LeRoy stood up. “I admitted it has holes. I didn’t intend to upset you. I’ll be going.”
“Holes?” Stan asked, holding out a hand to the Captain. “It has all the properties of a gill-net—but gill-nets catch a lot of fish. Will you do a couple of things for me tonight, Vince?”
“You know it.”
“Take a man with you and go to the Sunset after dark. Light the lights in the bridge room—but keep the poker room and the hall outside of it dark. Then seat the man in the same position Fowler was in when he was killed. You go out on the screened porch and see if you can see the man sitting in the dark poker room. You’ll have to look through the window at the end of the hall by the poker room door. That’s one thing. The other you can do right now: wire the police in all large cities in South Africa a description of Edward Fowler requesting immediate identification.”
“South Africa!”
“He gave a gold clasp to Eve Farraday. It was a springbok—the regimental badge of the South African soldiers during the war. I talked too loud when I asked her about it. I think that’s why I got knocked off the boat.”
“And the man in the poker room?”
“If you can see him, I know how Fowler was killed. If you can’t see him—well, I think you can see him!”
At eight forty-five that night LeRoy phoned to say that the man in the poker room was not visible from any position on the screened porch. Stan turned over and went to sleep—to dream of dead house flies, a squashed mosquito and a good idea gone sour.
Chapter XII
At eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning Stan brazenly parked the Buick close to a fire-plug and sauntered into Police Headquarters at 80 West Flagler Street. A dark young man, pleasant featured, was standing inside the door. He closed a strong hand over Stan’s arm and smiled, pointing at the dressing on Stan’s head.
“Auto wreck or collision with door in dark, Stan?”
“Ooh!” Stan groaned. “The ever present A.P.’s brilliant representative, Mr. Marty Williamson. I’d forgotten all about newspapers.” He drew Marty to one side and spoke confidentially. “I’ll tell you all I know, Marty—but you mustn’t publish anything. Two weeks ago I dove into the Biltmore swimming pool—and they had removed all the water for cleaning. I’ve been unconscious ever since.”
Marly clucked sympathetically. “I won’t say a word. You haven’t heard anything about a gambler being murdered in the Sunset. You ought to see yesterday’s papers. Great story. Well, I have to run along. I just dug up some dope about a man being knocked off the Four Leaf Clover Sunday night.” Marty lit a cigarette, watching Stan. “Is there such a card as an eleven of diamonds?” he inquired innocently.
“Who told you that?”
“I have a trained pelican that sleeps in LeRoy’s room. The estimable Captain talks in his sleep—”
“I’m sorry, Marty,” Stan said, gravely. “You’re too smart for the good of the department. I don’t know where you got it—but I’ll have to ask you to hold it. I know LeRoy didn’t talk. Will you keep that card quiet—and my Sunday night bath?”
“I might—if I got first breaks on the real dope. But the eleven of diamonds has leaked, Stan. I can’t stop it. It will be in all the afternoon papers. You might as well tell me what it means. Was Fowler addicted to the game of Five Hundred?”
“Five Hundred?” Stan repeated slowly. “I thought that card came from a bezique pack—”
“That’s a horse on you.” Marty ground out his half finished smoke on the floor. “We’ve played ball together for a long time. I’ll keep mum about the Four Leaf Clover—until you get ready to spill it. Further—I’ll give you some information I got about an hour ago. The eleven of diamonds came out of a No. 500 Pack of Playing Cards manufactured by the U. S. Playing Card Company. It contains four elevens, four twelves, and two thirteen spots. They were ordered from Macy’s in New York and were shipped to Edward Fowler just over a week ago—to General Delivery, Fort Lauderdale. It cost me fifteen sixty in phone calls to find that out. Want to pay it?”
Stan produced a ten and a five from his side pants pocket. “I’ll stand fifteen of it—and you get first chance at the story. How did you trace it?”
“A six handed Five Hundred pack is as easy to buy as a yellow alligator with wings. I’ll be seeing you.”
Stan watched him leave the building, and swore softly. He could trust Marty Williamson to the limit. If Marty said that the find of the eleven of diamonds had leaked, Stan knew it was true. The leak had put a crimp in his plans, nevertheless. While he could not accurately place what part the card had played in Fowler’s murder, he was confident the connection was strong. The fingerprints of the dead man were indisputable evidence that the card had been in Fowler’s possession. Apparently Fowler’s last effort had been to rid himself of it. His attempt had been successful—but had failed to save his life.
Stan’s head began to ache again as he went upstairs to LeRoy’s office. The information uncovered by Marty Williamson seemed to complicate things all the more. Fowler had ordered the unusual pack of cards himself, and had them sent to an address outside of Miami. Why? There was only one
