home, but Mrs. Radford was. I waited and heard a click on the line. No one spoke. A moment later Mrs. Radford came on.
“You again, Mr. Fortune?” she said.
“Sorry. Can you tell me if everyone was up there Wednesday night, late? Between midnight and five A.M. Start with yourself.”
“You’re a direct man. I presume I was in bed. Has something more happened?”
“A man named Paul Baron was shot. Didn’t the police call?”
“Why would they call? I told you I knew no Paul Baron.”
“Walter knew him.”
“Then I suppose they would call Walter.”
“Was he at home Wednesday night?”
“No, he and Deirdre went to New York. They stayed the night with George, I believe.”
“How about your daughter?”
“Morgana? Why, I think she was here. Yes, I’m sure.”
“How sure?”
“Really, Mr. Fortune, you spoke to her yourself that evening. But, of course, she does have her own cottage. I don’t watch her. That was the night before the funeral. We buried poor Jonathan yesterday. I’m sure she was here.”
I thanked her and listened to her hang up. I waited. The line did not go dead at once. There was a brief pause before it clicked dead.
I went back to my eggs.
Walter Radford answered the door of the East Sixty-third Street apartment. His face was drawn, and his chip eyes were smaller than ever. His lip twitched, and his manners were down.
“What do you want?”
“Some more questions.”
His smile seemed to hurt him. “Go away.”
He tried to stare me down, but it wasn’t his character. I stared back and pushed in past him. I detected changes already. There were two tall brass lamps with gaudy shades, a fustian armchair with footstool, and a carved smoking stand. The balance had been ruined. A bachelor Victorian gentleman fussiness had crept into the room. It looked like George Ames was out from under the hand of Jonathan.
I turned on Walter. “I know what the $25,000 was really about. So do the police, although I doubt if they’ll do much about your lying, seeing who you are, and that they figure the case is solved.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Just how much did Baron have on you?”
“Baron had nothing on me. You can’t prove he did.”
“You mean with Baron dead it can’t be proved? Lucky.”
He clenched his fists, took a step toward me. I grinned. He had two hands, but I had seen him swing at Costa. It isn’t often I feel in command of a physical situation. His hands dropped.
“Go away, Fortune. Please.”
His voice was as plaintive as that of a small boy asking a domineering father to leave him alone.
“The way it stands you had the prime motive to kill Baron. If he murdered Jonathan, he’d have wanted money for a fast fade. Did he go on with the squeeze? Did he contact you?”
“Of course not! And I didn’t know he was dead until the police called this morning. I lied about the blackmail, yes. Why admit I’d been involved in illegal business? I had no idea that Paul might have killed my uncle. I don’t know that he did. The police seem to think that Weiss killed them both.”
“And that suits you fine.”
“I don’t really care one way or the other.”
“You’re rich, and Baron is dead. End of the affair?”
“Why not?”
“Whoever killed Baron has what he had against you.”
His lip twitched again, but he said nothing.
“Was one of Baron’s witnesses Carla Devine?”
“Yes. The little bitch was in love with Paul.”
“Who else? Misty Dawn?”
“No one else, not as a partner, if that’s what you mean. He had names, places, checks, photographs.”
“Tell me how he worked it.”
“We played poker and I lost. Not $25,000; about $5,000. He was nice about it, but he said he really needed the money. I told him I couldn’t get any more from Jonathan. He said he understood, but he was in trouble and couldn’t wait. He said he had an idea of how I could pay it off fast. There were some girls he worked with who would pay for contacts. I had plenty of rich friends. If I arranged dates, the girls would pay me, and so would the men if I worked it right. I liked the idea. I’d use my sacred family position to make money. So I contacted old friends and acquaintances, especially those in companies who entertained out-of-town customers. Everyone was happy. I made money. Then Paul lowered the trap.”
“When was all this? A timetable.”
“I met Paul about seven months ago as I told you. I started with the girls about three months ago. Paul revealed his dirty scheme last Sunday.”
“And sent Weiss to collect on Monday? He must have called Jonathan first to show his hand and put on the pressure, and he told Weiss it was only a gambling debt.”
“I don’t know what he did. I thought he was waiting.”
“So the blackmail was really on Jonathan, for the family. He had to move while his evidence was hot.”
“I told him Jonathan would not pay!”
“He should have listened to you,” I said dryly. “Now tell me where you were on Wednesday night. All night.”
He glared at me. He seemed like a man writhing in a net. Not scared or nervous, but desperate, unhappy.
“Why should I?”
“Because I’ll hound you until I find out.”
“Oh, very well. I had tickets for the theater. I’d had them for weeks. I didn’t think we should go the night before the funeral, but Mother said why not? Deirdre agreed. I have the theater stubs, I can describe the show. We stopped for drinks at Downey’s. We know the waiter. We had some supper and came straight home here. George was here. We all went out for the funeral in the morning.”
“What time did you get home here?”
“About two o’clock.”
George Ames picked that moment to make his entrance. He must have been waiting in the wings. He swept into the room in an impeccable gray tweed suit with a wide black band on the sleeve. A tweed coat was draped over his shoulders, the arms hanging free.
“You are a busy man, Mr. Fortune. I once played Sherlock Holmes and barely moved from a chair all night.”
“Different times, different methods,” I said. “What time did you get home on Wednesday night, Mr. Ames?”
“Wednesday? Let me see, that was the night I talked to you out in North Chester, correct?”
“That was the night.”
“Yes. I came home early that night. It had been a strain with the family. I’d say I arrived here about midnight. I needed rest for the funeral.”
“So from two A.M. on only you two and Deirdre Fallon were here to alibi each other?”
“Are you implying a family conspiracy?” Ames snapped.
“Baron was a con man squeezing the clan,” I said. “You would all have considered him vermin to be expunged.”
“Then I suggest you prove that one of us was elsewhere.”
