Traps Need Fresh Bait

Chapter 11

Elsie Brand had the letter all typed by the time I got to the office.

“Donald,” she said, “who is Daphne Creston? We don’t have any record of her here at the office.”

“I know,” I said. “She contacted me on the outside. Bertha knows about her.”

“Oh.”

“I collected five grand for her. Also three hundred smackers in the form of cash. Put them in this letter and send it care of General Delivery.

“Now then, tomorrow you go to the General Delivery window at the Post Office and leave a change of address. Say that you’re Daphne Creston.”

“What’s the address?”

I gave her a card on which I had printed in pen and ink the number of the apartment I was renting as a hide-out.

“This Miss Creston has an apartment here?”

I nodded.

“Under her own name?”

“Well,” I said, “she may be using another name. She’s trying to keep under cover — probably is — but this letter will get to her. Tell you what we’ll do: we’ll cut out the General Delivery stuff on the envelope and, send it to her at this address Special Delivery. Make it care of Donald Lam — and at that address. But leave the address on our carbon copy as General Delivery. We’ll just take it down and drop it in the post office.”

“Not in the mail chute?”

“No, we’ll get more direct action if we take it to the post office.”

“We could use the mail chute right here in the building. There’s a collection at ten o’clock tonight.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Of course. I make it a rule to keep posted on the times of mail pickup.”

“Well, that’s swell, Elsie,” I told her. “We won’t have to attract attention by going to a post office. If we do that and we should be followed, they’ll know we’re mailing an important letter. And you can’t tell just what Sergeant Sellers may do.”

“Sergeant Sellers. Is he in this?”

“He’s in everything that involves me,” I said. “He’s always inclined to snoop around on my back trail whenever he has something bothering him.”

“And something is bothering him now?”

I nodded.

“Donald, is it the Finchley murder?”

“Could be,” I said. “Heaven knows what it is that bothers him, but whenever something turns up Frank Sellers wants to know what I’m doing first rattle out of the box.”

“Well, we’ll just fool him. We’ll drop it in the mail chute right now,” she said, “and send it Special Delivery and then you can take me out for a bite to eat; and if you’re being shadowed it will look as though we simply made a rendezvous here at the office.”

“Fair enough,” I told her.

“Unless you think I’m forward — inviting myself out to dinner with you.”

“You have a standing invitation,” I said. “All you need to do is to let me know when you can accept.”

“Donald, you’re so nice.”

We sealed the envelope, put a Special Delivery stamp on it, made certain there was no one on that floor of the office building at that hour of the evening, dropped the envelope in the mail chute, and went to dinner.

After dinner, I took Elsie home.

“Coming in, Donald?”

I looked at my watch, said, “I’d better not. I’ve got quite a day tomorrow.”

“Promise me you won’t get into any trouble.”

“I’ll try not to.”

She put up her face to be kissed good night; and I climbed in my car and drove out to Hemmet Avenue to look around.

Finchley had lived at 1771 Hemmet. There was only a distance of some half-dozen blocks to prowl.

Number 1369 answered the description of the house Daphne had given me. It was a large-two-story house, dating back to an older time when domestic help was easy to come by and people went in for elbow room rather than crowded efficiency.

There was a “FOR SALE” sign on the lawn and the place was dark.

I climbed up to the porch and tried the door. It was locked.

I went to a front window, waited until I felt the coast was clear, then used a pocket electric flashlight to send a thin but powerful beam through the glass.

I could see that the place was unfurnished. I went back to my car, copied the telephone number from the sign.

Fortunately, the sign said, “FOR SALE BY OWNER.”

I gave the number a buzz.

A man’s voice answered.

“You’ll forgive me for calling at this hour of the night,” I said, “but you have a place for sale at 1369 Hemmet. Can you tell me what you want for it?”

“Who is this talking?”

“A prospective customer.”

“Do you care to leave a name?”

“No.”

