The Interpretation of Murder

Chapter Twenty-four

'I'm not saying he killed her, Your Honor. I'm just saying he's hiding something.' Detective Littlemore was speaking to Mayor McClellan in the latter's office late Friday afternoon. He was referring to George Banwell.

'What is your evidence?' asked an exasperated McClellan. 'Be quick, man; I can give you no more than five minutes.'

Littlemore considered telling the mayor about the trunk he and Younger had found in the caisson but decided against it, since the trunk had revealed nothing conclusive so far, and since he wasn't supposed to have gone down to the caisson in the first place. 'I just heard from Gidow, sir, in Chicago. He's checked with the police. He went through the whole city directory. He looked at the blue book. She didn't come from Chicago, sir. No one's ever heard of Elizabeth Riverford in Chicago.'

McClellan looked long and hard at the detective. 'I was with George Banwell Sunday night,' he said. 'I've told you that three times.'

'I know, sir. And I'm sure Miss Riverford couldn't have been there with you, wherever you were, without your knowing it, right, sir?'

'What?'

'I'm sure Mr Banwell didn't secretly bring Miss Riverford with him, sir, and kill her around midnight, and then bring her back with him to the city and put her in the apartment, making it look like she was killed there. If you follow me, Your Honor.'

'Good Lord, Detective.'

'It's just that I don't know where you were, sir, or how Mr Banwell got there, or whether you were together the whole time.'

McClellan took a deep breath. 'Very well. On Sunday night, Mr Littlemore, I dined with Charles Murphy at the Grand View Hotel near Saranac Inn. The dinner was arranged that very day — by George Banwell. Mr Haffen was another of the guests.'

Littlemore was startled. Boss Murphy was the head of Tammany Hall. Louis Haffen, a Tammany man, had been borough president of the Bronx — until last Sunday. 'But you just had Haffen kicked out of office, sir. By Governor Hughes.'

'Hughes was down the road, at Mr Colgate's, with Governor Fort.'

'I don't understand, sir.'

'I was there, Detective, to hear what conditions Murphy would demand in exchange for making me Tammany's mayoral candidate.'

Littlemore said nothing. The news astonished him.

Everyone knew the mayor had declared himself the enemy of Tammany Hall. He had sworn to have no dealings with the likes of Murphy.

McClellan went on. 'George persuaded me to go. He argued that, with Haffen's dismissal, Murphy might be willing to deal. He was. Murphy desired me to install Haffen in the office of the comptroller. Not right away, but in a month or two. If I agreed, Justice Gaynor would stand down. I become the nominee, and the election is mine. They claimed that Hughes wanted me nominated, which rather surprised me, and they volunteered to commit themselves before the governor that very night, if only I would give them my word.'

'What did you say, sir?'

'I told him that Mr Haffen was not in need of a new post, having already embezzled a quarter of a million dollars from the city in his last one. George was quite disappointed. He wanted me to accept. No doubt he has profited from our friendship, Littlemore, but he has earned every dollar the city paid him. In fact, I gave him his last payment this week, not a penny more than his original bid. And no, I don't see how he could have killed Miss Riverford at Saranac Inn. We left the Grand View at nine- thirty or ten, dropped in at Colgate's, and returned to the city together. We rode in my car, arriving in Manhattan at seven in the morning. I don't believe Banwell was out of my sight for more than five or ten minutes at a time the entire night. Why he would misrepresent the location of Miss Riverford's family is a mystery to me — if he did.

He may have meant that Riverford lives in one of the surrounding towns.'

'We're checking them now, sir.'

'At any rate, he could not have killed her.'

'I don't believe he did, Your Honor. I wanted to rule him out. But I'm close, sir. Real close. I have a good lead on the murderer.'

'Good heavens, Littlemore. Why didn't you say so? Who is it?'

'If you don't mind, sir, I'll know if my lead pans out tonight. If I could just wait until then.'

