The Crossword Murder Read Free Page B

person who’s been sending those dreadful letters. My little hunch was correct, after all … Well, well, well … What do you know about that? Daddy was right …” Automatically, his hand stroked the calfskin case, then withdrew with a display of excessive calm. “The payment was there,” he continued blithely. “I left it in the locker as always … and the key in its customary place.”
    â€œOh, the key was there all right. But no cash. You stiffed me, Thompson!” The name was spoken with an unmistakable sneer, although an undercurrent of sham bravado shaded the rest of the words.
    Briephs gauged the speaker’s unease, and his expression turned secretive and sly; he wasn’t cowed in the slightest. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he scolded. “Running me around like a perfect lunatic. I was frantic when those letters arrived …” All earlier apprehensions allayed, Briephs laughed again, then sipped languidly at his wine. “One piece of advice, though: never play word games with a master; I just might have a few tricks of my own—”
    â€œIt’s no joke, Tom-Boy … I’m deadly serious.”
    â€œAre you? Well, in the future perhaps you might consider consulting your O.E.D . a bit more rigorously … Most of those puzzles you sent were laughable.”
    Startled at Briephs’ apparent unconcern, the visitor returned to the previous demand. “The money, Tommy. Now!”
    â€œYou’re not getting another penny … In fact, I might consider asking you to repay what you’ve already pilfered from me … I recently happened upon some rather unsavory stories making the rounds down on Congress Street. Many of those ‘ladies’ are more than casual acquaintances, as we both know … They tell me you have a predilection for underripe flesh, and that you’re not too particular whether the child is a boy or a girl. I must say I was surprised … Impressed, but surprised … So there you are, my dear … Tit for tat, as they say …” Briephs’ eyes glowed; he downed the remaining swallow of wine. “Are you sure I can’t fix you a libation? This Puligny Montrachet is quite lovely—”
    â€œThat’s a lie, and you know it.”
    â€œAre you referring to my cellar or my reference to Congress Street?” When the visitor failed to respond, Thompson continued in the same commanding tone: “What a nasty, backbiting town this is! So, you’ve never heard of the Lily Club …?”
    A stony glance greeted this question, but the answer was determinedly nonchalant. “I want that money, Tommy-Boy.”
    Briephs chuckled. “This is fun!” Then he abruptly changed tack. “Listen, pumpkin, you’d better scurry away home if you don’t wish the details of your ‘love life’—or this pathetic blackmail business—made public.”
    The visitor seemed to mull over this information. “What do you mean?”
    â€œI’ve got my own form of life insurance right here.” Briephs calmly patted the attaché case. “Your name is revealed in my newest collection of puzzles. It’s a little game I’ve been playing with myself—trying to surmise your identity …”
    â€œThat’s a lie!”
    â€œAnother lie! You really do seem to be suffering from a persecution complex—”
    â€œI want that money …”
    â€œYou’re not getting it, dear friend. Now, I suggest you vacate the premises. You may not be the most enlightened of souls, but I do believe we can attain a modicum of civilized behavior. Besides, this little frisson should add some spice to our relationship, don’t you think …?”
    In answer, the intruder lunged for the attaché case and yanked out the loose-leaf notebook. The covers flew open, revealing several pages of quarter-inch