Deadly Joke by Hugh Pentecost Page A

anyway and it’s none of my business.”
    “Thanks anyway for the tip,” he said. “And double thanks if you’ll get word to Diana.”
    “I’ll do my best.”
    He slid away down the street toward Madison.
    I walked back toward the hotel, not hurrying. I was thinking about my earlier conversation with Diana. “The point is you can’t do anything just for yourself,” she’d said. “It spreads out and touches people you never even heard of—like a forest fire.” The fellow who’d stood on the balcony and fired at Charlie Sewall—maybe thinking it was Maxwell—had started a rip-roaring forest fire. I guess the reason I didn’t try to turn Tennant in was because I didn’t want to help it spread.
    Just back of the reception desk in the main lobby of the hotel is a small office. There’s a desk and a couple of chairs and a phone. It isn’t used by anyone. It’s where they take a customer who wants to make a complaint, or arrange for an extra-large check to be cashed, or explain why he doesn’t want to pay his bill. It was where Maggio had left Melody Marsh while he went to hunt for Chambrun. I could still smell the vague scent of gardenias, her perfume.
    I got Mrs. Kiley, the night switchboard chief, on the phone.
    “I want to talk to Miss Maxwell in Fourteen B,” I told her.
    “You know that line’s monitored by the police, Mr. Haskell?”
    “I should have guessed.” Hardy wanted to be in on any crank calls or threats that might be headed Maxwell’s way.
    “I have Miss Maxwell for you,” Mrs. Kiley said.
    “Diana? Mark Haskell,” I said.
    “Hi,” she said.
    “Are you where you can talk?”
    “I’m with Mother,” she said. “Father’s been taken down to Mr. Chambrun’s office.”
    “Miss Ruysdale?”
    “She’s gone, too.”
    “Is your mother all right?”
    “Normal,” she said. It sounded a little bitter.
    “The police are monitoring your line in case any crank calls come in,” I said. “They may think I’m a crank, so I’ll make it brief. Your friend isn’t going to be where he told you he was going to be. He’ll see you when he can.”
    “You’ve talked to him?”
    “Yes.”
    “Does he know about—about—?”
    “He knows everything that’s happened. He’s going to be trying to get some of his friends out of jail. Outgoing calls are monitored on your line, too.”
    There was a moment’s silence. Then she said: “Maybe you’ll buy me another drink when Father comes back.”
    “Try me. I’ll probably be in Mr. Chambrun’s office.”
    I went up to the second floor. Miss Ruysdale was at her desk in the outer office. She looked as though it was an ordinary business day. Jerry’s two men were standing on either side of Chambrun’s door.
    “You’re to report inside,” Miss Ruysdale said. “Tell Mr. Chambrun the limousine service is trying to locate the driver. No luck so far.”
    “The driver of what?” I asked.
    “The limousine that brought Mr. Maxwell and Shaw to the hotel. It seems Mr. Maxwell may need an alibi with Shaw dead. The driver of the limousine may be able to supply it.”
    I knocked on Chambrun’s door and went in.
    Maxwell was slumped in the armchair opposite Chambrun’s desk, his face covered by his hands. Chambrun made a little gesture to me for silence. I stood just inside the closed door, waiting.
    Maxwell lowered his hands. He looked at me. I think he saw me but I might as well not have been there.
    “Do you know, Pierre,” he said, “when I walked into the hotel tonight and found out what had happened to Charlie there was a moment when I was glad. I was glad the sonofabitch was dead. It was the first thought I had; not that it had been meant for me. That came later.”
    “So it’s true, then?” Chambrun said.
    “That Charlie has been blackmailing me for what seems like all my life? Yes, it’s true. I wish I knew how you found out about it.”
    Chambrun had evidently not exposed Melody so far.
    “The source isn’t important at