“The three hundred and fifty dollars,” I said, “goes in the name of Elsie Brand. I want one thousand dollars invested in the same stock and that will be in the name of Cool and Lam, a copartnership. I want you to locate that stock, and I want you to buy it the first thing this morning, and—”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I’m looking through a card index now — Wait a minute, here it is. That was one of those mail-order promotion things, Lam. It may take a little while to find out who the stockholders are, and—”
“There isn’t that much time,” I said. “It cleared through the corporation commission. The stock had to be placed in escrow for a year, during which time the purchasers of stock could back out if they wanted to, and during the year certain development work had to be made, otherwise the sales were invalid at the option of the purchaser.”
“Well?”
I said, “Get in touch with the escrow holder. Say that you’re in a position to offer his clients a reasonable profit, and that you’re looking for information. Don’t tell him who for or what. Tell him you can get that information either the easy way or the hard way. Then start working on the long-distance telephone and buy up stock.”
“How high shall I go?”
“Up to twice the par value. If you can’t get it for that, quit. And remember, there’s a note of the corporation that’s outstanding. The bank hasn’t done anything about it because Bishop was on that note. Now he’s dead, they’ll have to do something about it. The escrow holder should know that. The stockholders should know it. If they don’t, see that they do.”
“All right,” he promised. “I’ll get busy.”
“Real busy,” I insisted.
“Right now.”
I went back to the morning newspapers. They featured the story in big headlines.
Mining Man’s Body Found on Millionaire’s Yacht.
It was a natural, and the crime reporters really went to town on it.
Erickson B. Payne, the bachelor millionaire owner of the yacht, was on a vacation in Europe. There could be no question but that he had been out of the United States for the past four weeks, and, aside from the one duplicate key which was kept in the safe at the yacht club, there were no keys to his yacht. However, the police investigation disclosed that the padlock on the boat had evidently been smashed, and a new padlock had then been placed on the yacht so that the night watchman, in making his rounds, would not notice anything unusual.
Police acted on the theory that the mining man had been murdered at some other point and the body had then been transported to the yacht club, but how the body could have reached the yacht club was a major mystery.
I read the accounts for the third time while I waited in the office of Hartley L. Channing.
It was a nice office, with his name on the frosted glass, Hartley L. Channing, Accounting. There was a nice receptionist who looked cool and comfortable, but very cute, with a peaches-and-cream complexion and wide, blue eyes.
She had been reading a magazine when I entered the office. It was a magazine that was concealed in a desk drawer which she closed, and when I announced I would wait for Mr. Channing, she wearily opened another drawer, pulled out paper, which she ratcheted in the machine, and started a laborious job of copy work, clacking the keys of the typewriter with mechanical precision but without any particular enthusiasm.
It had been five minutes past nine when I entered the place and the girl typed steadily for fifteen minutes.
Hartley Channing came in promptly at nine-twenty.
“Hello,” he said to me. “What can I do for you?”
“My name’s Lam. I want to talk about some tax work.”
“Very well. Come on in.”
He ushered me into his private office.
The clacking of the typewriter stopped as soon as I had crossed the threshold.
“Sit down, Lam. What can I do for you?”
He was a breezy individual, well dressed, well groomed, with fingernails that had been manicured within the last couple of days, an expensive hand-painted cravat, a fine tailor-made suit of imported worsted, and shoes that looked as though they could have been custom-made.
I said, “You handled Mr. Bishop’s work, didn’t you?”
His eyes instantly slipped colorless curtains between us. “Yes,” he said, and volunteered no more information.
“Too bad about him.”
“I understand there’s some mystery.”
“Seen the morning papers?”
“No,” he said, and I knew right then he was lying. “I’ve been busy on another matter and—”
“There isn’t any mystery about him any more.”
“What do you mean?”
“The body was found aboard a yacht in one of the yacht clubs.”
“He’s dead, then?”
“Yes.”
“His death is definitely established?”
“Yes.”
“How did he die?”
“Two bullet wounds. One bullet in the body and one bullet which went entirely through the head.”
“Too bad. I’m very sorry to hear it. However, you had some matters you wanted to consult me about?”
“A tax matter.”
“What’s the nature of it, Mr. Lam?”
“I want to know how much you know about the flimflam that Bishop was running.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“If you kept his books and tax affairs you know exactly what I mean.”
“I don’t like your attitude, Mr. Lam. May I ask if this is official?”
“It’s not official. It’s personal and friendly.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a detective from Los Angeles, a private detective.”
“I don’t think I have anything to discuss with you, Lam.”
I said, “Look, buddy, the chips are down. Now let’s quit fooling around with this thing. You’re mixed up in it. I want to know how deep.”
“I am quite certain I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lam, and I don’t like the way you talk. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I said, “Bishop had a lot of activities. He was smart. He decided he’d report the income but he wouldn’t divulge the source of that income. So he engaged in a lot of mining activities that were a complete hoax.”
“Bishop never swindled a man in his life.”
“Of course he didn’t. He was too careful for that. If he’d done that he’d have been arrested, complaint would have been made to the corporation commissioner, and he’d have been out of business. He didn’t swindle anyone. He simply swapped dollars with himself. He had a lot of companies and he reported income to those companies and then he juggled funds and stock around so that nobody could tell just who was doing what. However, he was very careful to keep his nose clean on actually reporting the income. The thing he didn’t want to report was the source of the income. Now, looking at it from my standpoint, there’s just one answer to that.”
Channing picked up a pencil and began to fiddle with it nervously. “I am quite certain that I don’t care to discuss Mr. Bishop’s affairs with anyone who isn’t directly interested, or fully authorized.”
I said, “You’re going to discuss them with me and then you’re going to discuss them with the police. You may not know it, buddy, but you’re in a jam.”
“You’ve intimated that several times, Lam, and I’ve told you that I don’t like it. I keep liking it less all the time.” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet.
He was a big, athletic-looking chap, a little heavy around the waist, but there was also a lot of weight in his shoulders.
“Get out,” he said, “and stay out.”
I said, “Bishop was planning a fast move. He wouldn’t have planned it without consulting with you, and as I size you up you wouldn’t have gone along on a business of this sort on a salary basis. I think you have a finger in the pie.”