# How Many Cards?/Chapter 6

pp. 64–77.

### CHAPTER VI
#### THE CIGARETTE CASE

"WELL, well! So we have our friend and confrère Mr. McCarty with us once more! Are you going to lend us your valuable assistance in this case?"
A tall, spare, slightly bald, slightly stoop-shouldered figure detached himself from the group about the throne chair as McCarty made his reappearance in the reception hall and advanced a step or two with outstretched hand. There was amused condescension in his alert, self-confident manner and a hint of sarcasm in the crisp tones which made the honest face of the ex-roundsman flush, but he responded quietly as he shook hands:
"Inspector Druet has taken me on as special deputy, Mr. Terhune. I happened to be on hand when the body was discovered."
"As usual, eh?" The noted criminologist smiled a trifle wryly. "Really, if the word had not been so much abused I should call you an opportunist, my dear McCarty! I have accepted Mrs. Creveling's commission to investigate the affair in her behalf and I presume that we can count on your cooperation? If you were here when the crime was first discovered perhaps you will be good enough to give me the details; I have learned nothing as yet except that Mr. Creveling was found shot in the breast and my client refuses to entertain the theory of suicide."
McCarty complied willingly enough but with certain reservations. He led Wade Terhune first to the study and described the finding of the body and the episode of the burglar but made no mention of the blood-stained playing card, nor of the result of his second search of the rooms upstairs. It would be time to impart that information to the private detective when he had first laid the facts before his chief.
In the breakfast room they came upon Rollins hastily removing the débris of the supper which had ended so tragically and as Terhune paused to question him McCarty slipped away and rejoining the group in the hall led Inspector Druet aside.
"The cook and the butler are back, sir, and I think if you don't need me for a while I'll be getting on; there are a few things I want to look into. You'll be holding that valet, Frank Hill?"
"Of course, until he gives us some sort of an alibi that we can establish; he's our one best bet now unless you've got some dope you haven't told me about." The inspector glanced at him shrewdly.
McCarty's eyes twinkled.
"I've had no time, sir, and besides I've nothing definite as yet, but if you'll be going back downtown soon I'll come in and make my report.—When you frisk this man Hill at Headquarters if you find a pair of gloves on him keep them aside till I get there."
"Gloves on a warm spring night!" The inspector's own eyes narrowed. "For a valet he must be some classy dresser! There were none on him when he came to the door of the breakfast room."
"You'll find them in one of his pockets, most likely," McCarty remarked carelessly. "See you later, chief."
As he turned to go the telephone in the study shrilled in subdued insistence and Rollins appeared in the door of the breakfast room, but at a sign from the inspector McCarty was before him.
Crossing the study, he lifted the bronze ornament from the telephone and held the receiver to his ear.
"Hello! Can I speak to Mrs. Creveling, please?" It was a man's voice cultured in its intonations and yet with a note of inherent grossness.
"Who is it, sir?" McCarty asked cautiously.
"Mr. Douglas Waverly."
McCarty pondered for a moment and then spoke with his voice carefully modulated.
"Mrs. Creveling is indisposed. Can I take a message, sir?"
"This isn't Rollins talking! Is he there or Frank? My wife just telephoned to me that some sort of an accident had happened to Mr. Creveling, and I want to know if there is anything that I can do. Please convey that message to Mrs. Creveling."
"Very good, sir." McCarty waited for a brief space and then spoke into the mouth piece once more. "Mrs. Creveling is sending me down in person with a message, sir. It is most important and she doesn't want any one here just now. Where can I find you?"
"At the Belterre Hotel." The reply came after a moment of evident hesitation. "I'll expect you in about half an hour. Who the devil are you, anyway? What happened to Mr. Creveling?"
"I'll tell you, sir, when I come."
McCarty hung up the receiver and, returning to the hall, made his way out by the tradesmen's entrance. It was still too early for much traffic but a huge green 'bus like some monstrous beetle came lumbering past in the bright glare of sunlight and as McCarty swung himself aboard he glanced back at the house which he had just left. The lower windows were shrouded and blank but at one of the upper ones he caught a glimpse of a woman's white face staring down at him. As she caught his eye she withdrew hastily and the curtains were drawn together.
