Ellery’s fingers tapped an absent tattoo on the handle of his stick.
“Then the affair at the Webster. He insisted we have lunch together for the settlement of the last few details. That wasn’t his purpose at all, of course. You can guess, I suppose, his intentions. … He came out quite suavely with the overwhelming statement that he knew I was supporting a woman and my illegitimate child. He said that he had some of my letters to prove it, and a number of cancelled vouchers of checks I had sent her. … He admitted he had stolen them from me. I hadn’t looked at them for years, of course. … Then he blandly announced that he meant to make capital out of this evidence!”
“Blackmail!” muttered Ellery, a light creeping into his eyes.
“Yes, blackmail,” retorted Morgan bitterly. “Nothing less. He described in very graphic terms what would happen if the story should come out. Oh, Field was a clever crook! I saw the entire structure of social position I had built up—a process which took years—destroyed in an instant. My wife, her family, my own family—and more than that, the circle in which we moved—I shouldn’t have been able to lift my head out of the muck. And as for business—well, it doesn’t take much to make important clients go elsewhere for their legal work. I was trapped—I knew it and he knew it.”
“Just how much did he want, Morgan?” asked Queen.
“Enough! He wanted twenty-five thousand dollars—just to keep quiet. I didn’t even have any assurances that the affair would end there. I was caught and caught properly. Because, remember, this was not an affair which had died years before. I was still supporting that poor woman and my son. I am supporting them now. I will—continue to support them.” He stared at his fingernails.
“I paid the money,” he resumed morosely. “It meant stretching a bit, but I paid it. But the harm was done. I saw red there at the Club, and—but you know what happened.”
“And this blackmail has continued all the while, Morgan?” asked the Inspector.
“Yes, sir—for two solid years. The man was insatiable, I tell you! Even today I can’t completely understand it. He must have been earning tremendous fees in his own practice, and yet he always seemed to be needing money. No small change, either—I have never paid him less than ten thousand dollars at one time!”
Queen and Ellery looked at each other fleetingly. Queen said, “Well, Morgan, it’s a pretty kettle of fish. The more I hear about Field the more I dislike putting the irons on the fellow who did away with him. However! In the light of what you’ve told me, your statement last night that you hadn’t seen Field for two years is patently untrue. When did you see him last?”
Morgan appeared to be racking his memory. “Oh, it was about two months ago, Inspector,” he said at last.
The Inspector shifted in his chair. “I see. … I’m sorry you didn’t tell me all this last night. You understand, of course, that your story is perfectly safe with the police. And it’s mighty vital information. Now then—do you happen to know a woman by the name of Angela Russo?”
Morgan stared. “Why, no, Inspector. I’ve never heard of her.”
Queen was silent for a moment. “Do you know a gentleman called ‘Parson Johnny’?”
“I think I can give you some information there, Inspector. I’m certain that during our partnership Field was using the little thug for some shady business of his own. I caught him sneaking up into the office a number of times after hours, and when I asked Field about him, he would sneer and say, ‘Oh, that’s only Parson Johnny, a friend of mine!’ But it was sufficient to establish the man’s identity. What their connection was I can’t tell you, because I don’t know.”
“Thanks, Morgan,” said the Inspector. “I’m glad you told me that. And now—one last question. Have you ever heard the name Charles Michaels?”
“To be sure I have,” responded Morgan grimly. “Michaels was Field’s so-called valet—he acted in the capacity of bodyguard and was really a blackguard, or I’m greatly mistaken in my judgment of men. He came to the office once in a while. I can’t think of anything else about him, Inspector.”
“He knows you, of course?” asked Queen.
“Why—I suppose so,” returned Morgan doubtfully. “I never spoke to him, but undoubtedly he saw me during his visits to the office.”
“Well, now, that’s fine, Morgan,” grunted Queen, rising. “This has been a most interesting and informative chat. And—no, I don’t think there’s anything else. That is, at the moment. Just ride along, Morgan, and keep in town—available if we need you for anything. Remember that, won’t you?”
“I’m not likely to forget it,” said Morgan dully. “And—of course the story I told you—about my son—it won’t come out?”
“You needn’t have the slightest fear—about that, Morgan,” said Queen, and a few moments later he and Ellery were on the sidewalk.
“So it was blackmail, dad,” murmured Ellery. “That gives me an idea, do you know?”
“Well, son, I’ve a few ideas of my own!” chuckled Queen, and in a telepathic silence they walked briskly down the street in the direction of headquarters.
XII
In Which the Queens Invade Society
Wednesday morning found Djuna pouring the coffee before a bemused Inspector and a chattering Ellery. The telephone bell rang. Both Ellery and his father jumped for the instrument.
“Here! What are you doing?” exclaimed Queen. “I’m expecting a call and that’s it!”
“Now, now, sir, allow a bibliophile the privilege of using his own telephone,” retorted Ellery. “I have a feeling that that’s my friend the book-dealer calling me about the elusive Falconer.”
“Look here, Ellery, don’t start—” While they were chaffing each other good-naturedly across the table, Djuna picked up the telephone.
“The Inspector—the Inspector, did you say? Inspector—” said Djuna, grinning as he held the mouthpiece to his thin chest, “it’s for you.”
Ellery subsided in his chair while Queen, with an air of
