Jupiter almost collapsed. The man seemed proud of the fact.
He managed, “You forgot about it purposely?”
Hadley was excited. “Yes, purposely. I was sick and tired of having Singer order me to eat with him. That’s what he did — order me! I said to myself, I’ll go over to the dining hall and he can join me if he will; but I won’t call for him!”
Mr. Swayle had spotted Hadley; he was coming over.
“Maybe, sir, maybe you’d better just tell the police you forgot about it. They might not understand. I forgot something in my car; I’ll see you later.”
He ran up the street. Mr. Swayle hadn’t seen him.
“God Almighty!” he muttered. “I tell him Singer’s been murdered between six and eight and he says he’s forgotten to have dinner with him purposely! Wait till Rankin gets hold of him. It’ll be ‘Good-bye, Mr. Chips,’ in no uncertain terms!”
CHAPTER VII
HE waited at a safe distance until Hadley and Mr. Swayle had gone into the building, then he walked quickly toward the House. He didn’t like being out in the rain.
“So far,” he told himself, “I’m doing all right. I’ve hidden evidence, told the Fairchilds what to say, and now I’m covering up Hadley. The Inspector will lock me up if he finds out and I can’t say that I’d blame him.”
A policeman barred the way to his entry.
“Sorry, bud, you can’t go in there.”
“I live in here,” explained Jupiter.
The policeman was not impressed. “Oh, sure, you live in here. Fifty of you guys have tried that and there’s not that many lives here, not by a long shot. Go on, beat it, and don’t try and tell me you work for the Crimson, either.”
Jupiter looked around for someone to identify him. There were a few “Yard Cops,” Harvard’s own police force, standing on one foot trying to look important, but he didn’t recognize any of them. Then he saw Illinois.
“Hey!” said Jupiter.
Illinois came over. “Where have you been, son? The Sergeant’s been looking for you.”
“Sleuthing,” answered Jupiter truthfully. “Will you write me out a pass? I’d like to get to my room.”
“Let him in,” said Illinois.
“Thanks. Tell His Honor I’ll be in my room if he would have words.”
Illinois went off shaking his head. These Goddamn crazy students were too much for him.
A small crap game was in progress on the floor of his room. Only three reporters remained. Sylvester was trying for a four.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” said Jupiter, taking off his coat.
“Where ah yoo, little Joe!” said Sylvester rolling. “Ha!”
“I thought you guys only did this in the movies,” said Jupiter.
“We have standards to keep up,” said one. He was a little on the ball.
“What were you doing, distilling that Scotch?” said another. He, too, was progressing well. “We were about to send Saint Bernards after you.”
“Stop me if I’m wrong,” said Jupiter. “But I thought there’d been a murder.”
“Yes, but we’re keeping it secret,” added the third. “At least Rankin is; he’s trying to rival the Sphinx.”
“This all makes very charming repartee,” said Jupiter, “but don’t you guys have to write stories?”
“Hell, no, we’re photographers,” explained one. They went on with the game.
“H’m,” said Jupiter. “Where’s the rest of the merry gathering?”
“A couple of them went looking for you. I guess the rest are following Rankin.”
He feared for the Fairchilds.
“Don’t get up, Sylvester,” he murmured. “I’ll mix my own.”
He mixed a drink and came back to the game.
“Do you mind if I sit in?”
“Come ahead,” said one, moving over. “But lay off Sylvester; he’s having a heat wave.”
The dice went around. Pretty soon two reporters came in. They glared at Jupiter.
“Where the hell did you go? You didn’t go for liquor.”
He looked up. “Your guess is as good as anyone’s.”
He didn’t feel too congenial toward the press. They were drinking his liquor and making a club-room out of his quarters. At least they could be civil.
“God, what a case!” one of them exploded. “Rankin won’t open his mouth and you go tearing off somewhere by yourself!”
Jupiter was aroused. “If you don’t like it here, it’s still raining outside.”
“Take it easy, Joe,” said one of the photographers.
“Skip it,” said Joe. “I’ve got a story to write, that’s all.”
“Sit down, Stanley Walker, and join the game,” said Jupiter.
“Where is Rankin, by the way?” asked a photographer.
“God knows. He skipped out, too. What time is it?”
“Ten-fifteen.”
“The American ought to have its extra out pretty soon. It won’t be much.”
The gaming proceeded. Jupiter made six straight passes with the dice and was inclined to look on his companions more favorably. He had another drink; they all did. The pleasant pastime was broken up by Rankin appearing in the fire door.
The Sergeant was not boisterous. “I’d like to see you a minute, Jones.”
Jupiter thought he looked a trifle like an old headmaster he had once known.
The Sergeant closed the door in Singer’s room. “What’s the news, Inspector?”
Rankin was not inclined to be intimate. “Now listen here, Jones, I’m in charge of this case and I’m supposed to question the witnesses. What’s the idea of talking to Hadley?”
“So you’ve seen the good pedant?” He was feeling the last drink.
“You can cut the wisecracks. What did he tell you?”
“Probably the same thing he told you.”
Rankin was losing control. “Listen, Jones, this murder may be a lot of fun for you, but it’s my job — get that. I won’t have anyone working against me. As I pointed out before, you can be of some help to me, but you’ve got to work with me, not against me.”
“I see your point,” said Jupiter. “As a matter of fact, I just happened to bump into Hadley on the street. My curiosity got the better of my usual good judgment and I asked questions. I’m sorry.”
“That’s better. Now what did he tell you?”
“I asked him if he’d had dinner at the House; he answered yes. Then I asked him if he remembered his date with Singer for dinner and he said he’d forgotten
