Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Confidant
Senator Henry put his napkin on the table and stood up, looking even taller and more alive than ever.His slightly small head was covered with a thin layer of gray hair, parted precisely in the middle.On the aristocratic face, the aging muscles hang down, highlighting the loose lines more and more; but the corners of his lips are not loose, and the traces of time obviously have not touched his eyes at all: it is a greenish gray , deep-set eye sockets, small but bright, with tight eyelids.He said in a deliberately courteous tone, "Do you mind if I take Paul upstairs for a while?"
"Very well, if you will let Mr. Beaumont stay with me, and promise not to stay upstairs all night," replied his daughter.
Ned Beaumont smiled politely and nodded slightly.He and Janet Henry entered a room with whitewashed walls. Coals were smoldering slowly in the grate under the white mantelpiece, and the dark red light was reflected on the mahogany furniture in the room.
She turned on a light by the piano and sat down with her back to the keys.Her head was between Ned Beaumont and the lamp, and the light bathed her blonde hair in a halo of light.Her black frock is some kind of suede-like material that doesn't reflect light; she doesn't wear any jewellery, either.
Ned Beaumont stooped to flick the ash of his cigar on the burning coals.On the front of his shirt was a dark pearl that flickered in the firelight as he moved, like a flashing police light on a railway.He straightened up and asked, "Would you like to play something?"
"Okay, if you want to hear it—but I don't play very well. But wait a minute, I want to talk to you while I get a chance." She put her hands together on her lap, Arms straight, shoulders hunched toward the middle.
Ned Beaumont nodded politely, but said nothing.He left the fire and sat down on a sofa with wraparound arms not far from her.Although he was focused, there was no curiosity in his expression.
She turned from the piano bench to face him, and asked in a low and intimate voice, "How is Opal?"
His tone was relaxed: "As far as I know, very well, but I haven't seen her since last week." He raised the cigar, sent it half a foot toward his mouth, and lowered it again, as if suddenly As if thinking of something, "Why do you ask this?"
Her brown eyes are wide open. "Didn't she have a nervous breakdown and be bedridden?"
"Well, that!" He smiled casually, "Didn't Paul tell you?"
"Yeah, he said she had a nervous breakdown and was in bed." She stared at him in confusion. "He told me so."
Ned Beaumont's smile softened. "I think he's a little touchy about it," he said slowly, looking at the cigar.Then he looked up at her, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "It's not that she has any business. It's just that she has a stupid idea that her father killed your brother - and what's worse, she goes around telling it. Well, Paul can't let his daughter go around accusing him of murder , so keep her at home until she gets rid of that stupid idea."
"You mean she—" she hesitated, her eyes lit up, "she—was imprisoned?"
"You're making it sound like a play," he protested casually. "She's just a child. Isn't it a common form of discipline to keep a child in her room?"
Janet Henry hurriedly replied: "Well, yes! It's just—" She stared at her hands on her knees, and looked up at his face again, "Why would she think that?"
Ned Beaumont's voice was as flat as his smile. "Who doesn't think so?" he asked.
She held both ends of the piano bench with both hands, leaned forward, and showed a very serious look on her fair face. "That's exactly what I wanted to ask you, Mr. Beaumont. Is that what everyone thinks?"
He nodded, looking calm.
The knuckles on the edge of the piano bench turned white, and she asked in a hoarse voice, "Why?"
He got up from the sofa, walked to the fireplace, threw the remaining cigar into the fire, and then returned to his seat, crossing his long legs and leaning back comfortably. “The opponent side thinks it’s politically better for people to think that way,” he said.There was nothing in his voice, expression, or manner to suggest any personal interest in the subject.
She frowned. "But, Mr. Beaumont, if there wasn't some evidence, or something like it, why should anyone think so?"
He looked at her curiously and amusedly. "Of course," he said, "I thought you knew." He stroked his mustache with his thumbnail. "Didn't you get those anonymous letters flying all over the place?"
