Chapter 15 Chapter 15 The De Carlos Agreement

The officer gave Beau a savage look and hurried away.After he left, Goossens coughed and said, "Mrs. Quinn, as the co-executor of Cole's estate, I am obliged to inform you that your marriage today prevents you from continuing to share the income from your uncle's estate. There are a few things, and some papers... If there is anything I can do for you in terms of legal advice, of course... I am very sorry..." Like a police officer, he walked away a bit when he left. Kelly was sobbing on Beau's shoulder, and Vi stood by the window and carefully tore a handkerchief to pieces.

"What are you hanging around here, Goldfish Eye?" Beau demanded, looking at De Carlos with a mixture of exasperation and disgust. De Carlos smiled nervously: "I think—I want to talk to you alone, Mr. Quinn." "Go away!" "I have to talk to you. It's a private matter—" "That has to wait. Go away, you." "But it's very urgent," De Carlos said softly. Beau studied him with wide eyes.The man looked odd: brush hair, beard, gleaming teeth and eyes, a mixture of determination, triumph, and anxiety in his expression. "Meet you in my office in Times Square in half an hour," Beau said impulsively. "I'll tell the porter to let you in."

"Thank you." De Carlos bowed to Kelly, smiled, or seemed to smile, behind his beard, and hurried away. "Ellery, don't go," Kelly said wearily.The arms around his neck felt like a heavy weight. "I've got to go, pretty face." Beau gave Vi a wink over Kelly's head. "V won't leave you. Will you, Vi?" "What do you take me for? Of course not!" said Vi, trying to look cheerful. "I don't like being in my own shitty place anyway." "You ask the doctor to give you an injection," Bowen told Kelly gently. "You need to sleep for a while."

She held him tightly, sobbing. "Kelly, you know I love you, don't you?"—She hugged him tightly—"You don't believe a word she told you tonight, do you?"—Kelly shook her head vigorously— "You know I'm fighting for you a thousand percent, don't you?"—she nodded, speechless—"then leave everything to me and don't worry." He kissed her and stood up.Kelly twisted on the bed and buried her face in the pillow.Bo crunched his knuckles in some frustrated distress.Then he kissed her again and ran out. Beau paused on the sidewalk outside the hotel to wrap his hands around and light a cigarette.

He looked around quickly.The streets are deserted, except for the occasional taxi that slowly passes by.His watch showed that it was almost four o'clock.He threw the match away and walked briskly toward Broadway.The night air was quite chilly, and he turned up the collar of his jacket. He slipped into an all-night pharmacy, slipped into a phone booth, shut the door behind him, and dialed Ellery Queen's number. Ellery picked up the receiver almost immediately. "I'm Beau. Are you in bed yet?" "I've been wondering. What's the matter?" "A lot. Listen, Al, De Carlos showed up at the Villanoy Hotel and said he had to speak to me privately. I had a hunch and I told him to meet me in the office now. Do you want to hear it? ?”

"Oh, of course I do," Mr. Quinn said with a certain sternness, "what do you think it will be?" "I don't know. Take a taxi and come here as soon as possible." "I'll be there in time. How's Kelly?" Bo hung up the phone. He walked briskly to Times Square, crossed the street, and banged on the door of the office building. A yawning night watchman opened the door and let him in. "Joe. I'm waiting for a man named De Carlos. He'll be here shortly. Let him in. He'll say he wants to see Mr. Quinn and show him to our office."

"No problem, Mr. Rumel. Say, don't you ever sleep?" "Don't answer any questions, understand?" "Yes, sir." Beau opened the door into Quinn's office, turned on the light, opened the window, and took a bottle from a desk drawer. Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door of the reception room.He puts down the bottle and walks out. It was De Carlos who knocked, alone. "Come in," Beau said.Then he locked the door, "You're early. I've called my partner and he'll be here soon." "Your partner?" De Carlos looked displeased.

"Yes. Uh—his name is Beau Brummell—I mean, Rumel. We're partners." Beau rubbed his eyes and led him into the inner room. "A shot?" "But I want to talk to you alone." "There are no secrets between Beau and I," Beau growled.He was lighting a cigarette and waving at the bottle.De Carlos licked his red lips and looked around for a cup.He didn't find it, and Bo didn't give it to him.So De Carlos picked up the bottle and put it to his lips.Beau looked at him sarcastically.He drank and drank. By the time he put the bottle down, his gray cheeks had turned pink.

He smacked his lips and said, "Now—" "Take it easy," Beau said, "have another drink." He picked up the bottle again. De Carlos was drunk when Mr. Quinn opened the front door and entered the inner room. The man with the goatee was sprawling in the "client chair," waving a bottle and squinting at Beau with a glazed-eyed look. "Ah, partner," said De Carlos, trying to get up but falling back into his chair, "...well, Mr. Rummel. Lovely evening. I mean sad, how sad. Sit down, Rummel Mr Mel." Ellery glanced at Beau, who blinked. "This is Mr. Edmund de Carlos, Rumel," Beau said to Ellery, loud enough to pierce the liquor in De Carlos' head. Fog, "He's one of the trustee-custodians of Cole's estate, you know."

"Sit, Mr. Rummel," Mr. De Carlos said enthusiastically, waving the bottle. "It's an honor, I'm sure. Please sit down!" Ellery sat behind the desk. "I hear you have something important to tell us, Mr. De Carlos." De Carlos leaned forward confidentially: "Important and valuable, Mr. Rummel. Big money, understand?" "Go on, tell it all." "We're friends, friends here. And we're mortals, huh?" De Carlos giggled. Know the detectives. Buy--everything can be bought. It's just a question of price, I think. Just a price . . . nothing else."

