“Yes,” muttered the doctor. “We’ve got to find her.”
“Why not wait until you do?” said Terry Ring coolly. “You can keep quiet about it and then decide when you talk to her.”
“Terry’s right,” said Ellery. “Yes, that’s what we’ll do. I’ve already discussed it with my father. He’s redoubling his efforts to locate her.”
“Oh, I know he will!” cried Eva. “Daddy, aren’t you
happy
that she’s alive and –” She stopped. There was something rather awful in the big man’s face. Eva remembered his shy, grim confession that once, in his youth, he had loved the woman his brother had married.
But he sighed and said: “Well, we’ll see. We’ll see.”
Then Ritter bellowed from downstairs: “Mr. Queen! The Inspector’s on the wire!”
When Ellery came up from Karen Leith’s bedroom his face was grave.
“They’ve found her!” said Eva.
“No.” Ellery turned to the publisher. “Thank you, Mr. Buescher. That’s all, I think. You won’t forget your promises?”
“I’m not likely to.” Buescher wiped his face. “Doctor – I can’t tell you how sorry –”
“Good-bye, Mr. Buescher,” said Dr. MacClure steadily.
The publisher shook his hand and went away with compressed lips. When the sound of Ritter closing the sitting-room door after him came up the attic stairs Ellery said: “My father wants you folks to come down to Centre Street at once.”
“Headquarters again,” said Eva damply.
“I think we’d better go now, please. Dr. Scott, you needn’t come if you prefer not to. He didn’t mention you.”
“Well, I want to,” said Dr. Scott shortly. He flushed and took Eva by the elbow and steered her down the stairs.
“What is it?” whispered Dr. MacClure to Ellery quickly. “Is he – has anything –?”
“I don’t know, Doctor, he wouldn’t say.” Ellery scowled. “But I know my father, and he sounded triumphant. We’d better be prepared for the worst.”
The doctor nodded wordlessly and followed the young couple down the steep stairs.
“It’s the pay-off,” said Terry Ring out of the side of his mouth. “I know your old man, too. I wondered when he’d get around to those fingerprints.”
“It has to be more than fingerprints, Terry.”
“Did he want me, too?”
“No.”
Terry gripped his pearl-grey fore and aft and set it firmly on his head. “Then I’ll come.”
When the deskman showed them into Inspector Queen’s office at Police Headquarters, the old man was deep in conversation with Morel, the fat little lawyer.
“Oh, come in,” said the Inspector, rising; his bird’s eyes were bright. “I think you all know Mr. Morel – well, it doesn’t matter. Just a servant of the public – aren’t you Morel?”
“Ha, ha,” said Morel; he was perspiring copiously, and he seemed to find it difficult to meet the eyes of the MacClures. He bounced up and ran behind his chair, as if he felt the need for more than a spiritual prop.
“You, too?” growled the old man, spying Terry. “Just like a bad scent. I didn’t want you. Clear out.”
“I think you do want me,” said Terry.
“Oh,” said the Inspector grimly. “Well, sit down, all of you.”
“Goodness!” said Eva with a hysterical laugh. “This all sounds so dreadfully serious.”
“You, too, Dr. Scott, as long as you’re here. Although it may not be so pleasant for you.”
Scott said in a faltering voice: “May not –” He went pale, and after one sideways glance at Eva looked away.
The Inspector sat down. “Now why do you think I want you, Terry?”
“Because you were damned anxious to know yesterday what I knew.”
“That’s different,” said the old man instantly. “That’s a horse of a different color, my boy. Ready to talk, eh?” He pressed a button. “Now that’s a sensible lad. Now you’re the old Terry again. In the first place –”
“In the first place,” said Terry dryly, “I’m not talking till I find out what’s up your sleeve, you old robber.”
“Mmm. It’s a deal, is it?”
“Do I stay?”
“You stay … Mushie.” A man in uniform had come in. “Take it down.” The man seated himself at the side of the desk and opened a stenographer’s notebook. “Now then.” The old man rubbed his hands together and leaned back in his chair. “Miss MacClure, why did you murder Karen Leith?”