The mayor agreed. But before he dismissed Littlemore, he gave the detective a card with a telephone number on it. 'That is the telephone in my house,' he said. 'Call me at once, at any hour, if you discover anything.'

At eight-thirty Friday evening, Sigmund Freud responded to a knock at his hotel room door. He was dressed in a bathrobe, with dinner trousers, white shirt, and black tie beneath it. Outside his door was a tall young man, looking both physically and morally exhausted.

'Younger, there you are,' said Freud. 'My goodness, you look terrible.'

Stratham Younger made no reply. Freud could see immediately that something had happened to him. But Freud's store of sympathy was greatly depleted. The boy's dishevelment signified for him the general disarray into which things had descended since his arrival in New York. Must every American be involved in some kind of disaster? Couldn't at least one of them keep his shirt tucked in?

'I came to see how you were, sir,' said Younger.

'Apart from having lost both my digestion and my most important follower, I am quite well, thank you,' replied Freud. 'The cancelation of my lectures at your university will of course also be a source of satisfaction. Altogether a most successful journey to your country.'

'Did Brill go to the Times, sir?' asked Younger. 'Did he find out if the article is genuine?'

'Yes. It is genuine,' Freud said. 'Jung gave the interview.'

'I will go to President Hall tomorrow, Dr Freud. I read the article. It is gossip, anonymous gossip. I am sure I can persuade Hall not to cancel. Jung says nothing against you.'

'Nothing against me?' Freud laughed derisively, recollecting his last exchange with Jung. 'He has repudiated Oedipus. He has rejected the sexual aetiology. He denies even that a man's childhood experiences are the source of his neuroses. As a result, your medical establishment has thrown its weight behind him, rather than me. And your President Hall apparently intends to follow suit.'

The two men remained at the threshold of Freud's hotel room, one on either side. Freud did not invite Younger in. Neither spoke.

Younger broke the silence. 'I was twenty-two when I first read your work, sir. The moment I read it, I knew the world would never be the same. Yours are the most important ideas of the century. America is hungry for them. I am certain of it.'

Freud opened his mouth to answer, but his reply died on his lips. He softened. 'You're a good boy, Younger,' he said, sighing. 'I'm sorry. As for hunger, I should not stake too much on it: a hungry man will eat anything. Speaking of which, we are going to Brill's again for dinner. Ferenczi is just on his way. You'll join us?'

'I can't,' Younger replied. 'I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes open.'

'For heaven's sake, what have you been doing all this time?' asked Freud.

'It would be hard to describe my last twenty-four hours, sir. Most recently, I have been with Miss Acton.'

'I see.' Freud observed that Younger hoped to be asked in, but he did not feel up to it. In fact Freud felt as exhausted as Younger looked. 'Well, you will tell me all about it tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow — right,' Younger replied, making to leave.

Perceiving Younger's disappointment, Freud added, 'Ah, I meant to tell you. Clara Banwell, we must think about her.'

'Sir?'

'All family life is organized around the most damaged person in it. We know that Nora has essentially substituted the Banwells for her own parents. The question then becomes which person in this constellation has suffered the greatest psychological injuries.'

'You think it might be Mrs Banwell?'

'We mustn't assume that it is Nora. Mrs Banwell is a compelling figure, as narcissists often are, but the men in her life have undoubtedly mistreated her in some profound way. Her husband, certainly. You heard what she said.'

'Yes,' said Younger. 'She told me more about that.'

'At Jelliffe's?'

'No, sir. I spoke with her again at Miss Acton's.'

'I see,' said Freud, raising an eyebrow. 'I expect it is to her that we can credit Nora's learning that Mrs Banwell had performed fellatio on her father.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You remember,' said Freud. He closed his eyes and, without opening them, recited the exchange he and Younger had had on this subject two days earlier, beginning with his own words: '"Do you not find anything strange in Nora's assertion that, when she saw Mrs Banwell with her father, she didn't understand at the time exactly what she was witnessing?" "Most American girls of fourteen are illinformed on that point, Dr Freud." "I appreciate that, but that is not what I meant. She implied that she now understood what she had witnessed, did she not?'"

