A cell in my brain tried to get the right of way for the question, considering this development, how big a raise should I get after New Year’s? but I waved it to the curb.
I thought over other aspects. He had worn the gloves so I couldn’t recognize his hands. Where did he get them? What time had he got to Bottweill’s and who had seen him? Did Fritz know where he was going? How had he got back home? But after a little of that I realized that he hadn’t sent me up to my room to ask myself questions he could answer, so I went back to considering whether there was anything else he wanted me to think over alone. Deciding there wasn’t, after chewing it thoroughly, I got
From behind his desk, he glared at me as I crossed over.
“Here it is,” I said, and handed him the book. “And much obliged for the gloves.” I held them up, one in each hand, dangling them from thumb and fingertip.
“It is no occasion for clowning,” he growled.
“It sure isn’t.” I dropped the gloves on my desk, whirled my chair, and sat. “Where do we start? Do you want to know what happened after you left?”
“The details can wait. First where we stand. Was Mr. Cramer there?”
“Yes. Certainly.”
“Did he get anywhere?”
“No. He probably won’t until he finds Santa Claus. Until they find Santa Claus they won’t dig very hard at the others. The longer it takes to find him the surer they’ll be he’s it. Three things about him: nobody knows who he was, he beat it, and he wore gloves. A thousand men are looking for him. You were right to wear the gloves, I would have recognized your hands, but where did you get them?”
“At a store on Ninth Avenue. Confound it, I didn’t know a man was going to be murdered!”
“I know you didn’t. May I ask some questions?”
He scowled. I took it for yes. “When did you phone Bottweill to arrange it?”
“At two-thirty yesterday afternoon. You had gone to the bank.”
“Have you any reason to think he told anyone about it?”
“No. He said he wouldn’t.”
“I know he got the costume, so that’s okay. When you left here today at twelve-thirty did you go straight to Bottweill’s?”
“No. I left at that hour because you and Fritz expected me to. I stopped to buy the gloves, and met him at Rusterman’s, and we had lunch. From there we took a cab to his place, arriving shortly after two o’clock, and took his private elevator up to his office. Immediately upon entering his office, he got a bottle of Pernod from a drawer of his desk, said he always had a little after lunch, and invited me to join him. I declined. He poured a liberal portion in a glass, about two ounces, drank it in two gulps, and returned the bottle to the drawer.”
“My God.” I whistled. “The cops would like to know
“No doubt. The costume was there in a box. There is a dressing room at the rear of his office, with a bathroom-”
“I know. I’ve used it.”
“I took the costume there and put it on. He had ordered the largest size, but it was a squeeze and it took a while. I was in there half an hour or more. When I re-entered the office it was empty, but soon Bottweill came, up the stairs from the workshop, and helped me with the mask and wig. They had barely been adjusted when Emil Hatch and Mrs. Jerome and her son appeared, also coming up the stairs from the workshop. I left, going to the studio, and found Miss Quon and Miss Dickey and Mr. Kiernan there.”
“And before long I was there. Then no one saw you unmasked. When did you put the gloves on?”
“The last thing. Just before I entered the studio.”
“Then you may have left prints. I know, you didn’t know there was going to be a murder. You left your clothes in the dressing room? Are you sure you got everything when you left?”
“Yes. I am not a complete ass.”
I let that by. “Why didn’t you leave the gloves in the elevator with the costume?”
“Because they hadn’t come with it, and I thought it better to take them.”
“That private elevator is at the rear of the hall downstairs. Did anyone see you leaving it or passing through the hall?”
“No. The hall was empty.”
“How did you get home? Taxi?”
“No. Fritz didn’t expect me until six or later. I walked to the public library, spent some two hours there, and then took a cab.”
I pursed my lips and shook my head to indicate sympathy. That was his longest and hardest tramp since Montenegro. Over a mile. Fighting his way through the blizzard, in terror of the law on his tail. But all the return I got for my look of sympathy was a scowl, so I let loose. I laughed. I put my head back and let it come. I had wanted to ever since I had learned he was Santa Claus, but had been too busy thinking. It was bottled up in me, and I let it out, good. I was about to taper off to a cackle when he exploded.
“Confound it,” he bellowed, “marry and be damned!”
