The packer flushed. “She’s a wealthy woman in her own right. Naturally we play on a basis of strict sportsmanship. She is quite able to hold her own at bridge. I fail to see where she enters into this.”
Stan leaned back in his chair and relaxed. “There are numerous things, Mr. Farraday, that both of us fail to see. You sent for me through Captain LeRoy because your son is involved in a particularly nasty murder. It’s doubtful if anyone without your standing would have received the same consideration—”
Farraday interrupted, but Stan raised one hand to stop him. “Let me finish, please. When I’m through you can tell me whether, or not, you want me to handle this for you. Edward Fowler, the murdered man, was known to Miami gamblers as a high stake player, willing to take a chance on anything. Captain LeRoy told me that much on the way here. Unless that check bearing your son’s name was an out-and-out forgery—your son must have known Fowler. At least that’s what I believe, and I think the police will agree with me.”
LeRoy, listening intently, gave an affirmative nod.
“If that’s the case,” Stan continued, “the boy, undoubtedly, had been gambling with Fowler. You may not have known that. I don’t believe you did. But I do believe you knew your son was addicted to gambling. That’s what has you so worried now. The best thing you can do, Mr. Farraday, is to tell us the truth. I won’t try to help anybody when I’m kept in the dark.”
Farraday had crumpled one coat lapel into a wad while Stan was speaking. In a few short minutes he had changed into a tired old man worried about his boy. He glanced down at his own clenched hand, surprised to find he was clutching the soft lapel.
“I overestimate my own ability where Tolly is concerned.” He realized his words were nearly inaudible, and coughed slightly to clear his throat. “I suppose it is useless to attempt any evasion. A family is dragged into filth today if they find themselves remotely fringing anything which is meat for the press. I didn’t know anything about Edward Fowler, except that Tolly and Eve had met him once or twice. I did know Tolly loved to gamble.”
“He’s come to you for help?” The Captain asked.
Farraday shook his head. “It’s been in him since he was a child. I had a protest from one of the schools he attended. I give him an allowance of five hundred a month. Most of the time he is borrowing from his sister. She gets the same amount. I was hopeful that Tolly had finally quit—”
“What made you think that?” Stan asked quickly.
“He promised me.”
“Recently?”
“Less than two weeks ago! Farraday looked rather puzzled. “It was unusual, now that I think of it. Eve came to me very much worried—said that Tolly had been plunging on the horses. I spoke to him at her suggestion. He was most reasonable. Admitted that he had been rash. We came to an agreement—possibly a compromise would be better. He could play bridge or poker any time—if either Eve or I were with him. He promised to stay away from the horses and dogs entirely. I have no reason to think he has broken his word. He’s not vicious. He is just young and high-spirited—with a love of excitement much like my own.”
Stan was gazing absently at two photographs set in a double silver frame, obviously the brother and sister under discussion. The boy was wearing a white polo shirt, open at the throat. Stan looked from the picture to the father, recognizing the same straight nose, high broad forehead, and wide sensitive mouth. Bruce Farraday’s small eyes were missing in both children. Their mother had left them, as a crowning heritage, wide, direct brown eyes, smouldering and alive with the joy to be had from living.
“Your daughter doesn’t look as if she was in the habit of carrying tales about her brother.”
Farraday followed Stan’s gaze to the picture. “I said it was unusual, Mr. Rice. There is not much more I can tell you.”
“A few things. I want to meet your son and daughter as soon as they return tonight. It is important that I do so—regardless of the hour. Will you phone me immediately they arrive?”
“Surely.”
“Do you mind a few more questions regarding last night?”
“Not at all.”
“Did your party stay together at the Sunset Club, or did you play at different tables?”
“There was only one table playing when we arrived—”
“What time was that?”
“Shortly alter eight, I believe. The manager of the club—Munroe—was playing with a Mr. and Mrs. Bessinger, and a young fellow, Glen Neal. Eve and Lydia, that’s Mrs. Staunton, knew Neal. He’s a society reporter, or something of the kind.”
“You split up?”
“Partly. Eve went to the table with Neal and the Bessingers. Munroe cut out. A retired naval officer, Commander Eric Dawson, came in at almost the same time we did. He made up a fourth. Tolliver and I played together against the Commander and Lydia.”
“You knew Commander Dawson?”
“No. Munroe introduced us. Later we went to a night club together.”
“I’ll come to that in a minute, Did you see Edward Fowler arrive at the club?”
“The Captain asked me that this morning. I’m not sure. I think Fowler was sitting out on the upstairs porch when we got there. He came to our table and spoke to Tolly shortly after we started to play. Tolly introduced him to Lydia and me.”
“Dawson knew him?”
“As I recall it, Fowler spoke both to Tolly and Dawson when he came to the table. I was playing at the moment, and didn’t pay much attention.”
“Did you know any of the people with whom Fowler played?”
“No. There was a blonde—beautiful but vulgar. She created a small scene before Fowler left. That’s how I came to notice her.”
“Millie LaFrance, Stan,” the Captain supplied with a smile. “You’ve seen her around town.”
“And heard her, too. Millie isn’t beautiful, she’s
