“How would you like to buy the originals of all the dirt on Bellmann.?” Kells began.
Woodward smiled faintly. “We’ve discussed that before Mister Kells,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s too late to do anything about it now — your Coast Guardian has published several of the pictures and the story...”
Kells said: “You can doctor the negatives and claim they’re forgeries — and I can give you additional information with which you can prove the whole thing was a conspiracy to blackmail Bellmann.”
Woodward pursed his lips. He glanced at Beery, said: “Don’t you think we might discuss this alone, Mister Kells?”
Kells shook his head shortly.
“In addition to all that,” he went on “—the pictures and the information — I can give you” — he paused, leaned forward slightly — “absolute proof that Lee Fenner shot Bellmann.”
Woodward’s eyes widened a little. He leaned back in his chair and wet his lips, stared at Kells as if he weren’t quite sure he had heard correctly.
“Lee Fenner killed Bellmann,” Kells repeated slowly. He took a crumpled piece of paper out of the breast pocket of his dressing gown, straightened it out and tossed it on Woodward’s lap.
Woodward picked it up and held it close to his face, put his hand up and adjusted his glasses. He put the paper back on the arm of Kells’ chair in a little while, cleared his throat, said: “Who is Beery, who witnessed Fenner’s signature with you?”
Kells inclined his head toward Beery, who was sitting at the table watching Borg’s solitaire.