‘Any finger-prints on the gun?’ inquired Fordney.
‘Just those of the old lady,’ answered Kelley.
‘I have a key to the house,’ interrupted the nephew. ‘I went in yesterday, called to her, but she didn’t answer, so I thought she’d gone out.’
‘Did you go upstairs?’ asked the Professor.
‘Yes, I ran up there, calling her name, but came right down again and left immediately.’
‘Well, Kelley, of course it’s murder—as you probably know. I suppose you’ll hold this fellow?’
‘I certainly intend to,’ replied the Inspector.
How did Fordney know the old lady had been murdered?
‘Baklioff, in person, combined with “Grand Hotel,” had packed the Paramount,’ said the Professor. ‘Every seat was occupied and standing-room was at a premium. What an opening it was!’ he continued.
‘As the picture neared its end and the orchestra, under the magnificent leadership of Baklioff, reached the climax of Mascagni’s “Cavalleria Rusticana,” a shot rang out.
‘Inspector Kelley who accompanied me, was immediately on his feet bellowing, “Lights!” They were quickly turned on and the picture stopped. Warning everyone to keep his seat, we started for the back of the theater, when a man’s body slumped out of a seat and fell almost at our feet. A hurried examination disclosed he had been shot in the back of the head and that he was an extremely tall man.
‘Leaving Kelley to look after things, I hurried to the operator’s booth. When almost there, I heard another shot and knew I was too late. Entering the small compartment, hung under the balcony, I found the operator witha bullet through his temple and a smoking revolver by his side.
‘“Not much to this,” I remarked, as Kelley joined me.
‘“I wonder if he got the right man,” commented the Inspector. “I don’t understand how he could have made such a splendid shot under the circumstances. Amazing!”’
‘Was the dead man sitting in an aisle seat?’ interrupted one of the class.
‘Yes,’ replied Fordney.
‘Gee, that’s a good one, Professor, but I know now the one thing wrong with your story,’ said the student.
Do you?
‘Hello, Smith,’ said Professor Fordney as he opened the door. ‘What’s up?’
‘Uncle Fred’s house has been robbed. He had some negotiable bonds in the library safe and told me to stick close to home until he returned from New York.’
‘Were they stolen?’ interrogated Fordney.
‘I’m afraid so. I was up in my bedroom about twenty minutes ago when I heard a noise. I rushed downstairs just in time to see a man dash out of the library. I ran after him and, as I passed the door, I noticed the safe was open, so I suppose he got the bonds. He jumped into a waiting automobile and I trailed him in my car which, fortunately, was standing in front of the house, but he got away from me.’
‘Did you get his license number?’
‘No. Couldn’t see it. When I lost him in the traffic, I drove right over here.’
‘Didn’t you keep the house locked while you were upstairs?’
‘Yes, but the burglar chiseled open a cellar window.’
‘Well, let’s go over and have a look,’ suggested Fordney.
When they reached the Smith home, they found the bonds gone.
‘Did you lock the front door when you ran out of the house?’
‘Why—er,’ replied Smith nervously, ‘the door locks automatically. I don’t know what Uncle Fred will say when he gets back.’
‘He’ll say plenty if you tell him the story you told me,’ interrupted the Professor. ‘I suggest you put the bonds back.’
Where did Smith make his incriminating slip?
Professor Fordney and three of his friends were enjoying their weekly ‘get together’ at the University Club.
‘Professor,’ said Patrie, ‘tell us something about that Yelpir murder case you were working on.’
‘Well, gentlemen,’ he replied, in his retiring manner, ‘as you know, Yelpir’s affairs were common knowledge, and the fact that several women had reasons to wish him dead complicated matters a bit.
‘His body was found in his study, which opened on to a corridor. At the other end of the corridor and directly opposite it a staircase led to the servants’ quarters above.
‘Diana Lane, a house guest of Mrs. Yelpir at the time of the murder, was questioned, and she appeared nervous. She insisted, however, that she had been in her room at the time Yelpir was slain.
