The Black Hearts Murder by Ellery Queen

the girl getting the man to talk about himself. How can I resist?” And he told her not quite all about himself. She was astounded to learn that he had been a private detective, first working for a national agency, then in his own business before quitting to become Governor Holland’s man Friday.
    â€œMayor Potter said you were a lawyer.”
    â€œI passed my bar exams and found out that young law apprentices sit in cubbyholes preparing briefs or looking up stuff in bad-smelling law books. I can’t stand desk work.”
    The cocktail girl asked if they wanted more of the same. Laurel shook her head. “Two is my limit. On three I get stupid, and on four I get sick. But don’t let me stop you, Mike.”
    â€œI’m stopped,” McCall told the waitress. “You can tell the waiter to serve dinner, miss, whenever he’s ready.”
    During dinner McCall mentioned his unsuccessful attempts to reach Gerald Horton. “Do you think there’s a chance of talking him into using his influence to get that bail reduced, Laurel?”
    â€œI don’t know him that well,” Laurel said. “As councilman-at-large he’s naturally in and out of the mayor’s office, but he and Mayor Potter are hardly pals. I think they respect each other, but of course they’re political opponents, and their relationship is correct rather than cordial. Mr. Horton extends it to me, too. He’s never been more than polite.”
    McCall said gloomily, “Ben Cordes didn’t hold out much hope of Horton’s cooperating.”
    â€œThe little man who runs Mr. Horton’s radio station for him?”
    â€œYes. Horton’s campaign manager.”
    Laurel paused in the process of dipping a forkful of lobster into her butter. “He is?” She seemed surprised.
    â€œNot to mention writing Horton’s speeches.”
    â€œSo that’s why he’s at city hall so much! Some of us girls call him The Shadow because of the way he trots around after Mr. Horton. Will wonders never cease?”
    She obviously knew nothing about the Horton setup—or considered what she knew confidential—so McCall turned to other subjects.
    It was nearly eight-thirty when they reached the coffee. While Laurel was still sipping, McCall excused himself. The maître-d’ directed him to a phone booth, and he tried Gerald Horton’s number again.
    This time he was successful. A deep, pleasant, phony voice said, “Horton residence.”
    â€œMr. Gerald Horton?”
    â€œSpeaking.”
    â€œMy name is Mike McCall, Mr. Horton—”
    â€œOh, yes, I’ve been expecting to hear from you, Mr. McCall. I just finished talking to Ben Cordes.”
    â€œThen you know why I’m calling.”
    â€œBen and I discussed it at some length. I’m afraid my decision is what Ben told you it would be.”
    â€œThere’s a factor involved that I briefly mentioned but didn’t discuss with Mr. Cordes in depth,” McCall said. “It’s my considered opinion, Mr. Horton, that this sky-high bail will provoke racial trouble in the city. You can’t possibly want to risk that.”
    There was a silence. Then Horton said brusquely, “I don’t agree, Mr. McCall. A demonstration, maybe. But Banbury doesn’t have race riots.”
    McCall said just as brusquely, “I know, not since the 1920s. I read your Chamber of Commerce handout. Next year they may have to put out a revised edition.”
    â€œMr. McCall. Are you sure there isn’t a political motive behind this request of yours?”
    It was McCall’s turn to be silent. When he spoke it was tonelessly. “If you know anything about my relationship with Governor Holland, you know that my job is completely outside politics. The governor sent me down here for the sole purpose of heading off black-white violence, and I have made no secret of why I’m here. If politics is