“I’m not certain I care to price the place on that basis.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said; “you have a ‘for sale’ sign; you want to sell the place. I’m in the market for a place something like this, provided it isn’t too high.”

“How high are you prepared to go?” he asked.

“I want to get a good value. What is that — a four-bedroom house?”

“Four bedrooms, three and a half baths.”

“How much?”

“I have a cash price of forty-one thousand dollars. It’s a big lot.”

“Is the place furnished?”

“Definitely not.”

“I’m sorry I called you at this hour of the night,” I said, “but I’m interested. Would it be possible to get the keys to the place?”

“Not tonight. How does it happen that you’re calling at this hour?”

“I’m a working man and I have only a certain amount of time after work to look around. This place looks pretty good to me. I’m trying to deal directly with owners because I feel I can save a real-estate commission that way.”

“You can, indeed, on this place,” the man said. “But I want the whole thing in cash. That’s why I’m handling it myself. The real-estate people tell me it’s impossible in the present market to sell a house like that for all cash.”

“I can pay cash if I find the place I want,” I said. “In fact, I’d rather pay cash — only I’ve got to have the price right if I’m putting it all on the line.”

“This price is right. The house would sell for forty-eight thousand dollars on today’s market with a down payment and a trust deed.”

I said, “I’m looking at another house tomorrow night. I... is there any way I can see it tonight?”

“Tell you what I’ll do,” the man said. “My name’s Kelton. Olney Kelton. I’ll come and meet you there if you’re seriously interested.”

“I’m seriously interested.”

“You’re at the house now?”

“I’m at a telephone in a nearby service station.”

“I’ll be right down and meet you at the house.”

“Fair enough,” I told him.

I drove back to the house, parked in the driveway and had been there about three minutes when Kelton showed up.

He was a stoop-shouldered individual with keen eyes, a heavily-lined face, and had the look of a dyspeptic.

“My name’s Lam,” I told him. “Since you’re good enough to give me your name and come down here with the keys, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get acquainted.”

He fitted a key to the front door. “You’ll like this house,” he said.

“It isn’t furnished?”

“No,” he said, and then, after a moment, added, “heavens no, not at that price.”

“What about the utilities?” I asked.

“They’re all hooked up,” he said. “I show the house at night sometimes. I have your trouble. I’m working during the daytime; ordinarily I don’t show it this late.”

He unlocked the door, reached in and switched on the light.

We entered the echoing corridor, walked into a spacious living room, through that into a dining room, and then I stopped abruptly in the doorway.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

He frowned. “Hang it,” he said. “That man was supposed to have that stuff all out of here today.”

“What in the world is it?” I asked.

“The man wanted a temporary office where he could make some copies. He rented this on a forty-eight-hour basis with the understanding that he could put his copying machinery in here and would have it moved out at the end of forty-eight hours.”

“Well, I’ll be darned,” I said. “This is modern, up-to-the minutes copying stuff, and there’s a whole battery of machines here. You could feed papers in here and get electronic copies — now, what in the world would a man want to do anything like that for?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The guy’s name is Harper, and he’s got an office here in town. He said he had some papers he was going to want to copy and made me a very satisfactory offer.”

“Well, I’ll be darned,” I said; “that certainly is strange, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kelton said. “There’s no office space for rent around here, and this guy wanted a room which wasn’t all cluttered up with household furniture. Now, here’s the kitchen out this way, and there are two bedrooms on the lower floor. I told you there are four bedrooms in the house. Actually, there are five. There’s a maid’s room downstairs in the basement, a very nice comfortable little room with a toilet and shower.”

“The other bedrooms are upstairs?” I asked.

“Two bedrooms and a big front room which can be made into a bedroom. The people who lived here had the husband’s father living with them, and he had one of the upstairs bedrooms and this sitting room. The people lived downstairs. The father passed on, and it’s a big house and... You have a family, Mr. Lam?”

