A horse-faced butler with solemn eyes opened the Thrip door for Shayne. Before the detective could speak he murmured, “I beg your pardon, sir, but you are not perhaps aware there has been an-ah-tragedy here and I don’t believe-”
“I’m fully aware of it,” Shayne assured him pleasantly, pressing forward.
The butler gave way reluctantly, protesting, “Mr. Thrip is indisposed and has given strict orders that no one is to be admitted.”
“He’ll see me. But first I want to ask you a couple of questions about the man who was killed in your mistress’s room last night. Did you admit him at five when he first came?”
“Yes, sir.” The butler’s long nose quivered and his watery eyes turned a paler blue. “I’ll never forgive myself for not sending him about his business as I was tempted to do. I judged him to be a low criminal type but I knew Mr. Thrip was expecting a detective and I guessed immediately that the man belonged in that category. But my first impression proved correct, sir, and I shouldn’t have allowed-”
“Exactly what did he say when he asked for Mr. Thrip?” Shayne broke in impatiently.
“He said he had an appointment-that a man named Shayne had sent him. As I have already reported to the police-”
“All right.” Shayne cut him off. “So you took him to Thrip. What then?”
“I have no idea, sir. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean nor why these questions should be directed at me.” The man folded his arms with solemn dignity.
“I’m trying to find out who killed Mrs. Thrip,” Shayne said bluntly. “If you’re interested in helping, you’ll answer my questions truthfully.”
The butler’s jaw sagged. Anger turned his gaunt cheeks a rosy hue. “I don’t know who you are nor what right you have to question me.”
“I’m Shayne,” the detective growled. “And don’t start accusing me of murder or I’ll slough you one. I’m tired of getting the run-around.”
The butler pulled the door open and pointed outside. “If I may suggest-”
“You may, and to hell with you.” Shayne set himself solidly with his jaw jutting. “You’ll either give me information or I’ll beat it out of you.”
“Y-yes, sir.” The butler gulped. His Adam’s apple slid up and down rapidly.
“Where did Thrip talk to Darnell-in which room?”
“In the library, sir.”
“Alone?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“And it was the library window that was found open later in the night?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Shayne said, “H-m-m.”
“If I may say so, it is my theory that the criminal unlatched the window while he waited in there for Mr. Thrip to come down. I suggested that possibility to the police and they concurred heartily.”
“You’re a big help,” Shayne muttered, “All right, let’s get on from there. Did they go out of the library after their conference? Together, I mean.”
“If my memory serves me right, Mr. Thrip showed the fellow over the upstairs, probably in the belief that the man could fulfill his duties more efficiently if he was acquainted-”
“Leave your conjectures out of it,” Shayne snapped. “Was Mrs. Thrip at home when the man was here?”
“No, sir. She arrived some time later. She inquired about the man you were to send and appeared deeply gratified when I informed her the fellow had talked with Mr. Thrip earlier and had departed.”
“Who locks up at night?”
“It is one of my duties, but Mr. Thrip is often in the library late and he allows me to retire without closing up in there.”
“Is that what happened last night?”
“Yes, sir. Otherwise I would have tested all the windows and the tragedy might have been averted.”
Shayne changed the subject abruptly, asking him about the other servants.
There were, it appeared, two maids, a cook, and the chauffeur besides the butler employed in the Thrip mansion. They all slept on the third floor and the butler said they had all retired about 11:30. The butler explained that the corps of servants was quite inadequate to the duties to be performed, and that they were usually tired and retired early. The servants were aware of a strain upon the household and it was impossible for them not to learn of existing conditions by a word overheard here and there. They were a little on edge and nervous, but they had been given to understand that there was a private detective guarding the house and all of them had slept more soundly than on any night since Mrs. Thrip began receiving the threatening notes.
After learning that Mr. Thrip had been left in the library, that Mrs. Thrip was in her bedroom, and that Dorothy and Ernst were out last night instead of “having a gang in the house,” Shayne demanded to be taken to Mr. Thrip.
With a be-it-on-your-own-head look on his long face, the butler acquiesced and led Shayne up the stairs, past the closed door of the fatal room, and to a door standing ajar just beyond.