She stood up quickly, her face contorted with excitement. "Yes, it's today!" she cried, "and I'm going to show you the letter—"
He smiled softly, raised one hand, palm out, and made a stop gesture. "Don't bother, those letters are almost the same. I have read many of them."
She sat down again slowly, looking reluctant.
He began, "Well, those letters, and the stuff that The Observer put up before we dragged them out of this fight, plus the rumors that went around—" His bony shoulders shrugged, " They used the evidence in their possession to weave a very sophisticated charge against Paul."
She let go of her lower lip, and asked, "He—is he really dangerous?"
Ned Beaumont nodded, and said calmly and firmly: "If he loses the election and loses control of the city and state governments, they'll send him to the electric chair."
She trembled and asked in an unsteady voice: "But if he wins the election, will he be safe?"
Ned Beaumont nodded again. "of course."
She held her breath, her lips trembling so that she couldn't speak steadily: "Will he win?"
"I think so."
"Then, no matter how much evidence there is against him, it doesn't matter, he—" her voice changed, "is he not in danger?"
"He won't be brought on trial," Ned Beaumont told her.Suddenly, he sat up straight, closed his eyes tightly, and then opened them again, watching her tense and pale face.A gleam of pleasure flashed into his eyes and spread across his face.He laughed—not loudly, but with great joy—and stood up and shouted, "Judit did it himself!"
Janet Henry sat motionless, holding her breath, her fair face blank, her brown eyes looking at him in bewilderment.
He started walking around the room, talking cheerfully—not at her, but occasionally turning his head and smiling at her. "It turns out, of course," he said, "that she could put up with Paul—with a certain amount of civility—insofar as her father needed his political support, but there was a limit to that. It's enough for her to bear it, because Paul loves her so much. But when she decides that Paul killed her brother, and will get away with it, unless she - great! Paul's daughter and his girlfriend want to Put him in the electric chair. He's not bad luck with women." He stood in front of Janet Henry with a thin gray-green speckled cigar in one hand, and spoke with the cigar in his hand, not accusing, but As if sharing her newfound discovery with her, “You send those anonymous letters around—you, of course. They were typed on a typewriter in the room where your brother and Opal used to meet. He has a key, she There is one too. The letters were not written by her, for she too was incited by them. You wrote them. When the police returned your brother's keys and sundries to you and your father, you took the keys and sneaked into that room, wrote those letters. That’s right.” He started pacing again, “We’re going to have to get the senator to get a team of hardy nurses and put you in the room with an excuse for a nervous breakdown. The epidemic of the daughters of the characters, but even if every house in the city locks up a sick person, we have to make sure we can win." He turned his head and smiled kindly at her.
With one hand on her throat, she remained motionless and said nothing.
He said: "Fortunately, the senator won't give us too much trouble. He doesn't care that much about anything other than running for re-election - whether it's you, or his dead son - and he knows no Paul, you can’t be re-elected.” He laughed, “That’s why you became Judith, huh? You know your father won’t break up with Paul until the election is won—even if he thinks Paul is guilty. Ahh , it’s so reassuring to know that — we all are.”
She spoke when he stopped to light his cigar.Her hands had dropped from her throat, her hands resting on her lap.She sat upright, but not stiff, and her voice was calm and composed."I'm not good at lying. I know Paul killed Taylor. I wrote those letters," she said.
Ned Beaumont put the lighted cigar away from his lips, returned to the wraparound sofa, and sat facing her.His face was serious, but not hostile.He said, "You hate Paul, don't you? Even if I prove to you that he didn't kill Taylor, you'd still hate him, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," she replied, her light brown eyes fixed on his, "I think I will."
"That's right," he said, "you don't hate him because you think he killed your brother. You think he killed your brother because you hate him."
She shook her head slowly. "No."
He smiled suspiciously, then asked, "Have you talked to your father about this?"
She bit her lip, blushing slightly.
Ned Beaumont laughed again. "And he ends up telling you it's ridiculous," he said.
