Murder on Wheels (5 page)

Aunt Abbie paused for breath. “All the same, I can’t think who could have done it. It would have been more like Laurie to have committed suicide.”

“Why couldn’t it have been suicide?” Cousin Hubert took the floor. “You said that Laurie was found in the street with a rope around his neck, and that the car he’d been driving was empty and wrecked a little distance ahead. Couldn’t he have tied the rope to something inside the car, and slipped the noose around his own neck—then jumped overboard and let his car go on and hang him?”

Miss Withers objected. “What about the rope? It wasn’t tied to the car when they found it. It was hanging loose.”

“It could have pulled loose with the shock if it wasn’t tied tight,” the Inspector suggested, musingly. “We’ll see what the medical examiner says in his report tomorrow.”

He stopped, watching Miss Withers, who was sniffing. “Something burning in the kitchen,” she observed.

“But what could be burning? It’s cook’s night out, and nobody ate in except Gran with her toast and tea a while ago, and whatever cold snack Gretchen was willing to dish up for Lew,” Aunt Abbie cut in.

“Maybe it isn’t from the kitchen,” Miss Withers conceded. “Probably the drains in these old houses aren’t what they should be.”

The sound of an auto horn came from outside, again and again. “That must be Taylor and the boys,” said the Inspector. “Miss Withers, will you wait here while I arrange to have Lew Stait taken down to the Morgue to identify his twin? I don’t understand why, if that is the Sergeant outside, he doesn’t come on in …”

Suddenly Aunt Abbie clapped her hands. “I remember! The terrible, terrible news you told me when I came in made me forget. That’s our cabman out there. Poor dear Hubert never has any money because he spends his allowance for books, and I spent more than I meant to spend shopping. I told the man to wait while I got some money.”

She moved toward the hall. ‘I’ll run upstairs and get some change.”

She almost ran into Lew Stait, who was waiting with hat and coat on, to make the trip down to the Morgue. “How lucky,” cried Aunt Abbie. “You’ve saved me a climb upstairs, Lew. I need a dollar, perhaps two, for my cabman. Have you got it to spare?”

“Of course, Auntie.” Lew’s hand went to his inside coat pocket, fumbled a moment, and then dropped to his hip.

While the four of them watched, he went through his pockets one by one. “Of all the things to happen!” he said in a dazed whisper.

“My pocket’s been picked!”

“Maybe you left it up in your room?” Aunt Abbie was comforting.

“No, I had it this afternoon. There wasn’t but fifteen or twenty dollars in it. That’s funny.”

He looked thoughtful. “Maybe I lost it somewhere—though I haven’t been out all afternoon. I distinctly remember having it at noon, though. I wonder”

Lew stopped short. “I wonder if Laurie could have needed some money and picked the wallet up off my dresser? We often borrowed back and forth, you know. At least, Laurie did.”

“I don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” said Aunt Abbie. “But Laurie Stait was untrustworthy about money, and there’s no use hiding it. Oh, he
wasn’t
dishonest. But he was always running short, and always borrowing and forgetting to return it …”

“So there was only fifteen or twenty dollars in the wallet? Well, if Laurie did borrow it, that might establish a motive for murder, though a slim one. Because his wallet was missing when his body was found.” Inspector Piper made the announcement boldly, and it seemed to stagger Lew Stait.

“You mean that my brother might have been killed for what money was in that wallet?”

Piper nodded. “You see, nobody need have known how much or how little was in the billfold. And he looked as if he had money, you know. Only the means used in this murder don’t make sense with a robbery angle.” He scratched his head—and down the street the wail of a police siren rose as the cab-driver honked his signal again imploringly.

The Inspector took two dollars from his own billfold. “I’ll take care of your cab, ma’am,” he promised Aunt Abbie. “You can pay me tomorrow. I’ve got some friends of mine outside. Wait here, the rest of you, while I arrange for Mr. Lew Stait to take a little trip in a squad car.”

He beckoned to the surviving twin. “You might as well get it over with,” he said kindly. “You’re the nearest male relative.”

Lew Stait followed the Inspector out of the door, and a moment later Miss Withers heard the rising wail of the siren again, bearing Stait and one of the plainclothes men down to the gray building with the marble mattresses.

She herded Aunt Abbie and Hubert up the stairs, warning them that the Inspector would not want them to carry the news to the old lady on the top floor.

