4
Roger Denham lived in an old Cape Cod cottage that he had bought some years earlier and remodeled. Originally there was only the gray-shingled shell and a tree-studded, hedged-in lot, but this in itself had a charm all its own, and he had preserved most of the original features when he put in the plumbing, the heating plant, and electricity. He had good taste and he had furnished the house himself, mostly with antiques, so that each room had a comfortable, lived-in look.
As a confirmed bachelor he did more or less as he pleased. There was a cleaning woman who came mornings to get his breakfast and straighten up the place. He ate dinner out most of the time and did his entertaining at one of his two clubs. On rare occasions when he gave a dinner party he had a couple come in and take complete charge of all arrangements. Now, at eight o’clock, he answered John Hayden’s knock and ushered him into the low, beamed-ceilinged living room, with its hooked rugs and paneled walls, and waved him to the slip-covered divan.
“Before you say anything, John,” he said, “I hope you weren’t annoyed at Marion for phoning me and explaining the situation before she talked to you.”
“I may have been at the time,” Hayden said, “but I’m not annoyed now. It’s too late for that.”
“Good. You’re her husband. You’re the one she loves. But I’ve known her longer than you have. We’ve been friends since we were children and she needed to talk to someone who was not emotionally involved. She felt she had to have some sound objective advice and frankly I’m glad she told me. It looks as if you’re both in trouble and I hope I can be of some help.”
He had moved over to the fireplace as he spoke and now he turned, his back against the glowing embers, his hands clasped behind him. Standing there in his slacks and a shetland jacket, he made a trim, athletic-looking figure, an inch or so under six feet but with good shoulders and slim hips. His hair was sandy and cut short to help disguise the fact that it was thinning somewhat, his eyes were gray, and the thin-rimmed glasses helped to give his lean face an ascetic, austere expression. His upper lip was long and not given to useless smiling, and although he was at all times polite and well mannered, there was seldom any outward display of warmth or compassion. Hayden had wondered in the past whether this was due to the fact that Denham had been orphaned early and brought up strictly by his grandparents, or whether this was something that applied only to him and was a personal reaction brought about by the knowledge that while Denham had been a long-time friend of Marion’s, it was he, Hayden, she had married.
It was also possible, he knew, that his opinion of Denham was somewhat unfair. There had been times in the past when the thought of that long-time relationship had brought moments of jealousy. When Marion sensed this, she not only reassured him but laughed at him. Roger, she said, had been more like a brother than a lover. The fact that he was rather handsome, brilliant, well-brought-up, and comfortably fixed had nothing to do with it. Some men, she said, regardless of their attributes, simply did not attract some girls physically. For her, Roger was one of those.
She liked him and admired him, but his attempts to establish a more ardent relationship were misplaced and he had eventually come to accept the status quo. He had not approved of her marriage to Ted Corbin, saying that they had nothing in common, and in this he was right. That he may have felt the same way about her second marriage bothered Hayden not at all, but it could explain a lack of personal warmth, either real or imaginary, where he was concerned. In any case it did not matter. It was not important and it did not affect his respect for Denham’s knowledge and ability. It was this knowledge and good judgment that he needed now and he said so.
“All right,” he said, “you know the facts. What do you think we should do?”
“I think we ought to talk a little. I think you’ll want to go see this fellow Adler personally, but let’s take a look at all sides of his proposition first. He wouldn’t leave either the picture of Ted Corbin or his fingerprints with Marion, but she saw them. I think we ought to start with the assumption that Corbin actually is alive.”
“I don’t see how he could be.”
“Neither do I. But neither do I see anyone like Adler making a pitch like this and hoping to collect if he didn’t have something tangible to sell.”
“So?”
“So the easiest thing would be to pay Adler, and if that’s what you have in mind I could probably cut his price in half.”
“How?”
“By making a threat that will stand up. No matter what you decide to do, my advice to you is to let me carry the ball. See him by all means. Find out what you can. Play along for a while. Stall. When you’ve learned all you can, tell him to see me.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll take it from there and I can talk tough if I have to. I can get a warrant for his arrest on attempted extortion. When he sees I mean business he may decide to take, say, ten thousand dollars and get clear while he can.”
Hayden thought it over and did not like the conclusion that came to him. He said he had never run into blackmail before, but from what he had read, and what he had heard, he had an idea that it would be difficult to stop paying once he had started.
“What assurance would I have that Adler wouldn’t hit me again next year or the year after?”
“You wouldn’t have any, except his word or the threat of arrest.”
“There’d be no guarantee.”
“None. And there’s also another angle that you may not have considered. If Corbin is alive he disappeared deliberately through some odd coincidence that had to do with that fatal flight from Capitol City. We don’t have to speculate about that now; the point is that it would not be difficult for Corbin to keep track of Marion if he wanted to. For all we know, he could be behind this blackmail, with Adler nothing more than a messenger boy or collector.”