Younger stared. 'You have a phonographic memory, sir?'

'Yes. A useful skill for an analyst. You should cultivate it. I used to be able to recall conversations for months, but now it is only days. At any rate, I think you will find that it was Mrs Banwell herself who educated Nora about the nature of the act. I suspect she has taken the girl into her confidence, enlisting her sympathy. Otherwise Nora's feelings for her are inexplicable.'

'Nora's feelings for Mrs Banwell,' Younger repeated.

'Come, my boy, think of it. Instead of hating Mrs Banwell as she ought to have done, Nora has essentially accepted her as a mother substitute. This means that Mrs Banwell found a way to form a special bond with the girl, a remarkable achievement under the circumstances. Almost certainly, she confided her forbidden erotic secrets to Nora — a favorite means by which women achieve intimacy.'

'I see,' said Younger, glassily.

'Do you? It has undoubtedly made things harder for Nora. And it indicates a lack of scruple on Mrs Banwell's part as well. A woman will not confide such things in a girl whom she intends to keep innocent. Well, I can see there is something you wish to tell me, but you are too tired. It would do no good to speak of it now. We'll talk tomorrow. Go take your rest.'

Smith Ely Jelliffe sang an aria as he strolled into the Balmoral a little after eleven on Friday night. Tipping the doormen lavishly, he informed them, quite without having been asked, that he had spent the evening at the Metropolitan, in the company of a feminine creature of the best kind — the kind who knew how to occupy herself during an opera. His face shining, Jelliffe looked like a man convinced of the largeness of his own soul.

His glow was dimmed somewhat by the appearance of a young man in a threadbare suit blocking his path to the elevator. It was dimmed several shades further when the young man identified himself as a police detective.

'You're Harry Thaw's doctor, aren't you, Dr Jelliffe?' asked Littlemore.

'Are you aware of the hour, my good man?' replied Jelliffe.

'Just answer the question.'

'Mr Thaw is under my care,' Jelliffe acknowledged. 'Everyone knows that. It has been widely reported.'

'Was he under your care,' pursued Littlemore, 'here in town last weekend?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Jelliffe.

'Sure you don't,' the detective replied, beckoning to a girl who, ostentatiously attired, was waiting on a leather sofa at the other end of the marble lobby. Greta now approached. Littlemore asked her if she recognized Jelliffe.

'It's him, all right,' said Greta. 'Dr Smith. Came with Harry and left with him.'

That afternoon, before calling on the mayor, the detective had returned to his office, reread the trial transcript, and found Jelliffe testifying that Thaw was insane. When he saw in the transcript that Jelliffe's first name was Smith, he put two and two together. 'So, Dr Smith,' said Littlemore. 'Want to come clean here — or downtown?'

The detective did not have to wait long for a confession. 'It wasn't my decision at all,' Jelliffe blurted out. 'It was Dana's. Dana was in charge.'

Littlemore told Jelliffe to take them to his apartment. When they entered Jelliffe's ornate foyer, the detective nodded appreciatively. 'Boy, you got a lot to lose, Dr Smith,' Littlemore said. 'So you brought Thaw into town last weekend? How'd you do it, bribe the guards'

'Yes, but it was Dana's decision, not mine,' Jelliffe insisted.

He dropped heavily into a chair at his dining table. 'I only did what he said we should.'

Littlemore stared down at him. 'Was it your idea to take him to Susie's?'

'Thaw chose the house, not me. Please, Detective. It was a medical necessity. A healthy man can be driven insane at a place like Matteawan. Surrounded by lunatics. Deprived of normal physical outlets.'

'But Thaw is insane,' said Littlemore. 'That's why he's in the loony bin.'