The blush on her cheeks deepened, and she opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn't.
He said: "If Paul killed your brother, your father should know."
She looked down at her hands on her lap, and said dully and sadly: "My father should know, but he won't believe it."
Ned Beaumont said, "He should know." His eyes narrowed. "Did Paul talk to him about Taylor and Opal that night?"
She looked up in surprise. "Don't you know what happened that night?" she asked.
"have no idea."
"It's not about Taylor and Opal at all," she said, her voice trembling with eagerness, "but—" Her face turned toward the door, and her mouth snapped shut.There were roaring low laughter from outside the door, and the sound of approaching footsteps.She turned to Ned Beaumont again, and raised her hands hastily in a gesture of entreaty. "I have to tell you," she whispered, almost desperately solemn, "can I see you tomorrow?"
"Can."
"where to?"
"My house?" he suggested.
She nodded quickly.He whispered his address, and she whispered, "After ten?" He nodded before Senator Henry and Paul Mazvey entered.
At ten-thirty Paul Mazvey and Ned Beaumont said good night to the Henrys, got into a brown sedan, and Mazvey drove down Charles Street.After driving a block and a half, Mazvi let out a sigh of contentment. "God, Ned, you have no idea how happy I am to see you and Janet get on so well."
Ned Beaumont squinted at the blond's profile and said, "I can get along with anybody."
Mazvi laughed softly. "You can," he said indulgently, "it's no wonder."
Ned Beaumont's lips curled into a faint, mysterious smile.He said, "I have something to talk to you about tomorrow. Where will you be this afternoon?"
Mazvi turned into Chinatown in his car. "In the office," he said, "tomorrow is the first. Why don't you speak now? The night is still long."
"I haven't quite figured it out yet. What's up with Opal?"
"She's all right," Mazvi said darkly, and then snapped, "God! I wish I could get mad at that kid, it'd be easier." They passed a street lamp.He said suddenly, "She's not pregnant."
Ned Beaumont said nothing, had no expression on his face.
Mazvi slowed as he approached the Cabin Club.His face was flushed, and his voice was gruff: "What do you think, Ned? Was she—" He cleared his throat aloud, "—his mistress? Or was it just boys and girls? "
Ned Beaumont said, "Don't know, and I don't care. Don't ask her, Paul."
Mazvi stopped the car and sat for a while, staring straight ahead.Then he cleared his throat again and said hoarsely, "You're not the worst man in the world, Ned."
"Yeah," Ned Beaumont agreed as the two got out of the car.
They entered the club and parted casually in front of the governor's portrait on the second-floor landing.
Ned Beaumont went into a small back room where five people were playing poker and three others were watching the game.Everyone made room for him to sit at the table.By the end of the three-point game, he had won more than four hundred yuan.
It was nearly noon when Janet Henry arrived at Ned Beaumont's house.He spent more than an hour walking up and down the room, taking turns chewing his nails and puffing on his cigar.When she rang the doorbell, he answered the door unhurriedly, opened it, and said with slight joy and surprise, "Good morning."
"I'm so sorry I'm late," she said, "but—"
"But you're not late," he assured her. "Anytime after ten is fine."
He led her into the living room.
"I like it here," she said, turning slowly in circles, examining the old-fashioned room, the height of the ceiling, the width of the windows, the big mirror over the fireplace, the red velvet of the furniture. "Nice." Her brown eyes turned to a half-open door. "Is that your bedroom?"
"Yes. Do you want to see it?"
"OK."
He showed her the bedroom, then the kitchen and bathroom.
“It’s perfect,” she said when they returned to the living room. “I don’t know how many things like this are left in a city that’s so desperate to be trendy.”
He bowed slightly, thanking her for the compliment. "I think that's fine, and as you can see, no one here can overhear us unless they're in a cupboard—which isn't possible."