So here it is, thought Eva calmly. There it is. My big moment. She almost laughed aloud. He
had
found the fingerprints. And nobody could do anything about that – not Dr. MacClure, who sat like a chunk of granite; not Terry, who put his hands slowly into his pockets; not Dr. Scott, who bit his lips and then, as if remembering a lesson, took her hand; not Ellery Queen, who stood motionless at the window with his back turned as if he hadn’t even heard …
It was not going to be pleasant in prison, Eva thought. They gave you rough underwear and shapeless prison dresses and made you scrub floors … at least, that’s the way the movies had it, and their experts knew. She wondered how she could sit so calmly and think so calmly, with the thunder of collapse in her ears and the iron doors of the prison blotting out everything in her young and foolish and unlived life. It might even be worse. It might even be …
But that was one thing Eva could not bring herself to put into thought. She closed her eyes to fool the word. But the word kept sneaking back, forcing her to think it, and after that she felt a little sick and her legs trembled under the sheer silk as if she had run a mile without stopping.
“Just a moment,” said Ellery.
“No,” said Inspector Queen flatly.
“Yes. I don’t know what you have but – don’t be hasty. Take your time. Miss MacClure won’t run away. Take your time.”
“I’ve taken it,” said the Inspector, “all the time I’m going to. I’ve got my job to do.”
“Don’t you realize what a mistake will mean to Miss MacClure?”
“The gossip, the notoriety, the newspapers,” gasped Dr. Scott.
“She should have thought of that when she stabbed Karen Leith. Besides, I’m a policeman, not a judge. Keep out of this, all of you … Wait. Ellery, do you know anything that says Eva MacClure did not stab that woman?”
“Not yet. But I’ve caught a glimmer –”
The old man turned away. “Well, Miss MacClure?”
“I – I beg your pardon,” stammered Eva. “I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”
“Not listening!”
“For God’s sake!” shouted Dr. MacClure. “Can’t you see the child’s on the verge of collapse? Eva!” He bent over her, angry, bristling, his old self. “Hold on! Don’t lose your nerve, honey! Do you hear me?”
“Yes. Yes,” said Eva faintly. She tried to open her eyes, but it was the queerest thing – they wouldn’t open. Just as if they were stuck together.
“You damned old stinker!” roared Terry Ring. He sprang to the Inspector’s desk and glared. “Who the hell d’ye think you are, kicking that poor kid in the slats this way? Murder! She couldn’t murder a fly! Making the kid take the rap because your department’s too damned numb to nab the real killer! For two cents –”
“Hey,” said the old man quickly. “Don’t forget yourself, you big lunk. What is this, a gang-up? You seem to forget one thing, all of you. I don’t throw accusations of murder around. I’ve got evidence.” His eyes blazed. “As for you Terry, you’d better stop playing Miss MacClure’s game and start thinking about yourself. I might be able to slap an accessory charge on you!”
Terry quieted down; the wine color left his face. He went over to Eva’s chair and stood behind it. Morel, watching like a frightened porpoise, could scarcely stand still. He kept shifting his glance to the door.
“All right, dad. Let’s have it,” said Ellery. He had not moved from the window.
The Inspector took something which was carefully wrapped in cotton batting out of his top drawer. “This is the weapon that killed Karen Leith.” He glowered. “It has Eva MacClure’s fingerprints on the blade, bow, and shank.”
“My God,” said Dr. Scott hoarsely. Eva heard him as from a long distance off.
“The blade was wiped clean of blood, but you weren’t very careful afterwards, were you, Miss MacClure?” The old man was in front of her now, brandishing the half-scissors. Its encrusted stones glittered in the light.
“She can explain that,” said Terry. “She–”
“I’m talking to Miss MacClure. You needn’t answer, Miss MacClure. The police stenographer is ready to take down everything you may say. But it’s your right to say nothing, and my duty to warn you that if you do talk the State may use it against you.”
Eva opened her eyes. They came open easily, as if what he had said was a key to a door.
“Eva – honey. Don’t talk,” groaned Dr. MacClure.
“But it’s all so silly,” said Eva in a marvelling voice. “I went in there and saw Karen lying there and leaned on the desk and my hand touched that – that thing. Before I knew what I was doing I picked it up. Then I realized it must have killed her and I dropped it. It fell off into the basket.”
“I see,” said Inspector Queen, never taking his clever eyes off her. “So that’s your story. Was it wiped clean when you picked it up?” She stared. “Was there blood on it?”
“No, Inspector Queen.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this when I questioned you Monday afternoon?”
“I was afraid,” whispered Eva.
“Afraid of what?”
“I don’t know. Just afraid.”
“Afraid it would look bad for you?”
“I – Yes. I suppose so.”
“But why should you be afraid if you didn’t kill Karen Leith? You knew you were innocent, didn’t you?”
“Of course! I didn’t kill Karen! I didn’t!”
