'Midnight, I dare say.'
'Midnight?'
'That's the word. The time when the graves give up their dead, and ghosts walk.'
'Miss Leggett said it was after three o'clock.'
'You see how it is!' he exclaimed, blandly triumphant, as if he had demonstrated something we had been arguing about. 'She's half blind and won't wear glasses for fear of losing beauty. She's always making mistakes like that. Plays abominable bridge--takes deuces for aces. It was probably a quarter after twelve, and she looked at the clock and got the hands mixed.'
I said: 'That's too bad,' and 'Thanks,' and went up to Halstead and Beauchamp's store in Geary Street.
Watt Halstead was a suave, pale, bald, fat man, with tired eyes and a too tight collar. I told him what I was doing and asked him how well he knew Leggett.
'I know him as a desirable customer and by reputation as a scientist. Why do you ask?'
'His burglary's sour--in spots anyway.'
'Oh, you're mistaken. That is, you're mistaken if you think a man of his caliber would be mixed up in anything like that. A servant, of course; yes, that's possible: it often happens, doesn't it? But not Leggett. He is a scientist of some standing--he has done some remarkable work with color--and, unless our credit department has been misinformed, a man of more than moderate means. I don't mean that he is wealthy in the modern sense of the word, but too wealthy for a thing of that sort. And, confidentially, I happen to know that his present balance in the Seaman's National Bank is in excess of ten thousand dollars. Well--the eight diamonds were worth no more than a thousand or twelve or thirteen hundred dollars.'
'At retail? Then they cost you five or six hundred?'
'Well,' smiling, 'seven fifty would be nearer.'
'How'd you come to give him the diamonds?'
'He's a customer of ours, as I've told you, and when I learned what he had done with glass, I thought what a wonderful thing it would be if the same method could be applied to diamonds. Fitzstephan--it was largely through him that I learned of Leggett's work with glass--was skeptical, but I thought it worth trying--still think so--and persuaded Leggett to try.'
Fitzstephan was a familiar name. I asked: 'Which Fitzstephan was that?'
'Owen, the writer. You know him?'
'Yeah, but I didn't know he was on the coast. We used to drink out of the same bottle. Do you know his address?'
Halstead found it in the telephone book for me, a Nob Hill apartment.
From the jeweler's I went to the vicinity of Minnie Hershey's home. It was a Negro neighborhood, which made the getting of reasonably accurate information twice as unlikely as it always is.
What I managed to get added up to this: The girl had come to San Francisco from Winchester, Virginia, four or five years ago, and for the last half-year had been living with a Negro called Rhino Tingley. One told me Rhino's first name was Ed, another Bill, but they agreed that he was young, big, and black and could easily be recognized by the scar on his chin. I was also told that he depended for his living on Minnie and pool; that he was not bad except when he got mad--then he was supposed to be a holy terror; and that I could get a look at him the early part of almost any evening in either Bunny Mack's barber-shop or Big-foot Gerber's cigar-store.
I learned where these joints were and then went downtown again, to the police detective bureau in the Hall of Justice. Nobody was in the pawnshop detail office. I crossed the corridor and asked Lieutenant Duff whether anybody had been put on the Leggett job.
He said: 'See O'Gar.'
I went into the assembly room, looking for O'Gar and wondering what he--a homicide detail detective- sergeant--had to do with my job. Neither O'Gar nor Pat Reddy, his partner, was in. I smoked a cigarette, tried to guess who had been killed, and decided to phone Leggett.
'Any police detectives been in since I left?' I asked when his harsh voice was in my ear.
'No, but the police called up a little while ago and asked my wife and daughter to come to a place in Golden Gate Avenue to see if they could identify a man there. They left a few minutes ago. I didn't accompany them, not having seen the supposed burglar.'
'Whereabouts in Golden Gate Avenue?'
He didn't remember the number, but he knew the block--above Van Ness Avenue. I thanked him and went out there.
In the designated block I found a uniformed copper standing in the doorway of a small apartment house. I asked him if O'Gar was there.
'Up in three ten,' he said.
I rode up in a rickety elevator. When I got out on the third floor, I came face to face with Mrs. Leggett and her daughter, leaving.
'Now I hope you're satisfied that Minnie had nothing to do with it,' Mrs. Leggett said chidingly.
'The police found your man?'
'Yes.'
I said to Gabrielle Leggett: 'Eric Collinson says it was only midnight, or a few minutes later, that you got home Saturday night.'
