“Well, I didn’t, but that’s mostly because I never did any business with him,” I said.
“Why not?” the chief asked. “Did you have something against him?”
“Not particularly,” I said. “We had him in to look over Mrs. Sprocket’s antiques before the yard sale, but since he’d usually offer about half of what the other dealers would pay, we never sold him anything. And you’ve seen the yard sale—you can imagine about how much we need to buy junk. Or antiques.”
“So you’d have no reason to want him dead,” the chief said.
“Apart from a few stray homicidal urges when he knocked on our door before dawn, no,” I said. “Out of my life, yes; but I wouldn’t have needed to kill him to achieve that, because I knew once we were through with the yard sale, he would be. Out of my life, that is.”
“I see,” the chief said.
“Does this mean that you’re seriously considering the possibility that Giles didn’t do it?”
“I’d be a fool not to look at a suspect who just waltzes right into my investigation,” the chief said.
I decided to assume this was a subtle hint that I’d overstayed my welcome, so I wished him luck and left.
I glanced up and down the street when I stepped out of Gordon’s shop, and could have sworn I spotted someone peering around the corner of the building at the end of the block and then ducking back when he saw me.
I sauntered to the other end of the block, turned the corner, and then ran as fast as I could. Luckily I didn’t have to go all around the block. An alley halfway down the cross street ran through the block, giving access to the back doors of the shops on either side. I raced through the alley to the next cross street and then carefully stuck my head out.
The someone was peering around the corner again. He ducked back, and I recognized him.
Professor Schmidt.
Chapter 30
I waited until Schmidt peered around the corner again and was absorbed in whatever he saw. Then I crept up behind him.
“Looking for something?” I asked.
He jumped a foot in the air and uttered a rather undignified squeak. When he saw who it was, he tried to return to his usual pompous manner, but I decided I liked him better off balance.
“So, first you lie to Chief Burke, and now you’re spying on him,” I said. “Want to tell me why?”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, but I could see he was nervous.
“Why don’t you just tell Chief Burke what really happened in the barn?” I asked.
“What do you mean, what really happened?” he said. “I went there because Gordon offered to sell me some papers. He didn’t have the papers with him, so I advised him to stop wasting my time and went away again. That’s all that happened.”
“Oh, sure,” I said. And a sudden thought hit me— Schmidt wasn’t just eager to buy the papers from Gordon—he was nearly frantic. What kind of papers would make anyone that upset?
“And you didn’t burgle Gordon’s shop last night?” I asked. “I suppose that was one of his other blackmail victims.”
It was a gamble, but it worked.
“Blackmail,” he exclaimed. “What are you talking about?” But from the way he flinched and the fearful look on his face, I knew I’d guessed right.
“Oh, come on, professor,” I said. “I know he was blackmailing you. I heard that much. But I don’t understand what he had on you.”
For that matter, I was having a hard time imagining Schmidt doing anything worth blackmailing about. Perhaps in his long-distant youth, before he’d become such a pompous jackass.
“Mrs. Pruitt,” he said, finally.
I pondered that for a few moments. Were we talking about the same Mrs. Pruitt? The long-dead poetess? I’d seen the portrait, and all the photographer’s art couldn’t make her look like anything but what she was: a stout, hatchet-faced woman in her fifties. She’d been closer to ninety when she died, and that was still several decades before Professor Schmidt was born.
“Well, obviously it was about Mrs. Pruitt,” I said. “But I’m not sure I understand the details.”
He sighed, loudly, and stared at the ground for a while.
“And if I can’t understand it,” I went on. “Well, maybe the police won’t, either, but I’ll just have to take that chance, and tell them everything I do know.”
That finally worked.
“As I’m sure you know,” he said, “I’ve made Mrs. Pruitt my life’s work.”
I nodded encouragingly.
“Not just analyzing her work, but defending it.”