‘Nora, a servant, testified that, as she was descending the stairs leading from the servants’ quarters, at midnight, she saw DianaLane, wearing her famous emerald pendant and dressed in an enticing black negligée, walk down the lighted corridor to Yelpir’s room. She said she followed a minute later and heard Diana and Yelpir violently quarreling. She returned to the servants’ quarters and, as she opened the door of her room, she heard a shot.
‘In the face of such evidence, Miss Lane admitted having gone to the study at the time, but protested her innocence, declaring she had remained only a minute.
‘While Miss Lane was acquitted, you know, her reputation was not above reproach. Even so, I knew without further investigation that Nora’s testimony was maliciously false.’
How did the Professor know?
‘I’ve often remarked,’ said Professor Fordney, in an expansive mood, ‘how very difficult it is to fake an alibi without someone’s assistance. A case in point is a messy affair we cleared up recently.
‘I didn’t definitely suspect Picus when I happened to bump into him at the Fourth-of-July parade, the morning after an acquaintance of his had been found dead under suspicious circumstances. I rather casually asked him where he had been and what he had been doing the previous afternoon about four o’clock, the apparent time of the man’s death. He related the following story:
‘“I took my sailboat out about noon yesterday. It was great on the water. Around three o’clock, however, when I was perhaps ten miles out, the wind died down completely. There wasn’t a breath of air, and I knew that, unless I could attract some boat, I was in for an uncomfortable time. Remembering that the international distress signal is a flag flown upside down, I ran mine up to the top of themast in that manner. Thank God it was a clear day.
‘“In about an hour the steamer Leone hove to, and I went aboard her after securing my boat with a towline. The Captain said he had seen my distress signal about four miles away and would put me ashore at Gladsome Landing. He did so, and, as there was no one about, I hailed a passing motorist who gave me a lift back to town. Imagine my surprise when I read in the paper this morning that the Leone had been sunk in a storm after putting me ashore, and all hands had been lost!”
‘While I knew,’ remarked the Professor, ‘that the Leone had been sunk with all on board, after hearing Picus’s story I immediately arrested him on suspicion of murder.’
What was wrong with Picus’s alibi?
Inspector Kelley and Professor Fordney were seated in the former’s office when Policeman Fanning and his charge entered. After Fanning’s hurried explanation, Jasper told his story:
‘I’m the ticket taker on a merry-go-round at Coney Island. This bein’ Saturday, we had a big crowd. The trip was almost over when I reached out, saying, “Ticket, please,” and I see this woman sittin’ up in the middle of the chariot with that terrible look on her face. She didn’t answer, and when I shook her, she slumped over in the corner. I screamed, jumped off, and ran for the manager. I got blood on my hand when I shook her.
‘Yes, sir, she’d ridden a couple of times and I seen the man she was with on the two rides before,’ continued Jasper, giving a detailed description of him. ‘I happened to see him jump off just before I got to her.’
‘The doctor said she had been stabbed through the heart and had died instantly?’ queried Professor Fordney.
‘That’s right, sir,’ replied the policeman.
‘It seems strange, Jasper,’ remarked the Professor, ‘that you can give such a good description of this woman’s companion on two previous rides when you just “happened” to notice him jump off. Does the merry-go-round ever make you dizzy?’
‘No, sir; I’m used to it.’
‘Well, Inspector,’ said Fordney, turning to his friend, ‘I suppose you are going to hold this man?’
‘Certainly,’ replied Kelley. ‘That’s just about the dizziest story I’ve heard in a long time.’
What justified the police in holding Jasper?
‘Receiving no reply to my ring and finding the door unlocked, I went in,’ said Albert Lynch. ‘Dawson was seated at his desk shot through the head. Seeing he was dead, I called the police and remained here.’
‘Touch anything, Lynch?’ asked Professor Fordney.
‘No, sir, nothing.’
‘Positive of that, are you?’
‘Absolutely, sir.’
The Professor made a careful examination of the desk and found Dawson had been writing a letter at the bottom of which and covered by the dead man’s hand, was a penned message: ‘A. L. did thi——’ and weakly trailed off.
Further examination disclosed several kinds of writing-paper, a pen-tray holding the recently used pen, inkwell, eraser, stamps, letters, and bills. The gun from which the shot had been fired was on the floor by the side of the chair, and the bullet was found embedded in the divan.