Who could she have been? He had left Mrs. Creveling still seated in the throne chair in the hall and he was certain that the face he had seen was a rounder, more youthful one than the thin, acidulous countenance of the cook. Had some woman remained concealed in that house despite the rigorous search of the men from borough headquarters?
He felt an impulse to descend from the 'bus and return to investigate, but a second thought restrained him; Mr. Douglas Waverly had named a half an hour later for their interview and he had stated with evident reluctance that he was at the Belterre Hotel. McCarty had a theory of his own as to that and he must reach his destination as quickly as possible in order to put it to the test.
On alighting from the 'bus he entered the lobby of the hotel but instead of approaching the desk to announce himself he strolled to the news-stand, purchased a paper and dropped into a chair by the less conspicuous side entrance of the huge hostelry. The lobby was astir with early risen patrons departing upon the business of the day, but few people entered from the street and these McCarty regarded with swift appraisal from behind the screening folds of his newspaper.
At length a taxi grounded against the curb and a stout man alighted carrying a small bag which he impatiently refused to deliver into the hands of the porter. McCarty eyed him as he strode past and over to the desk where he leaned across the counter and spoke to the clerk in a hurried undertone. At the latter's shake of the head the newcomer scrawled his name hastily in the register and, turning, followed a bell-boy to the elevator.
He was apparently about forty and the small, light blue eyes set in his smooth red face reminded McCarty somewhat irrelevantly of those of a pig. The latter waited for a few minutes and then, rising, tossed his paper aside and walked over to the desk. Two more arrivals had made their appearance and registered in the interim, but above theirs the hastily written signature of the fat man stood out boldly and McCarty smiled to himself. His theory had proved to be a correct one.
"Will you be sending word to Mr. Douglas Waverly that the man he expects is here?" he requested.
The dapper young man behind the counter raised his eyebrows.
"What name?" he' snapped.
"I didn't say." McCarty smiled blandly at him. "You'll be sending the message as I gave it, please."
His tone was quiet but there was a ring of authority in it that the clerk recognized and with a shrug he turned to the girl at the switchboard.
"You can go right up." He returned to the counter once more. "Suite eleven-four."
McCarty alighted from the elevator at the eleventh floor and knocked at the door of apartment number four.
"Come in." It was unmistakably the same voice which had talked to him over the wire at the Creveling house.
McCarty obeyed and his eyes twinkled anew as he glanced about him. The room was in disorder with clothing and newspapers scattered about and through the connecting doorway he could see the bed with its covers thrown back over the foot and its pillows rumpled. Before him the stout, red-faced man stood attired in bathrobe and slippers.
"You're from Mrs. Creveling?" the latter demanded.
"I've come straight from her house, Mr. Waverly, though it's questions I've brought, not a message." McCarty's manner was respectful but the twinkle had died out of his eyes. "If you'll answer me straight I'll not be keeping you long, sir, from the sleep you must be needing."
"Who are you?" Mr. Waverly turned a shade more red. "What do you mean about my needing sleep? I don't believe you have come from Mrs. Creveling at all, you are an impostor—!"
"They don't call me that down at Police Headquarters, Mr. Waverly," McCarty interrupted, still quietly. "You only reached the hotel ten minutes ago, the ink is hardly dry on your name in the register and finding you ready for bed like this I thought you must need some sleep."
"Police Headquarters!" The ruddy face paled. "That fool clerk downstairs said that no one had called for me—"
"And no more they had, sir. I've been waiting down in the lobby some little time for you to come in; I knew you were never here when you telephoned." McCarty paused and then asked sharply: "Mr. Waverly, when did you last see Mr. Eugene Creveling?"
"Why, the night before last, Tuesday," the other stammered. "What's all the row about? Has he disappeared? My wife said something about an accident, but if it is just that he hasn't turned up—"
"He's turned up all right, sir; turned up his toes on the floor of his study, shot through the heart!" McCarty watched the effect of his announcement carefully.
"'Gene Creveling! Good God, it's impossible!" Waverly's flabby jowls took on a purplish tinge and his pale blue eyes seemed to protrude from their sockets. "You don't mean murder!"