She stood up straight and looked him straight in the eyes. "I didn't think so. We might disagree, maybe even be enemies—maybe we already are, but I know you're a gentleman, or I wouldn't have come."
He quipped: "You mean, I've learned not to wear hazel shoes with a blue suit, or something?"
"I don't mean those things."
he smiled. "Then you're wrong. I'm a gambler, and a pawn of a politician."
"I'm not wrong." She had an argumentative look in her eyes, "Please don't cause a quarrel between us, at least it's not necessary now."
"Sorry." Now he smiled apologetically, "Aren't you going to sit?"
She sat down and he sat facing her in a wide red chair.He said: "Now you are going to tell me what happened in your house the night your brother was killed."
"Yes." The words escaped from her lips, barely audible.Her face turned pink, and she looked down at the floor.When she looked up again, her eyes were shy, and her voice was stagnant with embarrassment: "I hope you know. You are Paul's friend, and this--this may make you my enemy, But—I think by the time you know what's going on—by the time you know the facts—you won't—at least not my enemy. I don't know, maybe you will—but you ought to know. Then you You can decide. And he didn't tell you." She looked at her intently, the shyness in her eyes disappeared, "Isn't it?"
"I don't know what happened at your house that night," he said. "He didn't tell me."
She leaned towards him and asked quickly, "Doesn't this mean that he wants to hide something, and must hide something?"
He shrugged. "And if so?" He was neither excited nor enthusiastic.
She frowned. "But you must understand—leave it alone. I'll tell you what happened, and you can judge for yourself." She moved a good distance further, staring at him with intent brown eyes, "He's coming to dinner , that was the first time we invited him to dinner."
"I know that," said Ned Beaumont, "and your brother isn't home."
"Taylor wasn't at the dinner table," she corrected him earnestly, "but he was upstairs in his own room. Only my father, Paul, and I were at the table. Tyler was going out to dinner. He... he wasn't with Paul." , because they had a bad quarrel about Opal."
Ned Beaumont nodded intently, but not enthusiastically.
"After dinner, Paul and I were alone for a while, and in...in the room where we were speaking last night, his arms suddenly wrapped around me and he kissed me."
Ned Beaumont laughed, not loudly, but with sudden, unquenchable pleasure.
Janet Henry looked at him in surprise.
He broke the laugh into a smile, and said, "I'm sorry, you go on. I'll tell you why I laughed in a moment." But when she was about to continue, he asked, "Wait a minute. When he kissed you, did you Say what?"
"No. I mean, there may be, but I don't understand." The confusion on her face deepened, "What's wrong?"
Ned Beaumont laughed again. "He must have said something like 'that pound of meat'. Maybe it was my fault. I tried to talk him out of running for your father and said he was using you as a bait to get his support , and advised him that if he is willing to be bought in this way, he should make sure to get some sweetness before the election, otherwise he will never get it."
Her eyes widened, but the confusion in them lessened.
He added: "That happened that afternoon, but I didn't seem to get him to understand me." His forehead was wrinkled. "What's your reaction? He really wants to marry you and has a lot of respect for you." .You must have given completely wrong hints to make him behave like this towards you."
"I didn't do anything to him," she replied slowly, "but it was a bad night, and none of us felt comfortable. I think—and tried not to show it—I...I hated entertaining him. He's nervous, I know. I think he's embarrassed...maybe a little suspicious that you've been letting him—" She snapped her hands out, ending the sentence.
Ned Beaumont nodded. "And then?" he asked.
"I was angry, of course. Then I left him."
"Did you tell him anything?" Ned Beaumont's eyes flashed with unconcealed pleasure.
"No, and I didn't hear him say anything. I went upstairs and my father was coming down. When I was about to tell him what had just happened - I was as angry with my father as I was with Paul, because Paul was here Father's fault—we heard Paul walk out the front door. Then Tyler came down from his room." Her face grew pale and tense, her voice hoarse with excitement, "He heard me talking to my father and asked What happened to me. But I ignored him and my father, and went back to my room, too angry to talk. I didn't see them again until my father came to my room and told me that Tyler had been—had been killed ’” She finished, looking palely at Ned Beaumont, wringing her fingers, waiting for his reaction.