After a few questions, Fordney was quickly convinced of Lynch’s innocence.
‘What do you make of it, Professor?’ inquired Inspector Kelley.
‘Though the scrawled note certainly looks like Dawson’s writing, I am sure an expert will find it isn’t. I’m not surprised to find the gun free of prints. Pretty thorough job, this. Good thing for you, Lynch, and for us too, that the murderer was careless about something.’
‘Right,’ said Kelley. ‘But you aren’t such a wise old owl, Fordney. This is like the Morrow case we handled. Remember?’
‘Good for you, Inspector,’ laughed the Professor.
How did both men so quickly determine that the incriminating note had not been left by Dawson?
‘A bad mess, this,’ said Professor Fordney to Sergeant Reynolds, as they viewed the bloody scene.
‘Yeah, I wish these guys wouldn’t be quite so thorough when they bump themselves off,’ replied Reynolds as he set grimly to work.
A man with his throat cut, the head almost severed, sat slumped over a blood-spattered desk. What a horrible sight! His bloodstained coat flung across the room, the razor! the shirt! the tie! his hands! covered with blood, made a ghastly and awesome picture framed by the flickering light of a dying candle.
After turning on the lights, Fordney bent down to take a closer look at the man.
‘His face seems vaguely familiar, Sergeant, but I can’t recall at the moment where I’ve seen him. How long has he been dead, Doctor?’
‘About two hours,’ replied the police surgeon.
At this moment the telephone rang. Thecaller, upon hearing Fordney’s voice, immediately disconnected.
‘Odd,’ murmured the Professor as he hung up the receiver. ‘I remember now where I saw this man. His name is Thompson.’
As he glanced around, he observed that the alarm-clock on the dresser had stopped just two hours and fifteen minutes before.
The telephone rang again and Fordney motioned Reynolds to answer.
‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Mr. Thompson stepped out for a few minutes. Leave your number. I’ll have him call you.’ The man at the other end inquired who was speaking and, when Reynolds replied, ‘A friend,’ he hung up.
‘Better trace that call, Sergeant; this is murder,’ said Fordney.
‘What!’ exclaimed Reynolds. ‘Still looks like suicide to me!’
Do you agree with Reynolds or the Professor? Why?
Claudia Mason, beautiful and popular young actress, was found lying across the chaise-longue in her elaborately furnished dressing-room, dead from a bullet wound in the temple.
She had sold her jewels and, with an heroic gesture, partially paid her many debts.
Near Claudia’s right hand, Sergeant Reynolds picked up the revolver with which she had been killed, and after careful examination said:
‘No finger-prints, of course. Gosh, Fordney, there’s two rocks she didn’t sell,’ he exclaimed, pointing to a large emerald on her left hand and a diamond on her right.
‘Call Maria, her maid. I want to find out who this fellow is,’ said the Professor, nodding toward a man’s photograph signed, Juan. ‘This was evidently addressed to him,’ he said, passing over a note which read:
Dear Juan:I am so despondent. The money from my jewels was not nearly enough.Claudia
Dear Juan:
I am so despondent. The money from my jewels was not nearly enough.
Claudia
‘Not many of these dames kill themselves over their debts,’ muttered Reynolds as he went to call Maria.
The maid entered the room, sobbing and hysterical.
‘Who is Juan?’ asked Professor Fordney.
‘He’s the leading man in the show.’
‘Why wasn’t this note delivered to him?’
‘I forgot it.’
‘You found her?’
‘Yes. When I came to help her dress she—was—like that!’
‘Is Juan in his dressing-room now?’
‘I believe so.’
When Reynolds brought him into Claudia’s room, he dropped to his knees beside the dead girl.
‘My God! She’s killed herself!’
‘No, she hasn’t, young man. She was murdered,’ said the Professor.
Why was he sure it was not suicide?
‘I was working late, preparing an advertising campaign,’ continued Fellows whom Professor Fordney had been questioning. ‘About ten-fifteen I heard the outer office door click. Being unarmed, I hurriedly turned out the lights in my office and waited breathlessly, as there was a large sum of money in the safe. I knew my chances of attracting attention from the tenth floor were small, so, reaching for the telephone, I hastily dialed Headquarters and told them in a low voice to send help immediately. Then, creeping noiselessly to the open safe, I gently shut the door, twirled the combination, and crawled behind that big old-fashioned desk.
