‘She kicked?’

  ‘And hard.’ I paused, smoking and getting my thoughts in order. ‘I don’t know all the ins and outs; that can come later when we have time to check. But this is what I think happened. Wendle knew of the earlier marriage. He put the pressure on and had her send him money to an accommodation address, the Green Street apartment. Harmond had the job of posting the letters and, finally, when she grew desperate, he took her wristwatch, some keepsake she’d had for years, and hocked that too. Finally, she took her jewels and tried to buy Wendle off. It didn’t work.’

  ‘He killed her.’ Bresholm nodded. ‘I can see that. She threatened to expose him, of course.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But if Thornedyke was protecting her, then why didn’t he rub the lawyer out?’ Constance thoughtfully lit a fresh cigarette. ‘It seems the obvious thing to do.’

  ‘I thought of that,’ I said, ‘and this is how I see it: Wendle was a lawyer and would have protected himself. We’ll probably find that he left letters or something to be opened if he was found dead, or vanished, or didn’t report in at regular intervals. Thornedyke must have known this and, more important, Thornedyke needed Wendle more than Wendle needed Thornedyke. Wendle would be the one to probate the will. He could make it smooth or he could make it hard. He could blow the entire scheme with a word and, if he wasn’t around to handle things, someone else might check and discover the earlier marriage. Result, no money, no nothing. It was safer to keep Wendle alive.’

  ‘And the blackmail?’

  ‘Strictly Wendle’s idea. He must be pressed for cash, if he wasn’t he would have remained honest in the first place. He couldn’t wait, maybe he was fixing the books or something, and he wanted to get what he could as soon as he could. So he applied pressure. Norma, terrified at losing her chance of a decent life, tried to buy him off. Result—end of Norma.’

  ‘So you found the body and decided to set a trap.’

  ‘A trap that almost didn’t work. I fixed it with Bresholm to stand by, but when Stephan walked in, he thought that it was all over. Wendle crawled up the fire escape; he knew that Norma was dead, but Stephan thought that she was still alive. The poor sucker was still in love with her and wanted to see her.’ I looked at Bresholm. ‘Incidentally, there should have been an officer on that fire-escape.’

  ‘There was,’ he said shortly. ‘Wendle sapped him.’

  ‘Anyway, he listened in and decided to make a clean sweep of it. Norma must have told Stephan what was going on when he drove her down. That’s why no one knew anything about her leaving the house, Stephan wasn’t supposed to drive.’

  ‘And Harmond?’ Bresholm seemed satisfied.

  ‘Wendle. He must have had an idea that the old man knew too much. He followed him and rubbed him out. At that he was lucky, Pug almost caught him, but he managed to get into his car and put Pug where he couldn’t do any harm. Wendle must have phoned Thornedyke too to warn him that I was getting nosey. Or maybe having me beat up was Thornedyke’s own idea. It doesn’t matter now anyway.’

  I dropped my hand on to the latch and opened the door of the car.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Bresholm stared at me. ‘I’ll take you home.’

  ‘Take Constance home,’ I said. ‘I’m going for a walk.’

  He didn’t argue. Constance tried to, but he shut her up and I was grateful for him for doing it. Walking slowly down the street, I had time to think of what I had said.

  Logical?

  Well, perhaps. Wendle had killed the missing woman. Thornedyke had been after the Geeson fortune. Norma had wanted to break loose and make another start.

  No need to go into details about how Stephan had known more than he said, or about how the Colonel hadn’t wanted the police because he was afraid that one or both of his own children might have been responsible. Or about how Marvin was terrified I would find out something harmful to the family. Or why Susan gambled away a small fortune at the Purple Orchid.

  It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered. The case was over.

  Almost.

  The car drew up beside me with a sigh of brakes, and the rear door swung open with mute invitation. I climbed in. It was warm, snug, and smelled of polished leather and good cigars. The Colonel was there, and Susan, and between the front and back of the car the division which shut off the driver had been lowered. Marvin turned and smiled and I smiled back.

  ‘Well?’ The Colonel was testy. ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘The minimum. Wendle killed her and Harmond. Why?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He breathed a deep sigh of relief. ‘I thought—’

  ‘You thought that Stephan had killed her. Marvin thought so too; he would know that a car had been used that night and he would know who drove it. Susan thought the same, so she deliberately threw some money towards Thornedyke via the gambling tables to keep him quiet. Did he ask for it or did you offer it?’

  ‘He hinted something,’ said the Colonel quietly. ‘I didn’t know what to do’ His hand fell and gripped Susan’s fingers. ‘Stephan is almost all I have.’

  ‘Stephan is all right,’ I said ‘When he gets over that knock on the head, send him away for a cure and start him over again. He took it hard, but that was your fault. He loved his mother and didn’t like you setting up a cheap imitation in her place.’ I stopped his protests. ‘I know. You thought that it would be for his own good. Colonel, one day you’ll learn that you just can’t do things for people’s own good. They have to do it their way or it doesn’t count.’