He responded with a calm question: "Well, what does that mean?"
"What does that mean?" she repeated in amazement. "Can't you see that? How could I think otherwise—Taylor ran out from behind, caught up to Paul, and got killed? He was pissed off, and— —" She brightened. "You know his hat wasn't found. He was in too much of a hurry—and too angry to have time for it. He—"
Ned Beaumont interrupted her with a slow shake of his head, saying firmly, "No, it won't. Paul didn't have to kill Tyler, and he wouldn't. He can handle him with one hand, and he fights." I don't lose my mind from time to time. I know that. I've seen Paul fight, and I've had fights with him, and it's not going to happen." He narrowed his eyes, hardened, "But suppose he did What? I mean accident, though I don't believe in even that. But can you think of any other possibility than self-defense?"
She looked up contemptuously. "If it was self-defense, why did he hide it?"
Ned Beaumont seemed unimpressed. "He wants to marry you," he explained. "Admitting you killed your brother isn't going to help, even if—" he chuckled, "I'm as confused as you are, Miss Henry. Paul didn't kill him."
Her eyes became as ruthless as before.She looked at him without saying a word.
His expression became thoughtful.He asked: "Did you just put—" he moved the fingers of one hand, "combining the two things together, do you think your brother ran out after Paul that night?"
"That's enough," she insisted. "He must be after Paul, he must be. Otherwise—why would he run off to Chinatown without his hat on?"
"Your father didn't see him go out?"
"No, he didn't know until he heard—"
He cut her off. "Does he agree with you?"
"He'll agree," she cried. "There's no way he'll be wrong. He'll agree with whatever he says, just as you'll agree with me." Tears filled her eyes. "You can't expect me to Will believe you disagree, Mr. Beaumont. I don't know what you knew before. You found Taylor dead. I don't know what else you found, but you must know the truth now."
Ned Beaumont's hands began to tremble, and he sank deep in the sofa to put them in his trouser pockets.His face was calm, only the deep lines on his lips."I found his body, no one else was around. I found nothing else," he said.
"Now you find out," she said.
His mouth twisted under a dark mustache, and his eyes burned with anger.His voice was deep and piercing, extremely bitter: "I know whoever kills your brother has done the world a great favor."
She put a hand to her throat and flinched back in her chair.But then, almost immediately, the fear faded from her face.She sat up straight, looked at him with pity, and said softly, "I know, you are Paul's friend. You are so sad."
He lowered his head slightly and murmured, "That's so old-fashioned and stupid." He smiled mockingly, "You know I'm not a gentleman now." Then he stopped smiling, the shame in his eyes faded away, leaving only sobriety and firmness.He said in a calm voice, "You said I was Paul's friend, yes. Whoever he killed, I was his friend."
After staring at him seriously for a long time, she asked softly with a dull tone: "So it's useless? I thought, if I told you the truth—" She stopped and made a hopeless gesture with her hands, shoulders and head .
He shook his head slowly.
She sighed, stood up and held out a hand. "I'm sorry and disappointed. But we don't have to be enemies, do we?"
He stood up to face her, but did not shake her hand.He said, "You who have cheated, and are still cheating Paul, are my enemy."
Still stretching out her hand, she asked, "What about the other part of me, the part that has nothing to do with this matter?"
He took her hand and bowed his head.
After Janet Henry left, Ned Beaumont went to the phone, dialed a number, and said, "Hello, this is Beaumont. Is Mr. Mazvey here? . . . When he arrives, please tell him I Called and will see him later, okay? ... Yes, thanks."
He checked his watch, it was just after one o'clock.He lit his cigar and sat by the window, smoking his cigar and staring at the gray church across the street.The exhaled cigar smoke was blocked by the window pane, forming a gray cloud over his head.He sat there for ten minutes, biting the end of his cigar, until the phone rang.