‘Shortly afterward the robber entered my office, flashed his light over the place, and went to the safe. He had it open in a few minutes, took the money, and left. That’s all I know about it.’
‘What time is it now, Mr. Fellows?’ inquired Fordney.
‘Why, I haven’t a watch.’
‘How, then, did you know it was about ten-fifteen when you heard the door click?’
‘I had gone next door for a sandwich and as I left I glanced at the restaurant clock and noticed it was ten-five. I had been back about five minutes,’ replied Fellows.
‘You say the burglar was masked,’ continued the Professor. ‘How did you know it?’
‘As he focused his flashlight on the combination and bent over, I saw the mask,’ returned Fellows belligerently.
‘Very interesting,’ smiled Fordney, ‘but you’ll have to be a better liar than that, Fellows, to fool me.’
Where did the Professor detect the lie?
‘There was hardly a breath of air as we sat on the terrace enjoying tea,’ reminisced Professor Fordney. ‘Rocca excused himself, saying he wished to telephone. Shortly after he entered the house, we heard a shot. I rushed into the drawing-room and found Rocca, smoking gun in hand, staring dumbly at the chair in front of the open window which held the huddled body of Chase.
‘A hasty examination disclosed the telephone receiver off the hook, a single cigarette stub of Rocca’s brand in the ash-tray, a bullet-hole in the gauze curtain six inches below the window-sill, and Rocca’s open cigarette-case in Chase’s lap. His replies to my hastily put questions were evasive. Inspector Kelley arrived while I was talking and took up the questioning.’
‘“Did you use the telephone?”
‘“Yes.”
‘“You came directly to this room and did not leave it?”
‘“Yes.”
‘“Chase was engaged to your sister?”
‘“Yes, he was.”
‘“Did you offer Chase a cigarette?”
‘“I did.”
‘“How did that dent get in your cigarette-case?”
‘“I dropped it about a week ago.”
‘“Did you shoot Chase?”
‘“I refuse to answer that question.”
‘At this point the doctor arrived and located the bullet in Chase’s body. Rocca then admitted Chase had been shot with the gun found in his own hand, but stubbornly refused to say anything more.
‘“What’s your opinion, Professor?” Kelley asked.
‘“Well,” I replied, “Rocca is obviously shielding someone. We have positive proof he came directly here and has not left this room. That, combined with the other evidence discovered, absolutely exonerates Rocca."’
How did the Professor know Rocca had not shot Chase?
‘You say that as your butler called for help, a stranger, by the name of Dudley, was passing the house and rushed in?’
‘That’s right,’ Owings corroborated, as the two men sat in Fordney’s study. ‘It was rather late last Friday evening before I was ready to leave town for the week-end, and as Stuben, the butler, wasn’t feeling well, I told him to stay upstairs and that I would lock up when I left.
‘I had some diamonds in the safe, so he said he wouldn’t leave the house until I returned,’ continued Owings.
‘About eleven that night, he heard a humming noise and, having the diamonds in mind, ran downstairs to investigate. Finding the wall safe open and the jewels gone, he let out a scream for help.
‘Stuben has been with me for years, Professor, and I have implicit faith in him.’
‘Did Dudley see anyone leave?’ asked Fordney.
‘No; the robber or robbers must have leftby the back door, as Dudley was right in front of the house when he heard Stuben’s call for help,’ replied Owings. ‘Both men say the room smelled of cigarette smoke, so the burglars must have just left.’
‘Was the back door unlocked?’ inquired the Professor.
‘No, it was closed. It has a device which locks it automatically from the outside when it’s pulled to.’
‘Well, you’d better swear out a warrant for your butler and Dudley,’ said Fordney. ‘I’m sure they know where your diamonds are. Long service, you know, isn’t necessarily a pledge of loyalty.’
Why did Fordney so advise Owings?
‘Let’s run over your testimony before the inquest opens,’ said Fordney.
‘All right,’ replied Curry.