'He is not insane. He is highly strung,' responded Jelliffe. 'He has a nervous temperament. No good is done by shutting up such a man.'

'Too bad you told them the opposite at the trial,' remarked Littlemore. 'This wasn't the first time you brought Thaw into town, was it? You had him here about a month ago, didn't you?'

'No, I swear it,' said Jelliffe. 'This was the first time.'

'Sure it was,' answered Littlemore. 'And how did Thaw know Elsie Sigel?'

Jelliffe denied ever having heard of Elsie Sigel until he read about her in the papers yesterday afternoon.

'When you took Thaw to Susie's,' Littlemore went on, 'did you know what he liked to do to girls? Was that a medical necessity too?'

Jelliffe hung his head. 'I had heard of his proclivities,' he mumbled, 'but I thought we had resolved them.'

'Uh-huh,' said Littlemore. The detective looked with disgust at Jelliffe's manicured fingernails gripping his immense waist.

'Before you went to Susie's that night, when you had Thaw here at your apartment, how long was he out of your sight? Did you leave him by himself? Did he go out? What happened?'

'Here?' said Jelliffe, anxious and confused. 'I would never have brought the man here.'

'Don't play with me, Smith. I got plenty enough already to make you an accessory to murder — before the fact and after.'

'Murder?' asked Jelliffe. 'Dear God. It can't be. There was no murder.'

'A girl was killed right here in this building last Sunday night, the same night you had Thaw in your apartment.'

Jelliffe's face was pale. 'No,' he said. 'Thaw came into the city Saturday night. I took the train to Matteawan with him myself Sunday morning. He was there Sunday and Monday as well. You can ask Dana. You can check the records at Matteawan. They'll prove it.'

Jelliffe's desperation sounded sincere, but Littlemore had contradictory evidence. 'Nice try, Smith,' he said, 'but I've got a half dozen girls who put you and Thaw at Susie's last Sunday. Isn't that right, Greta?'

'Yeah,' said Greta. 'Around one or two Sunday morning. Just like I told you.'

Littlemore froze. 'Wait a minute, wait a minute. Do you mean Saturday night or Sunday?'

'Saturday night — Sunday morning — same difference' was Greta's answer.

'Greta,' said the detective, 'I need to be sure about this.

When did Thaw come in, Saturday night or Sunday night?'

'Saturday night,' said Greta. 'I don't work Sunday nights.'

Littlemore was once more at a loss. The Thaw connection had loomed up again like a ten-ton sure thing. Everything pointed to it. But now Thaw was at Susie's the wrong night — the night before. 'I'm going to check those hospital records,' Littlemore said to Jelliffe, 'and you better hope you're right. Come on, Greta. We're going.'

Jelliffe, swallowing, hiked himself up in his chair. 'I should think you owe me an apology, Detective,' he said.

'Maybe,' said Littlemore. 'But if you ask me for it again, you'll do one to five at Sing Sing for conspiring in the escape of a state prisoner. Not to mention never practicing medicine again.'

For a second consecutive night, Carl Jung walked beneath Calvary Church across from Gramercy Park. This time, he carried his revolver in a pocket. Perhaps it gave him courage. Without wavering, he strode purposefully along the wrought- iron fence to Gramercy Park South, crossed the street, and walked straight toward the officer in front of the Actons' house. The policeman asked his business. Jung replied that he was looking for the theatrical club: could the officer direct him?

'The Players, that's what you want,' said the policeman. 'Number sixteen, four doors down.'

Jung knocked at the door of number sixteen and, when he mentioned Smith Jelliffe's name, was allowed in. The air was filled with music and feminine laughter. Now he was inside, Jung could not believe what a fool he had been, to come almost to the door of the place twice before and then turn tail. Imagine: a man of his stature frightened of entering a house where women could be had for money.

The club's hat-check girl, greeting Jung in the foyer, was momentarily disconcerted when he drew his revolver. But he handed it to her with European politeness, explaining that, having seen a policeman a few doors down, he was concerned that there might be some murderer abroad. 'It's okay,' said the girl, smiling prettily at him. 'For a second there, I thought you were the murderer.'

