Time for Murder

Chapter Four The Fence

Brokay once more put the monkey back in the closet, closed the door tightly, found a key that fitted it, locked the door and slipped the key in his pocket. Then he left the room and returned to the lounging room.

He had hoped that the young woman who had attracted his attention a few moments earlier, would be back in the room, but he had it all to himself. He dropped into an overstuffed chair, relaxed, yawned, picked up a magazine and turned the pages idly. After he had glanced through the magazine he tossed it back on the table and looked down at the traffic in the street below.

The rooming house was in a cheap district and there were numerous wholesale houses on the streets, through which trucks rumbled and clattered. Brokay watched the traffic for several minutes in idle speculation, then figuring that his time was up he got to his feet, walked back down the corridor and knocked at the door of his room.

There was no answer. He turned the knob and opened the door, stepping into the room.

Sam West was lying on the bed on his side. From the closet came a shrill chattering noise of simian terror. Brokay stood staring at the form of Sam West with wide-eyed incredulity.

The burglar was in his shirt sleeves. His eyes were wide open and glazed in an expression of terrific futility. His legs’ were spread apart. The left arm was flung up on the pillow; the right arm clutched at his breast. There was a stain of red on the bed spread, and a slight stain of red on the front of the burglar’s shirt.

Brokay gained the man’s side in two swift strides, and felt for his wrist.

The burglar was quite dead.

The monkey in the closet continued to moan and chatter. The closet door was locked, as Brokay had left it. There was no sign that anyone else, had been in the room during Brokay’s absence.

Brokay inserted his hand beneath the shoulder of the dead burglar and lifted. He could then see the nature of the wound. There could be no doubt but that the burglar had been stabbed in the back, just as the partially clothed woman had been stabbed in the back. The body of the burglar was in a position which was almost identical with the position of Gladys Ordway’s body, when the two men had found her lying there in the bedroom of the Ordway mansion.

Brokay moved toward the door, having no definite plan in mind, but intending to notify Thelma Grebe of what had happened. Halfway to the door, he heard the shrill panic-stricken scream of the monkey, and knew that the little animal was terrified lest Brokay should leave the room without opening the closet door.

He moved to the closet door, unlocked it and gathered the monkey to his arms. The monkey took a look at the body which lay on the bed and then, shivering with terror, buried his head in the collar of Brokay’s coat, jabbering and chattering, keeping up a constant stream of low-voiced, terrified protest.

Brokay once more turned toward the door.

As he did so, the knob turned, the door opened and a man entered the room. The man was of middle age, with exceedingly broad shoulders. His head had been thrust forward until it gave to his neck and shoulders the appearance of a crouch. His eyes were small and bright, like the eyes of a bird, and he stared at Brokay with quick suspicion.

“Who are you?” he said. “I came to see Sam West.”

Brokay started to speak, but before he could formulate the words, the man’s eyes had turned to the body which lay on the bed. “That’s Sam,” he said. “Why… why… why, my God he’s dead!”

The man jumped back and stared at Brokay with eyes that widened with horror. “He’s dead!” he said. “Do you hear me? The man’s dead!”

Brokay retorted calmly: “Yes, I heard you.”

The man moved toward the body; stared down at it; touched it. “Murdered!” he said and stared accusingly at Brokay.

“Are you Frank Compton?” asked Brokay.

“Yes.”

“The fence?”

“What do you mean, a fence? I make an honest living, my friend. I never touched anything stolen in my life. What do you mean, a fence? What are you talking about? I should sue you for slander or libel, talking to me that way. And who are you, in herewith the body of the man who has been murdered? You, a murderer, should talk to me about being a fence.”

He whirled and started for the doorway.

“Just a minute,” said Brokay, “I want to talk with you.”

Compton’s hand sought the knob of the door. “I don’t talk with murderers,” he said.

Brokay took two swift strides, reached out with his hand and caught Compton by the collar of the coat, jerking him backward. “Just a minute,” he said, “you can’t pull that stuff.”

Compton whirled and lashed out savagely. Brokay blocked the punch, pushed the fence around to one side, slammed his right fist to the man’s jaw. The impact sent Compton staggering backward.

