He couldn’t have asked Kevin, Daisy thought. “How much evidence were you, um, able to give them yesterday?” she asked.
“Er-hum, not a vast quantity,” Thorwald confessed sheepishly. “I, hmm, found it extraordinarily difficult to concentrate upon their inquiries.”
“Then I should think Rosenblatt has simply given you time to, er, recover your equilibrium before asking you to repeat your account of what you observed and did. I shouldn’t worry about him. As for Gilligan, how long have you been holding his minion at bay?”
“Approximately fifteen minutes. Seventeen, to be precise.”
“Well done!” said Daisy. “Let’s see, he must have sent for you after he took Barton Bender into custody, so …”
“The culprit has been arrested?” Hope rang down the wire.
“Not exactly. He’s only classified as a suspect still, but sufficiently suspicious to be taken in for questioning. Grilling, as they say here. I expect Gilligan just wants you to take a look at him and see if you can identify him. The worthy sergeant has virtually no confidence in my competence as a witness.”Nor I in his competence as a detective, Daisy added to herself.
“Is that all?” said Thorwald with a sigh of relief. “I can but reiterate that I did not observe the person whom youand young Lambert pursued down the staircase.”
“That’s only my guess,” Daisy cautioned. “With Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, anything’s possible.”
An explosive snort of laughter reached her ear. “Rosencrantz and … ? My dear Mrs. Fletcher!”
“Blast, I’ve been trying not to say that. Mr. Thorwald, have you got a solicitor? A lawyer? It wouldn’t hurt to take him with you when you go to see those two.”
“A reasonable precaution,” Thorwald agreed, sobering. “I shall telephone my legal adviser immediately and arrange for him to meet me there. However, I am persuaded that you have interpreted the situation correctly. I was foolishly apprehensive. Thank you, my dear Mrs. Fletcher, for your inestimable reassurance.”
Daisy said good-bye, hung up, and started worrying. She found it hard to believe anyone could seriously suspect Mr. Thorwald of shooting Carmody, or anyone else for that matter. On the other hand, she was the only person who could say with any certainty that her editor had not fired a gun from close behind her, and Rosenblatt and Gilligan were not inclined to credit her evidence.
As she had told Thorwald, with Rosenblatt and Gilligan anything seemed possible. They were at least as much concerned with politics as with the law, if not more so. If their case against Barton Bender fell through, Thorwald might be the next scapegoat.
Or Daisy might find herself filling that role.
Between Scylla and Charybdis, she thought uneasily. Bender’s thugs on one side, the not particularly long but quite possibly crooked arm of the law on the other. Perhaps she ought to skedaddle, as Miss Genevieve put it.
She was sure of a welcome with Mr. Arbuckle and thePetries, in Connecticut, not too far away but in a different state. She could always leave a message for Rosenblatt, and another for Alec.
No, Alec would be here in a few hours. Though she hadn’t much confidence in Lambert as a defender, she trusted Alec. His official status would protect her from the police and the D.A., and with him beside her she wasn’t afraid of Bender’s bullyboys. And then there was Whitaker. The federal agent who was coming with Alec would surely force the New York authorities to stop looking for scapegoats and investigate Tammany’s thugs.
Gosh, not another lot of thugs after her! Daisy groaned. She would beveryhappy to see Alec, even though it meant admitting, to herself if not to him, that she wasn’t quite as independent as she’d like to think herself.
It was a pity, too, that she wasn’t going to get a chance to work out for herself who was the murderer. Hired thugs were altogether beyond her purview.
In the meantime, while she had no intention of cowering in her room till Alec arrived, she was glad of an excuse to stay there for the moment. She had had the brilliant idea of writing up her experiences with the New York police to sell in England. To be published under a pseudonym, she supposed, so as not to upset Superintendent Crane and the Assistant Commissioner (Crime).
Turning to the typewriter, Daisy prepared to do battle.
When Daisy ventured forth from her room, urged onward by hunger pangs, she expected to find Lambert lurking in the passage near her door. His absence brought a frown. Little though she felt able to rely on his abilities, his company would have been comforting.
Annoyance gave way to alarm—had the thugs picked him off first, before tackling her? But before she could panic, she remembered Patrolman Hicks. A uniformed policeman would surely have given “them” pause.
Not that Hicks was at his post, either. Daisy found them both by the elevators, where Kevin was teaching Lambert to play at jacks, while Hicks watched with avuncular interest. So much for the guardians of the law’s majesty.
Lambert scrambled to his feet, his unfortunate blush mantling his ingenuous face. Daisy sympathized.
“Lunchtime,” she said brightly.
“Swell!”
“It’s O.K. for some,” Hicks grumbled.
“You want I should fetch you a sandwich?” offered Kevin.
