by Jerry eBooks
“No!” wailed Nancy. “Oh, you can’t! I didn’t have anything to do with it! I didn’t, I tell you!”
The room swam about her and everything was suddenly very faint and hazy and terrible, like a nightmare from which one keeps waking, only to fall back again. She remembered Tilford trying to reassure her, and other voices and eyes staring at her.
Someone brought her coat and there was a ride in a car with streets and buildings and people going by like cardboard cutouts. She wanted Tilford, but he had disappeared. Vaguely she wondered about Hyde—why had he told such lies about her? And how could Lansing, who had always seemed to like her, write such wild and fantastic things about her?
SHE was sitting on a hard chair in a room whose outlines she could not see because a blinding light shone in her eyes and all beyond it was spangled haze. Inspector Blair’s face, like that of a ferocious rabbit, was thrust close to hers on one side, and another face, of a policeman in uniform, was close on the other side. And the questions hammered at her brutally while the light and heat of the big lamp dizzied and sickened her.
“Why did you kill him?”
“I didn’t—I don’t know anything about it!”
“He was afraid of you. You threatened to kill him!”
“I didn’t! I didn’t!”
Blair thrust the automatic pistol under her nose.
“Where’d you get this gun?”
“I never saw it in my life!”
Fingers pointing at her, fingers shaking menacingly under her nose.
“Why did you kill him?”
Fingers and hands. The noise and tumult seemed suddenly far away. Her mind was detached, floating. Hands. That was her business. She was a manicurist. Hands were important. You could tell a man’s character by his hands sometimes. And you could tell about his habits from his fingernails.
“Listen,” she said.
The voices stopped. “You’ve got something to say? You want to make a statement?” That was Blair.
“I’ve got something to tell you. When I met Mr. Hyde in the corridor this morning—yes, I know he denied it, but I did meet him—his carnation was wilted, mussed. It was too early for it to have wilted by itself. Maybe Mr. Lansing and he had a struggle—maybe if you examine Mr. Lansing’s coat you’ll find pollen. Or if you look under Mr. Lansing’s fingernails you may find traces of carnation petals—or fibers from Mr. Hyde’s coat.”
The light went off suddenly. As the glare died she saw Tilford and Hyde. The hotel manager looked at her with loathing. “She’s crazy,” he said. “A mad killer.”
“Check his fingernails,” Nancy said wildly. “See if you don’t find some gray fibers from Mr. Lansing’s coat!”
Hyde put his hands behind his back. A policeman stepped up and spoke in his ear.
Hyde’s face went pale and he brought his hands out in front of him, to hold them helplessly.
Tilford stepped in and took Nancy’s hand. “All right, Miss Horton,” he said. “You’re brilliant and I think you’ve given us all we need. I’ve been doing some checking and I found that Lansing had drawn fifty thousand dollars in cash for a business deal he was going to put through today.”
Blair was instantly on the scent. “You mean Hyde found out about it?”
“Hyde found out about it,” Tilford said. “He went to Lansing’s suite to get that money and killed him when Lansing resisted. Are you checking his nails, Inspector?”
“We are,” Blair said grimly. “But what about that note? It shows Lansing was afraid of the girl.”
“Have you got that note?”
Blair handed it to the attorney.
“See this number eight at the top of the page?” Tilford asked. “Know what it means?”
“Of course!” Nancy cried. “He was writing a story!”
“Right. Everybody in the hotel knew that Lansing was trying to write. Hyde knew it but wouldn’t tell, naturally. This wasn’t a letter, Inspector, it was part of a story. And pretty corny stuff too, if you ask me.”
“It checks,” Nancy exclaimed excitedly. “That call for me came at just ten o’clock. It must have been Hyde who called, pretending he was Mr. Lansing. I got upstairs at ten fourteen and a half, by his watch and met him. He probably didn’t think I’d get up there so fast. What time did the medical examiner say Mr. Lansing had been killed?”
“About ten,” Blair said.
“There you are!” Nancy exclaimed. She felt light-headed and delirious.
