The message was signed June Sud Napier.
Needless to say, the writer took the next plane leaving for Kansas City. Early that same evening he knocked on the door of Room 1376. It was opened by Mrs. Fels Napier, wearing a low-cut evening dress of pistachio green. She greeted the writer warmly and invited him to come in. Upon entering, the writer observed that there was a small sitting room, with a bedroom beyond.
Mrs. Napier asked the writer to be seated just as Fels Napier himself came out of the bedroom. He had changed tremendously. He was now wearing his hair in a crew cut and had on a pullover sweater and gray flannel slacks. He was smoking a pipe and carried a thick volume under his arm. He started to say something to his wife, then saw the writer. A look of pain came over his face.
"June!" he said, "you shouldn't have done this!"
"Fels, darling," she exclaimed, running up to him and putting an arm around his shoulder, "I had to do something. We can't go on like this. I thought if you could talk to somebody who knows baseball, it might help you—if you would just tell somebody what really happened at the Waldorf-Astoria that evening!"
Napier put the book on a table and took his wife in his arms. "All right, dear," he said, "I know you have my interest at heart." He turned to the writer. "Maybe," he said, "it would do me good to sort of purge myself of this thing."
"Maybe it would, Commissioner," the writer said.
Napier's hands flew to his ears. He shook his head. "No, no," he cried almost piteously, "I don't want to hear that word ever again."
"Sorry, sir," said the writer.
The Napiers sat down on the sofa. The writer waited for him to get hold of himself. Then the writer said, "I know everything up to the time Casey Stengel went into the ballroom to talk to you alone, sir."