32 Caliber

CHAPTER SEVEN. I TURN DETECTIVE

Murdered! For a moment I was stupefied by the doctor's revelation, and then, as he went on to describe the course of the bullet, and certain technical aspects of the case, a sudden rush of thankfulness came over me. Let me explain! The coroner had given a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown. From the first moment I heard of the accident I was certain there was something sinister about it, but had little on which to base my belief. The coroner's verdict substantiated my suspicions and gave me a chance to work in the open; to bring into court, if possible, the people I suspected.

Murder by person or persons unknown? I knew the persons: Zalnitch, Metzger, Schreiber. They must have recognized the car as it came toward them and taken a shot as they went by. My thoughts were recalled from their wanderings by an unexpected sentence of the coroner's. I had been following him vaguely, but now my attention was riveted.

“One could not be sure, because of the varied course that bullets take through the body, but the shot seems to have been fired from above and behind. Unless it were otherwise proved, I'd strongly suspect that the murderer had fired the shot from the back seat of the car.”

“Of course that is impossible,” I said, “because in that case the murderer would have been in the accident.”

“I had the same idea,” he said slowly, giving me a searching look.

Helen!

I felt suddenly sick and faint. I wanted air, sunlight; to get away from that darkened room and those piercing eyes that seemed to read my thoughts. I thanked him for letting me know what he had discovered, and hurriedly excused myself.

Helen! The blood pounded through my temples.

God! No!

Wilful, spoiled woman, if you will, ready to leave her husband without thought of the consequences, to go with another man; but his premeditated murderer? A thousand times, no!

I felt that with the unworthy suspicion in my mind, I could not face Mary, and I waited a moment at the bottom of the stairs before going up to meet her. There were two questions that had to be answered. Was Helen in the back seat when the car left Mary's the evening before; and had Jim told Helen about the proofs he had of Woods' irregularities? Mary was probably there when Helen and Jim left, and could answer both questions.

I wiped the perspiration from my forehead and assuming as calm an air as possible, went up-stairs. Mary was chatting with the little interne, but as soon as she saw my face, she hurried toward me.

“You look as though you'd seen a ghost. What was it, Bupps?”

“Not here!” I cautioned. “Wait until we get outside!”

We walked down the broad sunlit steps and climbed into the car. I felt like a traitor to let Mary even think that I suspected Helen, but my questions had to be answered.

“Will you have luncheon with me, Mary?”

“Certainly,” she answered. “Let's go to Luigi's. We can talk quietly there.”

I headed for down-town and kept my eyes on the road, dreading to put my questions into words.

“What was it, Bupps?” Mary asked.

I decided to ask what I had to ask before telling her the coroner's verdict.

“Did you see Helen leave the house with Jim yesterday?”

“Yes. I was looking out the window when they started. Why?”

I could hardly force myself to go on.

“Was Helen—did Helen get into the front seat with Jim?” I faltered.

“No. She climbed into the back,” Mary replied. “They had some sort of an argument before they left. I knew Jim was excited and that Helen was angry. Of course I didn't hear all that passed between them, I tried not to hear any, but they talked very loud and were right in the next room.”

“What did you hear?” I asked, my heart sinking.

“Once Jim laughed, a hard sort of laugh, and I heard Helen say, 'You lie! You know you are lying! He will disprove everything you say!' Another time I heard Helen exclaim, 'Give me that pistol! You shan't threaten him while I'm there!' I knew, of course, they were speaking of Frank Woods, but I didn't know what it was all about. But why do you ask all this, Bupps?”

“Mary,” I said, and I couldn't look at her, “the coroner has given a verdict of murder.”

“Murder?” Mary gasped. I nodded.

“Jim was shot from behind, while he was driving Helen out to the country-club to meet Woods, and Helen was in the back seat.”

“She didn't do it!” Mary burst out. “She couldn't have done it.”

“Of course she didn't do it!” I exploded. We were glaring at each other as though each was defending Helen from the other's accusation. “We know she didn't do it, but there are many who won't take our word for it. I could see by the way the coroner looked at me this morning that he is ready to accuse her of murdering Jim, and it's up to us to save her, by finding out who really is guilty.”

We drove up in front of Luigi's, and I was able to get a small table, in the corner by ourselves. Although no one could have overheard us, I sat as near Mary as I could and we talked with our heads close together.

Mrs. Webster Pratt came in the door just then, with a luncheon party, and, noticing how we were engrossed, came bouncing over to the table at once.