As the two of them laughed and the front door was shut, a different man stepped out of a carriage in the shadows of Calvary Church. The cab drove away, leaving this man by himself in almost the very spot that Jung had occupied the night before. He was dressed in white tie. Despite the summer evening heat, he wore yet another layer of clothing, an overcoat, as well as white deerskin gloves. His hat was pulled low to cover as much of his face as possible. The man did not move. He watched from the darkness, where the policemen at the Actons' house could not see him.

As soon as he heard the door shut, Smith Jelliffe went to his telephone. He asked an operator to connect him to the Matteawan State Hospital. It took fifteen minutes, but Jelliffe at last got through to a hospital guard with whom he was on excellent terms. Jelliffe began issuing frantic commands, but he was quickly interrupted.

'You're too late,' said the guard. 'He's gone.'

'Gone?'

'He left three hours ago.'

Jelliffe put down the receiver. With nervous fingers, he dialed the number of Charles Dana's Fifth Avenue home. There was no answer. It was nearing midnight. After six rings, Jelliffe hung up.

'Dear God,' he said.

Across the street from the Balmoral, Littlemore said goodbye to Greta under a streetlamp. The night was as hot and muggy as they came. 'I can say he came in Sunday night,' Greta volunteered, 'if you want me to.'

Littlemore had to laugh. He shook his head, hailing a passing cab.

'You aren't going to look for my Fannie now, are you?' she asked forlornly.

'No, I'm not going to look for her,' Littlemore said. 'I'm going to find her.'

He told the driver Fortieth Street and gave the man a dollar to cover the fare. Greta stared at him. 'You're a pistol, you know that?' she said. 'You wouldn't want to marry me, by any chance? We're both redheads.'

Littlemore laughed again. 'Sorry, sugar, I'm spoken for.'

Greta kissed him on the cheek. As the cab drove off, Littlemore turned around to find Betty Longobardi standing right behind him. On his way uptown, the detective had made a stop at the Longobardis', leaving word for Betty to meet him at the Balmoral as soon as she got home.

'Start explaining,' said Betty, 'and make it good.'

Littlemore did not explain. Instead, he said she'd just have to trust him, then led her to his parked car. From the trunk, the detective drew out a lumpy sack. 'I need to show you some things that might have belonged to Miss Riverford. You're the only one who can identify them.'

Littlemore emptied the sack into the trunk of his car. The clothing was too soaked to be recognizable. The jewelry and shoes, Betty thought, looked familiar, but she couldn't be sure. Then she saw a sequined sleeve hanging from a dense tangle of fabric. She extricated the dress to which it belonged and held it out under the lamplight. 'This was hers! I saw her in it.'

'Wait a second,' said Littlemore. 'Wait a second.' He rummaged through the clothing. 'Is there anything here a woman could wear in the daytime?'

'Not these,' said Betty, raising her eyebrows as she pieced through the lingerie. 'Not these either. Not really, Jimmy. It's all evening wear.'

'Evening wear,' the detective repeated slowly.

'What is it?' asked Betty.

Littlemore said nothing, lost in thought.

'What, Jimmy?'

'But then Mr Hugel…' Hurriedly, the detective began patting his pockets and fishing through them until at last he found an envelope containing several photographs. One of these he showed Betty. 'Recognize this face?' he asked.

'Of course,' she said, 'but why — ?'

'We're going back upstairs,' Littlemore interrupted. He grabbed from his trunk a cumbersome brass object that looked like a motorcar's headlamp stuck to a candlestick. It was an electric lantern. Then he led Betty back into the Balmoral. They rode the Alabaster Wing elevator to the top floor.

'How tall was Miss Riverford?' Littlemore asked on their way up.

'A little taller than me.' Betty was five-foot-two. 'At least she looked taller.'

