“I can take you down to police headquarters to ask Mr. Bender’s permission.”
“No, thanks! I guess they’re gonna sweat it out of poor Bart anyhow, so I might as well tell.” She gave the address. “I gotta powder my nose. Can I use Otis’s room?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I’m sure Miss Cabot will oblige.”
“Oh dear! Oh yes, of course, do come this way, Mrs. Carmody.”
As Miss Cabot ushered Mrs. Carmody out, Rosenblatt came over to Daisy and Miss Genevieve.
“Satisfied, ladies?” he enquired sarcastically.
“Why did you stay here,” said Daisy, “if you didn’t want us to listen?”
“Strike while the iron’s hot. Give ’em time to think and they realize they’d do better to clam up. I’m sure Sergeant Gilligan will be most grateful, Mrs. Fletcher, if you canfind a moment to look through the rest of his precious mug book.”
“I expect I might find a moment.”
“And you will let us know if you plan to leave town, won’t you? You’re the only witness who actually saw the guy’s face.” He cast a reproachful glance at Lambert, who reddened. “Sigurd Thorwald swears he was looking at the elevator and then at Mr. Lambert, not the guy you were chasing. Not that I’d give much for his evidence, the state he was in. Thank you for the use of your place, Miss Genevieve. I guess.”
“You’re more than welcome,” said Miss Genevieve cordially. “Any time.”
Rosenblatt departed.
“Sarky beast,” said Daisy. “What do you make of all that?”
“You’d better finish up with the mug book first,” said Miss Genevieve. “O’Rourke will be in for it any minute and we don’t want him hanging around. Anyway, we can’t talk freely till Elva Carmody’s gone. Are you planning on staying the rest of the day?” she demanded of Lambert, still seated at her desk.
“Let him stay,” Daisy suggested, “while I’m here, that is. Otherwise he’ll just hang about in the passage outside your door, waiting to see where I go next. I hope you noted where I got to in that book, Mr. Lambert. I don’t want to have to go through all those beastly faces again.”
“Yes, I marked the place,” he said eagerly, pleased to have done something right for once.
Daisy returned to the desk and flipped through the last few photographs, without result. None of the beastly faces reminded her in the least of the man on the stairs.
12
Mrs. Carmody reemerged into the sitting room with her face restored. She came over to the four by the fireplace, Lambert jumping to his feet at her approach.
“I guess you folks must be wondering about me and Otis,” she opened. “I really am all broke up over him passing on, only you don’t wanna be a killjoy, do you?”
“Oh dear, so very sorry!” said Miss Cabot. “Of course you haven’t had time yet to put on your blacks.”
“Blacks?” Mrs. Carmody turned an astonished gaze on the old lady. “Oh, you mean mourning clothes? That’s kinda old-fashioned, you know, and black doesn’t suit me one bit.”
“Oh dear!”
“’Sides, I figure now Otis is gone it won’t worry him what I wear, and it’s my duty now to cheer up poor Bart. He likes me in red. Heck, I gotta go telephone his lawyer.”
“You’re welcome to use our telephone,” offered Miss Genevieve, as unwilling as Daisy to let her escape without coughing up a bit more information.
“Gee, can I? That’s mighty kind of you. Say, d’you remember his name that Bart told me?”
“James P. Macpherson,” said Daisy.
“Have you a directory, ma’am?” Lambert asked. “I’ll look up his number for you, Mrs. Carmody.”
Miss Cabot found the telephone directory in her sister’s desk, Lambert found the number, and Mrs. Carmody asked the hotel switchboard to connect her. Miss Genevieve made no pretence of not listening, even hushing Lambert and Miss Cabot when they would have spoken.
“Hello, Mr. Macpherson? … This is Elva Carmody … . No, nothing to do with that business. It’s Bart—Mr. Bender. The cops have taken him in … . No, not Fraud, I guess it’s the Homicide Bureau.”
