The chief was looking at me with a calculating look and he was a bit more grim and hostile than I could see any excuse for being. When he spoke, I understood his expression. He said: “Let’s suppose it was Miles. He could have been working with someone else.”
“That’s so,” I admitted. “Who for example?”
“You might think about that.”
“I am thinking. Who are you driving at?”
“You.”
I said: “Well, it’s all right to think about me. It shows you have an open mind. I suppose you have it all figured out why I was working with Miles and particularly why I had hired a rough number like that to slug the stuffing out of me. Ask Miss Harper.”
“She told us about it. Very smart. Could have been a blind to throw us off.”
“And did I lie down in Miss Katie’s back yard and slap myself silly with a monkey wrench, or did I hire Miles to do that too?”
“Take your choice. It’s the same difference. We know you went to Miss Katie’s house about the time somebody sliced her and we know you were in the back yard and we don’t know anybody else that was there. We checked up on your trip down from Louisville in the chartered plane and we find you got to the city in time to have got down here for the Harper job too.”
“You seem to be doing all right by yourself. What about John McClure? I believe that was a couple of weeks before I came to Harpersville the first time.”
“That’s what you say. And that ain’t all. You say somebody shot out a tire on your car. I got to thinking just now. That’s what you say. Same for Mr. John McClure—a lot of talk. No evidence. You have a wreck and you got slugged a couple of times but always who says so? You. Nice cuts and bruises and lumps on you but I don’t notice you ever got hurt anything serious.”
I said: “Whose idea is all this? Don’t tell me you thought it up by yourself. I don’t think the sheriff thought it up either.”
The sheriff broke in and said: “Don’t change the subject. It don’t make any difference who thought about it. Let’s have some answers.”
A door opened and closed and there were footsteps in the hall. Then the dining-room door opened and a man with gray hair said in a low voice: “Miss Harper.”
Janet jerked her head up and looked at him. He said: “I’m sorry. Mrs. Harper just passed away. There was nothing I could do.”
Janet had evidently been expecting it. She stood up and looked around rather blankly and then nodded and sat down again and looked out of the window. Then she put her arm on the window sill and put her head down on her arm. There was no sound in the room except long shuddering sobs that were almost inaudible.
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The doctor went over and patted her clumsily. I wanted to do something of the sort myself but it would have to wait. I had other things on my mind. I turned to James Mead and said:
“The way you’re dressed, you didn’t jump out of bed and run out here on any hurry call.”
He flicked a bit of tobacco ash from his trousers and said blandly: “No, I didn’t for a fact. I spent practically all night going over and discussing the evidence with the Commonwealth Attorney in preparation for the Coroner’s inquest and the grand jury. Then there was all this fuss about you and Janet disappearing so naturally I came out to see if I could be of any assistance.”
“Then you were here before the heart attack.”
“Oh, yes, I had been here an hour and a half or two hours. There wasn’t much I could do but I conferred with the sheriff and the chief from time to time as news came in and advised with them as to the steps which should be taken.”
“You say from time to time. Then you weren’t with them continuously.”
“No, I was restless. I wandered around the house a time or two.”
“Did Mrs. Harper spend a quiet night?”
“I would say not. The nurse came out several times to insist on quiet so she could get some sleep.”
“You’ve been in this home quite a lot recently, haven’t you?”
“I should say so. Yes.”
“What happens when Mrs. Harper has a rough night?”
“I don’t understand you.”
“She’s had bad nights when you were here, hasn’t she?”
“Oh, yes. She has been having them quite frequently.”
“Well, what do they do for her?”
“I couldn’t answer that in any technical sort of way. They seem to have medicines that they give her, but I wouldn’t know what they are.”
“Something that she drinks in milk, for example?”
“Really, I wouldn’t know. Possibly so.”
“Recall anything like that?”
“Well, I would say yes. I think Janet and I were together one evening and Mrs. Harper wasn’t doing so well and the nurse got Janet to warm up some milk, presumably for some such purpose.”
I wondered why the law had let me ask so many questions without interrupting, but when I looked around I understood. They were obviously listening with considerable attention. Even the doctor was studying me with a little frown on his face and Janet had recovered enough to be looking a little astonished.
I turned back to Mead again and said:
“I believe you were in Harpersville the evening William Jasper Harper was shot.”
He stiffened perceptibly. There was less urbanity and his eyes opened a little wider. “Yes, it happens I was. Just why do you ask?”
I said: “The night somebody shot a tire off of my car, you knew I was coming.”
He stood up and glared at me and turned toward the others. “If you’re trying to infer that I was in position to do the ghastly things that have been done in the last few days, perhaps I was and perhaps I wasn’t. I can tell you most emphatically that I had nothing to do with them whether I was here, there or elsewhere and furthermore I have not held back any information from the authorities and it is fairly obvious that you have done exactly that. I think it’s fair to inquire by what authority you are entitled to divert attention from yourself by attempting to embarrass me?”