This thought was a new one to Hayden and he found it doubly discouraging. He found it hard to accept too, but he could not argue with the possibility Denham suggested.
“If that’s how it happens to be, I doubt if Corbin would be satisfied with one payment.”
“So do I. That’s something for you and Marion to decide for yourselves, but I guess you know there’s only one other alternative.”
“You mean bring the whole thing out into the open.”
“Exactly. Prefer charges against Adler, have him arrested; let the authorities put the pressure on him. They could make him produce Corbin if he’s alive, and you’d have to work it out from there. There’s no fraud involved on that insurance payment, either by you or by Marion, and if you put your cards on the table—”
“I guess they’d want their money back, wouldn’t they?”
“Probably. But, even so, there’s an area for discussion. Could you raise seventy-five thousand dollars?”
“No.”
Denham ran fingers through his thinning hair and moved sideways so that he could lean his shoulders against the mantelpiece. He took off his glasses, frowning as he held them up to the light. As he began to polish the lenses with his handkerchief he said:
“Let me review your corporate setup and see if I’ve got it right. You came to work for Brandt because he was getting old and wanted someone to take over the operation. You brought in this bright young genius from M.I.T. to improve the product and do your research. You got this other youngster in to handle the sales end. Before you really got operating under the new setup, Brandt died. His estate wanted to get out from under and they gave you the opportunity to take over the business. Am I right so far?”
“Yes.”
“Marion gave you the seventy-five thousand from the insurance money that I had invested for her. Your engineer and your salesman raised some money on their own and you made a small public offering of stock. So the way things stand now, you own roughly thirty per cent of the shares, your two partners own fifteen per cent each and the public holds the other forty per cent. Now how much could you raise—?”
“To get the whole seventy-five thousand,” Hayden cut in, “I’d have to sell out. By pledging my shares I probably could get thirty-five or forty thousand from the bank. Certainly not more than that, the way things stand.”
“It might be enough to start with.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, in the first place, that insurance money was paid to Marion. She gave it to you. That stock is not jointly owned, is it?”
“No, it’s in my name.”
“So how’s the insurance company going to get seventy-five thousand dollars out of Marion when she doesn’t have it?” He lifted one hand to forestall comment and continued: “What I’m trying to say is that this could be a matter for negotiation or the courts. We could force the insurance people to sue and there would probably be a judgment of some kind. You understand I’m simply guessing at this point because I’m not up on the laws that cover such cases.”
He put on his glasses and replaced the handkerchief. “But offhand I’d say that in such a situation the insurance people would be willing to negotiate. In other words, they might well be agreeable to a settlement of somewhat less than the original amount. They could most certainly get a judgment, but since in a way it would be like finding money in the street, they’d probably make some kind of a reasonable settlement rather than have the thing drag through the courts.”
“I could pay them part of it,” Hayden said, “if they would take notes for the balance and let me pay it off over a period of two or three years.”
“That’s a possibility,” Denham said, “but the thing you have to decide now is how you’re going to play the hand.”
“Suppose the insurance people wouldn’t settle?” Hayden said, persisting. “Suppose there was some way they could force me to pay up in full?”
Denham pushed away from the mantelpiece. He took a breath and shrugged. “I’m afraid that would be tough on you; Marion too. But let’s not cross that bridge yet.... Where are you going?” he asked as Hayden came to his feet.
Hayden took a moment before he replied. For the anger was stirring in him again, and it helped somewhat to combat the feeling of dejection and hopelessness that had been working on him for the past couple of hours. He found himself hating this man he had not yet seen but who had come so suddenly to threaten his marriage, his happiness, and his business.
“I’m going to see Adler,” he said bluntly. “I’m going to find out what the score is and if he gives me too much trouble I’ll probably break his damn neck.”
“Well, don’t.” Denham uttered a small dry laugh to show that he understood Hayden was only kidding. “If you decide you have to get tough with him, let me handle it. I’ve had more experience in these things, and if I have to threaten him I can make it stick. So keep your hands in your pockets. Find out all you can. Then stall. Tell him you need more time. Go home and take a couple of sleeping pills and get a good night’s rest. Get in touch with me tomorrow and we’ll make some plans.”
He had been walking to the door with Hayden as he spoke, and when he opened it he uttered a final word of caution.
“No rough stuff, okay?” When there was no reply he added: “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a drink but you know I seldom have it around unless I’m throwing a party.”
Hayden said it did not matter. He said he was going to stop at the tavern and have a couple of quick brandies to settle his nerves. After that he’d see what Sam Adler had to say.
