Rex Stout_Tecumseh Fox 02 (17 page)

“I am quite aware,” said Fox irritably, “that a man can die but once. And I am assuming provisionally that Tingley had already been killed, or at least
had had his skull cracked, before Miss Duncan got there, for if not, it must have been he who laid for her and conked her. Which wouldn’t fit anywhere, the way it stands now. In fact, I would say that we have to put it down that Tingley was already dead or unconscious when his niece arrived, or else reject her story altogether.”

“I like her and I like her story,” said the lawyer emphatically.

“So do I.” Fox held up his fingers, crossed. “And the fact that Judd got there at 7:30 and Phil at 7:40 doesn’t prove that one or both of them hadn’t been there before. One or both could have arrived at any time between 6:15, when Miss Yates left, and seven o’clock, killed Tingley, started to search the room for whatever was wanted, been interrupted by Miss Duncan and knocked her out, got panicky and took a powder—”

“No soap. Cliff was watching in front and would have seen him or them leave.”

“Not if they went out the delivery entrance. From where Cliff was—accepting his story—he couldn’t see that.”

“Judd wouldn’t know about the delivery entrance.”

“He might, but he probably wouldn’t. But Phil would. He or they—I like it they—fled the scene without finding what they wanted, and went separate ways. Later each of them got up enough courage to go back for the object they sought, which was something small enough to be in the pocket of an overcoat, since Tingley’s coat had been searched and left lying on the floor. Maybe one of them found it and maybe not. Also maybe, Tingley had only had his skull cracked, and it was 7:30 or 7:40, either by Judd or by Phil, that the
throat-cutting was done when it was found that he was still breathing.”

Collins grunted. There was a long silence. Fox chewed on his lower lip, and the lawyer stared at the process as if he expected elucidation from it. Finally Fox spoke.

“I’m giving myself,” he said grimly, “twenty-four hours more. Until six tomorrow. Then I’ll have to take it to Damon. Judging from my performance today, that’s the best way to get Miss Duncan out of a jam, which is what I undertook to do—There’s the forewoman that’s had a dream. Am I invited? Shall I bring her in?”

Collins said he would go, and went. In a minute he was back with the caller.

Carrie Murphy, in a brown coat with a muskrat collar, with a little brown felt hat perched on the top of her head, preceded the lawyer into the room with a determined step and a do-or-die expression on her face. She looked younger than she did in her working smock, as he stood appraising her while Collins helped in the disposal of her coat and pulled up a chair for her; and he decided that whatever she might have come for, it wasn’t to tell of seeing a big white bird in a dream.

She sat down, directed a level gaze at the lawyer, and said, “I don’t know much about lawyers and this kind of thing, but you’re representing Amy Duncan and you must be the one for me to tell. Amy is in trouble about this, isn’t she? I mean in the paper tonight—is she suspected of killing Tingley?”

“That’s a strong way to put it,” said Collins, “but—yes, she is certainly under suspicion.”

“Well, she didn’t do it. Didn’t she get there soon after seven o’clock?”

“That’s right. About ten minutes past seven.”

“And wasn’t she knocked unconscious as she entered the office?”

“That’s right.”

“And she didn’t come to until after eight o’clock?”

“That’s right.”

“Then she couldn’t have done it while she was unconscious, could she? Mr. Tingley was alive, talking on the telephone, at eight o’clock.”

F
ox’s eyes went half shut and then opened again. Collins cocked his head and frowned. The lawyer spoke: “That’s a very—remarkable statement, Miss Murphy. I suppose you’re sure of it?”

“I am,” she declared firmly.

“Was it you Tingley talked to on the phone?”

“No. It was Miss Yates.” She gulped, but her eyes were steady and her voice unfaltering. “I went to see her at her apartment Tuesday evening. We discussed something that made it—she had to call up Mr. Tingley, and she talked with him three or four minutes. She called him at his office. It was just a minute or two before eight when she rang off, because right after that a friend of hers came and I left and it was just past eight when I left.”

“By your watch? Was it right?”

