“No. I still have no idea. I simply see a motive now, which didn’t seem to exist previously. You brought me here to give me a lead,” he reminded her. “I was hesitant about protecting your son, when I thought he was the blackmailer. If he was the victim instead, I have no hesitancy at all in covering up for him. You said he acted in a foolish and misguided manner last night… which may have resulted in murder. You had better tell me all about it.”
“Yes. I think it is time someone in a position to act knew the facts. I realize now that my son’s action was partially my fault. You see, when I sent him to pay the money, he did not know whom he was going to pay it to. I pretended that the doctor’s identity was unknown to me. Don’t ask me why, Mr. Shayne. It goes far back into the past which I did not wish to discuss with Cecil. I thought it would all end with the simple exchange of envelopes. This nightmare of fear that has enveloped me for years.”
“For years?” asked Shayne gently.
“Yes. I’ve been paying him tribute for many years. I was his patient once, Mr. Shayne. As so many foolish women do with their doctors, I quite adored him. He was a little, tin god, who took the place of a priest and I confided in him as one would in the Confessional. Then he gently… oh, so gently… began tightening the screws. It was very simple and his method made it almost painless and practically impossible to prove that I was being blackmailed. He merely increased my bill for medical services by a hundred dollars each month. They don’t send itemized bills, you know, and there was nothing to indicate I hadn’t received the services I was billed for.
“I ceased going to him as a medical man, of course, but the monthly bills continued to arrive… in varying odd amounts of a little more or a little less than a hundred dollars each month… and I continued to pay them.
“Until recently, when he called me to say that he was in desperate need of cash and that the monthly driblets were no longer sufficient and he was willing to liquidate the affair for a flat payment of twenty thousand dollars. I agreed.”
“He had some tangible evidence against your son?”
“Yes,” she told him stonily. “Somehow, using the information I had given him in confidence, he had acquired certain documents which I did not wish made public. They are now destroyed, thank God, and no one need ever know the facts.”
“I shan’t press you for them,” Shayne assured her. “What happened last night that you fear has a bearing on his death?”
“I knew nothing about it until Cecil confessed last night, after we learned from television that Dr. Ambrose had been shot. As I told you, Cecil did not know the name of the man who was blackmailing me on his account. I didn’t want him to know because I feared he might try to take matters into his own hands… recover the documents by force. He didn’t do that, but he did do something that I fear may have been equally foolish. He confided in a friend of his that he was making a blackmail pay-off at the Seacliff last night, and asked this friend to make arrangements to have a picture made of the meeting… with some idea of holding this picture over the blackmailer’s head in the future, if he ever renewed his demands on me.”
“So it was your son who had that picture taken! I supposed all the time it was Ambrose’s cute idea.”
“Why on earth would he want a picture of himself committing blackmail?”
“You’re got to remember that I’ve been going on the assumption all the time that Dr. Ambrose was the victim. What happened to the picture, Mrs. Montgomery?”
“That’s what worries me. Cecil had arranged with this friend to meet him afterward and get the picture. He went to the rendezvous and waited for more than an hour, but the fellow did not turn up. Cecil wasn’t unduly worried at the time, but after he returned home and we learned that Dr. Ambrose had been murdered, he did begin to wonder whether this so-called friend might have been tempted by the thought of the twenty thousand dollars in the doctor’s possession… followed him over to the Beach and killed him for it. You see the implications, Mr. Shayne. Only this man and my son knew what that envelope contained.”
“So you think one of them killed him?”
“Not my son, Mr. Shayne. But I am afraid his friend may have been tempted.”
“Where is Cecil now?” demanded Shayne.
“He is in New York,” she told him calmly. “After he told me last night what had happened, I insisted that he take an early plane north. I am not going to have him questioned and badgered by the police.”
Shayne said quietly, “If he has information about a homicide, he can be brought back to testify, Mrs. Montgomery.”
“That is what I expect you to avoid. You gave me your word to keep Cecil’s name out of it.”
Shayne said, “I told you I would, if we can solve the murder without bringing him into it. Who is the man Cecil suspects?”
“His name is Fritz Harlan. That’s just about all I can tell you, Mr. Shayne. It is practically all that Cecil told me. I don’t know the man personally. From things Cecil has said, I gather that he is a person who is known to the police and has a variety of unsavory contacts in the city. It shouldn’t be difficult for an experienced man like you to get on his trail.”
Shayne said, “We’ll see.” He paused, marshalling his thoughts. “This Fritz Harlan knew Cecil was turning twenty thousand dollars over to Ambrose last night? At your son’s suggestion and request, he arranged to have a photographer present to make a record of the pay-off? He had arranged with Cecil to meet him afterward and deliver the picture? He didn’t show up as had been arranged? Then, when Cecil learned that Ambrose had been murdered… presumably to obtain possession of the envelope containing your twenty thousand dollars… Cecil jumped to the conclusion that Fritz had committed the murder to get his hands on the money? Is that the essence of your thinking… what you are trying to tell me?”
“It all sounds logical, doesn’t it?”
“Sure,” agreed Shayne morosely. “On the other hand, Dr. Ambrose sounded pretty damned logical last night himself. How do I know your story is any straighter than his was?”
“You don’t,” she agreed promptly. “But, if you find Fritz Harlan, I don’t think you’ll have to look any further for your murderer.”
“If we do find him and arrest him, isn’t he likely to tell the whole story of your being blackmailed on Cecil’s account? It’s pretty difficult, Mrs. Montgomery, to keep all one’s dirty linen from being washed in public when there’s a homicide investigation involved. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m promising anything that I can’t deliver.”
“I think I’m going to trust you, Michael Shayne,” she told him abruptly. “Frankly, I don’t know what else to do under the circumstances. I want you to understand one thing, however: I would and will be perfectly happy if Dr. Ambrose’s murderer goes scot-free. I have a feeling that a lot of people were relieved and happy to hear about his death last night.”
“You think he was blackmailing others at the same time he was collecting money from you?” Shayne asked her bluntly.
“I have only my intuition to go on, but I do believe that… yes. From certain small hints he let drop… I think he made a practice of it over the years.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “From my own experience, I suggest that women patients of a doctor are likely to confide very intimate details of their personal life to him. In nine cases out of ten, probably, there would be nothing in such confidential revelations that would provide material for blackmail. But in each tenth case…”
She paused, looking at the detective shrewdly. “And think what a wonderful position a doctor is in to collect a certain sum each month from his victims. Most of them are married, with husbands, who pay the monthly bills. They can’t ask for extra money from their husbands to pay blackmail each month, but it is easy for them to agree to have a small extra amount tacked onto their medical bill each month. What husband questions his wife closely as to how many visits she paid the doctor that month? Considering the temptation,” she ended, “it is probably to the credit of doctors that more of them don’t turn into blackmailers.”
Shayne grinned at this rather novel idea. “Perhaps they do.” He paused, collecting his thoughts again. “Was your son a gambler, Mrs. Montgomery?”
“Cecil? No. Why do you ask that?”
“Are you quite positive?” persisted Shayne.
“Yes. That is… I know where his money went. I gave him a definite allowance and required him to account for every expenditure that he made.”
“What about his friend, Fritz Harlan? Was he connected with the gambling crowd?”