The front of The Shady Maple Motel was well lighted at this hour and the sign that said Vacancy was still beckoning to travelers who needed a place to sleep. John Hayden was never quite sure why he decided to park beyond the entrance, but something prompted him to let the car roll past, and he finally came to a stop under an ancient and towering elm tree that cast black shadows upon the street.
When he had turned off his lights and cut the motor, he walked back, keeping to the same side of the street and seeing again the cars that had been parked in the quadrangle. In contrast to the lighted windows which were shaded by drawn Venetian blinds, the parking area had a darkened and deserted look, but the office glowed brightly and he thought he saw someone at the desk through a crack in the shade as he started across the street toward the tavern.
Jerry was still presiding and several of the regulars were perched on stools watching something on the television set, which was placed high in one corner of the room. Later he was to remember that he did not see Doris Lamar, but at the moment he paid no attention to anything at all in the room except the empty space at the near end of the bar. Although Hayden seldom came there in the evening, Jerry’s broad muscular face showed no surprise at seeing him and he made no comment when Hayden asked for a double brandy, with water on the side.
“How much, Jerry?” he asked when the drink was served.
“That will be a dollar and a half, Mr. Hayden.”
Hayden counted out the money and Jerry went away. He studied the small snifter glass, which was now nearly full. He stood that way for a while, unmindful of those about him or the dialogue from the television set, recalling again Roger Denham’s advice and concentrating on keeping a tight grip on his emotions. He was not, as Denham had told Marion, an aggressive man by nature; yet he knew he was going to have trouble keeping his hands in his pockets, as Denham had advised. Without ever having met Adler, he already hated the man and he knew that to talk sensibly and with calculation in his present condition would be difficult.
That was why he needed the brandy. That was why he did not savor its bouquet and enjoy it as a connoisseur would. He sipped and sipped again. He took a swallow of water. He got a cigarette going. He held out one hand, palm down, as he had done in his kitchen earlier and was pleased to see that the extended fingers were steady. Then, the impatience beginning to ride him, he swallowed the last of the brandy, followed it with a gulp of water, and walked out into the night.
The wide main street was empty as he crossed it. After the friendly warmth of the tavern the night seemed raw, the wind coming in gusts that swayed the glowing motel sign and brought forth protesting metallic sounds. Sedans and station wagons gleamed darkly in the reflected light from the occupied units and, recalling that Doris Lamar had said Sam Adler had room twelve, he angled past the office and started down the center of the quadrangle. It was then that he saw the woman.
At no time did he get a good look at her. He saw her but vaguely as she moved on the cement walk that connected the units in the left-hand building, but she vanished almost instantly and he thought she had come out to get something from one of the cars. He slowed his steps slightly because he did not want to frighten her. He stopped a moment to peer ahead of him and when he did not see her again he wondered where she had gone.
The motel had been built in two facing and parallel sections, and the parking area was partly open at the far end. Between the end units was space for two cars and beyond this was a scraggly hedge which separated the property from the vacant lot facing the next street. There was only one car here now, and although he had heard nothing to indicate that a car door had been opened or closed, he realized the wind might have muffled the sound. He also knew that what the woman did—if in fact it was a woman—was none of his business. His business was with Sam Adler and he cut between two parked cars, angling to the connecting sidewalk so he could examine the unit numbers. By then he knew that Sam Adler had the last room on the right, the one with the car parked beside it, a small, new-looking sedan with New York license plates.
The blinds had been slanted in the room beyond to give it privacy, but lights were on and he found satisfaction in the knowledge that Adler was home. Somewhere inside, a radio was playing softly and he knocked confidently, then knocked again.
He turned as he waited, wondering if the woman he thought he had seen was watching him. When there was no acknowledgment beyond the door, his impatience prompted him to knock once more before he tried the knob.
When it turned easily he pushed into the lighted room saying: “Adler?” as he stopped and swung the door behind him. For another moment he thought the room was empty but a door, apparently giving on the lighted bathroom, was partly closed and he called again: “Hey, Adler!”
There was still no answer and, not understanding why this should be, he took another step, his troubled eyes busy, a sudden tension winding his nerves as instinct telegraphed its first sharp warning. It was this extra movement that brought a new angle of vision and finally told him that he was not alone.
A low chest obscured part of the still figure that was sprawled beyond it, but he could see the hips, the legs, the oddly twisted shoes which lay close together and parallel with the floor.
Unable yet to understand what had happened but certain now that something was horribly wrong, he called again, not knowing that he did so. Some inner compulsion that was both automatic and irresistible made him move again and then he saw it all, the dark-stained white shirt, the slanted neck with the face turned toward the wall, the widespread arms with the limp-fingered hands that curled inward.
He stood very still then, a cold and frightening emptiness inside him as he stared down at this man he had never seen before, and even then, as his mind struggled for some answer, he seemed to know that Sam Adler must be dead.