“Not an especially fatiguing itinerary,” murmured Ellery. “And what things did you lay out last evening, Michaels?”
The man faced Ellery respectfully. “There was his underwear, sir, and his socks, his evening shoes, stiff shirt, studs, collar, white tie, full evening dress, cape, hat—”
“Ah, yes—his hat,” interrupted Queen. “And what kind of hat was it, Michaels?”
“His regular tophat, sir,” answered Michaels. “He had only one, and a very expensive one it was, too,” he added warmly. “Browne Bros., I think.”
Queen drummed lazily on the arm of his chair. “Tell me, Michaels,” he said, “what did you do last night after you left here—that is, after seven o’clock?”
“I went home, sir. I had my bag to pack and I was rather fatigued. I went right to sleep after I’d had a bite to eat—it must have been near nine-thirty when I climbed into bed, sir,” he added innocently.
“Where do you live?” Michaels gave a number on East 146th Street, in the Bronx section. “I see. … Did Field have any regular visitors here?” went on the Inspector.
Michaels frowned politely. “That’s hard for me to say, sir. Mr. Field wasn’t what you would call a friendly person. But then I wasn’t here evenings, so I can’t say who came after I left. But—”
“Yes?”
“There was a lady, sir. …” Michaels hesitated primly. “I dislike mentioning names under the circumstances—”
“Her name?” said Queen wearily.
“Well, sir—it isn’t sort of right—Russo. Mrs. Angela Russo, her name is,” answered Michaels.
“How long did Mr. Field know this Mrs. Russo?”
“Several months, sir. I think he met her at a party in Greenwich Village somewhere.”
“I see. And they were engaged, perhaps?”
Michaels seemed embarrassed. “You might call it that, sir, although it was a little less formal. …”
Silence. “How long have you been in Monte Field’s employ, Michaels?” pursued the Inspector.
“Three years next month.”
Queen switched to a new line of questioning. He asked Michaels about Field’s addiction to theatre-going, his financial condition and his drinking habits. In these particulars Michaels corroborated Mrs. Russo’s statements. Nothing of a fresh nature was disclosed.
“A few moments ago you said you have been working for Field a matter of three years,” continued Queen, settling back in his chair. “How did you get the job?”
Michaels did not answer immediately. “I followed up an ad in the papers, sir.”
“Quite so. … If you have been in Field’s service for three years, Michaels, you should know Benjamin Morgan.”
Michaels permitted a proper smile to cross his lips. “Certainly I know Mr. Benjamin Morgan,” he said heartily. “And a very fine gentleman he is, too, sir. He was Mr. Field’s partner, you know, in their law business. But then they separated about two years ago and I haven’t seen much of Mr. Morgan since.”
“Did you see him often before the split?”
“No, sir,” returned the burly valet, in a tone which implied regret. “Mr. Field was not Mr. Morgan’s—ah—type, and they didn’t mix socially. Oh, I remember seeing Mr. Morgan in this apartment three or four times, but only when it was a matter of most urgent business. Even then I couldn’t say much about it since I didn’t stay all evening. … Of course, he hasn’t been here, so far as I know, since they broke up the firm.”
Queen smiled for the first time during the conversation. “Thank you for your frankness, Michaels. … I’m going to be an old gossip—do you recall any unpleasantness about the time they dissolved?”
“Oh, no, sir!” protested Michaels. “I never heard of a quarrel or anything like that. In fact, Mr. Field told me immediately after the dissolution that he and Mr. Morgan would remain friends—very good friends, he said.”
Michaels turned with his politely blank expression at a touch on his arm. He found himself face to face with Ellery. “Yes, sir?” he asked respectfully.
“Michaels, dear man,” said Ellery with severity, “I detest raking up old coals, but why haven’t you told the Inspector about that time you were in jail?”
As if he had stepped on an exposed live-wire Michaels’ body stiffened and grew still. The ruddy color drained out of his face. He stared open-mouthed, aplomb swept away, into Ellery’s smiling eyes.
“Why—why—how did you find that out?” gasped the valet, his speech less soft and polished. Queen appraised his son with approval. Piggott and Johnson moved closer to the trembling man.
Ellery lit a cigarette. “I didn’t know it at all,” he said cheerfully. “That is, not until you told me. It would pay you to cultivate the Delphic oracles, Michaels.”
Michaels’ face was the color of dead ashes. He turned, shaking, toward Queen. “You—you didn’t ask me about that, sir,” he said weakly. Nevertheless his tone had again become taut and blank. “Besides, a man doesn’t like to tell things like that to the police. …”
“Where did you do time, Michaels?” asked the Inspector in a kindly voice.
“Elmira Reformatory, sir,” muttered Michaels. “It was my first offense—I was up against it, starving, stole some money. … I got a short stretch, sir.”
Queen rose. “Well, Michaels, of course you understand that you are not exactly a free agent at present. You may go home and look for another job if you want to, but stay at your present lodgings and be ready for a call at any time. … Just a moment, before you go.” He strode over to the black suitcase and snapped it open. A jumbled mass of clothing—a dark suit, shirts, ties, socks—some clean, some
