I turn to you also because while I have a lawyer who is able and who believes in my innocence and who is leaving no stone unturned to prove it and have hopes of engaging Mr. Nick Charles to assist him I cannot ask either of them to undertake what is after all a patently illegal act nor do I know anybody else except you that I dare confide in. What I wish you to do is this, tomorrow go to Julia Wolf's apartment at 411 East 54th St. to which the enclosed key will admit you and between the pages of a book called The Grand Manner you will find a certain paper or statement which you are to read and destroy immediately. You are to be sure you destroy it completely leaving not so much as an ash and when you have read it you will know why this must be done and will understand why I have entrusted this task to you. In the event that something should develop to make a change in our plans advisable I will call you on the telephone late tonight.
If you do not hear from me I will telephone you tomorrow evening to learn if you have carried out my instructions and to make arrangements for a meeting. I have every confidence that you will realize the tremendous responsibility I am placing on your shoulders and that my confidence is not misplaced.
Affectionately,
Your Father
Wynant's sprawling signature was written in ink beneath “Your Father.”
Guild waited for me to say something. I waited for him. After a little of that he asked Gilbert: “And did he phone?”
“No, sir.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “Didn't you tell the operator not to put any calls through?”
“I—yes, I did. I was afraid you'd find out who it was if he called up while you were there, but he'd've left some kind of message with the operator, I think, and he didn't.”
“Then you haven't been seeing him?”
“No.”
“And he didn't tell you who killed Julia Wolf?”
“No.”
“You were lying to Dorothy?”
He lowered his head and nodded at the floor. “I was—it was—I suppose it was jealousy really.” He looked up at me now and his face was pink. “You see, Dorry used to look up to me and think I knew more than anybody else about almost everything and—you know—she'd come to me if there was anything she wanted to know and she always did what I told her, and then, when she got to seeing you, it was different. She looked up to you and respected you more— She naturally would, I mean, she'd've been silly if she hadn't, because there's no comparison, of course, but I—I suppose I was jealous and resented—well, not exactly resented it, because I looked up to you too—but I wanted to do something to impress her again—show off, I guess you'd call it—and when I got that letter I pretended I'd been seeing my father and he'd told me who committed those murders, so she'd think I knew things even you didn't.” He stopped, out of breath, and wiped his face with a handkerchief.
I outwaited Guild again until presently he said: “Well, I guess there ain't been a great deal of harm done, sonny, if you're sure you ain't doing harm by holding back some other things we ought to know.”
The boy shook his head. “No, sir, I'm not holding back anything.”
“You don't know anything about that knife and chain your mother give us?”
“No, sir, and I didn't know a thing about it till after she had given it to you.”
“How is she?” I asked.
“Oh, she's all right, I think, though she said she was going to stay in bed today.”
Guild narrowed his eyes. “What's the matter with her?”
“Hysteria,” I told him. “She and the daughter had a row last night and she blew up.”
“A row about what?”
“God knows—one of those feminine brain-storms.”
Guild said, “Hm-m-m,” and scratched his chin.
“Was Flint right in saying you didn't get a chance to hunt for your paper?” I asked the boy.
“Yes. I hadn't even had time to shut the door when he ran at me.”
“They're grand detectives I got working for me,” Guild growled. “Didn't he yell, 'Boo!' when he jumped out at you? Never mind. Well, son, I can do one of two things, and the which depends on you. I can hold you for a while or I can let you go in exchange for a promise that you'll let me know as soon as your father gets in touch with you and let me know what he tells you and where he wants you to meet him, if any.”
I spoke before Gilbert could speak: “You can't ask that of him, Guild. It's his own father.”
“I can't, huh?” He scowled at me. “Ain't it for his father's good if he's innocent?”
I said nothing.
Guild's face cleared slowly. “All right, then, son, suppose I put you on a kind of parole. If your father or anybody else asks you to do anything, will you promise to tell them you can't because you give me your word of honor you wouldn't?”
The boy looked at me.
I said: “That sounds reasonable.”
Gilbert said: “Yes, sir, I'll give you my word.”
Guild made a large gesture with one hand. “Oke. Run along.”
The boy stood up saying: “Thank you very much, sir.” He turned to me. “Are you going to be—”
“Wait for me outside,” I told him, “if you're not in a hurry.”
“I will. Good-by, Lieutenant Guild, and thank you.” He went out.
Guild grabbed his telephone and ordered The Grand Manner and its contents found and brought to him. That done, he clasped his hands behind his head and rocked back in his chair. “So what?”
“It's anybody's guess,” I said.
“Look here, you don't still think Wynant didn't do it?”
“What difference does it make what I think? You've got plenty on him now with what Mimi gave you.”
“It makes a lot of difference,” he assured me. “I'd like a lot to know what you think and why.”
“My wife thinks he's trying to cover up somebody else.”
“Is that so? Hm-m-m. I was never one to belittle women's intuition and, if you don't mind me saying so, Mrs. Charles is a mighty smart woman. Who does she think it is?”
“She hadn't decided, the last I heard.”
He sighed. “Well, maybe that paper he sent the kid for will tell us something.”
But the paper told us nothing that afternoon: Guild's men could not find it, could not find a copy of The Grand Manner in the dead woman's rooms.
29
Guild had red-haired Flint in again and put the thumbscrews on him. The ned-haired man sweat away ten pounds, but he stuck to it that Gilbert had had no opportunity to disturb anything in the apartment and throughout Flint's guardianship nobody hadn't touched nothing. He did not remember having seen a book called The Grand Manner, but he was not a man you would expect to memorize book titles. He tried to be helpful and made idiotic suggestions until Guild chased him out.
“The kid's probably waiting for me outside,” I said, “if you think talking to him again will do any good.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Well, then. But, by God, somebody took that book and I'm going to—”
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?”
“Why'd it have to be there for somebody to take?”
Guild scratched his chin. “Just what do you mean by that?”
