Nemesis

The door opened and a butler looked at him with raised eyebrows. He was an elderly, with a lined face, blue-veined hands and the impleccable air of the life-long retainer.

“I want to see Judge Mills,” Larry said.

“I’m afraid that is impossible,” the butler said. “His Honor sees no one without an appointment.”

“Give him a message then,” Larry said. “Maybe he’ll make an exception this time. Tell him I want to see him about the murder of a girl named Velma Dare.”

The eyebrows went a little higher but that was the only indication the butler gave that the news was anything more startling than a comment about the weather.

“Very well. Will you wait, please?”

The door closed.

Larry lit a cigarette and waited. In a few moments the butler was back.

“Will you come with me, please?” he said.

Judge Avery Mills was standing before a marble fireplace, with a leather-bound book in his hands. He was a tall man with graying hair, alert, lean features, and brown eyes that looked humorous and friendly.

He wore a velvet smoking-jacket over a white silk shirt. He fitted the room perfectly. It was quiet, gracious, tasteful. And the Judge gave the same impression of cultivation and breeding.

The butler said, “This is the young man, sir.”

The judge smiled. “All right, Henry. You may leave us now.”

“I’ll be right outside, sir,” the butler said with a dubious look at Larry.

“Well, young man,” Judge Mills said, when the butler had closed the door, “You almost scared Henry to death. Now what’s this all about?”

He seated himself and waved Larry to another chair. He drew a pipe from his pocket and began to fill it carefully. “There are cigars beside you,” he said.

“No thanks,” Larry said. “I’m here about a girl known as Velma Dare. She has been murdered. And I got your phone number from a friend of hers.”

“I see,” Judge Mills said. He puffed at the pipe thoughtfully. “And what conclusion do you draw from that?”

“You knew her,” Larry said.

“Quite so. May I ask what your interest in this matter is?”

“Not until I find out what you know about Velma Dare.”

“Oh, come now,” the judge smiled. “Surely you must realize your position isn’t that strong. You are here without authority, and you want to put me on the witness stand. I know Velma Dare. I’ve known her for quite some time. I don’t know what to make of your story. I think you owe me something more in the way of explanation.”

Larry said, “Someone tried to frame me for her murder. I woke up beside her yesterday morning. She had a knife stuck in her. I got out before the police arrived.”

“Tell me this: how do you know the dead girl was Velma Dare.”

“I got that from a girl who worked at the Kicking Horse.”

“My dear young man,” Judge Mills said, “You have an amazing way of introducing testimony. Suppose you tell me the whole story.”

Larry knew he was in so deep already that it didn’t matter. He told his story. When he finished the judge was frowning at his pipe.

“Against all my cautious instincts, I believe you,” he said slowly. “Now I’ll tell you a few things you don’t know. Velma Dare was a relation of mine, a distant cousin. From time to time I’ve helped her out financially. She was a very independent sort of person, however, and she would never take more than a few dollars. Just enough to pay a week’s board, or something like that. She always made a point of paying me back as soon as her luck turned. I haven’t seen her now for several months. I find it hard to believe she is dead.”

“Take my word for that,” Larry said. “She’s as dead as you can get.”

“I see,” the judge said. He ran a hand slowly through his graying hair and leaned back against the chair. For a moment he said nothing. Then: “And what do you propose to do now?”

“I don’t know,” Larry told him. “But I’m not quitting.”

“In that case perhaps I can help you,” the judge said. “What did you say that man’s name was? The proprietor at the Kicking Horse?”

“Tonelli.”

“Then supposing we pay a call on Mr. Tonelli? Perhaps he’d be a little more cooperative with me. I don’t know the man. But I seem to remember hearing a few things about him. Things that aren’t too savory.”

“I don’t think it will help,” Larry said. “He’ll tell you I’m either crazy or drunk.”

“Maybe we can make him a little more talkative than that,” the judge said. “I think we can take an ace in our sleeve with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I certainly wouldn’t walk in on Tonelli alone. If he’s guilty or if he knows something, there’s only one way to make him talk. And that is to convince him our suspicions are backed by the police.”

“The police won’t listen to me,” Larry said.

“They’ve put no stock at all in your story?”

“They think I’m nuts,” Larry said.