The telephone bell rang. Queen sprang forward and snatched the instrument from the desk. As he listened the glow left his thin cheeks and a frown settled once more on his forehead. Ellery watched him with a strange absorption.
“Inspector?” came the hurried voice of a man. “This is Hagstrom reporting. Just got a minute — can’t say much. Been tailing Angela Russo all morning and had a tough time... Seems to be wise that I’m following her... A half hour ago she thought she’d given me the slip — she hopped into a cab and beat it downtown... And say, Inspector — just three minutes ago I saw her enter Benjamin Morgan’s office!”
Queen barked, “Nail her the instant she comes out!” and slammed the receiver down. He turned slowly to Ellery and Velie and repeated Hagstrom’s report. Ellery’s face became a study in frowning astonishment. Velie appeared unmistakably pleased.
But the old man’s voice was strained as he sat down weakly in his swivel chair. Finally he groaned, “What do you know about that!”
Detective Hagstrom was a phlegmatic man. He traced his ancestry to the mountains of Norway, where stolidity was a virtue and stoicism the ultimate cult. Nevertheless, as he leaned against a gleaming marble wall on the twentieth floor of the Maddern Building, thirty feet to the side of the bronze-and-glass door marked:
his heart beat a trifle faster than usual. He shuffled his feet nervously as his jaw masticated a wad of chewing tobacco. If the truth were told Detective Hagstrom, a man of varied experience on the service of the police department, had never clamped his hand on the shoulder of a female with intent to arrest. He faced his coming assignment therefore in some trepidation, remembering with appalling clarity the fiery temperament of the lady for whom he was waiting.
His apprehension was well founded. When he had been lounging in the corridor some twenty minutes, and wondering whether his quarry had not slipped away through another exit, Benjamin Morgan’s office door suddenly swung open and the large, curved figure of Mrs. Angela Russo garbed in a modish tweed ensemble, appeared. An unbecoming snarl distorted her carefully made-up features; she swung her purse menacingly as she strode toward the line of elevators. Hagstrom glanced quickly at his wrist watch. It was ten minutes to twelve. In a short time the offices would be disgorging their occupants for the lunch hour, and he was most desirous of making his arrest in the quiet of the deserted hall.
Accordingly he straightened up, adjusted his orange-and-blue necktie and stepped with a fair assumption of coolness into full view of the approaching woman. As she caught sight of him she slackened her stride perceptibly. Hagstrom hurried toward her, anticipating flight. But Mrs. Angela Russo was made of sterner stuff. She tossed her head and came on brazenly.
Hagstrom fixed his large red hand on her arm. “I guess you know what I want you for,” he said fiercely. “Come along now, and don’t make a fuss or I’ll put the nippers on you!”
Mrs. Russo shook off his hand. “My, my — aren’t you the big rough cop?” she murmured. “Just what do you think you’re doing, anyway?”
Hagstrom glared. “None o’ your lip, now!” His finger pressed savagely on the “Down” signal for the elevators. “You just shut up and come along!”
She faced him sweetly. “Are you trying to arrest me, by any chance?” she cooed. “Because you know, my big he-man, you’ve got to have a warrant to do that!”
“Aw, stow it!” he growled. “I’m not arresting you — I’m just inviting you to step down to headquarters for a little gab with Inspector Queen. You coming, or do I have to call the wagon?”
An elevator flashed to a stop. The elevator-man snapped, “Going down!” The woman glanced with momentary uncertainty at the car, peered slyly at Hagstrom and finally stepped into the elevator, the detective’s hand firmly clasped on her elbow. They descended in silence under the curious scrutiny of several passengers.
Hagstrom, uneasy but determined, sensing somehow a storm brewing in the breast of the woman who strode so calmly by his side, was taking no chances. He did not relax his grasp until they sat side by side in a taxicab, bound for headquarters. Mrs. Russo’s face had gone pasty under her rouge, despite the bold smile curving her lips. She turned suddenly to face her captor, leaning close to his rigidly official body.
“Mr. Cop, darling,” she whispered, “do you think you could use a hundred-dollar bill?”
Her hand fumbled suggestively in her purse. Hagstrom lost his temper.
“Bribery, huh?” he sneered. “We’ll have to chalk that one up for the Inspector!”
The woman’s smile faded. For the rest of the journey she sat looking fixedly at the back of the driver’s neck.