I looked at the chief and said: “Hell, I don’t care who asks the questions. Take over and ask them yourself.”
“You’re doing all right. It’s your party. Keep right on going.”
“Thanks. I believe I will. I believe I will ask Mr. Mead if he was not instructed to take certain action on an income tax matter for Harper Products Company and if he did not strongly advise a decision to the contrary. I would like to know if Mr. Harper did not overrule him in the matter and if he did not within a very short time place an order for the purchase of a good deal of the stock of the company. Instead of putting it that way, let’s just make the statement that these things happened and ask Mr. Mead just why they happened.”
Mead took an expensive cigar out of his pocket, turned it over impassively in his fingers, got out a penknife, cut the end off of the cigar, found a match, lit it and took a long draw. Then he looked up and said:
“Professional matters between myself and my clients are privileged as a matter of law. I don’t think it is proper for me to discuss or disclose confidential communications. I’m surprised that you have seen fit to do so, especially with regard to information which you have obtained in an unauthorized manner.”
There was a bristling silence.
“Mr. Harper was murdered. Katie Burns was murdered. I think John McClure was murdered. I think Mrs. Harper was murdered. Somebody tried to give me the old ashes to ashes and dust to dust at least once and possibly two or three times. I would rather be professionally improper than dead and I don’t propose to split hairs about it.”
“That’s your position. You’ve heard mine. Is there anything else?”
“Wait a minute,” said the sheriff, breaking in. “You said Mrs. Harper was murdered. What do you know that you aren’t telling?”
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“Ask the doctor.”
Every head turned. The doctor’s frown was a very big and dark one. He said:
“I’m afraid I fail to follow these conversations in any respect. I have just been with Mrs. Harper continuously since I came to this house. She—ah—I dislike repeating it in the presence of Miss Harper—but, well she is dead. No one entered the room while I was there and there was no evidence of any violence. She had a chronic heart ailment and this occasion was substantially the same as others when I have been summoned. I would say that she died of natural causes of long standing. The day and hour were not of course to be anticipated or predicted but I must say that it was no surprise to me. Of course it is a great shock in any event but I believe the family understood the situation and cannot be unduly surprised.”
I said: “In her condition, Doctor, it wouldn’t have taken a great deal to kill her, would it?”
“Less than in the case of a normal and vigorous person certainly.”
“Would you say she was not poisoned, or would you be able to say at all?”
He considered that for a moment. “Well, it would take a post-mortem examination to make a definite determination.”
“You knew she had heart trouble. She had had several spells before. When you were called you found a condition comparable to what you expected. You did everything you could in her extremity and no one is reflecting on your judgment. All I’m asking is this: Were the symptoms which you found in any way inconsistent with conditions that might be caused by some of the common poisons?”
“The idea is new. I didn’t consider it. Have you any reason to believe that such a thing happened or are you merely trying to demonstrate the possibility?”
“I’m not asking questions purely for the malicious purpose of trying to confuse things. Mrs. Harper was having a restless night. The nurse brought her some medicine in warm milk as I believe had been done on prior occasions. Shortly afterwards she became fatally ill. I believe the milk supply is kept in the refrigerator in the kitchen. To anyone who was familiar with the situation, it would have been simple to visit the kitchen and put something in the milk. Someone was seen to enter the kitchen not long before the nurse went there for the milk that she gave Mrs. Harper. It is entirely possible that this sequence of events has no sinister meaning, but in view of the high fatality list, I think it should be investigated.”
The chief of police was on his feet. “Who saw who going into the kitchen? This is another example of obstructing justice. I’ve had enough of it. You’re under arrest. How much more are you holding out on us?”
I jumped up and faced him. I was pretty mad and I didn’t much care what I said or how I said it. “You’ll play hell putting me under arrest, you half-witted baboon. I found out just before I came in here. Instead of giving me a chance to tell you anything, you start in on me to show what smart things you can think up. You can always put me under arrest if you haven’t anything better to do. Right now I think it would be a whole lot smarter to take into custody all the milk bottles in this house on the off-chance that my guesses are right and that whoever did it hasn’t had a chance to pour out the evidence.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” he roared hoarsely.
The sheriff said in a rather mild way, “Might not be a bad idea just in case.”
I said: “Fine, we’ll do it right now.”
Jolley said hastily: “He’s under suspicion himself and he’s pretty clever. Better not let him get out of your sight.”
“That’s OK,” said the sheriff, drawing his gun, “I’ll tag along and see that he doesn’t misbehave.”
I went out through the swinging door into the butler’s pantry and from there into the kitchen. There was only one bottle of milk in the refrigerator and it was unopened. I looked at the sheriff and he looked back at me. I think I had talked him into my theory pretty well and he was as surprised as I was. Apparently if any milk had been poisoned, it was another bottle that had already been removed and possibly washed and put out for the milk truck as innocent as any other bottle.