‘About three-thirty on Thursday, I got into the boat in front of my cottage and rowed upstream. About fifty yards below the bridge, I looked up and saw Scott and Dawson going across it in opposite directions. As the two men passed, Scott reached out, grabbed Dawson, and hit him in the jaw. Then he pulled a gun, and, in the scuffle that followed, Scott fell off the bridge. He dropped into the water, but, as the current was strong, by the time I reached the spot, he had sunk. When I finally pulled him into the boat, he was dead.’
‘Was it a clear day?’ asked Fordney.
‘Well, it had been showering early in the afternoon, but the sun was shining then.’
‘Are you positive Scott got that bruise by hitting his head on the rocks when he fell? The prosecution, you know, is going to claim that Dawson hit him on the head with something,then deliberately pushed him off the bridge,’ commented Fordney.
‘Iknowhe got that bruise on the rocks,’ stated Curry emphatically.
‘All right,’ said the Professor, ‘but I don’t think the jury will believe you. Personally, I’m sure Dawson didn’t intentionally kill Scott, but we’ll have to have better proof than that if we hope to acquit him.
‘By the way,’ he continued, ‘be sure to state you knew of the grudge Scott bore Dawson.’
Why was the Professor doubtful the coroner’s jury would believe Curry’s testimony?
‘What’s the hurry?’ asked Professor Fordney, as Baldwin collided with him in the doorway of the office at the back of the exclusive Cross Jewelry Store.
‘I—I—was going to help search for the robbers,’ stammered Baldwin as he backed into the office.
‘Well, tell me what happened first,’ said Fordney, as Dr. Lyman, police surgeon, knelt beside Mr. Cross.
‘There’s the special safe for the emerald behind that miniature portrait. I was in here when Mr. Cross entered with two gentlemen,’ exclaimed Baldwin nervously.
‘He asked me to bring in a tray of diamonds. I set it on the table—both men pulled guns and as Cross protested, one of them knocked him unconscious with a blow on the head. The other forced me into that chair saying, “All right, buddy. We’ll wait on ourselves.” Then he put the diamonds in his pocket. I’m thankful I’m alive. I telephonedHeadquarters, then rushed out into the store, but they had escaped,’ concluded Baldwin.
‘So they got away with the famous Cross emerald, eh?’
‘Yes. The safe door was slightly open. Mr. Cross tried to call my attention to it with a jerk of his thumb as the robber pocketed the diamonds. Otherwise they wouldn’t have discovered it.’
‘How is he, Doctor?’ asked Fordney.
‘He’ll never come to, I’m afraid. Those two blows on the head were a bit too much for him.’
‘Two blows!’ ejaculated Fordney. ‘Are you sure, Baldwin, you weren’t hurrying away with the emerald? I’m not!’
Why did Fordney think Baldwin had stolen the emerald?
At the Collingham home Professor Fordney found Clive Kingston, the Judge’s nephew, and Watkins, the butler, greatly excited. Forcing the library door, locked for three months, they saw the Judge seated in front of the fireplace opposite the door, apparently dead.
‘Wait!’ called Professor Fordney to Watkins, who had rushed into the room.
‘He’s all right,’ said Kingston, as he and Fordney halted over the threshold.
‘Perhaps, but I don’t want any clues obliterated. Come back carefully and get us a couple of small rugs, Watkins,’ commanded Fordney.
Walking only on the rugs placed over the thick, plain carpet, Fordney and Kingston reached the Judge’s side and found him dead—shot through the heart.
Kingston called the Professor’s attention to footprints in the carpet near the fireplace. As he fitted his shoe to an impression, he said, ‘These are mine, and those, of course, must be Watkins’s.’
‘Throw me your shoe,’ called Fordney to the butler, standing in the doorway. ‘Yes, these are yours all right, and I can see the third set was made by the Judge—notice the impression left by his peculiarly constructed right shoe.’
‘There’s the gun under the table,’ called the butler.
‘Pretty sharp eyes, Watkins,’ said the Professor, picking up and critically examining the gun. ‘No finger-prints, of course,’ he mused.
‘Look!’ exclaimed Kingston, ‘the glass in that picture is broken. Were two shots fired?’
‘Only one,’ said Fordney, as with great care he picked the Judge’s nose-glasses from his lap where they had fallen, unbroken. ‘I think I know now who murdered your uncle.’