“Poor Mr. Thompson, my heart bleeds for you—simply bleeds for you.”

I got to my feet and permitted her to squeeze my hand. She squeezes your hand or pats you at the least opportunity, and this one was unequaled.

“Poor, dear Mr. Felderson. It is such a loss. I was shocked to death when I heard it. And Mrs. Felderson, the poor child, is she going to—ah—t-t-t. I was afraid so when I read it in the paper. I'm surprised to find you here. How is your poor dear mother?”

I knew that the woman would gossip all over the place about my heartlessness, unless I explained my presence in a public café so soon after Jim's death and my sister's injury.

“My mother doesn't know about it yet,” I said quietly. “I didn't think her strong enough to stand the shock. I shouldn't have come here, but I had a very important matter to talk over with Miss Pendleton.”

“I could see that from the way you were sitting,” she giggled. “I'm afraid that you're going to give Eastbrook something to talk about as soon as this distressing thing is over.” She patted my arm, beamed at Mary and swished over to her party.

“We shouldn't have come here, Mary,” I said with a sour grimace.

“I forgot that old cat sometimes comes here. She'll spread it all over town that you were down here making love to me before Jim was decently buried. She'll probably say we're engaged.”

“Well, I wish we were.” I know I must have shown my longing in my eyes.

“Don't, please, Warren!” Mary whispered, putting her hand on my arm. “We've got too much to do. That Pratt woman drove everything out of my mind for a moment. I wish she hadn't seen us here.”

I didn't feel as though I could eat a thing and neither did Mary, so I told the waiter to bring us a light salad, and sent him away.

“Mary,” I said, after he had gone, “we know Helen didn't do this thing, but if you are called by the grand jury to tell what you just told me, they will bring an indictment against her in a minute.”

“They couldn't!” Mary expostulated. “They couldn't believe such a thing.”

“Don't you think Mrs. Webster Pratt would believe it, if she knew everything that we know?” I argued. “She'd believe it with only half as much proof, and she has just about the mental equipment of the average juryman. There'll be about four Mrs. Webster Pratts on that jury.”

“What can we do, Bupps?” Mary begged with tears in her eyes.

“Well,” I said, “you've got to see Helen as soon as they will let you and as often as they'll let you, so that the first time she speaks, you'll be there to hear what she says.”

“But suppose she dies, Bupps?”

“Even while she is unconscious,” I went on, disregarding her query, “she may say something that will give us a clue. I'm going out to the bridge right after lunch.”

“What for?” Mary asked.

“To see if I can find Jim's revolver. If it had been found on Helen, the coroner would have told me this morning, I think. Of course, they may not have taken it at all. In that case it will still be at your house. If Helen took it with her, it must have fallen out when the car turned over, and if it did, I must get it before anybody else does.”

The waiter interrupted here with the salad. Mary dabbled with hers a bit and then said:

“Bupps, hadn't I better get out of town?”

“No,” I replied. “They'd be sure to find you, and when you gave your testimony, it would hurt Helen just that much more.”

“But I can't stand up before them and tell what I heard. I'll lie first.” Her lovely little face clouded up as though she were going to cry.

“You'll do nothing of the kind!” I insisted. “We know Helen didn't do it. Don't we?”

“Ye-es.” Her tone was not convincing.

“Well, then, whatever we say can't hurt her. And we're bound to find out who the guilty persons are.”

“But, Bupps, who could it have been?” she asked anxiously.

“I still think it was Zalnitch and the men who were with him, but it might have been Woods. I'm going to find out everything he did last night. It may throw some light on the case. After all, he is the one who had the most to gain by Jim's death, and his words of last night were mighty queer.”

I paid the waiter and we left the café. On the way to Mary's I stopped at the undertaker's and made arrangements for Jim's burial. The man in charge was the saddest looking person I have ever seen. He had a woebegone look about him that was infectious—made you want to weep for him or with him. He discussed the funeral arrangements in a hushed voice and finished by whispering, “I sincerely hope what the papers are hinting is not so.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“The noon edition of The Sun says, 'The finger of suspicion points very strongly to Mrs. Felderson.'”

I hurried out to the car and jumped in.

“Mary, we've got to work fast.”

“Is Helen suspected?” she asked.

“Yes. The Sun is more than hinting.”

The news seemed to bring out the fight in Mary.

“Well, we'll prove her innocent.”

When we reached the Pendletons' we hurried into the house and went at once to the room where Jim and Helen had their argument. The revolver was not there.