'What do you mean?'

'She was always in heels,' Betty explained. 'Real tall heels. Wasn't used to them, though.'

'How much did she weigh?'

'I don't know, Jimmy. Why?'

The hallway of the eighteenth floor was empty. Over Betty's objections, Littlemore picked the lock of Elizabeth Riverford's apartment and opened the front door. Inside, all was dark and silent. There were no overhead lights. The lamps had been taken away.

'What are we doing here?' asked Betty.

'Figuring something out.' Littlemore headed down the corridor toward Miss Riverford's bedroom, shining his flickering light into the blackness.

'I don't want to go in there,' said Betty, following reluctantly.

They came to the door. As Littlemore reached for the knob, his hand froze in midair. A high-pitched note suddenly pierced the air. It was coming from within the bedroom. The note grew louder, becoming a far-off wail.

Betty seized Littlemore's arm. 'That's the sound I told you about, Jimmy, the sound we heard the morning Miss Elizabeth died.'

The detective opened the door. The wail grew louder still.

'Don't go in,' whispered Betty.

Abruptly the noise stopped. All was silent. Littlemore entered the room. Too afraid to stay where she was, Betty went in as well, clinging to his sleeve. The furniture was still in place: bed, mirror, end tables, chests of drawers. These created eerie shadows in the beam of the detective's lantern. Littlemore put his ear to a wall, rapping it with his knuckles, listening intently. He moved a few feet down and did the same thing.

'What are you doing?' whispered Betty.

Littlemore snapped his fingers. 'The fireplace,' he said. 'I saw the clay near the fireplace.'

He went to the fireplace and drew aside its iron-mesh curtain, stretching himself out on the floor. With his lantern, he lit up the chimney. At the far back wall of the hearth, Littlemore saw bricks, mortar — and three apertures arranged in a triangle, the topmost being circular in shape.

'That's it,' said the detective. 'That's got to be it. Now how would he — ?'

Littlemore lit up the andirons hanging next to the fireplace. One instrument was a trident poker. Two of its three tines were sharply pointed; the other was circular. The three ends, together, made a triangle. Littlemore jumped up, took hold of this poker, and prodded the back of the chimney with it. When he found the apertures, the poker's three ends fit into them as if they had been specially designed to do so — as of course they had. A moment later, the entire hearth swung away on interior hinges, and a strong breeze blew into Littlemore's face.

'Will you look at that,' said Littlemore. Inside, small jets of blue flame dotted the walls. 'Where have I seen those before? Come on, Betty.'

They stepped into the passage, Betty holding Littlemore s hand. When they passed a large, square iron grate on one of the walls, the detective put his ear to it and told Betty to do likewise. They could hear, far away, the same wailing noise that had given Betty such a fright.

'Air shaft,' said Littlemore. 'Some kind of forced-air system. There must be a pump. When the pump comes on, you get that sound. When the pump stops, the noise stops.' They followed the passage several hundred feet, passing half a dozen similar grates and turning three or four sharp corners. Betty's fingernails were digging into Littlemore's arm. At last they came to the end. A wall barred their way, but on that wall, a small metal plate glinted below a final blue gas jet. Littlemore pushed on the plate, and the wall swung out.

In the light of the electric lantern, they could see an expensively furnished man's study. Bookshelves lined the walls, although, instead of books, the shelves were filled with a collection of scale models of bridges and buildings. In the middle of the study stood a massive desk with brass lamps on it. Littlemore switched on a lamp. Quietly, Littlemore and Betty left the study and walked down a hallway. They crossed a white marble entry foyer. Then they heard a muffled noise. Farther down the hall, past the most spacious living room either Littlemore or Betty had ever seen, a door was rattling, its knob turning back and forth. Someone was evidently behind the door and trying in vain to open it. Littlemore called out, identifying himself as a police detective.

A female voice answered. 'Open the door. Let me out.'