“I’m thinking of acquiring a family,” I said.

He looked at me, and I said, “I’m marrying a divorced woman who has five children.”

“Oh... oh!” he said.

I went on hurriedly. “I’ve known her for a long time, and when her marriage split up, I... well, I think we could make a go of it.”

“This house is exactly what you should have,” he said.

I said, “I want to do a little remodeling.”

“That wouldn’t be difficult. That upstairs room could be made into a good sitting room for the children.”

“How old is the place?”

“It was built in thirty-two at a time when you could get really good materials and good workmanship cheap. The Depression was on and people were really looking for work and the lumberyards were looking for business. The man who owned the lot had money, and he decided it was a good time to put up a house.”

I nodded.

We went up the stairs to the upper floor, then up a flight of stairs to an attic.

I said, “I’d like to have my intended look at this place. I think it may suit.”

“Well, that can be arranged all right.”

“She’s working,” I said. “Look here, how about letting me have the key and...”

He shook his head. “I’m not tying the place up for as much as ten minutes,” he said, “not without a down payment.”

“All right,” I told him. “I’ll give you a down payment of a hundred dollars for a twenty-four-hour option on the place at thirty-eight thousand five hundred dollars cash. You let me have a key, and the understanding will be that if I don’t take the place, you’re a hundred dollars ahead. And if I do, the hundred dollars goes on the purchase price.”

He recoiled. “Not for no thirty-eight thousand five hundred,” he said. “Why, this place is worth...”

“I know,” I told him, “but I have to figure what it’s worth to me, not what it’s worth on the market. I’m looking for a home.”

“You’ve got a home right here,” he said.

“Could be,” I told him.

“Forty-one thousand is the price, cash. I’m not much of a horse trader.”

“I’m a very poor horse trader myself,” I said. “I don’t know what the place is worth on the market. I don’t know what it’s worth to you. It’s worth thirty-eight five to me, if the little woman approves of it and the children like it.”

“You haven’t looked at the yard,” he said.

“That’s what you think,” I told him. “I sized the place up before you got here.”

He hesitated a moment, then said, “I’ll take your deal on a basis of thirty-nine five.”

I shook my head and started for the door.

“Thirty-nine,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kelton, but thirty-eight five is my limit.”

“I hadn’t intended to sell the place that cheap. Shucks, I could have listed it with a real-estate firm and come out as well or even better...”

“This is cash,” I said, “all cash.”

“When?” he asked.

“Tomorrow night at midnight you’ll either have a hundred dollars to the good or I’ll have a check payable to the escrow company for thirty-eight four and you can apply the hundred dollars against the purchase price.”

“Where’s the hundred?” he asked.

I took out my wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill.

Kelton went back down to the dining room, where the copying equipment was set up; leaned on a stand which held a copy machine; and made out a receipt.

I studied the receipt and held out my hand for the key. Kelton dropped the key in my hand.

“Midnight tomorrow,” he said.

“Midnight tomorrow,” I told him.

“Of course, that’s the technical time limit,” he said, “but you’ll know before that, and I’d like to know before that. I don’t want to be disturbed at midnight by a telephone.”

“You won’t be,” I told him. “I’m just making that at midnight so I can have a reasonable length of time. Women sometimes take a little time to make up their minds.”

“I know. I know,” he said, and then, after a moment, muttered grumblingly, “I’ll say they do.”

I pocketed the key and the receipt.

“I really should have some references,” he said at length.

I gave him the name of my banker, then asked, “What about all this junk that’s in here? Are they going to move that out?”

“It’s supposed to be out already.”

“I want it understood that I have no responsibility for any of that stuff.”

“Of course you don’t. They put it in and they were supposed to have it out before this.”

“Harper you said the man’s name was?”

“Yes.”

“Got any references on him?” I asked.

“Some office in the Monadnock Building. I’ve got the number written down at home... said the guy was absolutely all right, a hundred per cent... There must be several thousand dollars’ worth of copying equipment here.”