“If the fingernail check shows up,” Blair began, looking menacingly at Hyde.
“It will!” Nancy said. “You can bet your last dollar it will. And where you are going for murder, Mr. Hyde, you can give my best to Dr. Jekyll!”
MURDER’S HANDYMAN
Woodrow Wilson Smith
When three of Paul Ogden’s relatives die—and he collects on their policies—Johnny Curtin decides to investigate!
THE man who opened the door was tall, with a high forehead, a straight nose and rather large mouth. He had mild gray eyes that twinkled.
“Well, well!” he said. “The corpse chaser.”
“Hello, Mr. Drake,” Johnny Curtin said. “Yes, I’m here again. If I chase corpses, it’s because this family certainly has enough of them. May I come in?”
Sidney Drake offered his hand. “Of course, Johnny. There has been another death and you do work for the insurance company. I’ve no hard feelings at all.”
“Thanks,” Johnny Curtin said. “It’s nice having at least one friend.” They walked into the living room and sat down. Johnny went on. “I know that Paul Ogden is here. Just as he was present when his aunt died in Boston. As he was present when his wife died in Cleveland. Now his half-brother Harry Masters, is dead—he’s present again. Can you blame me for being suspicious when all three deaths were of a violent nature?”
Drake laughed. “Matter of fact, I’ve been expecting you to come. But, like the other times, Johnny, you’re wrong. I admit it seems to stretch coincidence a bit—three violent deaths with Paul profiting as main beneficiary in two and the sole beneficiary in his wife’s death.”
Johnny put his brief case on the floor beside his chair. “I’ve already talked to the detectives who investigated. This time the victim was burned to death. Paul doesn’t grow monotonous, at any rate.”
Drake’s smile faded. “Johnny, you’re wrong again. Dead wrong. Paul didn’t kill his half-brother any more than he murdered his wife or his aunt. This family has had a lot of bad luck.”
“It will grow worse if I can manage it,” Johnny said. “The last two times I kept my suspicions to myself. This time I don’t have to, because the police have some doubts, too.”
“I don’t know how the police can doubt. And even if there is anything suspicious, Paul couldn’t possibly have done it. He was with me the whole evening. Masters had been dead an hour when we got home.”
Johnny Curtin tugged at his ear lobe, a habit that even annoyed himself. “Yes, I know all about it. You alibied him twice before. This is the third time and it looks as if you and Paul were in cahoots. Now wait—that was just voicing an opinion. The facts indicate something different. In the first place, you never profited a dime. Secondly, you have no particular love for Paul.”
“I am simply Paul’s cousin,” Drake said slowly. “Nothing he has would ever become mine. I possess no reason to lie for him and I should refuse to do so. Yet—I would not lie to get him in trouble either.”
JOHNNY sighed. “This gets worse and worse for me. The police have a much easier time because each death happened at a different city where it was quickly closed and listed as accidental. But me—well, your family likes my insurance company so much that every member has a very large policy with us and my boss thinks I’m slipping. It just doesn’t seem possible that death should strike three times, violently, at a limited group like this.”
“But it has, and may not even stop with this last one, Johnny. Let me tell you about it. Paul liked his half-bro
ther.”
“He liked his aunt too, but she died. He liked his wife and she also died. I’d say Paul’s one and only love is money. Go ahead.”
“You’re certainly on the warpath this time,” Drake observed dryly. “After Paul’s wife was killed in that auto accident, he came to New York to visit his halfbrother. Harry Masters was a nice fellow. Everyone liked him. Paul was his only relative and naturally Paul was the beneficiary. Masters had one bad habit. It was proved to the satisfaction of the police. He always lay down for a doze after dinner and invariably smoked a cigarette. Several times he darned near got burned up. This time he did.”
“And Paul was where?”
“Out with me. We’re a lonely family, Johnny. We don’t have much to do with other people and usually go out together. Paul and I went to a tavern where we had dinner and sat around drinking. At eight we started a game of chess. At ten we arrived home to find that Masters was dead. Burned very badly. His cigarette had set fire to an old comforter which he’d thrown over himself as he napped.