He answered the phone. "Hello...yes, Harry...no problem. Where are you?...I'm going to the city center right away, you'll wait for me there...half an hour...okay."
He threw his cigar into the fireplace, put on his hat and overcoat, and went out.He walked six blocks to a restaurant, ate salad and rolls, drank coffee, walked four blocks to a hotel called The Majestic, and took an elevator to the fourth floor.The lift attendant, a small young man, called him by his first name and asked him what he thought of the third race.
Ned Beaumont thought for a moment and said, "'Lord Byron' should win."
The elevator attendant said, "Hope you're wrong. I bet 'Organ.'"
Ned Beaumont shrugged. "Maybe, but it's too fat." He walked to Room 417 and knocked on the door.
Harry Sloss opened the door while putting on his shirt.He was a stocky man of thirty-five, pale, broad-faced, and partly bald. "On time, come in," he said.
After Sloss closed the door, Ned Beaumont asked him, "What's the matter?"
The dumpy man went to the bed and sat down, frowning nervously at Ned Beaumont. "Things don't look too good for me, Ned."
"What kind of bad idea?"
"I was going to tell the police about this."
Ned Beaumont said grumpily: "Well, come back to me when you're ready to talk."
Sloss raised a large pale hand. "Wait a minute, Ned, I'll tell you what's going on, just listen to me." He fumbled in his pocket for cigarettes, and pulled out a baggy pack. "You remember when Kid Henry was killed?" That night?"
Ned Beaumont gave a nonchalant "Hmmm."
"Remember when you came into the club and Ben and I just arrived?"
"Remember."
"Okay, listen: Ben and I saw Paul under the tree arguing with the kid."
Ned Beaumont smoothed his mustache with his thumbnail, looked puzzled, and said slowly: "But I saw you get off at the club door - I just found the body - you were from From the other end." He moved his index finger, "And Paul has already entered the club before you."
Sloss nodded his head vigorously. "True," he said, "but we drove down to the end of Chinatown first, to Pinky Crane's, and he wasn't there, and then we turned around and drove back to the club."
Ned Beaumont nodded. "Then what did you see?"
"We saw Paul and the kid standing under a tree arguing."
"Can you still see clearly when you drive by?"
Sloss nodded vigorously again.
"It's dark in there," Ned Beaumont reminded him. "I don't see how you can recognize their faces when you drive past unless you slow down or stop."
"No, we don't, but I recognize Paul everywhere I go," Sloss insisted.
"Perhaps. But how do you know it's the kid with him?"
"It's him. Of course it's him, we see that very clearly."
"And you can see them arguing? What does that mean? Is there a fight?"
"No, but standing there like they're arguing. You know, sometimes you can tell they're arguing just by the way they stand."
Ned Beaumont's half-smile. "Yeah, standing face to face is a quarrel." His smile disappeared, "That's why I went to the police?"
"Yes. I don't know if he ran to say it himself, or how Farr found out about it and sent someone to arrest him. Anyway, he told Farr. That was yesterday."
"How did you hear, Harry?"
"Val was looking for me," said Sloss, "that's what I heard. Ben told him I was with him, and Val told me to go see him, but I don't want to get involved .”
"I hope so, Harry," said Ned Beaumont. "What are you going to tell Farr if he catches you?"
"I'm not going to let him get me if it's possible. That's what I came to you for." He cleared his throat and moistened his lips. "I think maybe I should go out of town for a week or two until the limelight dies down, so I have to A little tangled up."
Ned Beaumont smiled and shook his head. "That's not the right way," he told the dumpy man, "if you want to help Paul, tell Farr you don't recognize those two people under the tree, and you don't think anyone in your car at the time did. "
"Well, that's what I'll do," said Sloss quickly. "But, look here, Ned, I've got to get something. I'm taking a chance, and—well, you know how Well."