"Looks like it, sir. The last time you saw him alive was on Tuesday night? Where was this?"
"At Nick Cutter's." Waverly raised a thick, pudgy hand to the folds of flesh which hung pendulous over his throat as though the collar of his bathrobe had suddenly grown too tight. "God! Creveling dead!—I suppose you're a detective but why have you come to me?"
"To get the particulars of how you learned of the supposed 'accident,' sir." McCarty's smile was disarmingly candid. "You say your wife telephoned to you; where did she get you on the wire?"
"She didn't; I telephoned to her," Waverly disclaimed, ignoring the question. "I wanted her to bring Mrs. Creveling and motor in to town for lunch, meant to dig up Creveling, too, and drag him back to the country this afternoon. Mrs. Waverly told me that a message had come between half-past four and five o'clock this morning from Mrs. Creveling's cook, summoning her immediately to town, that Mr. Creveling had met with some accident. They're intimate friends of ours and naturally I called up Mrs. Creveling at once to learn what had happened and to offer my services. I never thought of anything like this! I can't believe it even yet. My God, it's horrible! Who—who could have done it?"
He sank into a chair and reached shakily for the fresh pitcher of ice water upon the table at his elbow. McCarty waited until he had drunk deep and then as the pitcher clattered back upon the table once more he observed:
"So the Crevelings are intimate friends of yours, sir? How long have you known them?"
"Look here, what are you driving at! Creveling and I palled around together for years before he was married and he was a frequent visitor at our house. Naturally when he became engaged my wife met Miss Alexander and since their marriage they have been closely identified with our immediate circle. My wife and Mrs. Creveling are almost inseparable."
"And you and Mr. Creveling, sir? Have you been getting on together lately as well as you used to?" McCarty's tone was ingratiating. "You'll excuse me, Mr. Waverly, but didn't you and he have a quarrel not so long ago?"
"'Quarrel'?" the other repeated, straightening himself suddenly in his chair as though to meet an unexpected thrust. "Great heavens, no! Who told you such a lie?"
"You didn't have a dispute with Mr. Creveling in his own house one night not a fortnight ago?" McCarty persisted. "I don't like to make mention of a lady—"
"By God, you'd better not!" Waverly rose from his chair with a threatening scowl. "I've stood about all of this that I'm going to, my man! I don't know where you've got your lying information nor by what authority you come here to try to put me through a third degree but I'll listen to no more. Get out before I 'phone the office and have you put out!"
"I wouldn't try it, sir, if I were you," McCarty said blandly. "I'd have to ask you to take a little ride downtown with me and the head house detective here and tell the inspector in charge of the case what it was you and Mr. Creveling almost came to blows about after that little supper week before last. I thought you'd rather keep out of the notoriety and all; that's why I came to you quiet like."
"So that's it!" Waverly's lip curled. "Graft, eh? Blackm—!"
"Don't go too far, sir!" McCarty's tone was ominously quiet and there was a glint of steel in his eyes. "It'll do you no good to be calling names. I've got proof that two weeks ago come to-morrow night you had supper alone with Mr. Creveling in his house and high words passed between you over a lady; I've a witness who can testify as to that. I'm not one to work up sensations for the press to spring on the public and drag people that's maybe innocent into notoriety and scandal; 'twas for that I came here to you, man to man."
"Did your witness tell you the name of the lady who was supposed to have been discussed on that occasion?" Waverly sneered.
"If that's the way you care to put it, yes, sir," responded McCarty. "There were two ladies talked of, for the matter of that, but only one mentioned by name. You left the house in a rage, I understand, yet Mrs. Creveling stayed on as a guest at your country place and Creveling himself spent the last week-end there."
"That ought to be proof enough to you that there was no trouble between us." Waverly's tone had become all at once eager and conciliatory. "Sorry I misunderstood your motive in coming here. I'm quite willing to tell you all about that little argument with 'Gene Creveling for I can see that it has been grossly exaggerated to you. I don't know who your witness is but I presume it is that rascally butler Rollins; I warned Creveling to sack him long ago. I did not leave the house in a rage as you have been told, but in sheer disgust. If Creveling is dead I'm damned sorry, but there's no use blinking the facts; his course of conduct hasn't been exactly straight and narrow and although we are none of us angels I took it upon myself as an old and intimate friend to remonstrate with him and he didn't accept it in the right spirit. That's all there was to it; it was all forgotten the next day."