“I set it by the radio every day at six o’clock. Anyway, the time was mentioned, because Miss Harley—Miss Yates’s friend—was expected at eight and she was right on time.”

“Did you hear Miss Yates phoning Tingley?”

“Certainly. I was right there.”

“Did you speak on the phone yourself?”

“No.”

“But you’re sure she was speaking to Tingley?”

“Of course. She was talking about—the business matter we had been discussing.”

“What was that?”

“It—” Miss Murphy halted. She gulped again. “It was a confidential business matter. If I tell you I’ll probably get fired. I may anyway. I spoke to Miss Yates about this yesterday, and said we ought to tell about it for Amy’s sake, but she said it wasn’t necessary, that Amy couldn’t possibly be guilty and she’d get out of it all right. But when I read the paper this evening—I decided to tell you about the phone call. But that ought to be enough. I don’t see that it matters what we were discussing.”

“Did you often go to see Miss Yates at her home?”

“Oh, no, very seldom.”

Collins leaned back and regarded her. “It’s like this, Miss Murphy. If we pass this information on to the police, you can be sure they will insist, they’ll demand, that you tell them what you were discussing with Miss Yates, because it was the subject of her conversation with Tingley on the phone, and they’ll want that from her, every word of it. And unless you give us all the details I’m afraid we’ll have to turn it over to the police, because we can’t deal intelligently with information as fragmentary as that. I’m sorry, and I certainly don’t want to get you into trouble, but that’s the way it is.”

She met his gaze. “If I tell you, Miss Yates will know I told you.”

“Possibly not. She may tell us herself without our revealing that you have already done so. We’ll try that.”

“All right. I’ve started it and I’ll finish it. It’s a long story.”

“We have all night.”

“Oh, it won’t take that long. Of course you know about the quinine.”

“Yes.”

“Well, for three weeks we’ve been investigating it. Questioning all the girls—everybody. And trying to prevent it’s being done again. New locks were put on the storage rooms and packing room downstairs. Upstairs everything was watched every minute. Edna Schultz and I knew that Mr. Tingley had Miss Yates and Mr. Fry watching us, but they didn’t know that he had us watching them. He called Edna and me into his office one day and said he didn’t suspect us or Miss Yates and Mr. Fry, but that he had to act as if he suspected everybody, only he didn’t want Miss Yates and Mr. Fry to know about it.”

She was rattling it off, with the obvious desire to finish a disagreeable task as soon as possible. “Since this trouble began, the mixers and the filling benches have been watched every minute by one of us four. If Edna or I did a mix, either Miss Yates or Mr. Fry tasted it just before it was dumped into the trays going to the filling benches. They did that openly, and they also put some in a sample jar and labeled it with the mix number, and took it to Mr. Tingley for him to taste. But when Miss Yates or Mr. Fry did a mix, Edna or I took a sample without letting anyone see us, labeled it, and put it where Mr. Tingley could get it. He told us not to take it to his office because we almost never went there, and they would have been sure to notice it and ask about it.”

Fox interposed, “Where did you put it?”

“I took it to the cloakroom and put it in the pocket
of my coat hanging there, and Mr. Tingley would go there and get it. Edna did the same. It wasn’t hard to do it without being seen, since it was our job to dump the mixers. But I guess I got careless, because Tuesday afternoon Mr. Fry caught me doing it and jumped on me. He took me to the sauce room and commanded me to tell him what I was up to, and Miss Yates came in and he told her about it. She got mad at him and told him that the girls, including Edna and me, were in her department and she would handle it, and they fought about that awhile until Mr. Fry got too mad to talk and went out. Then Miss Yates asked me what the idea was, and I was on a spot. I got flustered, and when she got mad I did too, and I saw the only thing I could do was tell Mr. Tingley about it. I bounced out of the sauce room and up to the front, to the door of the office. It was closed. I knocked, and his voice yelled from inside that he was busy and couldn’t be disturbed.”

“What time was that?”

“A little after five. About a quarter after.”

Fox nodded. “He was conversing with his son. Could you hear anything they said?”