Ned Beaumont nodded. "After the election we'll find you a lighter job, one that shows up for an hour a day."
"Then—" Sloss stood up, with an urgent look in his green, gray eyes, "to tell you the truth, Ned, I'm dead poor. Can you get me some cash now? I'm short Gotta die."
"Maybe. I'll talk to Paul about it."
"Go on, Ned, and remember to call me."
"Of course, goodbye."
Leaving the Majestic, Ned Beaumont walked to City Hall, came to the Attorney's Office, and said he wanted to see Mr. Farr.
The round-faced young man who received him left Farr's outer office and returned a few minutes later with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, Mr. Beaumont, but Mr. Farr is not here."
"When does he come back?"
"I don't know. His secretary said he didn't."
"Then I'll try it. I'll go to his office and wait for a while."
A young man with a round face stopped in front of him. "Oh, you can't—"
Ned Beaumont gave the young man his sweetest smile, and asked softly, "Don't you like this job, boy?"
The young man hesitated, moving uneasily out of the way.Ned Beaumont walked into the corridor leading to the prosecutor's office and opened the door.
Sitting at the desk, Farr raised his eyes and quickly jumped up. "It's you?" he cried. "Damn that kid! He never gets things right. He told me Mr. Bowman."
"Never mind," said Ned Beaumont mildly, "I'm in anyway."
He let the prosecutor shake his hand violently up and down, and then led him into a chair.After both of them sat down, he asked lazily, "Any news?"
"No." Farr sat back in the chair, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his vest. "Isn't it the same? God knows, it's enough."
"How's the campaign going?"
"Unexpectedly," a shadow passed over the prosecutor's fighting red face, "but I think we can settle it."
Ned Beaumont's voice was still languid. "What's wrong?"
"A bit here and there, things just keep popping up. Politics, that's all."
"Is there anything I—or Paul—can do to help?" Ned Beaumont asked, and after Farr shook his red-haired head, he added, "That means Paul is The suspicion in the Henry murder case is the most troublesome thing for you?"
There was a gleam of fright in Farr's eyes, which disappeared in the blink of an eye.He sat up straight in the chair. "Well," he said cautiously, "there's a lot to unravel about this murder. It's one of the things we've got waiting—perhaps the biggest."
"Since I saw you last time, has there been any progress? New clues have emerged?"
Farr shook his head, eyes wary.
Ned Beaumont's smile was lukewarm. "Or is progress slow in some areas?"
The prosecutor squirmed in his chair. "Well, yes, of course, Ned."
Ned Beaumont nodded in approval, with a gleam of malice in his eyes, and said derisively, "Ben Frith is one of the things you've been slow to do?"
Val's stubby jaw dropped and retracted.He pursed his lips, his eyes widened in surprise at first, and then his expression disappeared.He said: "I don't know if there's any value in what Ferris has to say, Ned. I guess not, so it never occurred to me to tell you."
Ned Beaumont laughed mockingly.
Fall said, "You know I'm not going to hide anything from you and Paul. I'll tell you everything that matters, and you know that."
"We know you better than you know yourself," Ned Beaumont replied, "but that's all right, if you want to find the guy who was in Ferris' car, you can go to 417 at the Majestic Hotel now." Room number arrests him."
Farr stared at the green pen holder on his desk, the dancing nude figure clutching a plane rising from between two tilted pens.The muscles of his face rose and fell, and he said nothing.
Ned Beaumont rose from his chair, a smile on his thin lips.He said: "Paul is always willing to help his friends out of trouble. Do you think he can get himself arrested and charged with Tyler Henry's murder?"
Farr didn't take his eyes off the green pen holder.He said stubbornly, "It's not my turn to tell Paul what to do."
"Not a bad idea!" cried Ned Beaumont.He bent over the desk, put his face close to the prosecutor's ear, and lowered his voice, "I have another good idea: you don't do anything that Paul didn't order."
He walked out grinning, but the smile disappeared as soon as he stepped outside the door.
Notes:
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