chance to work on him for two years, there’s a possibility that any emotional or physical excitement could be fatal.”
“Now isn’t that nice,” I said. “Do you get what that means, Roxy?” She shook her head. “It might mean that somebody else knows that too and tried to stir the old boy up by kidnapping the one closest to him in the hope that he kicks off during the fun. Great . . . that’s a nice subtle sort of murder.”
“But that’s throwing it right on the doorstep of the beneficiary of his estate.”
“Is it? I bet even a minor beneficiary would get enough of the long green to make murder worthwhile. York has plenty.”
“There are other angles too, Mike.”
“Been giving it some thought, haven’t you?” I grinned at her. “For instance, one of the family might locate the kid and thus become number-one boy to the old man. Or perhaps the kid was the chief beneficiary and one of them wanted to eliminate him to push himself further up the list. Yeah, kid, there’s a lot of angles, and I don’t like any of ’em.”
“It still might be a plain kidnapping.”
“Roger. That it might. It’s just that there’re a lot more possibilities to it that could make it interesting. We’ll know soon enough.” I opened the door and hesitated, looking over my shoulder. “’Night, Roxy.”
“Good night.”
York was back by the fireplace again, still brooding. I would have felt better if he had been pacing the floor. I walked over and threw myself in a big chair. “Where’ll I spend the night?” I asked him.
He turned very slowly. “The guest room. I’ll ring for Harvey.”
“Never mind. I’ll get him myself when I’m ready.”
We sat in silence a few minutes then York began a nervous tapping of his fingers. Finally, “When do you think we’ll have word?”
“Two, three days maybe. Never can tell.”
“But he’s been gone a day already.”
“Tomorrow, then. I don’t know.”
“Perhaps I should call the police again.”
“Go ahead, but you’ll probably be burying the boy after they find him. Those punks aren’t cops, they’re political appointees. You ought to know these small towns. They couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag.”
For the first time he showed a little parental anxiety. His fist came down on the arm of the chair. “Damn it, man, I can’t simply sit here! What do you think it’s like for me? Waiting. Waiting. He may be dead now for all we know.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think so. Kidnapping’s one thing, murder’s another. How about introducing me to those people?”
He nodded. “Very well.” Every eye in the room was on me as we made the rounds. I didn’t suppose there would be anyone too anxious to meet me after the demonstration a little while ago.
The two gladiators were first. They were sitting on the love seat trying not to look shaky. Both of them still had red welts across their cheeks. The introduction was simple enough. York merely pointed in obvious disdain. “My nephews, Arthur and William Graham.”
We moved on. “My niece, Alice Nichols.” A pair of deep brown eyes kissed mine so hard I nearly lost my balance. She swept them up and down the full length of me. It couldn’t have been any better if she did it with a wet paintbrush. She was tall and she had seen thirty, but she saw it with a face and body that were as fresh as a new daisy. Her clothes made no attempt at concealment; they barely covered. On some people skin is skin, but on her it was an invitation to dine. She told me things with a smile that most girls since Eve have been trying to put into words without being obvious or seeming too eager and I gave her my answer the same way. I can run the ball a little myself.
York’s sister and her husband were next. She was a middle-aged woman with “Matron” written all over her. The type that wants to entertain visiting dignitaries and look down at “peepul” through a lorgnette. Her husband was the type you’d find paired off with such a specimen. He was short and bulgy in the middle. His single-breasted gray suit didn’t quite manage to cross the equator without putting a strain on the button. He might have had hair, but you’d never know it now. One point of his collar had jumped the tab and stuck out like an accusing finger.
York said, “My sister, Martha Ghent, her husband, Richard.” Richard went to stick out his hand but the old biddie shot him a hasty frown and he drew back, then she tried to freeze me out. Failing in this she turned to York. “Really, Rudolph, I hardly think we should meet this . . . this person.”
York turned an appealing look my way, in apology. “I’m sorry, Martha, but Mr. Hammer considers it necessary.”
“Nevertheless, I don’t see why the police can’t handle this.”
I sneered at her in my finest manner. “I can’t see why you don’t keep your mouth shut, Mrs. Ghent.”
The way her husband tried to keep the smile back, I thought he’d split a gut. Martha stammered, turned blue and stalked off. York looked at me critically, though approvingly.
A young kid in his early twenties came walking up as though the carpet was made of eggs. He had Ghent in his features, but strictly on his mother’s side. A pipe stuck out of his pocket and he sported a set of thick-lensed glasses. The girl at his side didn’t resemble anyone, but seeing the way she put her arm around Richard I took it that she was the daughter.
She was. Her name was Rhoda, she was friendly and smiled. The boy was Richard, Junior. He raised his eyebrows until they drew his eyes over the rims of his glasses and peered at me disapprovingly. He perched his hands on his hips and “Humphed” at me. One push and he would be over the line that divides a man and a pansy.
The introductions over, I cornered York out of earshot of the others. “Under the circumstances, it might be best if you kept this gang here until things settle down a bit. Think you can put them up?”
“I imagine so. I’ve been doing it at one time or another for the last ten years. I’ll see Harvey and have the rooms made up.”
“When you get them placed, have Harvey bring me a diagram showing where their rooms are. And tell him to keep it under his hat. I want to be able to reach anyone anytime. Now, is there anyone closely connected with the household we’ve missed?”
He thought a moment. “Oh, Miss Grange. She went home this afternoon.”
“Where was she during the kidnapping?”
“Why . . . at home, I suppose. She leaves here between five and six every evening. She is a very reserved woman. Apparently has very little social activity. Generally she furthers her studies in the library rather than go out anywhere.”
“Okay, I’ll get to her. How about the others? Have they alibis?”
“Alibis?”
“Just checking, York. Do you know where they were the night before last?”
“Well . . . I can’t speak for all of them, but Arthur and William were here. Alice Nichols came in about nine o’clock then left about an hour later.”
This part I jotted down on a pad. “How did you collect the family . . . or did they all just drift in?”
“No, I called them. They helped me search, although it did no good. Mr. Hammer, what are we going to do? Please . . .”
Very slowly, York was starting to go to pieces. He’d stood up under this too calmly too long. His face was pale and withered-looking, drawn into a mask of tragedy.
“First of all, you’re going to bed. It won’t do any good for you to be knocking yourself out. That’s what I’m here for.” I reached over his shoulder and pulled a velvet cord. The flunky came in immediately and hurried over to us. “Take him upstairs,” I said.
York gave the butler instructions about putting the family up and Harvey seemed a little surprised and pleased that he’d be allowed in on the conspiracy of the room diagram.
I walked to the middle of the floor and let the funeral buzz down before speaking. I wasn’t nice about it. “You’re all staying here tonight. If it interferes with other plans you’ve made it’s too bad. Anyone that tries to duck out will answer to me. Harvey will give you your rooms and be sure you stay in them. That’s all.”
Lady sex appeal waited until I finished then edged up to me with a grin. “See if you can grab the end