It was about ten minutes before Inspector Piper reappeared. Sergeant Taylor was with him, and behind the wiry little sergeant loomed the bulk of McTeague, the biggest and the dumbest-appearing detective on the force. He had dull, lifeless blue eyes that blinked often. Every blink printed a clear photograph on the sensitized paper that was the memory of McTeague.

Miss Withers nodded to the two newcomers, who separated—one to each entrance of the house. Then she drew Piper aside. “What about some dinner, Oscar? All you’ve had since lunch is tea and cinnamon toast, and you must be starved.” She showed him her little address book, its pages filled with curly-queues. “I’m running out of paper.”

“Never mind dinner,” said Inspector Piper. She sensed that something had happened. “And never mind your shorthand notes, either. Look what McTeague just discovered, outdoors. The snow’s stopped, and there’s not a breath of wind. He saw something on the snow beside the sidewalk that looked like a drop or two of blood. But it wasn’t blood. And we scouted around until we found all of it.”

The Inspector showed Miss Withers four or five bits of red pasteboard that he had wrapped carefully between the pages of an old letter in his pocket. The pieces fitted together.

They bore a serial number, and the monogram of a theater. Miss Withers had seen that monogram before.

“Exhibit B,” said the Inspector. He took from his vest pocket the two ticket stubs that Cousin Hubert had handed over to him.

They matched perfectly, all three of them. Except that Hubert’s stubs bore the serial numbers R44557 and R44558,—while the torn fragments when pieced together read R446oI.

“And this means …?”

“It means that someone in this house went to that movie this afternoon—someone who wanted to make sure that Hubert and Aunt Abbie were there, I’ll bet. Someone who threw the stub away at the last minute, realizing that it might be dangerous to him—or herself—and trusted to the snowfall to cover it.”

Miss Withers shook her head slowly. “But I don’t see what it means!”

“When you do see what it means,” grinned Inspector Piper, “this case will be all washed up!”

“Right now it could stand a lot of washing,” agreed Miss Withers.

T
HE ROUTINE INVESTIGATION WENT
on, a little more swiftly now. Gretchen, the pert little blonde maid, was brought into the living room again. Her hair was combed, and she had put on a fresh apron and an air of defiance which wilted a little at the sight of Piper’s best third-degree glare.

“Your name?”

“Gretchen Gilbert, sir …”

“Born
Gilbert?” Inspector Piper was lighting a fresh cigar.

“Yes, sir. No, sir. The name used to be Gilbrecht.”

“How long have you had your job here?”

“It will be two years next September … no, August.” Gretchen was sitting on the very edge of the sofa, her ridiculously naked-looking legs crossed at the slim ankles.

“Like your job?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“What are your duties, exactly?”

“Well, sir, I take care of the upstairs, all but old Mrs. Stait’s rooms, you know. She won’t let anybody in there. And I wait on the table at meals and answer the door and make myself generally useful.”

“Generally useful to Mr. Lew now and then, also?” The Inspector’s voice was dry and quizzical, although Miss Withers looked up from her notebook with a start, and Sergeant Taylor choked a guffaw.

Gretchen never batted an eye. “You mean this afternoon? Well, a girl has to get ahead, Mister Policeman. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’ve never been an upstairs maid.”

“Never,” admitted the Inspector. “Would you mind telling us just what your movements were this afternoon?”

Gretchen batted both eyes this time. “Huh?”

“The Inspector means, what did you do this afternoon?” Miss Withers helped out.

“Oh. Well, I helped Mrs. Hoff with the luncheon dishes because it was her afternoon off and she was anxious to get away. Then I got the linen ready for the laundry, which we do every Friday. It takes about an hour or so, I guess. About three o’clock Mr. Lew came home, and half an hour later Mr. Laurie and Mr. Hubert. Mr. Lew leaves his office early quite often, because business is so slow, he says.”

“And then?”

“Then I took Mrs. Stait her tea as usual, and shortly after that Mr. Lew rang from the living room and said that he didn’t want to go out for dinner because of the snow and would I get him a cold snack in the kitchen, which I did. I brought him some sandwiches in this room here, in front of the fireplace.”

“And the time?”

“It must have been about six o’clock, or a little before.”

“And you are able to swear that Mr. Lew wasn’t out of the house between three, when he came home from the office, and six when you took him some sandwiches?”