The man started to rap, but Shayne caught his arm and pulled it back when he heard Thrip talking to someone inside. Pushing the butler aside after a gesture commanding perfect quiet, Shayne opened the door silently and walked into a living-room connecting two bedrooms, a duplicate of the one across the hall between Dorothy and Ernst’s rooms.
Thrip was talking over the telephone. He sat in a low chair with his back to the door. He wore a dressing-gown of black satin with yellow piping. Smoke curled up from a partly smoked cigar in an elaborate smoking-stand beside the chair, Moving silently forward on the thick rug, Shayne saw that the French phone was a jade color ornamented with gold.
“Why don’t you come out in the open so that I can know what I’m fighting?” Thrip was saying irritatedly. “Your veiled threats mean nothing to me. I won’t listen further to such nonsense. Reveal your identity and I’ll deal with you.”
Shayne was standing behind Thrip when he clicked the instrument on its prongs and turned to pick up his cigar.
It was as if Thrip felt rather than heard Shayne in the room. He turned, frowned, and demanded fretfully, “How did you get in and what do you mean by eavesdropping?”
“I’m a detective,” Shayne’s wide mouth curved in a sardonic grin. “I didn’t want to interrupt your interesting conversation so I waited until you finished.”
“You’re well supplied with brazen effrontery, Shayne,” the realtor observed bitingly. “After what took place in the next room last night I should think you’d hesitate to show your face in my house.”
Shayne laughed shortly. He slouched down into a chair and ill a cigarette. “Granting that Darnell did choke your wife, you’re as much to blame as I am, Thrip.”
Thrip’s face turned darkly florid. His underlip trembled like a pendulum gone out of control. “You’d better leave, Shayne. I don’t propose to listen to your insults.”
“I’m staying, and you’ll listen to what I have to say.” He crossed his long legs and settled his left arm comfortably. He took a deep puff from his cigarette, emitted smoke slowly, and said, “Don’t forget that I know why Darnell was here-why he jimmied the window and-the reason for his coming upstairs at an early hour in the morning.”
Thrip tucked his cigar into the pouch of his thick lips, took a deep puff before replying. “I’ve explained to the police and they’re satisfied. You sent him in response to my request for a guard because of the threatening notes my wife had been receiving lately.”
Shayne simulated amazement. “Is that the story you cooked up? I wondered how you were going to get around the truth.”
“You will make matters very difficult for yourself if you contradict my story. You have no proof to the contrary and the police have the threatening notes.” Thrip leaned back in the low chair. A long breath wheezed through his nostrils.
“You mean there actually were some notes?” Shayne leaned forward attentively.
“Of course. As I am prepared to take oath, I explained to you yesterday afternoon.”
Their eyes met briefly. Thrip’s were calmly triumphant.
Shayne’s bushy red brows came down over half-closed gray eyes. He wondered whether Thrip knew of his wife’s visit to his apartment yesterday.
“I begin to see your game,” Shayne said slowly. “I suppose not even your wife knew the true reason for Darnell’s presence here last night?”
“Naturally not.” Thrip spoke with irritation. “A matter like that cannot be conducted without the utmost secrecy. Do you suppose my wife would have agreed to converting her jewels into cash? Not Leora. It made no difference to her that I needed a large sum of money desperately to swing a big deal.”
Shayne leaned back comfortably and changed the position of his legs. “I’m just beginning to realize what a scoundrel you are, Thrip. You not only planned to defraud the insurance company, but also to steal your wife’s jewels and make her think the robbery genuine. By God, I’m beginning to think you did have a perfect crime planned. Too bad an accident had to upset it.”
“My wife,” said Thrip coldly, “was mean and tyrannical. Since our marriage she has derived the most intense pleasure from being in a position to force me and my children to go to her for any sum of money beyond the inadequate allowances she grudgingly doled out. Not only was I refused the appointment as administrator of her deceased father’s estate, but she humiliated me by keeping control of every dollar of the income in her own hands.”
“It was her money,” Shayne snapped.
Thrip sat back in his chair looking straight ahead.