"May I understand that, Mr. De Carlos? You want to hire us to investigate a case for you?" Ellery asked. De Carlos owls him, then bursts out laughing. "Very good, Mr. Rummel. I want to hire you not to investigate a case!" Beau and Ellery exchanged a look.Then Beau said, "What do you think?" De Carlos suddenly became serious: "Look, Mr. Quinn, let's put the cards on the table, huh? I know you married Little Kelly tonight because you have a deal with Margo. You marry Kelly, she loses her income from this inheritance, Margo gets it, you share it with Margot—very well done, Mr. Quinn, very well done. But what happened? You Wife wrecked everything. Three bullets in Margot. Wow! Margot dead." He shook his head gravely. "And where have you got yourself, Mr. Quinn? Go fuck yourself, Quinn. Mr. Yin, huh?" "Stop talking nonsense," Beau said forcefully. "It won't do you any good. You've heard the case!" "Excellent statement, Mr. Quinn," said De Carlos, squinting his eyes. "It just doesn't work. No, sir, that's grotesque - grotesque nonsense. Of course she killed Margot - she's a sinner, Quinn." Sir. But then again, what do you care? That's not the point. Then—" Beau threw himself in front of De Carlos and grabbed him by the neck. "Wait a minute," Ellery said, and Beau released his grip hypnotically.De Carlos looked up at him, horrified. "There's no need to rush it," Ellery smoothed things over. "You'll have to forgive my partner, Mr. De Carlos. He had a good night." "Then there's no need to strangle others." De Carlos complained, touching his Adam's apple. "What were you going to say just now?" De Carlos struggled out of his chair, watching Beau cautiously. "Gentlemen, you've been scammed out of a fortune by Kelly—by someone who killed Margot." He wagged his forefinger at Ellery. "I'm sorry, I say. You should be compensated." — Make it up, I say. And Edmond de Carlos is the one who did it. Good friend, huh? I make it up to you, huh?" "Hmph," Beau said, "bait. And we're the fish. I didn't figure it out, and I still don't. What's the catch, Blackbeard?" "No trap, gentlemen! Oh, of course, if I do something for you, you'll have to do something for me. That's only fair, huh?" He looked at them eagerly. "Huh?" "Well, well," said Ellery, warning Beau with his eyes, "I have to admit. As I understand it, you're worried about our loss in the deal with Margot, and you're willing to compensate us financially; and You want us to do something for you in return for your small contribution to our firm's account. What would that be, Mr. de Carlos?" De Carlos smiled. "It's been a pleasure dealing with you, Mr. Rumel. Well, you don't have to do anything, you understand. Like I said just now. I pay you not to investigate a case. You quit , stay away. Forget what you ever heard about Cadmus Cole, or the Cole legacy, or—or anything. Know what I mean?" Beau growled deep in his throat, but Ellery stepped forward quickly, between the two of them.He kicked Beau's shin unceremoniously with his left heel, then grabbed De Carlos' arm. "I think we get it, Mr. De Carlos," he said, mirroring De Carlos's example, with a knowing squint. "You feel like we're meddling a little too much. You'll breathe easier somewhere else. How much was it worth for us to withdraw from the investigation?" "I didn't say that just now." De Carlos looked up at him, eyes blurred with shrewdness. "Ten thousand dollars—what?" "Come on, come on, Mr. de Carlos. We could have gotten a lot more money than that in the Margo Cole deal." "Old boy De Carlos got ripped off, ripped off," muttered De Carlos. "Well, don't ripped me off, gentlemen. Fifty thousand." "You're hurting my feelings, Mr. De Carlos." "Okay," De Carlos muttered grumblingly, "how about twenty thousand?" "How about twenty-five thousand, Mr. de Carlos?" De Carlos muttered to himself for a while, and finally he said loudly: "It's done. Twenty-five thousand. Robbers!" "Fair deal," Ellery assured him, "and how will this small sum be paid? In cash, I believe?" "Cash! I wouldn't bring that much money with me," De Carlos said a little irritably. "Here's a check for you." "The check might bounce," Ellery mused. "Well, this check won't! And even if it bounces, you have safeguards. You don't have to honor our agreement." "That's a good point. Take the check, then. Go to the chair, Mr. de Carlos?" He helped the shambling man around the table, put him in the swivel chair, and leaned over to turn on the bright lamp. De Carlos fumbled in his clothes to produce a checkbook.He opened the book, stared sullenly at the stub of the last check, then groped in his pocket, and finally he drew his hand out, holding a pen. He unscrewed the cap and put it on the end of the pen, bent down, puffed out one side of his cheek with his tongue, and began to laboriously write a check. Mr. Quinn and Mr. Rummel would not have been so surprised if what he had pulled out of his pocket had been a comb.Their amazed eyes were drawn to the pen held in De Carlos' slack, clumsy fingers. It was a black ebonite fountain pen, thick and scratched, with gold trim. Very clear in the bright light of the desk lamp, there were some strange indentations in a curved pattern on the cap—a familiar pattern, a pattern that Mr. Quinn and Mr. Rummel had seen twice before... …once on a pencil they found behind the heater in Room 1726 at the Villanoy Hotel earlier that night, and once on this very desk in this office months ago. Same pen. In the same situation. That's Cadmus Cole's pen!