"And since then you've been on friendly terms with him, Mr. Waverly?"
"Absolutely."
"Your mutual friends can vouch for that, I suppose? 'Tis not that I doubt your word, sir, but the inspector may want to check up my report." McCarty paused and added: "We know approximately the hour at which Mr. Creveling came to his death and if you'll tell me where you were last night from eleven o'clock on, it'll put an end to all annoyance for you."
"And if I don't choose to do so?" The flabby face had darkened again truculently.
McCarty shrugged.
"That's up to you, sir."
There was a pause and then Waverly spoke thickly.
"Have you the authority to keep it out of the papers? I mean, if I tell you where I was and prove it to you, can you keep it from reaching my wife's ears? Oh, there was nothing absolutely beyond the pale about it, but you know what women are!" he added hastily. "Can I count on you and your superiors to keep it quiet?"
"Well, sir, if your alibi's sound it's no concern of the Department what you have been doing," McCarty answered cautiously. "Of course, I can't guarantee that the reporters won't look you up, as having been intimate with Mr. Creveling, but it'll be on no information from us. You telephoned out to your country place late yesterday afternoon that you would be detained in town last night, Mrs. Creveling says."
"Y-yes." The light blue eyes were lowered and his full underlip protruded sullenly. "I met a man I know and he invited me to a supper party in his rooms; we whooped it up until after five this morning and when the crowd had broken up I turned in there for a few hours' rest. My host is a good fellow and all that but he"s not quite the sort I'd take to my own home or introduce to my wife, and the party wasn't a stag affair. You understand? When I woke up I was disgusted with the aftermath and on an impulse I 'phoned out to Mrs. Waverly to ask her to run in to town for lunch, as I told you. She informed me of the message summoning Mrs. Creveling and I called up their house."
"This man who invited you to supper in his rooms; you met him before you 'phoned out to Long Island yesterday afternoon, Mr. Waverly?"
"Naturally. I gave Mrs. Waverly some trivial excuse; told her I had to attend a business conference with some out-of-town people here at the Belterre last evening and it might be a late session. I intimated that if it were I would take a room here for the night." He spoke with evident reluctance. "When I called her up this morning and she told me of the supposed accident I realized she would take it for granted that I was here and might try to get me later to find out what had happened to Creveling. That was why I told you I was stopping here and then hurried down to meet you."
"I see." McCarty nodded. "Who is the man that gave the party, Mr. Waverly? What is his name?"
The other hesitated and then replied in a lowered tone:
"Mr. Samuel J. Venner."
McCarty stared. Sam Venner bore a reputation that was far from savory even among the sporting element of the city and his activities had more than once come under the scrutiny of the authorities on the lookout for new forms of confidence games. How could he possibly have wormed himself into even a nodding acquaintance with a man of Waverly's social standing?
"You fellows have heard of him, I imagine." Waverly shrugged in his turn. "He's quite a character around town but I don't believe you've ever had anything on him."
"I've heard of him," McCarty admitted briefly. "Did you spend the whole evening with him, Mr. Waverly? After you accepted his invitation and 'phoned out to your wife, what did you do?"
"I went up to my town house, climbed into some dinner clothes which I had left there and dropped in at the club." As if anticipating the inevitable question he expatiated: "The Cosmopolitan Club. It was dead as a door-nail, nobody there I cared to talk to and I drifted down to Sharp's Chophouse for a bite and then dropped in for the last act of 'The Girl from Paradise.'"
"All by yourself, Mr. Waverly? You were alone from the time you left your house?"
"Quite alone. I took a taxi directly from the theater up to Venner's apartment on Riverside Drive."
"Who else was in the party there?"
Again Waverly hesitated. He had been speaking more and more slowly as though choosing his words with care and now he raised his eyes half defiantly to those of McCarty.
"Isn't it enough for you if Venner corroborates my statement? There were other people present who would find themselves in just as awkward a position as I should be if the thing came out."
