There are only three motives, Monroe informed. Love, hate and money.
Youve got all the jargon by heart, little one, and Pollard grinned at him. Been reading some new Detective Fiction?
Im always doing that, Monroe stated, but I hold that a detective who cant tell which of those three is the motive, isnt worth his salt.
Salt is one commodity that has remained fairly inexpensive, said Barry, speaking slowly, and with his eyes on his cigarette, from which he was carefully amputating the ash, and a detective who could truly diagnose motive is not to be sneezed at. Besides, revenge is often a reason.
That comes under the head of hate, promptly responded Monroe. The three motives include all the gamut of human emotion, and some of their ramifications will include every murder motive that ever existed.
Fear? quietly suggested Doctor Davenport.
Part of hate, said Monroe, but he was challenged by Pollard.
Not necessarily. A man may fear a person whom he does not hate at all. But theres another motive, that doesnt quite fit your classification, Monroe.
Before the inevitable question could be put another man joined the group.
Hello, folks, said Robert Gleason, as he sat down; hope I dont intrude and all that. What you talking about?
Murder, said Barry. Murder as a Fine Art, you know.
Dont like the subject. Lets change it. Talk about the ladies, or something pleasant, you know. Eh?
Or Shakespeare and the musical glasses, said Pollard.
No musical glasses, nowadays, bewailed Gleason. No more clink the canakin, clink. Its drink to me only with thine eyes. Hence, the preponderance of women and song in our lives, since the third of the trio is gone.
Gleason was the sort of Westerner usually described as breezy. He was on intimate terms with everybody, whether everybody reciprocated or not. Not a large man, not a young man, he possessed a restless vitality, a wiry energy that gave him an effect of youth. About forty, he was nearer the age of Doctor Davenport than the others, who were all in their earliest thirties.
Nobody liked Gleason much, yet no one really disliked him. He was a bit forward, a little intrusive, but it was clear to be seen that those mannerisms were due to ignorance and not to any intent to be objectionable. He was put up at the Club by a friend, and had never really overstepped his privileges, though it was observable that his ways were not club ways.
Yep, the Ladies God bless em! he went on. What could be a better subject for gentlemens discussion? No personalities, of course; that goes without saying.
Then why say it? murmured Pollard, without looking at the speaker.
Thats so! Why, indeed? was the genial response. Now, you know, out in Seattle, where I hail from, theres more oh, what do you call it, sociability like, among men. I go into a club there and everybody sings out something gay; I come in here, and you all shut up like clams.
You objected to the subject we were discussing, began Monroe, indignantly, but Barry interrupted, with a wave of his hand, The effete East, my dear Gleason. Doubtless youve heard that expression? Yes, you would. Well, its our renowned effeteness that prevents our falling on your neck more effusively.
Guying me? asked Gleason, with a quiet smile. You see, boys, before I went to Seattle, I was born in New England. I can take a little chaff.
Youre going to tell us of your ancestry? said Pollard, and though his words were polite his tone held a trace of sarcastic intent.
Gleason turned a sudden look on him.
I might, if you really want me to, he said, slowly. I might give you the story of my life from my infancy, spent in Coggs Hollow, New Hampshire, to the present day, when I may call myself one of the leading citizens of Seattle, Wash.
What or whom do you lead? asked Pollard, and again the only trace of unpleasantness was a slight inflection in his really fine voice.
I lead the procession, and Gleason smiled, as one who positively refuses to take offense whether meant or not. But, I can tell you I dont lead it here in New York! Your pace is rather swift for me! Im having a good time and all that, but soon, its me for the wildness and woolliness of the good old West again! Why, looky here, Im living in a hole in the wall yes, sir, a hole in the wall!
I like that! laughed Doctor Davenport. Why, man, youre in that apartment of McIlvaines one of the best put-ups in town.
Yes, so Mac said, Gleason exploded. Why, out home, wed call that a coop. But what could I do? This old town of yours, spilling over full, couldnt fix me out at any hotel, so when my friend offered his palatial home, I took it and
Youd be surprised at the result! Barry broke in. Thats because youre a Western millionaire, Mr Gleason. Now we poor, struggling young artists think that apartment youre in, one of the finest diggings around Washington Square.
But, man, theres no service! Gleason went on, complainingly. Not even a hall porter! Nobody to announce a caller!
Well, you have that more efficient service, the
Yes! the contraption that lets a caller push a button and have the door open in his face!
Isnt that just what he wants? said Barry, laughing outright at Gleasons disgusted look. Then, you see, Friend Caller walks upstairs, and there you are!
Yes, walks upstairs. Not even an elevator!
But your friends dont need one, expostulated Davenport. Youre only one flight up. You dont seem to realize how lucky you are to get that place, in these days of housing problems!
Oh, well, tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but it will serve, said Gleason, with one of his sudden, pleasant smiles.
I see your point, though, Mr Gleason, said Dean Monroe. And if I were a plutocrat from Seattle, sojourning in this busy mart, I confess I, too, should like a little more of the dazzling light in my halls than you get down there. I know the place, used to go there to see McIlvaine. And while its a decent size, and jolly well furnished, I can see how youd prefer more gilt on your ginger bread.
I do, and Id have it, too, if I were staying here much longer. But Im going to settle up things soon now, and go back to home, sweet home.
How did you, a New Englander, chance to make Seattle your home? asked Monroe, always of a curious bent.
Had a chance to go out there and get rich. You see, Coggs Hollow, as one might gather from its name, was a small hamlet. I lived there till I was twenty-five, then, getting a chance to go West and blow up with the country, I did. Glad of it, too. Now, Im going back there, and I hope to take with me a specimen of your fair feminine. Yes, sir, I hope and expect to take along, under my wing, one of these little moppy-haired, brief-skirted lassies, that will grace my Seattle home something fine!
Does she know it yet? drawled Barry and Gleason stared at him.
She isnt quite sure of it, but I am! he returned with a comical air of determination.
You know her pretty well, then, chaffed Barry.
You bet I do! I ought to. Shes my sisters stepdaughter.
Phyllis Lindsay! cried Barry, involuntarily speaking the name.
The same, said Gleason, smiling; and as Im due there for dinner, Ill be toddling now to make myself fine for the event.