“At least,” I said. “This Harper has a key?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. He’s supposed to have that material all out of the place. He has to have a key so he can move it.”

“You said you had a reference?”

“Yes, of course, an office in the Monadnock Building.”

I said, “He must be quite a big businessman.”

“I gather he has rather an extensive office,” Kelton said.

“He must have,” I said, “if he could take all of this equipment out of his office without impairing the efficiency of operations. Don’t you think we should take an inventory so we could protect ourselves?”

Kelton shook his head. “I’m protected,” he said. “I drew up the receipts so I was protected. And, as far as you’re concerned, this material has nothing to do with you.”

“Suppose this man Harper claims I stole some of the machines?”

“He’d have to prove it.”

“He could say they were missing.”

“Missing means nothing. He’d have to prove you took them.”

I said, “I think I’ll make an inventory just the same.”

“Well,” Kelton said, “I’m not going to wait around while you do it. You can do it if you want to, but I’m in the clear and it’s late and I don’t propose to hang around here making a senseless inventory. If Harper doesn’t get the stuff out of here tomorrow morning, I’m going to charge him a hundred dollars a day rental and put a rental lien on the machinery.”

“All right,” I said; “I’ll come back and take an inventory.”

“It won’t do you any good without a witness,” Kelton pointed out. “Harper can say that you took one or two machines and then made the inventory.”

“Yes, I suppose so, but — there’s no chance of getting you to help me on this thing? It will protect us both.”

“Oh, all right,” he said grudgingly. “Let’s make a record of the number of machines that are here. We can at least make a count of numbers without going to the trouble of getting brand names, model numbers, and all of that stuff. Now, let’s see, there are two machines on this side of the room, two machines on that side, one in the centre. There are an even five machines here, and they’re all for copying. At least that’s what they seem to be made for.”

“That’s right,” I said. “We have five machines if you only figure numbers and not detailed descriptions.”

“All right, I’ll remember that. That’s all of an inventory you need, Lam. That stuff will be out of here in the morning.”

“I’d like to have it out of here before my bride-to-be takes a look,” I said. “She might get an erroneous idea of the room and the adaptability of the house.”

“O.K. O.K., have it your own way. We’ve got five machines here, all on tables. Now let’s go home.”

“How did he move this stuff in — with a van?” I asked.

“He must have. You don’t load equipment like this in the back of an automobile.”

Kelton led the way and, as we went out, closed the front door, which had a spring lock. He went down to the curb, got in his car and drove away.

I went back into the house, switched on the lights, and went over the place carefully.

I couldn’t find a thing except those confounded machines — each one resting on a table, each table having a drawer supplied with a large quantity of copying paper. I took serial numbers and model numbers of all five of the machines.

I had just finished when I heard the distant scream of a siren. It was getting louder.

I made a run for it, turning out lights as I went.

I had just reached the front door when a car went screaming by. It was going too fast for me to get any idea of anything other than a dark-colored sedan going like hell.

Behind it, at a distance of forty or fifty yards, came a police car — the red light on, the siren wailing.

The lead car suddenly made a turn into the side street. I thought for a second it was going to tip over. The tires shrieked into a skid; the car tilted far over on the springs, all but grazed the opposite curb, then straightened and tore down the street and into another turn. I couldn’t see the other turn, but I could hear the scream of the tires.

The police car was expertly driven. It took the turn, its own tires skidding and screaming. Then the police car straightened and roared into speed.

At the next corner, I listened to see if the police car made the turn.

Instead of the sound of rubber tires sliding over the pavement, I heard the sound of three shots.

My car was parked at the curb. I moved it just far enough to find a parking place about a half a block down the street and then sat there in the darkened car.

After a while more police cars came. They started patrolling the neighborhood.

Still more police cars were thrown into the area. Suddenly, a spotlight blinded my eyes. A police car drew alongside.