"The ladies or the gentlemen?" McCarty asked.
"'Ladies'?" Waverly leered. "They were show girls from the 'Bye-bye Baby' company. I imagine they wouldn't object to a little free press-agent stuff, though Venner—!"
He caught himself up sharply as though regretting the admission and rose.
"I've nothing more to tell you. You can find out from Venner himself whether or not I was in his rooms from a little before midnight until an hour ago, and as for that little row with Creveling—Lord! We've been having 'em for the last fifteen years or more over one thing or another. If he's been done in as you say, I'm inexpressibly shocked and grieved to hear it as the rest of our crowd will be, for he was the best of good fellows even if he did get out of bounds occasionally, but I know no more about his death than you do; not half as much, I fancy."
"Just what do you mean by 'out of bounds,' Mr. Waverly?" McCarty ignored the hint to go, and stood his ground firmly.
"If your informant gave you the gist of our conversation on the night of the supposed quarrel you ought to be able to figure that out for yourself." The thick lips parted in an unpleasant smile. "You can't expect a leopard to change his spots altogether, you know. Not that 'Gene wasn't genuinely fond of his wife, but he always had an eye for a pretty woman. I'd heard that he was going it a bit strong over a new case and for Mrs. Creveling's sake I thought I'd try to pull him up before it came to her ears. That's how her name was dragged into the discussion."
"And the lady in the case?"
"I can't tell you her name because I don't know it, but I wouldn't if I did!" Waverly snapped. "You fellows go too far! I'm willing to meet you half way, and I'm anxious to do all in my power, of course, to help you find out who shot Creveling but I'm damned if I would drag in the name of any woman, especially in the case of a mere indiscretion like this."
"How do you know it was a mere indiscretion?" McCarty demanded quickly.
"I knew Creveling." The reply was terse. "He'd have every art dealer and collector of antiques searching for months for a certain Ming vase or ancient prayer rug and when he secured it he scarcely gave it a second glance. It was the same with beautiful women; he'd sit at their feet as long as they were indifferent, but if they gave the first sign of awakened interest—good night!"
"You are sure, then, that this affair hasn't reached the ears of his wife?"
"Of course it hasn't!" Waverly exclaimed hurriedly. "She has always believed in him implicitly; that's why I wanted him to call a halt now."
"Well, Mr. Waverly, I won't trouble you any further if you've no objections to my calling up Mr. Venner just as a matter of form and verifying your statement." McCarty moved tentatively toward the telephone set in the wall.
Waverly smiled again and waved toward the instrument.
"Go as far as you like," he invited magnanimously. "Venner's number is Hudson 4052."
McCarty repeated it into the 'phone and after a brief interval a deep voice growled at him over the wire:
"Hello! What is it?"
"I want to speak to Mr. Venner."
"You're talking to him now. Who are you?"
"Mr. Douglas Waverly told me that I could reach him at your rooms," McCarty said cautiously.
"Well, you can't," the voice responded. "He's gone; left about an hour ago."
"He was at that little party of yours last night?"
"Yes. Who the devil are you?"
McCarty hung up the receiver and turned to find Waverly still smiling derisively at him as he drew a cigarette from a diamond encrusted case and then proffered it.
"Smoke?" he suggested. "I hope you're satisfied now, my man. Of course I don't want to be hauled into the limelight of a murder case, but for Creveling's sake I'd be glad to help you if I could."
McCarty shook his head at the offer of the cigarette. An air of preoccupation seemed suddenly to have settled upon him and he replied absently:
"Yes, sir, I'm satisfied. Sorry to have troubled you, but in a case like this we've got to look into every stray bit of information that comes our way. Good morning, sir."
Once outside the door he made his way toward the elevator with a dazed sense of unreality. Could he have seen aright and if so was there any special significance in what he had beheld? There had been nine jewels in that flat oblong of gold, four down each side and one in the middle, each set in sharply defined diamond-shaped indentations, so that the cigarette case itself bore a startling resemblance to the Nine of Diamonds; startling to McCarty's mind at least because of that other Nine of Diamonds, torn and bloodstained, which he had found in the room where Eugene Creveling came to his death.