It did not take Littlemore long to do so. When the door opened, a linen closet was revealed, as was the back of a woman, pressed into a space not intended for a person, her hands tied behind her. Mrs Clara Banwell turned around, thanked the detective, and begged him to untie her.

Sweat glistened on Henry Kendall Thaw's forehead as he eyed the policeman on the other side of Gramercy Park, patrolling back and forth under the gas streedamp in front of the Actons' house. It dampened the back of his shirt below his dinner jacket. It trickled down his sleeves and trousers.

From his vantage point on East Twenty-first Street between Fourth and Lexington avenues, Thaw could see the entire row of imposing houses that lined Gramercy Park South. He could see the Players Club, lit up gaily on a Friday night. Indeed, he could see behind the translucent curtains of the club's first-floor windows, where well-heeled older men and bare-shouldered young women passed to and fro, drinking Duplexes and Bronx Cocktails.

Thaw's eyes were better than Jung's. He detected, three stories above the patrolman, a movement on the Actons' roof. There, against the night sky, he discerned the silhouette of another policeman and the outline of the rifle he was carrying. Thaw was a wiry man, thin almost to the point of appearing frail, with arms slightly longer than they should have been. His face was surprisingly boyish for a man in his late thirties. He might almost have been handsome, except that his small eyes were a little too deep-set and his lips a little too thick. Whether in motion or stationary, he seemed unable to catch his breath.

Thaw was now in motion. He walked east, keeping to the shadows. He pulled the brim of his hat even farther down as he crossed Lexington Avenue: he knew the house on this corner very well. He had watched it for hours at a time in the old days, waiting to see if a certain girl would come out of it, a pretty girl he wanted to hurt so much it made his skin tingle. He skirted the iron fence of the park until he came to its southeastern corner, with Irving Place separating him from the watchful policemen. The officers never saw him enter the back alley behind the houses of Gramercy Park South.

Two miles away, in his apartment on the second floor of the small house on Warren Street, Coroner Charles Hugel had packed his bags. He stood in the middle of his living room, biting his knuckles. He had delivered his letter of resignation to the mayor. He had notified his landlord. He had gone to the bank and closed his account. All the money he possessed lay before him, stacked in neat piles on the floor. He had to decide how to carry it. He bent down and started counting the bills — for the third time — wondering whether it would be enough to establish him in another, smaller town. His hands jerked open and fifty- dollar bills flew into the air when he heard the pounding on his door.

If the patrolman in front of the Actons' house had only looked up, he might have noticed a deeper darkening at the window of Nora's bedroom. He might possibly have realized that a man had passed behind its curtains. But he didn't look up.

The intruder loosed the white silk tie that was around his neck. Silently, he drew the tie from his collar and wrapped its ends around his hands. He closed on Nora's bed. Despite the darkness, he could make out the girl's sleeping form on the bed. He could see the line where the pretty chin gave way to her soft, unprotected throat. Slipping the tie between headboard and pillow, he worked it downward, slowly downward, beneath the pillow, closer and closer to the girl's neck, infinitely slowly, until its two ends should emerge out from under the pillow. He listened all the while to her breathing, which went on softly, undisturbed.

It is a fine question whether the kitchen knife, had Mrs Mildred Acton not removed it from beneath the girl's pillow, could have done any good. Could Nora Acton, jolted awake by a man in the night, have reached the knife? If she had reached it, could she have used it? Nora always slept on her stomach. Even if she had got her hands on the weapon, could she — with her breath choked off — have saved her life with it?

All fine questions, but all quite academic, since not only was the kitchen knife not there, neither was Nora.

'Put 'em up, Mr Banwell,' said a voice from behind the intruder at Nora's bed. An electric lantern, held by a uniformed officer standing in the doorway, suddenly lit up the room. George Banwell threw his hands before his face.

'Step away from the bed, Mr Banwell,' said Detective Littlemore, jutting the muzzle of his gun into Banwell's back. 'Okay, Betty, you can get up now.'

