The Second Murray Leinster Megapack (2 page)

There was a movement of interest in the small crowd packed into the one room. I had managed to get beside Jimmy Calton, and his face became extraordinarily mild and gentle. It hinted at some expectation of excitement, if I knew Jimmy. Every one had heard Harkness’s story before, so it was simply a recapitulation.

“I ain’t got a thing t’ say,” announced Harkness bluntly, “’cept that I seen Harry Temple come out o’ this here house ’bout three o’clock, jus’ after Abe Martin was shot.

“I was havin’ trouble with my sparkplugs down the road a ways, when I seen Harry. He come out o’ th’ kitchen door, looked all aroun’ as ef he was lookin’ t’ see ef anybody seen him, an’ then he went down to’d the stables. He went inside theah, then he come out o’ that an’ went over to th’ quarters an’ got a drink at th’ pump by th’ do’. I was wonderin’ what he was doin’, but it looks t’ me like he was makin’ sho’ theh wasn’t nobody aroun’ that could ’a’ tol’ that he’d been aroun’.

“An’ theh’s one mo’ thing. When he come out o’ th’ house—he come out th’ kitchen do’—he was puttin’ somethin’ in his breas’ pocket.”

I glanced at Jimmy Calton. He was looking at Harkness with a gentle, placid smile. His face did not change when Harry Temple stood up, pale beneath his tan.

“Eve’ything Harkness says is so,” said Harry Temple determinedly. “Eve’y single word, only I didn’t shoot ol’ Abe. I come out heah t’ see him ’bout sellin’ him some yearlin’s. He wasn’t heah, so I went in th’ kitchen t’ see ef I couldn’ leave word with th’ cook.

“Th’ cook was missin’, too, but I thought I heard somebody movin’ aroun’ somewhere, an’ I went jus’ where Harkness said, an’ jus’ in th’ order he said. He must’ve seen me first when I come out o’ the kitchen. When I couldn’t find nobody, I cranked up an’ lef.”

Harkness stood up.

“I hate t’ contradict Harry,” he said sharply, “but he’s made a mistake. He didn’ crank up an’ leave. He was drivin’ somebody else’s car, an’ it had a self-starter on it.”

Harry Temple flushed slightly. “That’s a fac’,” he acknowledged. “I’d forgotten that. I was drivin’ a’ car they lent me at th’ garage. I’d lef my own theah t’ have some repairs made.”

“Of co’se,” said Harkness sarcastically, “nobody suspec’s that you was drivin’ a strange car, with strange tires, so they couldn’t prove nothin’ on you by th’ tracks.” Jimmy put a question in a gentle voice.

“There’s another question,” he said softly. “What was Harry puttin’ in his pocket when Harkness saw him comin’ out o’ th’ house?”

“I don’t remember puttin’ anything in my pocket,” said Temple, beginning to be worried. “It was prob’ly my handkerchief.”

There was a moment’s silence. One or two of the men in the room stirred uneasily.

Jimmy Calton smiled sweetly to himself.

“Misteh Coroner,” he said slowly, “may I make an obs’vation or so? It looks like somebody ought t’ point out two or three fac’s.”

“Go ahead, Jimmy,” said the coroner. It seemed to be bothering him that so much seemed to point to the guilt of Harry Temple. Temple did seem to be quite a decent sort, and the coroner evidently hated to bring out so much to his discredit without anything to counteract the impression thus made.

Knowing Jimmy, he knew Jimmy would not interfere unless he thought things were going the wrong way, and that meant in this case that he had something to say in Temple’s favor.

“Misteh Coroner an’ gentlemen,” said Jimmy formally, “it don’t seem hardly fair t’ bring out all this heah evidence against a man without any evidence th’ other way. I want t’ point out two things about this heah case. Th’ first is that Harry Temple has got money in bank, an’ th’ second is that he never disputed a single thing Harkness said about him. You know, an’ I know, that a man with money in bank ain’t goin’ aroun’ doin’ highway robbery an’ murder. He cain’t affo’d to. You jus’ think about that a while.

“An’ heah’s somethin’ else t’ think about. Did you notice that Harry Temple said right off that he done jus’ what Harkness said? Now ef he’d shot ol’ Abe Martin, you know he’d’ve tried t’ make some o’ that stuff soun’ jus’ a little less incriminatin’. He’d’ve said he didn’t go in th’ house, jus’ to th’ door an’ knocked, and he’d’ve tried t’ weaken eve’ything Harkness said, jus’ that way.