“I didn’t stay long enough. I went around through the other offices and out the front entrance and on home. But while I was eating supper I decided I had acted like a fool. If I saw him and told him about it, and he merely told Miss Yates that I had explained the matter to him and she was to forget it, I would be in bad with her forever, and after all she was my boss. She had had a perfect right to demand an explanation, since she didn’t know what the real explanation was, and I shouldn’t have got my Irish up. I decided I hadn’t better wait till morning to fix it with her, so I went to her place on 23rd Street and told her—”

“What time did you get there?”

“Right around half past seven. I told her the whole thing, how I had only been following Mr. Tingley’s orders, and Edna too. At first she didn’t believe me, I guess because she simply couldn’t believe that anybody, Mr. Tingley or anyone else, could think she might be involved in that quinine business. She phoned to ask Edna about it, but Edna wasn’t at home. She asked me a lot of questions, and finally she phoned Mr. Tingley, but found he hadn’t come home yet, so she tried the office and got him there. When she rang off she was so mad she could hardly speak. She would probably have lit into me, though it wasn’t my fault, but just then Miss Harley came and I got out. I thought she’d be cooled off by morning, but I knew I’d get the devil from Mr. Tingley for letting myself get caught. But in the morning …”

Miss Murphy fluttered a hand.

Nat Collins was frowning reflectively and rubbing his chin. Fox was regarding the tip of Miss Murphy’s nose dubiously and pessimistically.

“Anyway,” she said defiantly, “whatever happens to my job, Amy Duncan is a good scout and I won’t have that on my conscience! I mean that I didn’t tell about his being alive at eight o’clock.”

Fox grunted. “It may help your conscience, but I’d be much obliged if you’d explain how it helps Miss Duncan.”

“Why—of course it does! What I said—what you said—if she was unconscious—”

“She says she was unconscious,” said Fox dryly. “Up to now I have believed her. I still would like to believe her. But if you’re telling the truth—”

“I am telling the truth!”

“I admit it sounded like it. But if you’d like to see
Miss Duncan arrested for murder and held without bail, go and tell it to the police.”

“If I—” She gawked at him. “My God, I don’t want her arrested! The only reason I came to tell you—”

“Please!” Fox was peremptory. He rose to his feet. “I haven’t got time to diagram it for you, but Mr. Collins will. You certainly have blown us sky-high. But before I start on a search for some of the pieces, please tell me: did the sample Mr. Fry caught you taking get delivered to Mr. Tingley?”

“But I don’t understand—”

“Mr. Collins will explain after I go. Just answer my question. Did Tingley get that sample?”

“Yes. At least I put it in the cloakroom, in my coat pocket—that was about a quarter after four—and when I got my coat later it was gone.”

“Were other samples delivered in that manner to Tingley on Tuesday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Four or five.” Miss Murphy considered. “I had—let’s see—one Fry and two Yates, and Edna had two Fry—that was the two ham spreads—”

“All right.” Fox got his hat and coat and turned to her again. “One thing. If you tell the police what you’ve told us, Miss Duncan will probably be charged with murder and thrown into jail. At least she’ll be in great danger of it. Suit yourself. I hope you’ll hold off for a day or two, but that’s up to you. How do you feel about it?”

“Why, I—” Miss Murphy looked wholly bewildered and a little frightened. “I don’t want—could they—I mean if I don’t tell them and they find out about it, could they arrest me?”

“No,” said Collins firmly and forcibly.

Fox smiled at her reassuringly. “He’s a good lawyer, Miss Murphy. If you’ll give me time to turn around, say a couple of days, I’ll appreciate it—Where’ll you be if I need you later, Nat?”

Collins told him the Churchill Theater and then the Flamingo Club, and he left them.

As Fox walked north on Madison Avenue and turned in to 41st Street, where he had garaged his car that morning, no friend or associate who knew him well would have been likely, after one glance at his face, to stop him for a jovial word or two. Or even, for that matter, to speak to him, since you don’t speak to a man who doesn’t see you, and Fox wasn’t seeing anything or anyone. The attendant at the garage, seeing the extent of his customer’s preoccupation with inner affairs, trotted out to the sidewalk ahead of the car to avoid a possible manslaughter of pedestrians.