The Inspector surveyed her in silence. Then Eva’s eyes fell and filled with tears. It was supposed to be a sign of clear conscience and honesty to be able to look a person straight in the eye. But how could she, when that eye was so merciless, so hostile, so suspicious? Anyone with sensitivity would look away from something disagreeable, cruel …
“If that’s all you’ve got, pop,” said Terry Ring derisively, “you’d better go home and play your harmonica.”
Inspector Queen stalked back to his desk without replying. He opened the top drawer again, put down the half-scissors, and took out a manila envelope. Then he stalked back.
“In the grate of the fireplace in the sitting-room next to the scene of the crime,” he said, “we found this.” He took something out of the envelope. Eva forced herself to look, feeling nauseated. It was impossible. It couldn’t be. Fate couldn’t play such a mean trick. But it had. It had. There it was, the corner of her cambric handkerchief, just the corner, with the hypotenuse of the triangular scrap a wavy, charred edge, and her silk-stitched initials of white smeared hideously with Karen Leith’s blackish blood.
She heard Terry Ring suck in his breath behind her. There was one danger he hadn’t foreseen. That was the only job he’d given her to do, had thought she’d done, and that he saw she had bungled. She could almost feel his bitterness, the bite of his contempt, from behind.
“Is this your handkerchief, Miss MacClure?”
“Eva! Don’t answer, honey! Don’t say a word. He’s got no right!”
She’d run away before making sure the handkerchief was completely consumed. And, of course, the fire petered out. It would. It would.
“It bears the initials
EM
,” said the Inspector coldly, “and don’t delude yourself, Dr. MacClure, that it will be hard to prove this handkerchief belongs to your daughter. As a matter of fact –” But then he stopped, as if he felt he might say too much. “Another thing. This stain on the corner is human blood. Our chemists have established that. They have also established that it is blood of the type in Karen Leith’s body – a rather unusual type, just to make it easier for us and harder for you, Miss MacClure.”
“Eva. Shut up,” said Terry queerly. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“No!” Eva managed to get out of the chair. “This is stupid, stupid! Yes, it is my handkerchief, and it is stained with Karen’s blood, and I did try to burn it!”
“Ah,” said the Inspector. “Did you get that, Mushie?”
“My God,” said Dr. Scott again, in exactly the same way as before. He seemed incapable of saying anything else. Terry Ring glanced at Ellery, shrugged, and lit a cigaret.
“But it was only because I’d stooped over Karen in the oriel and – and got some blood from the floor on my hand, and wiped it with my handkerchief. It was like jelly.” Eva shuddered. “Don’t you see? Anyone would have done it. No one likes to – to get blood on his fingers. You wouldn’t, would you?” She began to sob. “And then I burned it. I burned it! I was afraid again, afraid!” She collapsed in the doctor’s arms.
“So that’s how it was,” said Inspector Queen.
“Listen, pop, Inspector.” Terry Ring caught the old man’s arm. “I’ll give it to you on the level. It was my idea. I told her to burn it.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“When I popped in there she told me what had happened. I made her burn the damned thing. So don’t think you can pin
that
on her. I’ll testify to that!”
“And why,” purred the Inspector, “did you advise Miss MacClure to burn the handkerchief, Mr. Ring? Were you afraid, too?”
“Because I knew what a dumb cop with a catcher’s mitt for a brain would think if he found it. That’s why!”
Morel coughed. “Inspector Queen, do you really need me? I have – ah – a client waiting …
“You stay where you are!” yelled the old man. Morel shrank back, clutching the chair harder. “Did you get down what this wisenheimer said, Mushie? Okay! Now, Miss MacClure, I’ll tell you what really happened!
“You stabbed Karen Leith with the half-scissors, you wiped the blood off the blade with your handkerchief, and then you tried to burn the handkerchief to destroy the evidence. We have two exhibits – evidence no lawyer could shake – to prove our theory. If our friend Mr. Ring wants to stick to his story that it was his suggestion to burn the handkerchief, we’ll hang an accessory charge around his neck.
“We have the Japanese woman’s testimony to prove that Karen Leith was alive when you were left alone in the sitting-room. We have your own statement, taken at the scene, that no one went through that sitting-room during the half-hour in which you claim you sat there. We have Karen Leith’s own letter to prove that she had no thought of murder or death in her mind when she sat down to write an ordinary business note to Morel – a letter which wasn’t started until
after
Kinumé gave her the stationery, which was just when you arrived. We’ll show that only the murder could have interrupted that letter. We have Terry Ring’s own statement of Monday that when he arrived he found you in the bedroom over the still-living body of Karen Leith with no one else there.” The old man spun about. “Well, Morel, you’re a lawyer. Is there a case?”