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Updated: June 19, 2025
"All right," I let the words go from the corner of my mouth at the lawyer, in the same hushed tones he'd used. "See how you like this next one," and finished, loud enough so all might hear, "And I charge you, Edward Clayte Bronson Vandeman with the murder of Thomas Gilbert." Disgrace was in the air; the country club had seen its vice president in handcuffs.
It gave Worth Gilbert complete ownership of a described sole-leather suitcase and its listed contents, and, as he had demanded, it bound him to nothing save the payment. Cummings said frankly that the transaction was illegal from end to end, and that any assurance as to the bank's ceasing to pursue Clayte would amount to compounding a felony.
The bank clerk was silent; this man talked to every one around him, tilted his hat over one eye, smoked cigars just as those men were doing that day in the lobby; acted like them, was one of them. In the Gold Nugget, Clayte was a very average Gold Nugget guest don't you see? Commonplace there, just as the other Clayte had been commonplace in a bank or an office." Her voice ceased.
"At the Gold Nugget whatever he called himself there Edward Clayte was ten years younger than he had seemed at the bank; he appeared to weigh a dozen pounds more; threw out his chest, walked with his head up, and therefore would have been estimated quite a bit taller. This personality was an opposite of the other. Bank clerk Clayte was demure, unobtrusive; this man wore loud patterns.
Rather glad of the luck that gave me an old acquaintance to deal with, I told him, described Clayte, Worth and Miss Wallace standing by listening; then asked if Kite had seen him pass through the hotel going out the previous day at some time around one o'clock, carrying a brown, sole leather suitcase.
For my part, our agency had been able to get hold of three women who had seen Clayte and remembered the event; Mrs. Griggsby; a stenographer at the bank; and the woman who sold newspapers at the St. Dunstan corner. Miss Wallace's suggestion had proven itself, for these three agreed with fair exactness, and the description run in the late editions of the city papers was less vague than the others.
After a bare glance, this sharp witted girl had hit on exactly what I'd thought of the Clayte description. "Is that all? May I go now, Worth?" she said, still with that dashed, disappointed look from one of us to the other.
We found her once more adjusting turban and veil before the mirror of Clayte's dresser. She faced around, and announced, smiling steadily across at me, "Your man Clayte left this room while Mrs. Griggsby was kneeling almost on its threshold left it by that window over there. He got to the roof by means of a rope and grappling hook.
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