“Paul was with you every moment at the tavern? He didn’t leave at all?”
Drake shrugged. “Only to go out and bring some beer now and then. We were in a private room at the rear of the bar, because we wanted a reasonable amount of quiet for our chess game. At no time was Paul gone more than three minutes and it would have taken him fifteen to reach this house and another fifteen to get back to the tavern.”
“Well, that does it,” Johnny said. “I wonder how come every time Paul needed your alibi, both of you were in some tavern or cafe?”
Drake laughed. “Because we like those kind of places. You spend a cheap evening there. I can’t afford to do much more than that and Paul doesn’t want to. Do you wish me to call him? He’s upstairs.”
“You might as well.” Johnny reached for the brief case. “Only this time he’s going to get a surprise he won’t like.”
Drake left the room. Johnny closed his eyes and thought back. Two and a half years ago, Paul Ogden’s aunt had mistakenly picked up the wrong medicine bottle and swallowed a poisonous pill instead of a medicine she was supposed to take. That had been in Boston.
There’d been a slight amount of suspicion. Not so far as the police were concerned, but the aunt’s insurance policy had been substantial and Paul Ogden was the biggest beneficiary.
The aunt had taken the pill at ten o’clock. At that hour and for ninety minutes afterwards, Paul Ogden and Sidney Drake had been at a cafe more than two miles from the house. Johnny, as chief investigator for the Royal National Life, had been assigned to make a routine check. There wasn’t anything to indicate murder so he approved the claim.
Then, not quite a year later, Paul Ogden’s wife had gone over an embankment in her coupe and been instantly killed. Again Johnny had investigated because of the size of the policy. Again he learned that Paul and Sid Drake had been miles away, playing cribbage for drinks in a tavern. Johnny authorized payment of the claim because there was nothing else to do.
Now death had struck again with Paul Ogden close by and profiting handsomely from this new victim. Johnny hadn’t liked the second episode. With this third one, he made up his mind to investigate completely.
Paul Ogden entered the room with outstretched hand. He was a thirty-year-old man with dark hair and eyes. A rather sallow complexion and a jaunty, restless way about him. There was no animosity in his attitude.
“I’ve expected you, Mr. Curtin. You’re about three days late.”
Johnny shook hands. “I was very busy sending a murderer to the electric chair. The police didn’t suspect him but I did and got the necessary evidence. Sorry if I disappointed you.”
PAUL sat down slowly. “I like to get these things over with. You know what happened of course. You always did go to the police first. You likewise are aware that, as before, Sid is my alibi. But I’m getting scared. Do you want to know why?”
“I’d be more than casually interested.” Johnny eyed the man closely.
“I think I’m jinxed. Why should three of my relatives—loved ones—die by violence in such a short space of time? After my wife was killed, I began thinking. I realized how fortunate I’d been in having someone to take my side and swear that I could not possibly have been involved. So, since my wife was killed, I’ve stuck close to Sid. I’ve been afraid to go anywhere without him.”
Johnny passed that off with a grunt. “I’m not approving the claim just yet, Mr. Ogden,” he said. “I intend to investigate it thoroughly. The first death, if it was murder, was cleverly handled. You knew your aunt always took a pill from a certain bottle and you could have switched so she got the poison. But to do so, you would have had to be at the house and switched the poison pills back into their regular bottle.”
“And I couldn’t have done so and been at Sid’s side every moment,” Paul commented.
“Your point,” Johnny admitted. “Then your wife went over that cliff. Yet she was a careful driver at all times and there was plenty of evidence that the car was out of control. Mechanically it was sound as a nut. Your wife was thrown clear at the moment the car started turning over. We couldn’t tell whether she’d been behind the wheel or seated beside a driver who was bent on murdering her, and who had jumped in time to save his own skin.”
“But when the accident happened I was far away—With Sid again,” Paul said. “I guess I win the second point too. And would you mind telling me why payment of the claim was held up so long?”
