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Authors: Hugh Pentecost
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Charlie Sewall was planning. Charlie had to have an audience ready to laugh. Cloud was Charlie’s friend and he’s your friend. So I suspect you knew what Charlie was planning for tonight. Am I right?”
Some of the color had drained from Diana’s face, and she faced Chambrun, rigid, her hands curled into small fists.
“Yes, I knew,” she said.
“Oh, God!” Maxwell said, under his breath.
“You went along with it because you wanted your father hurt,” Chambrun said. “Which brings us back to this frame-up talk. I know what it’s about in part. You think your father had drugs and a gun planted in Barry Tennant’s apartment. Why?”
“He hates Barry,” Diana said.
“That’s not good enough,” Chambrun said. “Your father may hate Barry, but he’s a man of character, integrity, honor.”
“Then why were the police sent to pick up Barry?”
“Because he headed an activist group which had threatened your father over the Barstow riots. Other kids were checked out, weren’t they?”
“Yes,” Diana said, still rigid. “But I wasn’t sleeping with other kids.”
“Diana!” It was a whisper from Maxwell.
“Was your father with the police when they raided Tennant’s apartment?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t think he planted the gun personally—and the marijuana?”
“Nobody planted the pot,” Diana said. “Barry never denied that he had experimented with pot. He didn’t go for it, and he simply forgot to get rid of it. But the gun—”
“So your father corrupted the New York City police force?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s the best word I’ve heard for the police in months,” Chambrun said dryly. “So who did plant the gun?”
“The police took Stew Shaw along with them to identify Barry,” Diana said. “He was the college security chief then. He was then, and is now, Father’s boy.”
Chambrun’s narrowed black eyes turned on Maxwell. “What about that, Douglas?”
Maxwell spread his hands. “It simply isn’t true,” he said.
“You mean you never told Shaw to plant a gun on Barry Tennant?”
“Never.”
“But that doesn’t mean Shaw couldn’t have done it, thinking it would please you. He is your boy, as Diana put it.”
Maxwell moistened his lips. “I would bet my life that Stew never did such a thing.”
“Don’t be too free with your bets, Douglas. Your life is already at stake. Someone may be down the corridor now, waiting to take it. Where is Shaw?”
“He went back to the house to get some things I need,” Maxwell said. “It seemed safe enough, with your men and the police to protect me.”
“Can I go in to Mother now?” Diana asked. She hadn’t once looked at her father.
Chambrun shrugged and turned away. I watched Diana go. Maxwell returned to the bar. He was taking on quite a load himself, I thought.
Chambrun and I left the unhappy Maxwell family to themselves, with Miss Ruysdale somewhere in the background. We went down to Chambrun’s office on the second floor. He had been out of touch too long. He had to know what was going on in the private world of the Beaumont. He flipped the switch on the box communicator on his desk so that I could hear what was going on.
Lieutenant Hardy had just called 14B to reach him and was on the way up to the office now.
The Banquet Department reported that the last of the guests had left the Grand Ballroom and the cleaning crew was already on the job.
All quiet in the lobby. The reporters and the camera people had disappeared.
The pickets were still outside the hotel, chanting obscenities, aimed about evenly at Maxwell and the cops.
Business as usual in the Blue Lagoon, which is the hotel’s night club.
The telephone switchboard was swamped with calls of inquiry about Maxwell. Was he dead? Was he hurt?
Finally Chambrun switched off the box and leaned back in his chair. “I think I could do with a brandy, Mark,” he said. I went to the sideboard and brought him a brandy and a cup of
Some of the color had drained from Diana’s face, and she faced Chambrun, rigid, her hands curled into small fists.
“Yes, I knew,” she said.
“Oh, God!” Maxwell said, under his breath.
“You went along with it because you wanted your father hurt,” Chambrun said. “Which brings us back to this frame-up talk. I know what it’s about in part. You think your father had drugs and a gun planted in Barry Tennant’s apartment. Why?”
“He hates Barry,” Diana said.
“That’s not good enough,” Chambrun said. “Your father may hate Barry, but he’s a man of character, integrity, honor.”
“Then why were the police sent to pick up Barry?”
“Because he headed an activist group which had threatened your father over the Barstow riots. Other kids were checked out, weren’t they?”
“Yes,” Diana said, still rigid. “But I wasn’t sleeping with other kids.”
“Diana!” It was a whisper from Maxwell.
“Was your father with the police when they raided Tennant’s apartment?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t think he planted the gun personally—and the marijuana?”
“Nobody planted the pot,” Diana said. “Barry never denied that he had experimented with pot. He didn’t go for it, and he simply forgot to get rid of it. But the gun—”
“So your father corrupted the New York City police force?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s the best word I’ve heard for the police in months,” Chambrun said dryly. “So who did plant the gun?”
“The police took Stew Shaw along with them to identify Barry,” Diana said. “He was the college security chief then. He was then, and is now, Father’s boy.”
Chambrun’s narrowed black eyes turned on Maxwell. “What about that, Douglas?”
Maxwell spread his hands. “It simply isn’t true,” he said.
“You mean you never told Shaw to plant a gun on Barry Tennant?”
“Never.”
“But that doesn’t mean Shaw couldn’t have done it, thinking it would please you. He is your boy, as Diana put it.”
Maxwell moistened his lips. “I would bet my life that Stew never did such a thing.”
“Don’t be too free with your bets, Douglas. Your life is already at stake. Someone may be down the corridor now, waiting to take it. Where is Shaw?”
“He went back to the house to get some things I need,” Maxwell said. “It seemed safe enough, with your men and the police to protect me.”
“Can I go in to Mother now?” Diana asked. She hadn’t once looked at her father.
Chambrun shrugged and turned away. I watched Diana go. Maxwell returned to the bar. He was taking on quite a load himself, I thought.
Chambrun and I left the unhappy Maxwell family to themselves, with Miss Ruysdale somewhere in the background. We went down to Chambrun’s office on the second floor. He had been out of touch too long. He had to know what was going on in the private world of the Beaumont. He flipped the switch on the box communicator on his desk so that I could hear what was going on.
Lieutenant Hardy had just called 14B to reach him and was on the way up to the office now.
The Banquet Department reported that the last of the guests had left the Grand Ballroom and the cleaning crew was already on the job.
All quiet in the lobby. The reporters and the camera people had disappeared.
The pickets were still outside the hotel, chanting obscenities, aimed about evenly at Maxwell and the cops.
Business as usual in the Blue Lagoon, which is the hotel’s night club.
The telephone switchboard was swamped with calls of inquiry about Maxwell. Was he dead? Was he hurt?
Finally Chambrun switched off the box and leaned back in his chair. “I think I could do with a brandy, Mark,” he said. I went to the sideboard and brought him a brandy and a cup of
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