Whom did Fordney suspect, and why?
‘Tell us exactly what happened,’ said Professor Fordney as he sat in his study with Mrs. Rollins.
‘It was a dark, moonless night.
‘At twelve o’clock, when we were about ten miles off Point Breeze, I retired to my cabin, leaving my husband on deck. We were alone on the boat.
‘In a few minutes, hearing loud shouts, I joined him again. We could hear a boat approaching, running without lights, as were we. My husband told me to return to the cabin, which I did.
‘Soon after doing so a bump, tramping feet, and loud swearing told me our visitors had come aboard. I went up and, just as I stepped on deck, a man put a gun against my ribs and told me to keep quiet. My husband was engaged in a terrific fight with two others.
‘They must have known he always carried that leather bag of loose diamonds because, when he dropped it in the fight, one of them picked it up from the deck.
‘They finally knocked him unconscious and took him to their boat after binding and gagging me. As you know, I was found drifting next morning by that fisherman.’
‘How was your husband dressed?’ inquired Fordney.
‘It was very hot—he had no shirt on, but wore dark trousers.’
‘Shoes or tennis slippers?’
‘Why—shoes, of course,’ replied Mrs. Rollins with noticeable hesitation.
‘Well,’ said Fordney tersely, ‘it’s amazing to me that you expect to collect insurance on your diamonds on such a flimsy yarn. You and your husband will be lucky if you aren’t prosecuted.’
Where did the elaborate story fall down?
‘Can you describe this fellow?’ asked Professor Fordney of Henry Taylor, manager of the National Theater.
‘Yes. He was a tall, well-dressed, good-looking chap. Wore a panama hat, turned-down brim, blue coat, smart blue tie, natty white flannels with silver belt-buckle, black-and-white sport shoes, and had a general air of culture and refinement.’
‘Just what did he do?’
‘As I was counting the receipts, he came into the office, gun in hand, and commanded me to get up from the desk and move over by that table.
‘After putting the money in a brief-case he carried, he took out a cigarette and asked me to light it for him, still covering me, of course.
‘Then he gagged me and tied me to the chair, after which he opened the door, looked cautiously about, came back and, with a quiet “sorry” and a warning, turned and left. As he passed through the door, he unbuttoned his coat and slipped the revolver into his backpocket. The show was just letting out, so I suppose he mingled with the crowd and escaped,’ Taylor concluded.
‘Are you insured against this loss of eight thousand dollars?’ inquired Fordney.
‘Yes.’
‘Could you see the color of the bandit’s hair?’
‘It was blond.’
‘Anything unusual about him?’
‘No. Except that he was constantly clearing his throat in a peculiar manner,’ replied Taylor.
‘Left- or right-handed?’
‘Why—I’m not sure. Right-handed, though, I think.’
‘This has gone far enough, Taylor,’ said Fordney sharply. ‘The robbery was obviously framed by you.’
How did Fordney know Taylor had faked the hold-up?
Returning to town late one night, Professor Fordney was driving along an unfrequented road when the sight of a motor-cycle policeman examining a car in a ditch caused him to stop and offer his services. Joining the policeman, he found that a man, obviously the driver, had been thrown through the windshield and was lying about six feet from the car.
His examination disclosed that the man had been terribly cut about the head. The jugular vein was completely severed. The bent steering-wheel, shattered glass, and the blood on the front seat and floor of the car were mute evidence of the tragedy.
Fordney also noted the speedometer had stopped at 62.
A search of the body revealed nothing unusual except that the man wore only one glove. The other could not be found. The Professor was pondering this when the policeman handed him his report of accidental death, saying, ‘Is that how you see it, sir?’
‘I think,’ replied Fordney slowly, ‘you’d better change that to murder. In the absence of any further evidence, it seems to be pretty clearly indicated.’
‘Murder!’ exclaimed the bewildered policeman. ‘I don’t understand how you make that out.’
After explaining his reason and with a final admonition to continue a careful search for the missing glove, the Professor returned to his car and drove down the wide, smooth highway toward home and a good night’s rest.
Fordney’s deduction was confirmed when the missing glove and the murderer were found.