Betty Longobardi rose from the bed, fearful but defiant. As Littlemore patted down Banwell's pockets, he glanced at Nora's hearth. There, as he expected, a wall panel had swiveled open, revealing a secret passageway behind it. 'Okay. Put your hands down now. Behind your back. Nice and slow.'

Banwell didn't move. 'What's your price?' he asked.

'More than you can pay,' answered Littlemore.

'Twenty thousand,' said Banwell, his hands still over his head. 'I'll give each of you twenty thousand dollars.'

'Hands behind your back,' repeated Littlemore.

'Fifty thousand,' said Banwell. Squinting into the beam of light, he could see there were two men in the doorway, one holding the lantern and another behind him, in addition to whoever had the gun sticking in his back. At the words 'fifty thousand,' the two men in the doorway shifted uneasily. Banwell addressed them. 'Think of it, boys. You’re smart; I can tell by the look of you. Where do you think Chief Byrnes got his? You know what Byrnes has in the bank? Three hundred fifty thousand. That's right. I made him rich, and I'll make you rich.'

'The mayor won't like your trying to bribe us,' said Littlemore, lowering one of Banwell's arms and placing a cuff around his wrist.

'Are you going to listen to this fool behind me?' Banwell shot out, still addressing the two men in the doorway, his voice strong and confident notwithstanding his predicament. 'I'll break him during the trial. I'll break him, do you hear me? Be smart. You want to be poor your whole lives? Think of your wives, your children. You want them to be poor their whole lives? Don't worry about the mayor. I own the mayor.'

'Do you, George?' said the man behind the officer holding the lantern. He stepped into the light. It was Mayor McClellan. 'Do you really?'

Littlemore snapped the handcuffs over Banwell's other wrist, the lock catching with a satisfying click. With a quickness surprising for a man of his size, Banwell wrenched himself out of the detective's grip and, arms locked behind his back, made for the passageway But he had to stop and duck to get in, which was his undoing. Littlemore had his gun in his hand. He had a clear shot but didn't fire. Instead he took one large step forward and brought the butt end of his gun down on Banwell's head. Banwell let out a cry and collapsed to the floor.

A few minutes later, Detective Littlemore sat the almost unconscious George Banwell at the foot of the Actons' stairs and secured him to the banister with a second pair of handcuffs, borrowed from one of the uniformed men. Blood was dripping down Banwell's face. Another policeman let a flustered Harcourt and Mildred Acton out of their bedroom.

Inside the Players Club, the hat-check girl welcomed a new guest, who also surprised her — not only because he had entered through the rear door, but also because the man was wearing an overcoat in the middle of summer. It gave Harry Thaw special pleasure to be enjoying his liberty in rooms designed by the very man he had murdered three years ago, Mr Stanford White. He gave his name as Monroe Reid from Philadelphia. It was under that appellation that he introduced himself to another out-of-towner, a foreign gentleman he met in the small ballroom, where dancers were performing a show number on a raised stage. Harry Thaw and Carl Jung got on quite well that evening. When Jung mentioned that the club member he knew was Smith Jelliffe, Thaw exclaimed that he knew the man well, although he did not give an entirely truthful account of their acquaintance.

'Well done, Detective,' said Mayor McClellan to Littlemore in the Actons' living room. 'I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.'

Mrs Biggs was dressing the gash in Banwell's skull. Mr Acton had poured himself a large drink. 'Do you think you might tell us what's happening, McClellan?' he asked.

'I'm afraid I don't entirely know myself,' answered the mayor. 'I still cannot fathom how George could have killed Miss Riverford.'

The doorbell rang. Mrs Biggs looked to her employers, who in turn looked to the mayor. Littlemore said he would answer it. A moment later, everyone in the room saw Coroner Charles Hugel enter the room, firmly in the grasp of Officer John Reardon.

'Got him, Detective,' said Reardon. 'He was all packed just like you said he would be.'