The D.A. Breaks an Egg

And she went swiftly out of the room leaving a cold, hostile silence behind her.

11

Ensconced in her room in the Madison Hotel, Dorothy Clifton put in a long-distance call almost as soon as the bellboy had closed the door behind him.

“I want to talk with Horace Lennox,” she said, “Horace Crittendon Lennox, L-E-N-N-O-X. He’s an attorney at law in Chicago. I want to talk with him personally, and I want you to rush the call through. Just a moment and I’ll give you his number.”

She was sufficiently upset so that she didn’t trust her memory, and looked in her notebook before giving the operator the number. “Will you please try to rush it?” she asked. “I’m Dorothy Clifton. I’ve just checked in Room...” She looked at the placard on the telephone, and said, “Room 310.”

Downstairs at the moment in the hotel lobby, Otto Larkin was flashing his badge on the operator. “You have a new tenant in 310,” he said. “I want a record of every telephone call she makes, and I want you to listen in on incoming calls so you can find out who’s calling. Now, that’s an order direct from police headquarters.”

“She has a call in now, Chief,” the operator said.

“Who to?”

“An attorney in Chicago.”

“Oh, oh, calling a mouthpiece, eh?” Larkin said. “Can you put me where I can listen in, and...”

“I’m sorry, that’s against the rules and against the law. I couldn’t do that for anyone or for any reason.”

Larkin said, “Well, keep a list of the calls and the numbers.”

He walked over to the telephone booth, dropped in a nickel, and dialed The Blade.

“Harry Elrod there?” he asked. “This is Larkin talking... Okay, put him on.

“Hello, Harry? Got a story for you. The D.A.’s office and the sheriff are trying to pull a fast one. They’re investigating the car that figured in that murder. But I took a short cut and got some admissions from the owner of the car that are damned important.

“Now, get this straight. Here’s a juicy scandal. The car belongs to Dorothy Clifton, who was staying out at the Lennox house. She’s supposed to be engaged to the oldest Lennox boy. She tells a weird story about someone taking her car, and then finding the purse of the girl who was supposed to have been murdered. I went after her and made her admit that she’d been downstairs at the exact time Moana Lennox caught someone prowling in her bedroom. Also, she could have been driving the car. Under the circumstances, Mrs. Lennox virtually kicked her out, and she’s registered at the Madison Hotel. Just checked in. There should be a swell interview for you there, and, as far as I’m concerned, you can bust the story wide open. The Clarion never did anything for me. Just don’t say who gave you the tip, that’s all.”

Harry Elrod was fawningly grateful, and Larkin, a pleased smile on his face, hung up the telephone, bit the end from a cigar, and walked out to the red police car which he had left parked halfway down the block.

Up in her room, Dorothy found herself pacing back and forth like some caged animal, as though the very nervous energy she was pouring out might in some way speed things up so that she could begin to get results.

Then the telephone rang, and the operator said, “Just a moment.”

There was an interminable agony of suspense, during which Dorothy wondered if perhaps Horace might be out of town, and then the welcome sound of his voice came over the telephone.

“Hello, darling,” he said, “I’m taking the words right out of your mouth so that we can save the preliminaries and devote as much of the three minutes as possible to having you reassure me as to my good fortune.

“You are mainly calling for the purpose of telling me that all of your fears have been groundless, that the Lennox family is really human, that my mother is treating you like the queen which you really are, and that you’re having a good time, but are missing me. And are planning on getting back just as soon as possible.

“So now, having disposed of the preliminaries, we’ll amplify that theme about how you miss me for the remaining two minutes and twenty-two seconds of our three-minute call.”

“Horace,” she said desperately, “you must catch the first plane and get out here.”

“What’s that?”

“The first

plane,” she insisted. “I’m no longer at your house. I’m at the Madison Hotel. I’m in Room 310, and it’s terrible.”

“Dorothy, what in the world has happened?”

“Everything.”

“Do you mean you aren’t getting along with the family?”

“I’m not getting along with the family. I’m not getting along with the chief of police. I’m afraid I’m about to be arrested for murder. I’ve been trying to cover up for someone in your family, and my name is going to be smeared all over the newspapers.

“Or, looking at it from your mother’s standpoint, I have dragged the Lennox name into the mud, committed a murder, stolen the family heirlooms from Moana, and...”

“Dorothy, are you kidding?”

“I wish I were. It’s a bad dream. Horace, I need you. Grab a plane and get out here.”