How had he arrived at his startling conclusion?
‘Mr. Walker hurried into the kitchen,’ said the valet to Professor Fordney, ‘and told me he was called away unexpectedly and that I was to go to his library and take the money he had won last night to the bank.
‘I was busy,’ he continued, ‘but in about five minutes I went through the hall, and, thinking I heard a noise, I stopped and listened at the study door. There was someone moving about. The door was open. As I peered around it, I saw a masked man, gun in hand, hesitating near the fireplace.
‘Then he went over to the table in the center of the room, picked up the stacks of ten- and twenty-dollar bills, and left by the window. I called the police immediately and gave them a description.’
‘Exactly what time was that?’ asked Fordney.
‘Just about ten o’clock, sir.’
‘Had you been in the library before that, this morning?’
‘No, I hadn’t.’
‘Were you in your master’s room today?’
‘No. What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Nothing,’ murmured Fordney, ‘nothing at all! Does your master gamble often?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘How much did he win last night?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Humph,’ said Fordney, as he pointed to a bill on the floor, ‘the thief dropped one.
‘I see your master has quite a library,’ he continued, glancing around the large, beautifully furnished room. ‘Do you read much, Wilkins?’
‘A bit, sir.’
‘Did you ever read, “Honesty is the best policy”?’
Why did the Professor think Wilkins had robbed his master?
‘I wonder who had the nerve to commit such a robbery at high noon,’ mused Professor Fordney as he examined the safe, seventeen minutes after it had been rifled. ‘Same old story: no finger-prints, no evidence.’
‘Found anything?’ asked Lawson nervously as he entered his drawing-room.
‘Not yet. Are you here alone, Lawson?’
‘No. John, my nephew, is staying with me. Everyone else is in town.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Oh, he left about an hour ago.’
At 3.20P.M.Fordney noticed Jones, the gardener, working at the edge of a flower-bed. He kept looking furtively at the house while he frantically covered over the hole he had dug. Finishing, he hurriedly walked toward the boat-landing.
Fordney, following, reached the dock just as John guided his motor-boat in.
‘Have a nice day?’ asked Fordney.
‘Yep. Had a grand run up the lakes.’
‘Where were you when your uncle’s safe was robbed?’
‘Boy, I was hauling in a big muskie! What a battle he gave me! See him in the end of the boat? Isn’t he a beauty?’
‘When did you return?’ demanded Fordney of the gardener.
‘I don’t know what time it was,’ he replied nervously, glancing at John.
‘You must have some idea.’
‘Well, it was about noon,’ he reluctantly answered.
‘By the way, John, do you know the combination of your uncle’s safe?’ inquired Fordney.
‘Is that old weasel accusing me?’
‘No, he isn’t. But I’ve got my suspicions!’
Whom did Fordney suspect and why?
‘The witness says,’ explained the interpreter, ‘that as the car came to a sudden stop the conductor ran to the front and yelled to the motorman, “You’ve done it again."’
The little foreigner on the witness stand looked bewildered and frightened.
‘He further says that there were two sailors on the car and that they jumped off and ran.’
‘Have they been located yet?’ inquired the Judge.
‘No, Your Honor; we’ve been unable to trace them, although the conductor gave a good description,’ replied counsel.
‘Proceed.’
The interpreter continued.
‘Paslovsky, the witness, declares he had a clear view of the plaintiff when he got off. He states that just as the plaintiff put his foot on the ground, with his back to the front of the car, it gave a sudden start and he was thrown to the road.’
‘Can’t the witness understand or speakenough English to tell the court about that?’ asked the Judge.
‘No, Your Honor; he’s been in this country only two weeks.’
‘How can he get about at that hour of night alone, then?’
‘Some friends put him on the car and telephoned the people with whom he lives to meet him at the end of the line,’ replied counsel for the plaintiff.
‘Continue.’
‘Paslovsky,’ declared the interpreter, ‘says he picked up this picture from the floor of the car—a snapshot of a sailor and a girl.’
‘Case dismissed,’ thundered the Judge, ‘and don’t ever bring another like that into this court.’
‘Why was His Honor justified in so abruptly dismissing the suit for damages?’
asked Professor Fordney of his class in criminology.