, all right. Joe. Nobody is criticizing you. I want you to do that key now."
They watched as he dusted with his powders and then looked with his magnifying glass. "Yup, there's a nice print there. Tip of the thumb. I'd say, and I'm pretty sure it's the right thumb."
"Okay, Joe, here are blowups of the different prints you took here. I want you to go over those and see if this matches one of them."
"Oh, I know this one. Chief, that's Ellsworth Jordon's."
"Oh!" The sigh of disappointment came from both Lanigan and the rabbi. Lanigan shook his head in annoyance and frustration, but the rabbi said. "How about the other side?" He pointed at the key. "That print is toward the large socket that you use for winding the clock, maybe there's one on the other side pointing toward the small socket that you use to set the hands."
"It's an idea." said Joe. From his bag he got a small screwdriver, and inserting the tang into the socket, he flipped the key over. Once again he dusted with his powders and a moment later announced. "Yeah, and this one's different."
"Are you sure?" asked Lanigan eagerly.
"Aw Chief!" Joe was reproachful. "I couldn't make a mistake on this one, there's a little line scar right across it. This one is Lawrence Gore's."
"What made you think of Gore?" asked Lanigan. "Had you thought of him before you got the call from Miriam?"
The rabbi nodded. "From the time I heard about the quarterly report that Molly Mandell tried to deliver. By way of excusing her folly, her husband pointed out that it didn't even balance."
"Yeah, he told me that, too, and you mentioned it. Was it your idea that Gore was pilfering the till? Because he wasn't, you know, we checked it out."
"No, that didn't occur to me. What struck me as strange was that, knowing that the accounts didn't balance. Gore was still willing to have Molly deliver it to Jordon. On the one hand Gore was terribly anxious lest the report come in a day late, and on the other he was seemingly unconcerned that it did not balance. It didn't make sense.
Normally, he would have said there was no point in delivering it until he'd had a chance to correct it, that it would infuriate the old man even more than if it came in late."
"Yeah," Lanigan admitted. "Come to think of it—"
"So it occurred to me that Gore might not have objected to Molly's delivering it, knowing it was safe because Jordon was dead."
53
RABBI REUBEN LEVY HAD PUT ON WEIGHT SINCE RABBI Small had last seen him, he remembered him as tall and almost painfully thin, but in the intervening years, he had filled out and was even beginning to show a paunch.
When Rabbi Small remarked on it. Rabbi Levy said ruefully, "I know, I know. But we've got over a thousand families in our congregation and hardly a day goes by when there isn't a Bar Mitzvah or an engagement party or a wedding, and we're invited to all of them. It makes it hard to keep your weight down."
His fine baritone voice was even richer and more resonant now, and he had the presence and self-assurance to go with it, they were seated in the cocktail lounge of the elegant—and expensive—Hotel Lafayette in Cambridge, and Rabbi Small and Miriam were impressed by his ability to summon a waiter by a mere lift of the head and a jut of the chin.
Mrs. Lew, as the wife of an eminently successful rabbi, also had poise and certainty, she was not actually patronizing or condescending, but she did manifest the sophistication of the big city.
The two rabbis talked of their former classmates, and Rabbi Levy, by reason of being from the New York area, hence in the center of things, knew what most of them were now doing, the congregations they were serving and what problems they were having with them.
"And how are you managing with your congregation. David?" he asked.
"Oh, I have my problems, too." Rabbi Small replied. "You're on a life contract, aren't you?"
Miriam spoke up. "He was offered one some years ago, and he refused it, he'd rather be on a year-to-year basis."
Rabbi Levy's eyes opened wide. "But why, David?" Rabbi Small shrugged. "I prefer it. I feel freer."
"But isn't there a hassle every year when your contract has to be renewed?"
"Occasionally;" Rabbi Small admitted.
"There's one right now." said Miriam, "for the comina year, and David refuses to do a thing about it."