“What are you doing here?” an officer asked.

“Waiting.”

“What for?”

“What for! By God, how can you ask that? I get half a block at a time and then some police car forces me into the curb with a siren. I’m waiting until you finish with whatever you’re doing here so I can go home.”

“I’ll just check your driver’s license,” the officer said.

I wearily showed him my driver’s license.

The officer suddenly jerked to attention. “Lam!” he said. “Donald Lam! Didn’t you figure in this case in some way?”

“What case are you talking about?”

“You a friend of Sergeant Sellers?”

“I know him.”

“You... just a minute. You wait there.”

The officer went back to his car and used his communications system. He was back after four or five minutes, and his manner had undergone quite a change.

“What are you doing down in this neighborhood?” he asked.

“Working on a case.”

“You have a case in this neighborhood?’”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Sergeant Sellers knows about it. I’ve been making a collection.”

“Sellers said you’ve already made the collection.”

“I’ve done part of the job. There’s other stuff I have to do.”

The officer, said, “I’m sorry, Lam, but I’ve got to take a look.”

“At what?”

“You. Get out and stand up facing the car; put your hands on the back of the car.”

“You mean you’re going to search me?”

“I mean I’m going to search you.”

“You have no right to.”

“I have no alternative other than to make a search. You’re figuring in this case.”

“What case?”

“You know. This murder case.”

“I’m trying to represent a client,” I said, “and I’m being harassed by the police. You have no right to search me.”

The officer said, “For your information, Lam, someone broke into the residence of Dale Finchley this evening, broke the coroner’s seals which had been placed on the doors, and ransacked the place. One of the neighbors tipped off the police and we made an inspection. The person who was in the place drove away at high speed with the police car in pursuit. The police car would have caught up all right but blew a tire.

“The officer fired one warning shot and then shot for a rear tire and then for the gas tank.”

“Nobody’s been shooting at me,” I said.

“That’s what you say. We find you innocently parked at the curb. You’re figuring in this case just too much, my friend.”

The officer searched me but didn’t go through my notebook or my billfold. He did, however, find the key to the house at 1369 Hemmet. Fortunately, there was nothing on the key to tell what house it fitted.

“You’ve got lets of keys,” the officer said.

“I have lots of doors to open.”

“You’ve got a leather key container full of keys in your right-hand hip pocket; you’ve got a leather key container with another key in it in your left-hand coat pocket; you’ve got a single key in your right-hand coat pocket.”

“So what?”

“What doors do they fit?”

I said, “I have an apartment; I have an office; I have various and sundry transactions for clients. I don’t have to tell you the history of every key or what door it fits. If you want to go to the place where Finchley was killed, however, and try my keys on the doors, you’re welcome to do so.”

“That,” the officer said, “is exactly what we’re going to do. You follow behind me and keep in touch.”

I followed him to the palatial Finchley residence. The officer patiently tried every key I had on both the front door and back door, then gave it up.

“All right,” he said, “you can go, but you’ll probably be hearing from Sellers about this. Sellers thinks you’re figuring in this case altogether too prominently.”

“And you can tell Sellers that I think he’s figuring in the case altogether too prominently,” I said.

The officer grinned.

“Well, I’ll be on my way,” I told him.

“Just a minute,” the officer said. “I’ve got to wait and see if there’s a report on you from headquarters. I’ve put in a request for information.”

“How long do I wait?”

“About ten minutes.”

I knew at that that the officer had telephoned communications to put a tail on me.

I didn’t see the shadow report to the officer. Probably it was done by some kind of a radio signal. But after about twelve minutes, the officer said, “You can go now, Lam; but keep your nose clean.”

I knew they had at least two people shadowing me, so I went to my apartment and stayed there.

There was no place else to go, except to see how Daphne was making out; and if I went down there, I would simply be playing bird dog for the officers.

I knew that Frank Sellers would very much like to talk with Daphne Creston.