The monkey jumped from Brokay’s shoulder to the foot of the bed, where he sat chattering and jabbering. Compton, a powerful man, regained his balance, gave a bellow of inarticulate rage and charged with his fists swinging wildly.

Brokay, moving with the swift precision of a trained boxer, side-stepped, held himself perfectly balanced, snapped across a well-timed blow, which caught the fence squarely on the point of the chin.

This time the man went down. He swayed slightly on his knees, then crashed to the floor.

Brokay heard swift steps, the sound of the knob turning, then the door opened and the girl he had met in the social hall stood staring at him with wide, startled eyes. “What is it?” she asked. “I heard the commotion. It sounded as though a horse were trying to kick out the side of the building.”

Brokay motioned back toward the hall. “Please go out,” he said. “This isn’t anything for a woman to see.”

She turned swiftly toward the still form which lay on the bed, then gave a partially suppressed scream. Her eyes bulged as they stared at the dead burglar. “Good heavens!” she said, “he’s dead.” Then, as the full significance of the scene registered upon her senses, she said: “Dead, just as Gladys Ordway died… and… there’s the monkey.”

Brokay crossed behind her, closed and locked the door. “All right,” he said, “you’re in it. Now you’ve got to see it through.”

She turned her eyes to his, and he could see the startled fear in their depths! “Tell me,” she asked, “is this the man who ran away from the place; the one who had the monkey?”

Brokay faced her steadily. “No,” he said. “I am the man who ran away from the place. This is my monkey.” He held his arms out to the monkey and the little animal gave a flying leap, cuddled up close to Brokay’s cheek.

The fence on the floor stirred, moaned and sat up. He was still punch-groggy. Brokay surveyed him for a moment, then turned to the girl. “Now,” he said, “I’m going to find out about you. I know I’m not supposed to ask questions, but you were interested in this murder, and I want to know—”

“Who I am?” asked the girl.

“Yes,” he said.

“I,” she told him, “am Rhoda Koline.”

Brokay felt his own eyes growing wide.

“Yes,” she said, speaking hastily, as though it were a relief to get the words out, now that she had started, “I’m Rhoda Koline. I was the social secretary for John Ordway. I’m the one that the police are looking for. I came here, because I understood it would be a safe place to hide, until the police could get the mystery solved.”

“How did you come here?” Brokay asked. “How did it happen that you knew of this place?”

“Thelma Grebe,” she said, “brought me here.”

“You knew Thelma Grebe before, then?”

“Yes.”

“How did it happen that she—”

Frank Compton moaned, tried to get to his feet, and finally was successful. He stood swaying and holding on to the foot of the bed.

Brokay turned to him. “Look here,” he said, “you’ve got some explaining to da. You were supposed to have entered this room some little time ago. What detained you?”

“None of your business,” said Compton thickly. “You’re a murderer; I’m going to see that you don’t pin this crime on me.”

“I thought so,” Brokay said. “You’re trying to make excuses before there’s even been an accusation. I didn’t accuse you of murdering him.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Compton said, his eyes commencing to lose some of their dazed appearance. “I’m the one that accused you of murdering him. How could I have murdered him? You were here in the room when I came in. You were the one who murdered him.”

“I’m not so certain about this business,” Brokay said. “You were supposed to have entered the room some time ago. You could have come in and killed him, then walked out, and returned, pretending that you were just entering the room.”

The fence laughed sarcastically. “Sure, sure,” he said, “I could have gone ahead and killed him and then come back so that you could catch me. And what could you have done, my friend, while you were here in the room? You were the one that shared the room with this man. You have either got to show who did the murder, or else you’re going to be held responsible for it.”

“I left the room,” Brokay said. “I left the room because you were coming in and Sam West wanted to talk with you where there wouldn’t be any witnesses to overhear the conversation.”

“Baloney!” said Compton. He started for the door.

“You’re not leaving just yet,” Brokay said.

“The hell I’m not!” Compton blazed at him.

“When I’m ready to notify the police,” Brokay said, “I’ll notify them.”

“Police? Police? Who’s talking about the police?” said the fence. “You aren’t in a place now where you can call the police, my friend. Nobody calls the police here.”

“There’s been a murder committed,” Brokay pointed out.

