million. Nice wad for a good-looking young widow.”
“One of these days, De Jong,” smiled Bill, “I’m going to ram that damned hyena grin of yours down your filthy throat.”
“Why, you——”
“Now, now,” said Pollinger hastily. “There’s no need for this sort of thing. You’ve brought your sister’s marriage certificate, Mr. Angell?”
Glaring at the policeman, Bill threw a document on the desk. “Hmm,” said Pollinger. “We’ve already checked with the Philadelphia records. No question about it. He married Lucy Angell two years before his marriage with this Borden woman. It’s a mess.”
Bill snatched back the certificate. “Damned right it’s a mess—with my sister on the receiving end of the swill!”
“Nobody is——”
“Furthermore, we want custody of that body. He was Lucy’s husband and it’s our legal right to bury him. There’s going to be no argument about that. I’m getting a court order tomorrow. There’s not a judge in this State who wouldn’t award the burial right to Lucy on this evidence of marriage priority!”
“Oh, now, look here, Angell,” said Pollinger uneasily. “After all, isn’t that rubbing it in? These New York people are rather powerful; and he was Joseph Kent Gimball, you know. It wouldn’t be right——”
“Right?” said Bill grimly. “Who’s thinking of my sister’s rights? Do you think you can wipe out ten years of a woman’s life with one smear? Do you think I’m afraid of that crowd just because they’ve got position and money? I’ll see ’em in hell first!” And he stamped out, his mouth working. The three men remained silent until the clatter of his footsteps on the stairs ceased.
“I told you,” remarked Ellery, “that Bill Angell was a man of parts. And don’t underestimate his ability as a lawyer, either.”
“Now what do you mean by that?” snapped the prosecutor.
Ellery picked up his hat. “To garble Cicero a little—prudence is the knowledge of things to be shunned as well as those to be sought. Beware the Ides of March, and all that sort of thing. ’ Voir .”
It was nine-thirty on Monday morning when Ellery, in natty olive gabardine and Panama, presented himself at the executive offices of the National Life Insurance Company in its handsome house on lower Madison Avenue in New York. He had spent a cloistered Sunday at home, mulling over the case between the alimentary ministrations of Djuna and the rather cynical comments of his father the Inspector; and despite the vernal gaiety of his costume he was far from cheerful.
A brisk young woman with a toothpaste smile, in the anteroom to the office lettered Office of the Executive Vice-President , raised her brows at his card. “Mr. Finch wasn’t expecting you so early, Mr. Queen. He isn’t down yet. Wasn’t your appointment for ten?”
“If it was, I wasn’t informed. I’ll wait. Any notion what your precious Mr. Finch wants to see me about?”
“Ordinarily,” she smiled, “I should say no. But since you’re a detective, I suppose there’s no point in dissembling. Mr. Finch telephoned me at home yesterday afternoon and told me all about it. It’s about this frightful business in Trenton, and I believe Mrs. Gimball is to be here, too. Won’t you wait in Mr. Finch’s private office?”
Ellery followed her into a palatial blue-and-ivory room that looked like a motion-picture set. “I seem to be moving in golden circles these days,” he observed. “That’s metaphoric, not literal, Miss Zachary—isn’t that the name?”
“However did you know? Have a seat, Mr. Queen.” She hurried to the oversized desk and brought back a box. “Cigaret?”
“No, thanks.” Ellery sank into a blue leather chair. “I believe I’ll smoke my pipe.”
“Would you like to try some of Mr. Finch’s tobacco?”
“That’s one invitation no confirmed pipe-smoker turns down.” The young woman brought him a large jar from the desk, and he filled his
“One of these days, De Jong,” smiled Bill, “I’m going to ram that damned hyena grin of yours down your filthy throat.”
“Why, you——”
“Now, now,” said Pollinger hastily. “There’s no need for this sort of thing. You’ve brought your sister’s marriage certificate, Mr. Angell?”
Glaring at the policeman, Bill threw a document on the desk. “Hmm,” said Pollinger. “We’ve already checked with the Philadelphia records. No question about it. He married Lucy Angell two years before his marriage with this Borden woman. It’s a mess.”
Bill snatched back the certificate. “Damned right it’s a mess—with my sister on the receiving end of the swill!”
“Nobody is——”
“Furthermore, we want custody of that body. He was Lucy’s husband and it’s our legal right to bury him. There’s going to be no argument about that. I’m getting a court order tomorrow. There’s not a judge in this State who wouldn’t award the burial right to Lucy on this evidence of marriage priority!”
“Oh, now, look here, Angell,” said Pollinger uneasily. “After all, isn’t that rubbing it in? These New York people are rather powerful; and he was Joseph Kent Gimball, you know. It wouldn’t be right——”
“Right?” said Bill grimly. “Who’s thinking of my sister’s rights? Do you think you can wipe out ten years of a woman’s life with one smear? Do you think I’m afraid of that crowd just because they’ve got position and money? I’ll see ’em in hell first!” And he stamped out, his mouth working. The three men remained silent until the clatter of his footsteps on the stairs ceased.
“I told you,” remarked Ellery, “that Bill Angell was a man of parts. And don’t underestimate his ability as a lawyer, either.”
“Now what do you mean by that?” snapped the prosecutor.
Ellery picked up his hat. “To garble Cicero a little—prudence is the knowledge of things to be shunned as well as those to be sought. Beware the Ides of March, and all that sort of thing. ’ Voir .”
It was nine-thirty on Monday morning when Ellery, in natty olive gabardine and Panama, presented himself at the executive offices of the National Life Insurance Company in its handsome house on lower Madison Avenue in New York. He had spent a cloistered Sunday at home, mulling over the case between the alimentary ministrations of Djuna and the rather cynical comments of his father the Inspector; and despite the vernal gaiety of his costume he was far from cheerful.
A brisk young woman with a toothpaste smile, in the anteroom to the office lettered Office of the Executive Vice-President , raised her brows at his card. “Mr. Finch wasn’t expecting you so early, Mr. Queen. He isn’t down yet. Wasn’t your appointment for ten?”
“If it was, I wasn’t informed. I’ll wait. Any notion what your precious Mr. Finch wants to see me about?”
“Ordinarily,” she smiled, “I should say no. But since you’re a detective, I suppose there’s no point in dissembling. Mr. Finch telephoned me at home yesterday afternoon and told me all about it. It’s about this frightful business in Trenton, and I believe Mrs. Gimball is to be here, too. Won’t you wait in Mr. Finch’s private office?”
Ellery followed her into a palatial blue-and-ivory room that looked like a motion-picture set. “I seem to be moving in golden circles these days,” he observed. “That’s metaphoric, not literal, Miss Zachary—isn’t that the name?”
“However did you know? Have a seat, Mr. Queen.” She hurried to the oversized desk and brought back a box. “Cigaret?”
“No, thanks.” Ellery sank into a blue leather chair. “I believe I’ll smoke my pipe.”
“Would you like to try some of Mr. Finch’s tobacco?”
“That’s one invitation no confirmed pipe-smoker turns down.” The young woman brought him a large jar from the desk, and he filled his
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