“Your hands are soft—but nursing has calloused your heart,” Stan told her as she left.
The Captain was speechless for a short while after he came in the room, then he pulled his chair close to the bed. His face lost its firm lines in one of his unpredictable smiles.
“You’re a rich man, Mr. Rice—a hundred and thirty-five grand including Farraday’s reward. The diamonds were in the mud under the floor!”
“Thirty-five grand, Vince. That’s my cut. Thirty-five goes to Millie—and the balance to you and the department where it belongs. If you find Fowler had a family—I’ll leave it to you to look after them. Please, Vince,” as LeRoy started to protest. “I couldn’t have cracked this without the help of the Squad—and you know it. And I wouldn’t be alive to collect—without that hell-cat and her nickel-plated gun. Let’s don’t bring the money up again. I’m glad I’m out with nothing worse than a broken arm—and that Bruce Farraday’s going to pull through. I suppose Mumford is deviling you to death for information—” “He wanted to come with me. I couldn’t see you taking one of his cross examinations right now. Why did you take such a chance, Stan?”
“I had to—but I’ll come to that. Put it down, Vince, so I won’t have to cover this again. Most of it you know—but ask your questions now—I’m talking my last talk about the murder of Fowler and Eckhardt.”
LeRoy placed his notebook on the table by the bed. “I’ll start with the ‘boloney’.”
“Where I should have started—and didn’t. First, I’ll tell you all I have on Dawson. Up to night before last his record was without a spot. The record of Commander Eric Dawson, U.S.N., Retired, is still spotless—except that Eric Dawson died in China five years ago. The man you have in jail, Vince, is his brother—Ernest Dawson. He’s the black sheep of a fine family—forger—ex-circus performer—murderer—and jewel thief without peer.”
“You had nothing to go on, Stan.”
“Quite a bit. I didn’t know he was impersonating his brother until Millie dug up an old clipping that Ernest Dawson had died in the interior of China, while exploring with his brother, Retired Commander Eric. The story hinted that Ernest had been in trouble. She tipped me that by phone on our return from the trip—night before last. From what I already knew, I guessed that Ernest had assumed the identity of Eric—and had kept it for the past five years.”
“What did you know?”
“The perfectly obvious thing, Vince,—that Dawson was the only one who could be responsible for the two murders. Eckhardt knew who killed Fowler—and who knocked me off the Four Lea Clover. He intended to chisel in—and rented an apartment for a month so he could be near his man. The apartment was over Dawson’s—but he didn’t get much chance to use it. It’s simple as that. Dawson had overheard him at Millie’s. Act two was murder at the track.”
“But Dawson saved your life—”
“An error he’s regretted ever since. He thought I was dead when he fished me out. A grandstand play, Vince. The love of it has always been a stumbling block for crooks. Ben Eckhardt made one when he phoned Dawson’s apartment. If he found he couldn’t do business with me on the reward—he would have the fear of God put into Dawson by the omnipotent presence—who heard all and knew all.
“Another thing made me suspicious of Dawson that same afternoon. Neal was talking about the year of his graduation—1900. With thirty years of service up to 1930 and six years of retirement—he’d have to be near sixty today. If he’s much over forty I’ll pluck out his gray hairs. Even Mrs. Bessinger remarked about his youthfulness.”
“The boloney,” LeRoy reminded.
Stan settled himself more comfortably in bed. He was beginning to feel like a chronic invalid. “Bologna phosphorus is sulphide of barium, made by grinding the Bologna stone. You’ll find it in Webster’s unabridged—it is used in the preparation of luminous paint—”
“I don’t want to find it—I want to hear about it.”
“You’re about to. The Miles Standish Rice version. Fowler came to Miami on the trail of the diamonds. They were stolen by Dawson. Juan Andres was his accomplice in this country—”
“He’s on the twenty-first floor,” LeRoy said grimly.
“Juan had contacted Caprilli, and Caprilli had chosen the Bessingers to close the deal. Dawson had no intention of revealing his identity to Caprilli—so he chose the eleven of diamonds as a contact card, to be shown to Juan. Somehow—I don’t know how—Fowler found it out and got one for himself. The Bessingers must have been suspicious of him and tipped him off to Juan—anyhow here’s what I believe happened—
“The Bessingers brought him to the club Saturday night. The trap was already set—the Caprilli gang warned to stay away—the one chair placed in the poker room. Juan wrote the warning note, signed ‘DB’—telling Fowler to wait in the dark room. As Fowler was reading the note, or as Juan was brushing his coat, he gave him a generous dab of Dawson’s specialty—the luminous paint. It had vanished under Fowler’s blood when you found him. Juan went downstairs, earlier, and drove his own small car out and back—to make it sound like Fowler had gone.”
“And Ben?”
“Dawson must have gotten close to him in the crowd and given him an application. When the lights went out—he threw the knife from some distance away—probably underhanded. It can be done with terrific force by someone who knows the trick.”
“If Juan was in with him,” LeRoy said, shaking his head, “there are still a lot of things I don’t get. Who knocked Juan on the head—when you were fired at on the roof?”
“Dawson, of course. He told Juan that was the only way for him to be put in the clear—and the spick fell for it. It was really Juan’s dumbness that lost them the game. Juan thought he was being double-crossed when Dawson took
