Free Halfway House by Ellery Queen Page B

girl’s face, and then at her left hand. She had slipped the setting off her finger.
    “If you mean,” said Finch icily, “that any of us could have stolen off, driven out here, and stabbed Joe Gimball to death, I suppose you would be hypothetically correct. But if you’ve quite finished with this nonsense, I have something to say—”
    “A good alibi never hurt anybody, see?” drawled De Jong. “Where’s this boy-friend of yours, Miss Gimball? This Jones.”
    “We weren’t sure that it was Joe who’d been…” Andrea caught herself up; she avoided Bill’s gaze. “Well, I—I didn’t tell Burke. Grandfather spoke to Mother on the telephone when he had located us, and we didn’t believe it. But he was so insistent we felt we had to come and see. I didn’t want to involve Burke in a—in a…”
    “I get it, I get it,” said De Jong. “Might spoil the match. Boy-friend jilts gal. Bad stuff for the papers. Nuts! Now, Mr. Finch, you’ve been steaming to get something off your chest. Go to it.”
    “Under ordinary circumstances,” replied Finch in a stiff tone, “I should dislike even to bring the matter up. But we have our position to defend as well. This middle-class antagonism toward wealth, De Jong, can be damned annoying at times. Yes, I’ve something to reveal; and I’m afraid it’s going to prove unpleasant.”
    Ellery stirred. “May I suggest you come to the point?”
    “I suppose you do not know who I am. It wouldn’t matter ordinarily, and I shouldn’t bring it up; but it happens to be relevant to what I have to say. I am Executive Vice-President of the National Life Insurance Company, you see.”
    “Yeah?” said De Jong; he did not seem impressed, although the National was one of the largest life-insurance companies in the world.
    “In the course of my connection with the company,” continued Finch gently, “I’ve had occasion to insure many of my friends. Not as a broker, you understand—we’ve progressed since those days.” He smiled a little. “Purely as an accommodation. My friends call me the highest-paid insurance broker in the world. Ha, ha!”
    “Ha, ha,” said De Jong sourly. “So?”
    “Among the small number whose policies I have handled personally was Gimball. We’ve often jested about it. Rather remarkable policy. He came to me in ’30 and asked me to insure him for a million dollars.”
    “A what ?” gasped the policeman.
    “A million dollars. It isn’t the largest policy I’ve seen drawn, by any means, although it’s the only one I’ve ever heard of issued to a man so young. You see, in 1930 Gimball was only thirty-three years old. The annual premium came to a mere twenty-seven thousand or so. At any rate, we managed it for him; he was in perfect health; and the policy was issued as of that year.”
    “All by the National?” murmured Ellery. “I’ve always thought some law or other forbids one insurance company assuming such a large risk.”
    “Quite true. The legal limit for a single company is three hundred thousand. In the case of a contract exceeding that amount the excess is underwritten by other companies; quite the usual procedure. The National took three hundred thousand, and we arranged matters so that seven other companies took up one hundred thousand each. The contract was handled as a unit, and Gimball paid his premiums through the National. Policy’s in excellent condition—no loans outstanding and the premiums are paid up to date.”
    “A million dollars,” said Bill dazedly. De Jong looked down at the still body in awe.
    “Just what,” asked Ellery in a patient tone, “is the point?”
    The tall man looked him in the eye. “I am an officer of the National,” he said dryly. “Every insurance company has occasion to question the death of some insured. We have here a case of out-and-out murder. A case of murder, moreover, in which the victim was carrying a million dollars’ worth of insurance. I presume you know the law. In