# The Whisper on the Stair/Chapter 22

Suppose you had conceived and put into execution a fine, holeproof, artistic little murder. Then, full of professional pride at the artistic and workmanlike features of the masterpiece, suppose you were sitting in a Pullman smoking room, relaxed from your labors, and more or less at peace with the world. Then suppose you had turned around suddenly and seen the supposed corpse, not decently dead, as any self-respecting corpse ought to be, but very much alive and full of pep, sitting down next to you.
Suppose these things had happened to you—how would you feel? You would probably experience a wave of resentment against said live cadaver, to say nothing of overwhelming shocked surprise, wouldn’t you? That’s just the way Ignace Teck felt about it when he turned and saw the substantial—even pleasant—figure of Valentine Morley easing itself into a seat next to him.
This was not one of Ignace Teck’s important murders, of course. Just a little gem he had thrown off in an idle moment, before proceeding to the greater work at hand. Nevertheless, it was exasperating for a (prospective) murderer to so far interfere with the workings of art as to refuse to be assassinated—nay, even to follow Teck and mock him by the mere fact of his presence.
These are the thoughts that passed through Teck’s ​head as he whirled and saw Val sitting next to him. Something of what he thought showed in his eyes, evidently, because Val regarded him with scarcely concealed amusement.
“I’m not—er—in your way, Iggy, or anything like that, I hope,” he suggested. “Because if I am⸺”
“But I thought you were⸺”
“Iggy, I must deny that I have been killed. No matter how it pains me to have to say it, I am alive; I am forced to the conclusion that something must have happened to upset your plans. I wonder what it could have been?” Val spoke confidentially, almost apologetically.
The other regarded him in resentful silence for a few moments. Evidently he was not dead. Val read his thoughts.
“No,” he shook his head. “I did not promise anything, either. I am sort of free lancing in treasure trove, to tell you the truth, Iggy.” He opened his cigarette case and lighted a cigarette for himself.
“To show you I’m more generous with my cigarettes than you are, Iggy,” he said, and popped a cigarette between the parted lips of Teck. He held a light to the cigarette. Teck nodded his thanks.
“To what do I owe the honor of your company?” asked Teck, courteously, having by now recovered his composure.
“To the fact that Horseface has an awful headache by now—where my man’s gun walloped him. Also to the fact that you were too stingy to put a quarter into the gas meter. You do things on too small a scale, Iggy. I hate to have to criticize a man’s business, but that’s what’s the trouble with you—you’re a piker. Now, a quarter more or less wouldn’t really have done ​you much harm. You would hardly feel the loss of it⸺”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Morley,” interrupted Teck. “Or is this chatter of yours a sort of pitcher’s wind-up, limbering up your voice, so to speak, for the real⸺”
“It’s of no consequence, Desperate Desmond,” Val waved him aside with an airy motion. “By the way, can you tell me any real reason why I shouldn’t hand you over to the police?”
“Who, me?” inquired Teck, pained that Val should even think of such a thing. “Why? Do you mean to insinuate that I had any connection with what you claim to have been an imprisonment in my apartment? My dear boy, you could never prove anything, don’t you realize that? Of course, I am speaking theoretically only, because I must deny emphatically that I know anything about the matter. You are a sentimental young man. Why don’t you write your stories and try to sell them to the magazines? I can assure you⸺”
“I’m not talking of that, Iggy. That’s a score I intend to settle with you personally—nobody else can do it as well as I. I’m talking about poor old Mat Masterson. I know you murdered him, and I intend to have you pay the penalty⸺”
“Nonsense,” said Teck. “You can prove nothing of the sort. And even if you think you can⸺”
“I don’t have to prove anything,” said Val. “All I have to do is to tell the police that you’re the bird who stole the books. After that it shouldn’ be so hard, even for our police.”
“Well, why don’t you do it?” suggested Teck, unconcerned.
​I’m sort of saving you up, Iggy⸺”
“I must ask you again not to address me as Iggy. My name is Ignace⸺” began Teck with a trace of irritation.
“You mean, on such short acquaintance?” asked Val. “That raises a rather fine point in etiquette, doesn’t it? When do you know a man well enough to call him by a diminutive of his name? On the other hand, how intimate ought you to be with a man before attempting to murder him? I don’t think one should do it at the first or second meeting, anyway—but, you see Iggy, what fine, technical points we will be involved in if we pursue this train of thought? To get back to the original theorem, why shouldn’t I hand you over to the police?”
“Because,” said Teck, “if you hand me over to the police it will absolutely involve Jes⸺”
“Nonsense, I’ve heard that argument before. Don’t bank on it too heavily. Murder is murder, and must be punished, no matter whom it involves,” replied Val. “Under ordinary circumstances, perhaps I would mind my own business and say nothing—although such an affair is the business of every citizen. But when I see you brazenly going down South to make more trouble—to attempt to steal from a poor, fatherless girl her inheritance—to say nothing of attempting to intimidate her into marrying you, it makes me angry enough to cast all consideration to the winds and hand you into custody. Miss Pomeroy will have no difficulty in clearing herself. And as for⸺”
“And as for you, how will you clear yourself?” inquired Teck calmly. “Remember, that you knew most of the facts the next day—that you have known for some days now that I have the books—and you have ​said nothing to the police about it. It rather makes you an accessory after the fact, doesn’t it? There’s a penalty for that.”
“I’m not worrying about my end of it, Iggy,” replied Val, though it occurred to him that Teck was probably correct. “All I have to say is that if I were you I’d get off this train at the first stop and go back to where I came from. Because I’m going to get you⸺” his eyes flashed with the first show of emotion during the conversation, “and I’m going to get you right. You’re going to go to the chair if it takes every nickel I have to convict you—and as for Miss Pomeroy, you’d better lay off any ideas you may have about getting her money—to say nothing about marrying her. You—marry that girl!” He looked his contempt and Teck had the grace to flush, though his flush was called out by anger and not by shame.
“Well, we’ll see about that, Morley. And now, as long as there are warnings being handed out, I want to tell you that the next time you interfere with me in any way there’ll be no such blundering as happened the last time. I want to tell you—straight—that you’d better not butt into this affair. It’s none of your business and⸺”
Val laughed. “You should get the police to protect you in the peaceful pursuit of your business, Iggy. You’ve got nerve enough, too. And don’t run away with the notion that I’m going home, either. I’m going down to where Miss Pomeroy is—and I’m going to stay there until she tells me to go. And now . . .” he rose and threw away the fag end of his cigarette, “I’m going to turn in. I advise you not to be within reaching distance to-morrow morning.”