“He didn't meet Macaulay at the Plaza the day of the murder, he didn't commit suicide in Allentown, he says he only got a thousand from Julia Wolf when we thought he was getting five thousand, he says they were just friends when we think they were lovers, he disappoints us too much for me to have much confidence in what he says.”
“It's a fact,” Guild said, “that I'd understand it better if he'd either come in or run away. Him hanging around like this, just messing things up, don't fit in anywhcres that I can see.”
“Are you watching his shop?”
“We're kind of keeping an eye on it. Why?”
“I don't know,” I said truthfully, “except that he's pointed his finger at a lot of things that got us nowhere. Maybe we ought to pay some attention to the things he hasn't pointed at, and the shop's one of them.”
Guild said: “Hm-m-m.”
I said, “I'll leave you with that bright thought,” and put on my hat and coat. “Suppose I wanted to get hold of you late at night, how would I reach you?”
He gave me his telephone number, we shook hands, and I left.
Gilbert Wynant was waiting for me in the corridor. Neither of us said anything until we were in a taxicab. Then he asked: “He thinks I was telling the truth, doesn't he?”
“Sure. Weren't you?”
“Oh, yes, but people don't always believe you. You won't say any— thing to Mamma about this, will you?”
“Not if you don't want me to.”
“Thank you,” he said. “In your opinion, is there more opportunity for a young man out West than here in the East?”
I thought of him working on Guild's fox farm while I replied: “Not now. Thinking of going west?”
“I don't know. I want to do something.” He fidgeted with his necktie. “You'll think it's a funny question: is there much incest?”
“There's some,” I told him; “that's why they've got a name for it.”
His face flushed.
I said: “I'm not making fun of you. It's one of the things nobody knows. There's no way of finding out.”
We had a couple of blocks of silence after that. Then he said: “There's another funny question I'd like to ask you: what do you think of me?” He was more self-conscious about it than Alice Quinn had been.
“You're all right,” I told him, “and you're all wrong.”
He looked away, out the window. “I'm so awfully young.”
We had some more silence. Then he coughed and a little blood trickled from one corner of his mouth.
“That guy did hurt you,” I said.
He nodded shamefacedly and put his handkerchief to his mouth. “I'm not very strong.”
At the Courtland he would not let me help him out of the taxicab and he insisted he could manage alone, but I went upstairs with him, suspecting that otherwise he would say nothing to anybody about his condition.
I rang the apartment bell before he could get his key out, and Mimi opened the door. She goggled at his black eye.
I said: “He's hurt. Get him to bed and get him a doctor.”
“What happened?”
“Wynant sent him into something.”
“Into what?”
“Never mind that until we get him fixed up.”
“But Clyde was here,” she said. “That's why I phoned you.”
“What?”
“He was.” She nodded vigorously. “And he asked where Gil was. He was here for an hour or more. He hasn't been gone ten minutes.”
“All right, let's get him to bed.”
Gilbert stubbornly insisted that he needed no help, so I left him in the bedroom with his mother and went out to the telephone.
“Any calls?” I asked Nora when I had her on the line.
“Yes, sir. Messrs. Macaulay and Guild want you to phone them, and Mesdames Jorgensen and Quinn want you to phone them. No childrep so far.”
“When did Guild call?”
“About five minutes ago. Mind eating alone? Larry asked me to go see the new Osgood Perkins show with him.”
“Go ahead. See you later.”
I called up Herbert Macaulay.
“The date's off,” he told me. “I heard from our friend and he's up to God knows what. Listen, Charles, I'm going to the police. I've had enough of it.”
“I guess there's nothing else to do now,” I said. “I was thinking about telephoning some policemen myself. I'm at Mimi's. He was here a few minutes ago. I just missed him.”
“What was he doing there?”
“I'm going to try to find out now.”
“Were you serious about phoning the police?”
“Sure.”
“Then suppose you do that and I'll come on over.”
“Right. Be seeing you.”
I called up Guild.
“A little news came in right after you heft,” he said. “Are you where I can give it to you?”
“I'm at Mrs. Jorgensen's. I had to bring the kid home. That red-head lad of yours has got him bleeding somewhere inside.”
“I'll kill that mugg,” he snarled. “Then I better not talk.”
“I've got some news, too. Wynant was here for about an hour this afternoon, according to Mrs. Jorgensen, and left only a few minutes before I got here.”
There was a moment of silence, then he said: “HoId everything. I'll be right up.”
Mimi came into the living-room while I was looking up the Quinns' telephone number. “Do you think he's seriously hurt?” she asked.
“I don't know, but you ought to get your doctor right away.” I pushed the telephone towards her. When she was through with it, I said: “I told the police Wynant had been here.”
She nodded, “That's what I phoned you for, to ask if I ought to tell them.”
“I phoned Macaulay, too. He's coming over.”
“He can't do anything,” she said indignantly. “Clyde gave them to me of his own free will—they're mine.”
“What's yours?”
“Those bonds, the money.”
“What bonds? what money?”
She went to the table and pulled the drawer out. “See?”
Inside were three packages of bonds held together by thick rubber bands. Across the top of them lay a pink check on the Park Avenue Trust Company to the order of Mimi Jorgensen for ten thousand dollars, signed Clyde Miller Wynant, and dated January 3, 1933.
“Dated five days ahead,” I said. “What kind of nonsense is that?”
“He said he hadn't that much in his account and might not be able to make a deposit for a couple of days.”
“There's going to be hell about this,” I warned her. “I hope you're ready for it.”
“I don't see why,” she protested. “I don't see why my husband—my former husband—can't provide for me and his children if he wants to.”
“Cut it out. What'd you sell him?”