  ‘You mean well,’ he said, still stiff, ‘but—’

  ‘But you think I ought to keep my big mouth shut.’ I shrugged. ‘Maybe I should, but what else do you expect when you hire a private eye? Did you want me to sit on my tail and say nothing, do nothing? And what did you think I was going to do when everyone tried to deny every fact in the world? You can’t cover up murder, Colonel, not even when you think that it’s been done by your own son. What’s the point in employing someone to do a job if you refuse to help him do it?’

  He didn’t answer and I didn’t blame him.

  ‘Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t talk like that but I’ve had a hell of a time. When I think of the difference a little help would have made—’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and for him it was a big admission. ‘I made a mistake, I realise that now, but how was I to know that you were to be trusted?’

  ‘You didn’t know,’ I said. ‘That’s the trouble with this racket. People need help, but they are afraid that in getting out of it they will get in more.’ I grinned at him. ‘Don’t get me wrong, most of the private eyes are honest enough, but there are even more who will find out what they can, and pass it on to someone who will try to make a little extra money on the side. Forget it.’

  ‘I won’t forget it,’ he said quietly. Paper rustled and in the roof-light I could see the rich green of hundred dollar bills.

  ‘Ten thousand dollars was the agreed fee, Mr. Lantry.’ He passed it to me and I took it. Why not? It was money fairly earned.

  ‘Thank you, Colonel.’

  ‘This is for your discretion.’ He held out more money and I shook my head.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No? Why not?’

  ‘You set a price and I agreed to it.’ I felt too tired to explain that even a man who goes to work with a gun under his arm can have ethics. ‘But there is something you can do for me.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Send a thousand dollars to a girl named Georgette. Bresholm has her in protective custody and will pass it on to her.’

  ‘Certainly, may I ask why?’

  ‘She saved my life.’

  No need to tell him how she had tipped me off that I was heading for trouble. No one says ‘good-bye’ to a person they expect to meet within the hour. Not a girl like that, anyway, and the last two words she had spoken over the telephone had given me the tip-off. I reached for the door handle.

  ‘May I drive you home, Mr. Lantry?’

  ‘No thank you.’ I grinned at him, then at Susan. I winked.

  ‘Marvin is crazy about you,’ I said. ‘He even tried to beat me up a couple of times because he thought that I might discover something to hurt you. Probably he’s too shy to tell you himself, so you can take it as words from a friend.’

  She blushed and, from what I could see, Marvin was blushing too. The Colonel stared at me, then at his daughter, then held out his hand.

  ‘Thank you again, Mr. Lantry.’

  ‘Make it Mike.’

  ‘Thank you, Mike. I know a lot of people and I know now that you are to be trusted. Don’t be surprised if you get quite a few cases soon.’ He smiled, a friendly smile. ‘I don’t think that all of them will be as hectic as this one was.’

  I stepped out of the car then and watched it drive away.

  People. They’re all the same. They employ a man to clean up their trouble and then get scared because he may find out too much. So they lie and cheat and deny and make a hard job even harder for everyone, including themselves.

  But I felt good as I stared after the car.

  The Colonel had ten million dollars and he had friends. Wealthy people are always in trouble of one sort or another, and his recommendation would go a long way to putting me where I wanted to get. To the top, to the place where my agency would be the biggest and best.

  And if I had a little trouble getting there, well, what of it?

  Trouble was my business.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  English writer E. C. Tubb is internationally known, having been translated into more than a dozen languages. In a sixty-year writing career he published over 120 novels, and more than 200 science fiction short stories in such magazines as Astounding/Analog, Authentic, Fantasy Adventures, Galaxy, Nebula, New Worlds, Science Fantasy, and Vision of Tomorrow.

  Tubb’s early science fiction novels were exciting adventure stories, written in the prevailing fashion of the early 1950s. Yet, from his very first novel, his work was characterized at all times by a sense of plausibility, logic, and human insight. These qualities were even more evident in his short stories, which were frequently anthologized.

  By 1956 his output included adventure, detective stories, and westerns, but he remained best known for his numerous science fiction novels, of which Alien Dust (1955) and The Space Born (1956) were acknowledged classics. Tubb became famous for his long-running “Dumarest of Terra” series of novels, the galaxy-spanning saga of Earl Dumarest and his search to find his way back across the stars to the legendary lost planet where he was born—Earth. They eventually spanned thirty-three titles, the final one, Child of Earth, appearing in November 2008. Equally well known were his Space 1999 TV novelizations, and his “Cap Kennedy” novels. Some of his finest SF short stories were collected in The Best Science Fiction of E. C. Tubb (Wildside, 2003). Tubb continued to write dynamic science fiction novels right up to his death in October, 2010.

 

 

  E. C. Tubb, Assignment New York

 

 

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