Shayne studied his pudgy face. He could clearly imagine the obsession the man had built up through the years into a persecution complex. Thrip honestly felt he had grounds for righteous indignation at being refused control of his wife’s property. To such a man, Shayne cogitated, and with such a grievance, a plan to defraud both his wife and an insurance company would appear both reasonable and just.
Shayne lit another cigarette and nodded as if in response to his deductions. “All right,” he said, “I get the picture. I don’t know that I blame you for taking steps. And I don’t blame you for keeping the truth concealed when things turned out as they did. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t help my position any if it came out that I was conniving with you to pull a fake robbery of your wife’s jewels. Don’t worry about me talking out of turn. But what about those threatening notes you mention? Where are they?”
“I turned them over to Mr. Painter this morning. There were three of them, threatening bodily harm to Leora unless she agreed to pay a hundred thousand dollars to the writer.”
“Anonymous?” Shayne asked casually.
“They were unsigned. She was directed to indicate her willingness to pay the sum demanded by placing an advertisement in the personal column of a newspaper.”
“And she didn’t do this?”
“She refused. As I have explained, my wife was not one to part with money easily. She pretended to dismiss the notes as the work of a harmless crank at first. Later she admitted she was worried and suggested we place the matter in the hands of a private detective. I confess my nervousness yesterday when she came to my office unexpectedly, but fortunately she spoke in such vague terms that you remained deceived.” There was a note of gratification in Thrip’s voice as though he preened himself on his cleverness in deception.
There was a short silence during which Shayne stared at the floor and Thrip stared straight ahead. Then, as if speaking to himself, Thrip muttered, “I shan’t pretend any great grief over my wife’s death, but it is a pity she had to die in such a brutal manner.”
Shayne’s eyes grew keen for an instant, but he was staring thoughtfully at the floor again when he said, “You say she pretended to dismiss the notes as the work of a crank at first. Do you imply that there was more to them than that-and she knew there was-she knew whom they were from?”
“I do imply exactly that. I feel morally certain she knew the identity of the author of the notes from the first. Guessing the authorship of the notes myself, I felt she was in grave danger, but when she refused to consider the consequences of disregarding the threats I considered myself absolved of all responsibility in the matter.”
“Hoping perhaps,” Shayne said with sharp irony, “that she would get bumped off so you could get your hands on her money.”
“I resent that, Mr. Shayne.” The realtor arose, his face purpling with wrath. “I see no reason why I should allow you to insult me. Your status in my house is that of an unwelcome intruder.”
Shayne didn’t move. His long legs were stretched out in front of him and his eyes were fixed on the toes of his number twelves. “I’m staying, Thrip. Sit down and stop swallowing your goozle. You’re not going to deny, are you, that her money comes to you and your children?”
Arnold Thrip fidgeted indecisively, then sat down on the extreme edge of his chair. “As to that, it will be a matter of common knowledge when Leora’s will is probated that half of her fortune comes to us.”
Shayne lifted his gaze sharply. “And the other half?”
“I can’t see that it’s any of your business,” Thrip said, “but her brother, Buell Renslow, will receive half of the estate. As a matter of fact, Leora’s entire portion of the fortune comes to us-half of her father’s estate. For years she has enjoyed the use of the income from the entire estate, but there was a provision in her father’s will providing that one-half should go to her brother upon her death-or be held in trust for him until his release from the penitentiary to which he was sentenced twenty-five years ago for murder.”
Shayne snapped from his moodiness with a start of surprise. “You’d better start at the beginning and tell it straight through.”
Thrip stuck a dead cigar in the little pouch he made of his lips, drew ineffectually, laid the cigar on the stand. He turned a little toward Shayne. “I can’t see that it is any concern of yours,” he said with conscious dignity.
Shayne’s half-closed eyes were brilliant. “Murder has been committed, Mr. Thrip,” he said in a low tone. “You and your children are involved. You might be doing yourself a favor to come clean with me.”
Thrip took a fresh cigar from a humidor on the stand, lit it, blew a puff of smoke ceilingward. “It is a brief though sordid story. You can understand my hesitancy in speaking of it. I have a standing in the community to maintain.”