“But he didn’t. He’s tellin’ th’ truth so hard he cain’t seem t’ see it’s puttin’ a rope aroun’ his neck, in spite of his bein’ jus’ as innocent as he says. As for his puttin’ somethin’ in his breas’-pocket, nobody puts money theah—an’ especially stolen money—but mos’ everybody puts theah handkerchief theah.”

“But—that ain’t evidence,” said the coroner disappointedly. “I tho’t you had some fac’s t’ give us.”

“I’ll give you one fac’,” Jimmy offered. “Harry Temple didn’ shoot Abe Martin. Looka heah, Harkness himself don’t believe he did. Do you?” he demanded, turning to that person.

Harkness sat stolidly in his chair.

“You heard what I said,” he grunted. “You heard what I seen him do.”

“Sho I did,” Jimmy admitted readily, “but you know he didn’ shoot Abe.”

Jimmy seemed to be making a fool of himself. I tugged at his sleeve for him to sit down, but he paid no attention.

“What do you mean?” demanded Harkness suspiciously.

“Nothin’ whatever,” said Jimmy with a gentleness I suddenly recognized as dangerous. “Nothin’ whatever, excep’ what I said. You know Harry Temple didn’ shoot Abe.”

“You mean t’ tell me I’m lyin’,” snapped Harkness angrily.

“No,” said Jimmy in a cooing drawl. “Nothin’ so harmless. I’m accusin’ you o’ somethin’ a damn sight mo’ dangerous than lyin’. I’m accusin’ you o’ tellin’ th’ truth—th’ exact truth.”

There was a puzzled pause. I noticed, however, that Harkness was watching Jimmy with a curious alertness.

“It’s always mo’ dangerous t’ tell th’ truth in a case like this, Harkness,” said Jimmy, still in that gentle drawl. “You tol’ th’ absolute truth about what you saw Harry do, an’ that’s th’ mos’ dangerous thing you could’ve told, because there ain’t but one man could’ve tol’ that.

“Misteh Coroner, ef you’ll look out o’ the window, you’ll see jus’ wheah Harry Temple walked down th’ kitchen steps, jus’ wheah he went back to th’ stables, jus’ wheah he went into th’ big barn, an’ jus’ wheah he got a drink. An’ then, ef you look, you’ll see wheah he stopped his car, so Harkness could see that it had a self-starter on it, instead of a crank.”

I saw a light break on the coroner’s face, as he looked from place to place in the yard behind the house. He faced about, just as Jimmy deliberately pulled a revolver out of his pocket.

“Harkness tol’ th’ truth,” said Jimmy softly. “He tol’ th’ absolute truth, but—theh ain’t but one place you can see all them things from. With all them barns outside, theh ain’t but one place that you c’n see th’ do’ of th’ stables, an’ th’ big barn an’ th’ pump by th’ quarters an’ th’ kitchen do’ all at once. An’ theh wasn’t but one man in th’ world who could’ve seen Harry Temple do all them things, because theh wasn’t but one man in that place.

“Th’ only place you c’n see all them places from is this heah room, an’ th’ only man in th’ house when Harry Temple did them things was th’ man who’d shot Abe Martin an’ hadn’t had time t’ get away when Harry Temple come drivin’ in!

“Harkness”—Jimmy’s voice was suddenly like steel—“ef you pull that gun on me I’ll blow a hole right th’ough th’ place yo’ brains ought t’ be!”

*

MURDER MADNESS

(Originally Published in 1930)

CHAPTER I

The engines of the
Almirante Gomez
were going dead slow. Away up beside her monster funnels her siren blew dismally,
Whoo-oo-oo-oo!
and was silent for the regulation period, and blew desolately again into the clinging gray mist that ringed her all about.

Her decks were wet and glistening. Droplets of water stood upon the deck-stanchions, and dripped from the outer edge of the roof above the promenade deck. A thin, swirling fog lay soggily upon the water and the big steamer went dead slow upon her course, sending dismal and depressing blasts from her horn from time to time. It was barely possible to see from one side of the ship to the other. It was surely impossible to see the bow from a point half astern.

