Chapter Twenty-Six

I SAW BESSIE THAT morning in town, on my way to find the Connor woman. She had stopped her car near the building where Mr. Elliott had his offices and was getting out. There was nothing youthful about her face then. It looked hard and determined. She wore a short silver fox jacket I had never seen before, and she walked purposefully on those high heels of hers to the building and went in.

Later we were to know some, if not all, of what happened there in Dwight Elliott’s office that day: Mr. Elliott alert and watchful behind his desk, and Bessie leaning forward and speaking steadily in a low voice. Finishing triumphantly too, and then leaving back and powdering her nose.

“That’s the story, Mr. Elliott.”

“I suppose you know what it means?”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“You can’t prove it, you know.”

“I’m leaving that to the police, if I have to go to them.”

“I wouldn’t try any threats if I were you, Bessie. How many people know about this?”

“Don’t tell me Tony doesn’t. He tried to kill me, didn’t he? He was afraid I would talk. But I haven’t. Not yet anyhow.”

She got up and he rose also, towering over her, his voice shaking. “Let’s finish this, once and for all,” he said angrily. “You’ve been here before with this cock-and-bull story about Maud Wainwright. You can’t prove it, but what is that to you? Shall I tell you what happened? You told her this story of yours. You probably threatened to go to the police with it. And to get you money to keep quiet she was ready to sell her jewels.”

“It’s a lie. I never told her.”

“She listed them, and the night of her death she met you at the playhouse.”

“Never. I wouldn’t go there on a bet.”

“I think you did. Remember this. Her death was a distinct advantage to you. Tony had a salary before. Now he has a fortune. And what you want me to do is collect blackmail from him to keep you quiet.”

She gasped. “If anybody thinks I killed her they’re crazy,” she said, her lips stiff.

“The official verdict is still suicide,” he said. “But she met a woman at the playhouse that night, and she carried the list of her jewels with her. Maud Wainwright never killed herself. That woman killed her.”

She was completely routed. She picked up her handbag and went out. She left her car standing where it was, although she took a suitcase out of it. After that she hailed a taxicab and went to the railroad station. There she bought a ticket for New York, and disappeared entirely.

I had no idea this was happening, of course. My work that day was to establish contact with the Connor woman, and I had no idea how to go about it. It turned out to be simple enough, however. I merely went to the offices which had once been Don Morgan’s and, standing outside, waited for the lunch exodus. Ostensibly I was making up my face, but I watched some twenty-odd girls come out before my quarry appeared.