“Thanks. You’ve made things most clear.” Stan tossed the bent-up paper clip into the waste basket. “You’re a man of very high intelligence, Mr. Button. It’s a pity you’re involving yourself in a double murder. At present you are suspect number one.”
The serene Dave Button betrayed his first sign of agitation by fumbling three times in his pocket before he obtained a match. Under his second cigarette, his chin jutted out with surprising firmness, adding an air of saturnine stubbornness to the contour of his sallow face. “Am I entitled to the courtsey of an explanation?”
“Most certainly,” Stan assured him, avoiding LeRoy’s quizzing glance. “We haven’t been able to find out much about Edward Fowler—but we do know you were his best friend in Miami. Why don’t you tell the truth about him?”
“I’ve told the truth—”
“So far as it went. Yes. That’s not far enough, Mr. Button. You’ve deliberately withheld the fact that you knew Fowler before you saw him here in Miami. You admitted yourself that Fowler allowed few people to come to his room. According to the help at the Amboy Hotel you were the only one.”
“That proves nothing.”
“Perhaps not. To me it proves that Fowler trusted you absolutely—”
“He trusted no one absolutely,” Button declared sharply.
“You found that out in record time. Did you come to that astute conclusion here—or in South Africa—where you started to say you had played Five Hundred before you changed your mind?”
Button stared blankly at Stan through the curling smoke, his eyes becoming more sunken and cavernous under his squint. “I’m no match for you,” he admitted alter his inspection. “How did you know I’d been in Africa?”
“Sherlock Holmes stuff. Your face gave you away—nothing personal. I’ve seen men in Netley Hospital when they came back to England after the fever. Will you tell us what Edward Fowler was doing here?”
“I’ll tell you all I know, but I can’t tell you that. You won’t believe me when I’ve told you. That’s why I kept my mouth shut.”
“I think we’ll believe you.”
“I hope so. I met Edward Fowler once before—about two years after the war. It was on the Cragmoor Castle en route from Capetown to Southampton. He got me out of a terrible mess.”
“A mess, hunh?” the Captain remarked. “Has it occurred to you you might be in another?”
“The one on the steamer was different.” Button laid his cigarette on the tray, watching the smoke rise thin and blue. “I killed a man on the Cragmoor Castle. I haven’t killed anyone here. I wouldn’t be here if Fowler hadn’t helped me. I’d have been hanged in England. The man drew a gun on me in a card game and accused me of cheating. I took it away from him—but it went off in the struggle and killed him. Fowler was the only witness. He testified that the man was a cheat, and that the shooting was not my fault. He saw it through a window from the deck.”
“That’s very interesting.” Stan rested his hands on his knees and leaned closer to Dave Button. “Such an incident generally draws men closer together—creates a mutual bond not easily dissolved.”
“It created such a bond, Mr. Rice, but I never learned much about Edward Fowler. I don’t know why he was going from Capetown to Southampton. I don’t know what brought him here. He never told me anything concerning his business or profession. The English are naturally reticent about their own affairs—”
“He was English?”
“I’m not sure of that. His home may have been in South Africa, Australia, or Canada. I know he had traveled widely. I know I would have done anything in the world for him. I’m sorry I can tell you no more.”
LeRoy stood up and leaned over the desk, his face a mask. “I’m tired of lying and quibbling, Dave Button.” His voice was soft and deadly. “Two witnesses heard you say that Fowler owed you sixty-thousand dollars. You’ve carefully neglected to mention that in both your interviews with the police. I’m going to give you one more chance. I’m going to ask you: ‘Why?’ Why did you forget that on Sunday? Why wasn’t it brought out now—when you’re telling us all you know?”
“Because the truth is so futile,” Button said unmoved. “Edward Fowler never owed me a cent in his life, except minor bridge debts which he paid on the spot. He asked me to start a rumor that he owed me that money. He said it was essential that he establish a reputation as a big shot gambler in Miami. Do you blame me for keeping back anything which sounds as fantastic as that?” He turned his head hopelessly from the Captain to Stan.
“No.” Stan was staring at the ceiling. “I don’t blame you. It’s the foolest thing I ever heard, and just crazy is the fact that I believe you. For the first time I’m beginning to see daylight through the dark!”
Chapter XVIII
“What’s the daylight?” LeRoy demanded grimly as the door of the office closed behind Dave Button. “Are you convinced now that Fowler was a crook?”
“I’m convinced he wasn’t,” Stan said ruefully as he stood up and stretched. “I’m also convinced that we cabled the wrong department in South Africa. You’ll have to admit my hunch about the springbok was correct.”
The Captain reached for a cigar. “How much will it cost me if I do?”
“Another cable. To the war department this time. Send the same description you sent the police and a telephotograph. Also mention that shooting on the Cragmoor Castle and ask them to get details from Southampton if they are not on file in Capetown ”
“And love and kisses.” LeRoy finished scribbling on his pad. His desk phone rang. He picked it up listened quietly, and said: “Tell the others. I’ll be right along.”
“More trouble?” Stan asked from the window.
“Nigger cut to death in a gin mill. I
