The Campus Murders by Ellery Queen Page B

with it, and dropped it out of my hand.”
    The man stared at him. I don’t give a damn if he buys it or not, McCall thought.
    â€œI don’t know if I ought to let you stay in here, Mr. McCall,” the patrolman said finally, in an uneasy voice. “My orders were—”
    McCall gave him his coldest executive look.
    The man backed off. “I guess that was out of line, Mr. McCall,” he mumbled, and went back to his post.
    McCall raised the lid of the compartment.
    There were some documents. He looked through them. Family papers, two wills, some insurance policies. But, beneath, an unmarked folder. McCall seized it. It contained three sheets of ordinary white typing paper. Their contents were typewritten, like the “Lady G” note.
    They were threatening letters, all in the same vein. The last one was typical:
    â€œ If you pull anything stupid, F.G., I’ll expose you as a fornicator. The initial tumble in bed with our mutual friend’s cooperation will make delightful news to the authorities. What happens to your hard-earned security then? So you had better see that everything goes without a hitch for me. I remind you again: Most of the world is made up of squares, and the square world does a real stomping job on faculty studs who diddle around with young coeds on campus. ”
    The letter was signed “ Thomas Taylor. ”
    Dean Gunther bedding coeds? Then the woman who had written the note that lured Gunther to his death was probably the “young coed,” the “mutual friend” whose “cooperation” had laid the original trap.
    Blackmail.
    No wonder Gunther had been nervous!
    There was a photocopier on a stand in the corner, and McCall warmed it up and ran the three notes through the machine. The copies he tucked into his inside breast pocket; the originals he replaced in the secret compartment of the desk.
    By whatever hand Gunther had come to his nasty death, the fatal attack had been a surprise to him. He had obviously considered himself safe from bodily harm, or he would have left a record of his fears in the most logical place—the secret drawer in which he kept the “Thomas Taylor” blackmail notes.
    Whoever “Thomas Taylor” was—and that was a false name, McCall was certain, over which Pearson, Long, and Oliver could break their heads—he was undoubtedly the man who plunged the knife into Gunther’s body so many times … Gunther’s blackmailer-killer.
    Queer … blackmail was almost invariably a matter of squeezing money out of the victim. The three notes signed Taylor suggested something else. “So you had better see that everything goes without a hitch for me.”
    Whatever that meant, it did not suggest money.
    McCall left. He had something solid to chew on at last.
    He drove back into town and stopped in at police headquarters.
    Lieutenant Long was still on duty; McCall found him in the main corridor talking with another officer.
    â€œYou again,” Long said.
    â€œCan I talk to you alone, lieutenant?”
    The officer moved away at Long’s nod.
    â€œWell?” Long said. “You going to hand me a killer or two, Mr. McCall?”
    â€œHardly. But I’ve got a clue for you.”
    â€œOh?” said Long. “What clue?”
    â€œHave you examined Dean Gunther’s study?”
    â€œHaven’t had a chance—”
    â€œI thought not, or you’d have found it, too. If you’ll look in the bottom right-hand drawer of Gunther’s desk, you’ll find a secret compartment at the rear. It was secured with a small padlock, which I had to snap. In the compartment I found some personal papers—wills, policies, the usual—and a folder containing three typewritten notes. They’re threat notes, lieutenant. And they seem to implicate Gunther in something pretty nasty.”
    â€œWhere are they?” Long howled.