Gentleman Called by Dorothy Salisbury Davis Page B

Mary Ryan had been in the District Attorney’s office since she finished business college.
    “Jasp, wait a minute. Mellody Friendship Club—is that it?”
    “That’s it.” He went back to her desk and stood rubbing the back of his neck. There was such a nagging familiarity to the name. “Do we have something on them?”
    “The murder of Ellie True,” Miss Ryan said.
    “My gosh, I knew that!” Tully cried, and allowed a slow great smile to crawl all over his face. It made his ugly visage a joy to see.
    Miss Ryan hated to spoil matters. “Wait till you get into it,” she said. “It’s not all that pretty.” She began getting out the files for him.
    Tully took them into his office, and when one of the men who had worked on the case came in, Miss Ryan sent him in to Tully. By then the latter had lost much of his enthusiasm, just as she had prophesied. Every member of the Mellody Club at the time, including Mrs. Sperling and George Allan Masters, had been checked out. Genuine, strong alibis.
    The investigator told Tully what he already knew: the last person they wanted to charge with murder was a clergyman. But the heat was on over the rackets, and Ellie True was a good name with which to attract the public attention. Also, one hell of a good case had been collected against Alfonzo Blake.
    “And you know something, Jasp? I still think we had the right man. That’s why the thing’s been quiet ever since. But what happened, just as Junior was about to nail things down for the prosecution…(‘Junior’ was the uncomplimentary nickname the old timers in the office gave to one of the assistant D.A.’s)…just at the critical minute, some damn fool millionaire philanthropist had to get in on the act.
    “No connection with the case whatever. Never heard of the Mellody Club in his life. Read in the papers that poor old Reverend Blake couldn’t compromise his holy office by naming a witness. So out he went and scoured the streets until he found the witness or a reasonable facsimile thereof. He pushed that poor slob Regan into court to swear he was confessing wife-beating to Blake down on Fourth Street at the very hour we said Blake was holding a pillow over Ellie’s face.
    “Well, Jasp, Junior couldn’t say soap for blowing bubbles, and to make things tougher he was up against Elmo Mumford, and you know what a killer that guy is when he smells blood.” He shook his hands, palms down, at the files. “It’s all in there, God help us.”
    “Any idea where Blake is now?” Tully asked.
    The other investigator shrugged. “We can put a line on him if you like.”
    “We better do that, and just for the hell of it, I’ll see if we can pick up Regan.”
    “That’s a long time ago for a man with his thirst, Jasp.”
    “Maybe I can buy him a drink.”
    “What about the millionaire—Adkins, I think his name was?”
    Jasper Tully massaged his chin. “He shouldn’t be hard to find if we have to.” He grinned. “I’d hate to have him pull the same sort of thing on me he did on you fellows.”
    Tully began his exploration of the files. He did not relish the prospect of tracking down all these people, members of the Mellody Club at the time. He wondered if any of them still belonged to it. He doubted it. One name had been crossed from the list before the alibi check had even begun: Edward T. Murdock, Grover Hotel, had left New York for Sando, Ohio, two days before the murder.

16
    T ULLY ATE A GOOD MEAL too fast, but he got to the Friendship Club just as most of its members were arriving for the evening. He suspected he looked right at home himself. All he needed do was give his hat a twist in his hand while he waited. He tried it. Sure enough, that got him a winsome smile from a great innocent lump of a woman. Tully sighed. The world was loaded with innocents, and none the better for it.
    He watched Mrs. Mellody amble her amiable way toward him. She treated all her visitors like children whether they were twice