“Well?” Shayne said impatiently.
“Two years before I married Leora, her only brother killed a man in a drunken brawl in a western mining camp. He was sentenced to life imprisonment and the disgrace of it hastened his father’s death. His father had taken millions in gold from a Colorado mine. His will stipulated that his entire fortune should be inherited by his daughter for her use as she saw fit during her lifetime, but in the event of her death, one-half of her estate should be set aside as a trust for the brother in the unlikely event that he redeemed himself and made a good enough record in the penitentiary to receive a pardon. If he should he pardoned before her death, he was to receive the income from one-half of the estate until her death. Buell Renslow was pardoned from the penitentiary two months ago.”
Thrip paused to puff on the cigar which had accumulated a long gray ash. He flipped the ash off carefully, glanced at Shayne’s impassive face, and continued:
“Renslow came here to Miami immediately after being released, and contacted his sister. He demanded that she turn over to him the money that would legally become his upon her death. Leora, being of the grasping nature I have described to you, refused his request. She instructed her attorneys to pay over to him the income every month and refused to see him after that first occasion. Two weeks later, the first threatening note arrived. I am positive it was written by her ex-convict brother, but he has never been discussed between us, and neither of us mentioned our belief that he wrote the notes. I am positive, however, that she knew they could come only from Buell Renslow.”
Shayne listened with fixed attention during the last part of the recital. Not by look or gesture did he indicate that he knew of the notes from Leora Thrip’s own lips.
He nodded and muttered, “Then this Buell will actually benefit by his sister’s death?”
“Of course. To the tune of more than a million dollars. If her death had come about under any other circumstances, Mr. Shayne, I should not hesitate to suspect her brother of the crime.”
“You mean-if you hadn’t caught the killer in the act and knew it couldn’t be Renslow?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
“But he wouldn’t have access to the house,” Shayne argued. “He couldn’t have got into her room.”
Thrip looked at him in astonishment “You are overly trusting for an efficient detective, Mr. Shayne, to put it mildly. A man like that, who has consorted with criminals for years, could easily get an impression of a lock and have a locksmith make a key to fit it. He might even bribe a servant to leave a window unlatched.” His eyes were bulging at Shayne. He held the detective’s gaze steadily until he turned to contemplate his cigar.
“I-see,” Shayne said. He shrugged and asked, “What about the jewel case? I didn’t see it when I was called in last night And Darnell didn’t have a thousand-dollar bill on him-according to police reports.”
There was a red glow on Thrip’s cigar. “Why, he evidently had gone to my wife’s bed before looking for the case. A man like Darnell wouldn’t be likely to think of money while contemplating such-such a crime as he committed. At any rate, the case was on the vanity with the bill inside when I called the police. Naturally, I removed it before they arrived.”
“Naturally,” Shayne muttered.
“Quite naturally,” Thrip agreed smugly.
“What about your daughter’s friend, Carl Meldrum?” Shayne shot out. “I understand he brought her home late last night.”
“Meldrum? What about him?” Thrip appeared blandly disinterested in Meldrum.
“That’s what I’m asking you. What sort of an egg is he?”
“I know nothing against him. He appears to have money, also breeding and social position.”
Shayne said, “U-m-m. One more question, Mr. Thrip.” He was tugging at the lobe of his left ear with right thumb and forefinger. “Who was the last person to see your wife alive-and at what time?”
Thrip fidgeted in his chair. His bulging eyes were cold, his manner plainly irritated. “The police definitely established that last night. Dorothy stopped and spoke to her mother on her way up to her room at one-thirty.”
Shayne nodded decisively and got to his feet. “You wouldn’t have any idea where I could reach Buell Renslow?”
“None whatever. He hasn’t put in an appearance here since that first visit after his release from prison about two months ago.”
“Do either of your children know about him?”
“Only vaguely. I’m sure neither of them knows he has been pardoned and is in Miami.”
Shayne thanked him and went out the door. He hurried down the stairs. Out in the fresh salt-tanged air he filled his lungs deeply on the way to his car.
He drove back to Miami and to police headquarters where he went directly to the private office of his old friend, Will Gentry, Miami detective chief.