“An evil one?” inquired Ellery in a serious tone.
“Money’s the root of all evil,” retorted the Inspector with a grin.
Ellery’s tone did not change. “Not only the root, dad—but the fruit, too.”
“Another quotation?” mocked the old man.
“Fielding,” said Ellery imperturbably.
XI
In Which the Past Casts a Shadow
The telephone bell tinkled.
“Q.? Sampson speaking,” came the District Attorney’s voice over the wire.
“Good morning, Henry,” said Queen. “Where are you and how do you feel this morning?”
“I’m at the office and I feel rotten,” returned Sampson, chuckling. “The doctor insists I’ll be a corpse if I keep this up and the office insists the City will go under unless I attend to business. So what’s a feller to do? … I say, Q.”
The Inspector winked at Ellery across the table, as if to say, “I know what’s coming!”
“Yes, Henry?”
“There’s a gentleman in my private office whom I think it would be greatly to your advantage to meet,” continued Sampson in a subdued tone. “He wants to see you and I’m afraid you’ll have to chuck whatever you’re doing and hotfoot it up here. He”—Sampson’s voice became a whisper—“he’s a man I can’t afford to antagonize unnecessarily, Q., old boy.”
The Inspector frowned. “I suppose you’re referring to Ives-Pope,” he said. “Riled, is he, because we questioned the apple of his eye last night?”
“Not exactly,” said Sampson. “He’s really a decent old chap. Just—er—just be nice to him, Q. won’t you?”
“I’ll handle him with silk gloves,” chuckled the old man. “If it will ease your mind any I’ll drag my son along. He generally attends to our social obligations.”
“That will be fine,” said Sampson gratefully.
The Inspector turned to Ellery as he hung up. “Poor Henry’s in something of a mess,” he said quizzically, “and I can’t say I blame him for trying to please. Sick as a dog and the politicians hopping on him, this Croesus howling in his front office. … Come along, son, we’re going to meet the celebrated Franklin Ives-Pope!”
Ellery groaned, stretching his arms. “You’ll have another sick man on your hands if this continues.” Nevertheless he jumped up and clamped his hat on his head. “Let’s look over this captain of industry.”
Queen grinned at Velie. “Before I forget, Thomas. … I want you to do a bit of sleuthing today. Your job is to find out why Monte Field, who did a rushing legal business and lived in princely style, had only six thousand dollars in his personal account. It’s probably Wall Street and the racetrack but I want you to make sure. You might learn something from the cancelled vouchers—Lewin down at Field’s office could help you there. … And while you’re at it—this might be extremely important, Thomas—get a complete lineup on Field’s movements all day yesterday.”
The two Queens departed for Sampson’s headquarters.
The office of the District Attorney was a busy place and even an Inspector of Detectives was treated with scant ceremony in the sacred chambers. Ellery was wroth, and his father smiled, and finally the District Attorney himself came rushing out of his sanctum with a word of displeasure to the clerk who had allowed his friends to cool their heels on a hard bench.
“Watch your throat, young man,” warned Queen, as Sampson led the way to his office, muttering maledictions on the head of the offender. “Are you sure I look all right to meet the money-mogul?”
Sampson held the door open. The two Queens on the threshold saw a man, hands clasped behind his back, looking through the window on the uninteresting vista outside. As the District Attorney closed the door the occupant of the room wheeled about with astonishing agility for a man of his weight.
Franklin Ives-Pope was a relic of more virile financial days. He resembled the strong self-assertive type of magnate who like old Cornelius Vanderbilt had dominated Wall Street as much by force of personality as by extent of wealth. Ives-Pope had clear grey eyes, iron-grey hair, a grizzled mustache, a husky body still springy with youth and an air of authority unmistakably masterful. Standing against the light of the dingy window, he was a most impressive figure of a man and Ellery and Queen, stepping forward, realized at once that here was an individual whose intelligence required no patronage.
The financier spoke in a deep pleasant voice even before Sampson, slightly embarrassed, could make the introduction. “I suppose you’re Queen, the man-hunter,” he said. “I’ve been anxious to meet you for a long time, Inspector.” He offered a large square hand, which Queen took with dignity.
“It would be unnecessary for me to echo that statement, Mr. Ives-Pope,” he said, smiling a little. “Once I took a flyer in Wall Street and I think you’ve got some of my money.—This, sir, is my son Ellery, who is the brains and beauty of the Queen family.”
The big man’s eyes measured Ellery’s bulk appreciatively. He shook hands, saying, “You’ve got a smart father there, son!”
“Well!” sighed the District Attorney, setting three chairs. “I’m glad that’s over. You haven’t the slightest idea, Mr. Ives-Pope, how nervous I’ve been about this meeting. Queen is the devil himself when it comes to the social amenities, and I shouldn’t have been surprised if he had clapped his handcuffs on you as you shook hands!”
The tension snapped with the big man’s hearty chuckle.
The District Attorney came abruptly to the point. “Mr. Ives-Pope is here, Q., to find out for himself just what can be done in the matter of his daughter.” Queen nodded. Sampson turned to the financier. “As I told you before, sir, we have every confidence in Inspector Queen—always have had. He generally works without any check or supervision from the District Attorney’s office. In view of the circumstances, I thought I should make that clear.”
“That’s a sane method, Sampson,” said Ives-Pope, with approval. “I’ve always worked on that principle in my own business. Besides, from