I took the risk of giving the sheriff a wink, not knowing just how he would take it. He didn’t understand, but he took it all right. I went over to the sink with the full bottle of milk, took out the cap, poured about half of it into the sink and then looked at him again. He was pretty dumb but he had sense enough to get the idea. I took out a handkerchief, held the bottle clumsily as if I was being careful not to smudge any fingerprints and preceded him back into the dining room. Then I went in with the bottle held conspicuously in front of me. I might have been a snake charmer and the assembled group would in that case have been some well-charmed snakes.
“Well,” I said, with as much evidence of satisfaction as I could muster, “at this point I won’t say I’m right, but at least we can say that we haven’t run into an inconsistency or a blind alley. I wonder if there is not someone who would very much like not to have this bottle examined for fingerprints.”
There was a sudden movement. Someone shouted: “Look out, Chief, he’s got a gun.” A shot rang out and in that enclosed space it sounded like a two thousand pound bomb. The milk bottle jumped in my hand and wasn’t there. There was another deafening roar and something caught me in the side with an impact like a kick from a very young and vigorous mule and I spun around and fell heavily on the floor.
I tried to get the revolver out of my belt with my right hand but it was so swollen and lacerated that there wasn’t any grip in it. I rolled under the table, got it out with my left hand, steadied my wrist for an instant against the table leg and aimed for the broadest spot I could see. I wasn’t taking any chances. This was for keeps.
There was another shot and a bullet tore through the table over my head. It takes a long time to tell it but the whole thing happened before either the sheriff or the chief could get his artillery into action. My two shots hit Hillman Jolley in the solar plexus and he was all through for the night. He clasped his hands together over his chest. The revolver that he had concealed in the sling slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. He sagged at the knees. His head fell forward on his chest and he went down like a sick bull.
Janet was screaming. There was a great running around and chairs were overturned and somebody kicked my wrist and sent my gun spinning half way across the room. The chief jumped on my back, got his knee on me and twisted my hands around behind me. Mead had got out of the room so fast I didn’t know how he ever got the door open. Only the sheriff seemed to be halfway coherent.
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The chief of police was a good deal heavier from underneath than he was on an eye-to-eye basis, and his knee had certain bony qualities which would recommend him to a button factory, if buttons are made out of bones. Since I was half under the table, he was not even squashing me in a good honest top-to-bottom way, but was operating from an angle that hinted at a diabolical turn of mind heretofore unsuspected. My right hand was either sprained or had a bone broken in it because when he twisted it he gave me one of the most excruciating sensations I ever hope to experience.
The sheriff picked up my gun and Jolley’s and said rather mildly: “OK, I think you can afford to let him up. My guess is the meal is over and it’s time to gather up the dishes.” The doctor got his bearings rather quickly and bent over Jolley who had a fixed stare in his eyes and was obviously in one hell of a shape. The doctor looked up after a moment and shook his head.
The sheriff said: “Any use trying to move him?”
“None at all. We can make him comfortable and I can try to stop the bleeding, but I don’t think he’ll last very long.”
He straightened Jolley on the floor, took off his coat, folded it and put it under his head. Then the doctor rolled up his sleeves, got the shirt unbuttoned and ripped the undershirt with a deft motion. He looked up at Janet and said: “A lot of clean cloth. Napkins will do if you haven’t anything else
. Hurry.”
Having something to do was probably the best thing that could happen to Janet. She looked like an obituary notice but she got up and went into the butler’s pantry in a purposeful way and I knew she would come through for the moment at least.
Jolley was conscious and in a vague way he was getting the drift of things. When he spoke, it was through his teeth and with a great effort. “Am I all washed up?” There was a bubbling in his chest and blood came to his lips.
“You keep still,” the doctor said rather sternly. “I’ll do what I can.”
The chief got off me and I drew enough air to fill a blimp. I could feel my face losing its purple, strangled appearance and coming back to within a few shades of normal. I felt my right hand gingerly and found that the fingers would still work, although not enough so that I would want to try to pick my teeth with them.
Anybody could tell by just looking at Jolley that in a few minutes he would not care what the chips were selling at or whether he would have any luck drawing three cards to a pair. I went over and knelt beside him. He recognized me but there was no hostility or bitterness in his eyes—only anguish and agony and a funny look as if maybe he was seeing something in another world and wondering how he would like it.
“You might just as well let us get the story,” I said, with a gentleness which rather surprised me. “The decks are awash and it is about time to abandon ship. There is one good thing you can do in this world and you have got to hang on until you have done it. Tim McClure’s in a jam and you’re the guy who can get him out of it. I’ll do the talking and all you do is nod if I’m right.”
Even the worst of us can find the last spark of decency when we are about to walk through the pearly—or otherwise—gates. There was no fight left in Hillman Jolley. His teeth were set tight and he was squeezing the blood out of his lips, but he heard me and gave a nod of assent.
I said: “The juggling of the inventory and cost accounts was your idea, wasn’t it?”
The Rat Began to Gnaw the Rope Page 22