“I’ll tell you. At the autopsy it was discovered your wife had suffered a severe blow on top of the head. Just one blow without any scratches or multiple bruises, though the rest of her body was badly mangled. We thought maybe she’d been struck on the head and rendered unconscious before she was sent over the cliff.”
Ogden closed his eyes and shuddered. “You make it sound so blood-thirsty. She was my wife, you know. Now we come to the death of my half-brother. How long will you hold up paying his insurance?”
“Until I am perfectly satisfied he was not murdered. Which I am not as of now.
There was one peculiar thing about that fire. Your half-brother was known to smoke in bed and be quite careless with cigarettes. But in cases of death due to such carelessness, the flames are usually confined to the area close to the victim’s head.”
“I didn’t look very hard,” Ogden confessed. “It was rather ghastly.”
“Your half-brother died of inhaling flames. Only the lower part of his body had been badly burned. The fire started near the foot of the bed. Yet, he was still holding a part of the cigarette between his fingers when they found him. How did the foot of the bed catch fire then?”
Ogden’s forehead wrinkled deeply. “Mr. Curtin, I don’t blame you for being suspicious. In your place I’d be most careful before fifty thousand dollars was paid over. Take all the time you need.”
“Thanks,” Johnny said dryly and arose. “I’ll see you later.”
He left the house and drove his car to the Medical Examiner’s office. There he had a long talk with that official who proved doubtful about the manner of death but couldn’t help at all.
“I’ve closed my books on the case, listing it as accidental death. I talked to three people who told me how Masters often went to sleep smoking a cigarette. In fact, he’d done so not three days before he died. Felix Sinclair told me that. He’s an uncle or something.”
“That’s odd,” Johnny said. “Nobody mentioned this uncle to me when I was there. Where did he happen to be when Masters was killed?”
“Out of town on some deal or other. He’s quite wealthy, I understand. And very close to Paul Ogden. Drake is associated with him in business.”
“Hmm,” Johnny mused. “I wonder if our company, or any company, carries an insurance policy on him. With Ogden as the beneficiary. I’d better find out.”
THE Medical Examiner laughed.
“You’ve certainly got Paul Ogden down as a killer.”
“I know,” Johnn
y said. “But when you authorize the payment of two fifty-thousand-dollar policies and another thirty-thousand-dollar policy with one man as the beneficiary, you naturally get suspicious.”
Johnny phoned his company offices, but there was no record of a policy on Sinclair. He tried the Insurance Bureau where all policies of all companies are filed. Sinclair had a sixty-thousand-dollar policy on his life, and Paul Ogden was the sole beneficiary. At that moment Johnny wouldn’t have given more than two cents for Sinclair’s life. He got into contact with officers of the issuing company, gave them details and was promptly retained to look into the matter.
Johnny went back to Ogden’s home. Drake met him at the door and called Sinclair down at once. Sinclair was about sixty, a crabbed looking individual with shifty eyes and none too graceful a temper. Johnny took him into the study and closed the door.
“What I have to tell you is very important,” he said. “You know that Paul Ogden was paid large sums of money as beneficiary of two insurance policies and may get a third. Now I find that he is the beneficiary of a policy on your life. He got away with it, thoroughly, if he killed those other three people. I’m not saying he did as a direct accusation. There is no evidence and he is well alibied. But why take chances?”
“What do you mean?” Sinclair asked. “Switch beneficiaries?”
“Exactly. Ogden doesn’t need your money. He’s become rich from what he’s already collected. And if he is a killer, he will have no motive so far as you are concerned. It’s up to you.”
Sinclair thought it over for awhile. “Of course this same idea has occurred to me, but you put it rather bluntly,” he said. “I don’t believe Paul is a triple murderer, but, as you say, why take chances. Yes, I’ll arrange to take care of the matter tomorrow. And I’ll tell Paul what I have done, too.”
“I think you’re being smart,” Johnny said. “And to make certain you’ll be safe, I’ll try to keep Ogden’s alibi busy tonight. I mean Drake. There’s an experiment I want to try.”
Drake was quite willing to help Johnny pass the evening away. Ogden had no objection and didn’t even resent the fact that Sinclair was going to switch beneficiaries.