He shrugged. “They opened the New York branch early in 1929, and for a few years Priam took care of it personally. But it was only to get it going and train a staff. He left it in charge of a man who’s still running it there, and came back here. Then Priam met and married Delia Collier Macgowan, and the next thing that happened to him was the paralysis. Hill did the transcontinental hopping for the firm after that.”
“Priam’s never had occasion to produce a birth certificate?”
“No, and in his condition there’s no likelihood he ever will. He’s never voted, for instance, and while he might be challenged to prove his American citizenship ― to force him to loosen up about his place of birth and so on ― I’m afraid that would take a long, long time. Too long for this merry-go-round.”
“The war―”
“Both Priam and Hill were over the military age limit when World War II conscription began. They never had to register. Search of the records on World War I failed to turn up their names.”
“You’re beginning to irritate me, Lieutenant. Didn’t Leander Hill carry any insurance?”
“None that antedated 1927, and in the photostats connected with what insurance he did take out after that date his place of birth appears as Chicago. I’ve had the Illinois records checked, and there’s none of a Leander Hill; it was a phony. Priam carries no insurance at all. The industrial insurance carried by the firm, of course, is no help.
“In other words, Mr. Queen,” said Lieutenant Keats, “there’s every indication that both men deliberately avoided leaving, or camouflaged, the trail to their lives preceding their appearance in L.A. It all adds up to one thing―”
“That there was no Leander Hill or Roger Priam in existence before 1927,” muttered Ellery. “Hill and Priam weren’t their real names.”
“That’s it.”