“That doesn’t make any difference,” Compton said. “The body isn’t going to be found here. The police aren’t going to be notified. What will happen will be that the body will be put in an automobile and taken somewhere tonight. It’ll be dumped by the side of a road somewhere in the country and the police will find him in the morning. But in the meantime, my friend you are responsible. You have got to answer to the people here in the house — not to the police. This man has friends; I am his friend; he had other friends. You have got to explain to those friends. This is something that’s different from the police, you understand. This is something that is handled as a matter of friendship.”

“And you’re going to try and hold me responsible?” Brokay asked.

“You are responsible,” said the fence. “You know it.”

“And where are you going now?” Brokay asked with ominous softness.

“I’m going to report to Thelma Grebe. She’ll make arrangements to dispose of the body, but you are going to be held responsible, my friend, don’t you forget that. You have to—”

His hand once more groped for the knob of the door, and once more Brokay grabbed him by the collar of the coat, jerked him back.

“Listen,” he said, “you’re not going to leave this room until—”

The fence jerked up his knee in a vicious kick to the groin. Brokay managed to block it. His left fist lashed out; Compton’s apelike arms dropped about; Brokay’s back. The two men swayed in a struggle. The monkey, once more jumping to the bed, screamed and chattered.

Compton was a man of great strength. With Brokay in his arms, he was more than a match for the lithe activity of the millionaire clubman, but Brokay managed to get his head down so that the top of it was pushing against Compton’s chin. He arched his back, straining the muscles, gradually pushed Compton away. He freed his own arms, sent a short jabbing left and right to the ribs.

Compton groaned, released his hold and swayed, and, as he staggered groggily, Brokay stepped in and snapped over a businesslike right which clicked on the side of Compton’s jaw.

As the fence went limp, Brokay stepped in and held the slumping body in his arms.

He turned to Rhoda Koline. “Please,” he said, “stand by me. Let’s get out of this thing together.”

“What do you want me to do?” sh6 asked.

“Tear up that pillow slip into strips,” he said. “I’m going to tie this man and gag him.”

She did not hesitate even for a moment, but stepped quickly to the bed, pulled the slip from one of the pillows and ripped it into strips. Brokay tied and gagged the fences and Rhoda Koline held the door of the closet open while Brokay pushed the man into the dark interior, closed and locked the door.

He turned to Rhoda Koline. “Now,” he said, “let’s get down to brass tacks.”

“How do you mean?” she asked.

“I want your story,” he told her.

“There isn’t any,” she said. “I had some friends there at the house. I wasn’t supposed to be home; I was supposed to be out somewhere. Then we heard a commotion. There was the sound of a siren, the noise of a shot, and automobiles speeding away. We went to see what the trouble was and we found Glady’s Ordway.”

“Who do you mean by ‘we’?” asked Brokay.

“Thelma Grebe and myself,” she said.

“You’re friendly with Thelma Grebe?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Not very long. I got acquainted with her in rather a peculiar manner. Thelma, I think, has clung to me. She wanted to get away from this life. I guess I’m the only friend that she has who isn’t connected in some way with crooks or gangsters.”

“And she suggested that you come here?” Brokay asked.

“Yes. Just as soon as she saw the body, she knew that there was going to be trouble. You see, I wasn’t supposed to be at the house at all.”

“Were there any men in the party?” asked Brokay.

“No,” she said, “just Thelma and myself.”

“What I can’t understand,” Brokay said, “is why you didn’t stay and explain the situation to the police.”

“I couldn’t very well,” she said.

“Why?”

She met his gaze squarely. “Because of Thelma,” she said. “Don’t you understand? Thelma was there with me. Thelma was a known moll. She was the companion of crooks. I was supposed to be out, yet the police would have found that I was in the house; would have found that I had this woman with me. You can see what would have happened.”

Brokay nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said, “I can see complications. But it would still seem to me that

“Thelma told me,” she said, “that the case was bound to be cleared up within a short time; that if I would go with her, she could promise me sanctuary until everything had been explained.”

“It sounds to me,” Brokay said bluntly, “like damn poor advice.”

She stared steadily at him and smiled slightly. “Well,” she said, “now I’ll hear your story.”