of Lasker? A little too lean and hungry for her taste.
“Why have you been seeing Willie Frost?” I asked. It was another frontal assault, unprepared for by the previous conversation. But she wasn’t at all fazed.
“I told you,” she said, “that I’ve been seeing a lawyer about getting a divorce. That’s the one.”
“Were the two of you discussing the divorce last night?”
“Why? What did Willie say?”
“He said you were out together,” I replied, stretching the truth in a manner Ī thought Frost could hardly protest.
“Well, we went to the Paradol, had dinner, and we talked about the divorce.”
“All night?”
“You ever been to the Paradol?” she countered. “With the crowds they get, it always takes all night!”
“So you had dinner together, you and Mr. Frost, while your husband was safely occupied at the office.”
“You’re putting it that way, not me!”
“When did you get back home?”
“I don’t know. Maybe eleven-thirty.”
“And your husband wasn’t home yet?”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t you start getting worried,” I asked, “when he didn’t show up later?”
“Are you kidding? The night before Toy Fair, he’s never home at all. Almost never. I didn’t expect to see him till about nine o’clock tonight.”
There was one thing wrong with Mrs. Goetz’s story, and I told her. If she was so anxious to stay on her husband’s breadline at the time of the Jensen swindle, how come all of a sudden she was thinking of cutting loose via Frost?
“It’s the stock again,” she answered. “Willie let me in on something I didn’t know about the company.”
“What’s that?”
“Sid doesn’t ... didn’t ... own the majority of shares I thought he held. When I thought he owned seventy per cent of the shares, he actually only had forty-five per cent. Do you see what that means?”
“Not really. What?”
“It means that when Pete signed over his measly fifteen per cent, it gave me forty per cent to Sid’s thirty-five per cent—because Sid ceded ten per cent to Pete, figuring it was safe in my hands. But only thirty-five per cent! Imagine! It gives me a bigger vote in the firm! He has ... had—”
“Wait a minute!” I told her. “Your arithmetic leaves twenty-five per cent unaccounted for. Who owns that?”
“Damned if I know,” she said. “Willie is trying to crack the identity of whoever owns it. But no matter who it is, he or she has always been willing to vote Sid’s way, I guess.”
That was the last thing of importance she had to contribute, and it gave me a very good hunch as to why she wanted the identity of the Trim-Tram spy. As soon as I could manage it, I thanked her, promised to call her later in the day—to let her know when we were going to inform the police of our secret—and left.
The first thing I did upon quitting her apartment was to phone Frost. “Look,” I told him, “Goetz owned thirty-five per cent of the stock in his company. His wife has forty per cent. Who holds the remaining twenty-five per cent?”
“You want to play Twenty Questions, or should I just tell you whether it’s animal, vegetable, or masculine?” the lawyer asked jauntily.
“Come on, come on!”
“Look, you can yammer all you want, but you’re not getting any names from me—”
“Because,” I snapped, “the guy who owns the stock is also the Trim-Tram spy, right?!”
There was a pause at the other end. “I suppose,” said Frost, in an altered tone, “that Ruth has been doing some blabbing.”
“Maybe,” I said, noncommittally. “Would you like to talk about it now?”
“Not really,” he stated, “but I’ve got one important thing to ask you.”
“Which is?”
“Can you steal me the transmitter disc from the phone you’re using?”
I hung up, not very gently.
14
S COTT HAD ARRIVED AT the Goetz showroom by the time I returned. I found him sitting at one of the circular, white-topped tables with Mary. They were playing
“Why have you been seeing Willie Frost?” I asked. It was another frontal assault, unprepared for by the previous conversation. But she wasn’t at all fazed.
“I told you,” she said, “that I’ve been seeing a lawyer about getting a divorce. That’s the one.”
“Were the two of you discussing the divorce last night?”
“Why? What did Willie say?”
“He said you were out together,” I replied, stretching the truth in a manner Ī thought Frost could hardly protest.
“Well, we went to the Paradol, had dinner, and we talked about the divorce.”
“All night?”
“You ever been to the Paradol?” she countered. “With the crowds they get, it always takes all night!”
“So you had dinner together, you and Mr. Frost, while your husband was safely occupied at the office.”
“You’re putting it that way, not me!”
“When did you get back home?”
“I don’t know. Maybe eleven-thirty.”
“And your husband wasn’t home yet?”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t you start getting worried,” I asked, “when he didn’t show up later?”
“Are you kidding? The night before Toy Fair, he’s never home at all. Almost never. I didn’t expect to see him till about nine o’clock tonight.”
There was one thing wrong with Mrs. Goetz’s story, and I told her. If she was so anxious to stay on her husband’s breadline at the time of the Jensen swindle, how come all of a sudden she was thinking of cutting loose via Frost?
“It’s the stock again,” she answered. “Willie let me in on something I didn’t know about the company.”
“What’s that?”
“Sid doesn’t ... didn’t ... own the majority of shares I thought he held. When I thought he owned seventy per cent of the shares, he actually only had forty-five per cent. Do you see what that means?”
“Not really. What?”
“It means that when Pete signed over his measly fifteen per cent, it gave me forty per cent to Sid’s thirty-five per cent—because Sid ceded ten per cent to Pete, figuring it was safe in my hands. But only thirty-five per cent! Imagine! It gives me a bigger vote in the firm! He has ... had—”
“Wait a minute!” I told her. “Your arithmetic leaves twenty-five per cent unaccounted for. Who owns that?”
“Damned if I know,” she said. “Willie is trying to crack the identity of whoever owns it. But no matter who it is, he or she has always been willing to vote Sid’s way, I guess.”
That was the last thing of importance she had to contribute, and it gave me a very good hunch as to why she wanted the identity of the Trim-Tram spy. As soon as I could manage it, I thanked her, promised to call her later in the day—to let her know when we were going to inform the police of our secret—and left.
The first thing I did upon quitting her apartment was to phone Frost. “Look,” I told him, “Goetz owned thirty-five per cent of the stock in his company. His wife has forty per cent. Who holds the remaining twenty-five per cent?”
“You want to play Twenty Questions, or should I just tell you whether it’s animal, vegetable, or masculine?” the lawyer asked jauntily.
“Come on, come on!”
“Look, you can yammer all you want, but you’re not getting any names from me—”
“Because,” I snapped, “the guy who owns the stock is also the Trim-Tram spy, right?!”
There was a pause at the other end. “I suppose,” said Frost, in an altered tone, “that Ruth has been doing some blabbing.”
“Maybe,” I said, noncommittally. “Would you like to talk about it now?”
“Not really,” he stated, “but I’ve got one important thing to ask you.”
“Which is?”
“Can you steal me the transmitter disc from the phone you’re using?”
I hung up, not very gently.
14
S COTT HAD ARRIVED AT the Goetz showroom by the time I returned. I found him sitting at one of the circular, white-topped tables with Mary. They were playing
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