Charley Bell went forward along the promenade deck. He passed Señor Ortiz, ex-Minister of the Interior of the Argentine Republic. Ortiz bowed to him punctiliously, but Bell had a sudden impression that the Argentine’s face was gray and ghastly. He checked himself and looked back. The little man was climbing the companion-ladder toward the wireless room.

Bell slipped on toward the bow. He did not want to give an impression of furtiveness, but the
Almirante Gomez
was twelve days out of New York and Bell was still entirely ignorant of why he was on board. He had been called into the office of his chief in the State Department and told curtly that his request for leave of absence had been granted. And Bell had not asked for a leave of absence. But at just that moment he saw a rubber band on the desk of his immediate superior, a fairly thick rubber band which had been tied into a certain intricate knot. And Bell had kept quiet. He went to his apartment, found his bags packed and tickets to Rio via the
Almirante Gomez
in an envelope on his dressing-table, and went out and caught a train to the ship.

And that was all he knew. The siren up above blared dolefully into the fog. It was damp, and soggy, and depressing. The other passengers were under cover, and the decks seemed to be deserted. From the saloon came the sound of music. Bell pulled the collar of his light topcoat about his throat and strolled on toward the bow.

He faced a row of steamer chairs. There was a figure curled up in one of them. Paula Canalejas, muffled up against the dampness and staring somberly out into the mist. Bell had met her in Washington and liked her a great deal, but he swore softly at sight of her in his way.

The afternoon before, he had seen a stoker on the
Almirante Gomez
pick up a bit of rope and absently tie knots in it while he exchanged Rabelasian humor with his fellows. He had not looked at Bell at all, but the knots he tied were the same that Bell had last seen tied in a rubber band on a desk in the State Department in Washington. And Bell knew a recognition signal when he saw one. The stoker would be off watch, just now, and by all the rules of reason he ought to be out there on the forecastle, waiting for Bell to turn up and receive instructions.

But Bell paused, lit a cigarette carefully, and strolled forward.

“Mr. Bell.”

He stopped and beamed fatuously at her. It would have been logical for him to fall in love with her, and it is always desirable to seem logical. He had striven painstakingly to give the impression that he had fallen in love with her—and then had striven even more painstakingly to keep from doing it.

“Hullo,” he said in bland surprise. “What are you doing out on deck?”

Brown eyes regarded him speculatively.

“Thinking,” she said succinctly. “About you, Mr. Bell.”

Bell beamed.

“Thinking,” he confided, “is usually a bad habit, especially in a girl. But if you must think, I approve of your choice of subjects. What were you thinking about me?”

The brown eyes regarded him still more speculatively.

“I was wondering—” said Paula, glancing to either side, “I was wondering if you happen to be—er—a member of the United States Secret Service.”

Bell laughed with entire naturalness.

“Good Lord, no!” he said amusedly. “I have a desk in the State Department building, and I read consular reports all day long and write letters bedeviling the consuls for not including unavailable statistics in their communications. That’s my work. I’m on leave now.”

She looked skeptical and, it may be, disappointed.

“You look as if you didn’t believe me,” said Bell, smiling. “I give you my word of honor I’m not a member of the United States Secret Service. Will that do to relieve your suspicions?”

“I believe you,” she said slowly, “but it does not relieve my mind. I shall think about other people. I have something important to tell a member of the United States Secret Service.”

Bell shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” he said amiably, “that I can’t oblige you by tipping one of them off. That’s what you wanted me to do, isn’t it?”

She nodded, and the gesture was very much like a dismissal. Bell frowned, hesitated, and went on. He was anxious to meet the stoker, but this.…

The siren droned dismally over his head. Fog lay deep about the ship. The washing of the waves and dripping of water on the decks was depressing. It seemed to be getting thicker. Four stanchions ahead, the mist was noticeable. He found that he could count five, six, seven.… The eighth was indefinite. But a bar materialized in the fog before him, and the grayness drew away before him and closed in behind. When he was at the forward end of the promenade, looking down upon the forecastle deck, he was isolated. He heard footsteps some distance overhead. The watch officer up on the bridge. Bell glanced up and saw him as an indistinct figure. He waited until the officer paced over to the opposite side of the bridge. The air throbbed and shook with the roaring of the siren.