Brokay motioned back toward the hall. “Please go out,” he said. “This isn’t anything for a woman to see.”
She turned swiftly toward the still form which lay on the bed, then gave a partially suppressed scream. Her eyes bulged as they stared at the dead burglar. “Good heavens!” she said, “he’s dead.” Then, as the full significance of the scene registered upon her senses, she said: “Dead, just as Gladys Ordway died… and… there’s the monkey.”
Brokay crossed behind her, closed and locked the door. “All right,” he said, “you’re in it. Now you’ve got to see it through.”
She turned her eyes to his, and he could see the startled fear in their depths! “Tell me,” she asked, “is this the man who ran away from the place; the one who had the monkey?”
Brokay faced her steadily. “No,” he said. “I am the man who ran away from the place. This is my monkey.” He held his arms out to the monkey and the little animal gave a flying leap, cuddled up close to Brokay’s cheek.
The fence on the floor stirred, moaned and sat up. He was still punch-groggy. Brokay surveyed him for a moment, then turned to the girl. “Now,” he said, “I’m going to find out about you. I know I’m not supposed to ask questions, but you were interested in this murder, and I want to know—”
“Who I am?” asked the girl.
“Yes,” he said.
“I,” she told him, “am Rhoda Koline.”
Brokay felt his own eyes growing wide.
“Yes,” she said, speaking hastily, as though it were a relief to get the words out, now that she had started, “I’m Rhoda Koline. I was the social secretary for John Ordway. I’m the one that the police are looking for. I came here, because I understood it would be a safe place to hide, until the police could get the mystery solved.”
“How did you come here?” Brokay asked. “How did it happen that you knew of this place?”
“Thelma Grebe,” she said, “brought me here.”
“You knew Thelma Grebe before, then?”
“Yes.”
“How did it happen that she—”
Frank Compton moaned, tried to get to his feet, and finally was successful. He stood swaying and holding on to the foot of the bed.
Brokay turned to him. “Look here,” he said, “you’ve got some explaining to da. You were supposed to have entered this room some little time ago. What detained you?”
“None of your business,” said Compton thickly. “You’re a murderer; I’m going to see that you don’t pin this crime on me.”
“I thought so,” Brokay said. “You’re trying to make excuses before there’s even been an accusation. I didn’t accuse you of murdering him.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Compton said, his eyes commencing to lose some of their dazed appearance. “I’m the one that accused you of murdering him. How could I have murdered him? You were here in the room when I came in. You were the one who murdered him.”
“I’m not so certain about this business,” Brokay said. “You were supposed to have entered the room some time ago. You could have come in and killed him, then walked out, and returned, pretending that you were just entering the room.”
The fence laughed sarcastically. “Sure, sure,” he said, “I could have gone ahead and killed him and then come back so that you could catch me. And what could you have done, my friend, while you were here in the room? You were the one that shared the room with this man. You have either got to show who did the murder, or else you’re going to be held responsible for it.”
“I left the room,” Brokay said. “I left the room because you were coming in and Sam West wanted to talk with you where there wouldn’t be any witnesses to overhear the conversation.”
“Baloney!” said Compton. He started for the door.
“You’re not leaving just yet,” Brokay said.
“The hell I’m not!” Compton blazed at him.
“When I’m ready to notify the police,” Brokay said, “I’ll notify them.”
“Police? Police? Who’s talking about the police?” said the fence. “You aren’t in a place now where you can call the police, my friend. Nobody calls the police here.”
“There’s been a murder committed,” Brokay pointed out.
“That doesn’t make any difference,” Compton said. “The body isn’t going to be found here. The police aren’t going to be notified. What will happen will be that the body will be put in an automobile and taken somewhere tonight. It’ll be dumped by the side of a road somewhere in the country and the police will find him in the morning. But in the meantime, my friend you are responsible. You have got to answer to the people here in the house — not to the police. This man has friends; I am his friend; he had other friends. You have got to explain to those friends. This is something that’s different from the police, you understand. This is something that is handled as a matter of friendship.”
“And you’re going to try and hold me responsible?” Brokay asked.
“You are responsible,” said the fence. “You know it.”
“And where are you going now?” Brokay asked with ominous softness.
“I’m going to report to Thelma Grebe. She’ll make arrangements to dispose of the body, but you are going to be held responsible, my friend, don’t you forget that. You have to—”
His hand once more groped for the knob of the door, and once more Brokay grabbed him by the collar of the coat, jerked him back.
“Listen,” he said, “you’re not going to leave this room until—”
The fence jerked up his knee in a vicious kick to the groin. Brokay managed to block it. His left fist lashed out; Compton’s apelike arms dropped about; Brokay’s back. The two men swayed in a struggle. The monkey, once more jumping to the bed, screamed and chattered.
Compton was a man of great strength. With Brokay in his arms, he was more than a match for the lithe activity of the millionaire clubman, but Brokay managed to get his head down so that the top of it was pushing against Compton’s chin. He arched his back, straining the muscles, gradually pushed Compton away. He freed his own arms, sent a short jabbing left and right to the ribs.
Compton groaned, released his hold and swayed, and, as he staggered groggily, Brokay stepped in and snapped over a businesslike right which clicked on the side of Compton’s jaw.
As the fence went limp, Brokay stepped in and held the slumping body in his arms.
He turned to Rhoda Koline. “Please,” he said, “stand by me. Let’s get out of this thing together.”
“What do you want me to do?” sh6 asked.
“Tear up that pillow slip into strips,” he said. “I’m going to tie this man and gag him.”
She did not hesitate even for a moment, but stepped quickly to the bed, pulled the slip from one of the pillows and ripped it into strips. Brokay tied and gagged the fences and Rhoda Koline held the door of the closet open while Brokay pushed the man into the dark interior, closed and locked the door.
He turned to Rhoda Koline. “Now,” he said, “let’s get down to brass tacks.”
“How do you mean?” she asked.
“I want your story,” he told her.
“There isn’t any,” she said. “I had some friends there at the house. I wasn’t supposed to be home; I was supposed to be out somewhere. Then we heard a commotion. There was the sound of a siren, the noise of a shot, and automobiles speeding away. We went to see what the trouble was and we found Glady’s Ordway.”
“Who do you mean by ‘we’?” asked Brokay.
“Thelma Grebe and myself,” she said.