“Why—” she hesitated. “Why, yes, sir. I mean, I don’t think he went out. I didn’t see him go.”

“Very good. When did you see Mr. Laurie last?”

“Why, this afternoon, about four-thirty. He and Mr. Lew and Mr. Hubert were in the living room here having a drink. Mr. Hubert told me in the hall that he wouldn’t be home to dinner because he was riding with Mr. Laurie to the movie. Mr. Lew stayed in the living room, reading.”

Inspector Piper nodded slowly. “Tell me, Gretchen. Were there any telephone calls here today?”

“Oh, yes sir, lots. The florist called about his bill, and a lady called about some contribution to the Hundred Neediest Cases, and—”

“No, never mind that. I mean, any telephone calls that were out of the ordinary!”

Gretchen was thoughtful. “No, sir. I don’t think so.”

“Nothing at all? No calls from anyone you didn’t know?”

“Oh, yes. That man called again.”

Miss Withers sat up straight in her chair, and the Inspector’s voice bore an edge. “What man?”

“Why, the man who’s always calling Mr. Laurie. The man who’s called every day this week. You said out of the ordinary, but that’s got to be the ordinary thing in this house. It’s a man with a sort of southern accent.”

“What did he say? Come on, tell us.”

“Why, he asked for Mr. Laurie. You see, Mr. Laurie gave instructions last Monday that he was always out no matter who phoned or called. So I gave the message.”

“What did the man
say?”

“He said—” She was thoughtful. “He said: ‘Tell that so-and-so of a tenderfoot that I’m going to have a talk with him right soon, OR ELSE!’ He yelled the last two words, and then hung up like to deafen me the way he banged the receiver.”

“Ah ha! Now we’re getting some place!” The Inspector looked at Miss Withers triumphantly.

“You don’t know this man’s name?” Gretchen admitted that she didn’t. She also admitted that she only answered the phone if she happened to be near it.

“Very good. Now, Gretchen, I want you to give me some information about this house. This is official, you understand, and you’ll find it to your best interests to be frank with us.”

Gretchen was nervous and willing. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me, frankly. Were any of the members of this household enemies? I mean, was there ever any strife, any unpleasantness?”

Gretchen’s eyes widened again. “Oh, no, sir. Mrs. Stait is a little—well, a little peculiar, sir. But she’s all right when she has her own way and she always has her own way. There was never any unpleasantness, sir.”

“Did the twins, Mr. Lew and Mr. Laurie, get along perfectly?”

“Oh, yes, sir. They were very close, sir. It’s only natural, seeing they were as like as two peas in a pod, sir. In looks, that is.”

“Excuse me for interrupting,” cut in Miss Withers. “But how did you manage to tell them apart? They wore each other’s clothes, they shared a room. It must have been difficult.”

Gretchen smiled, dreamily. “Oh, not for me, ma’am. Mr. Lew, he’s always bright and cheerful and full of energy, with, a kind word for anybody. They looked alike, but that was as far as it went. Mr. Laurie, he was always sort of standoffish and quiet—a regular hermit sort. That’s why he wasn’t popular, ma’am. I’ll admit that when I first came here it gave me a start sometimes to see one of the twins here and then the other one come in from somewhere all of a sudden, but I soon got used to it. And even at first, I found out a sure way. If it was Mr. Laurie, he’d pass by without a word, but if it was Mr. Lew, he’d pinch my cheek or rumple my hair.”

Gretchen was blushing a little around the neck and ears, and Miss Withers nodded sagely. “I see.”

“Mr. Lew is always singing or humming or whistling, and Mr. Laurie was always gloomy. He liked to be by himself.”

“Thank you, Gretchen. And Mr. Hubert?” The Inspector took up the round again. “How did Mr. Hubert get along with Mr. Lew and Mr. Laurie?”

“Just perfect, sir. Oh, they were just like big brothers to Mr. Hubert. Cook tells me that in all the five years that Mr. Hubert’s lived here in this house, she’s never seen anything sweeter than the way the twins took to their cousin from the first. He’s never been very strong, you know. He’s always been a little queer. But they saw to it that he got out and played games instead of reading all the time. Why, it was Mr. Lew who practically made Mr. Hubert take boxing lessons so they could all spar together in the basement. And when they were seniors at the University here, and Mr. Hubert was a sophomore, they made him go and play football. Why, they wouldn’t take no for an answer, and it did him worlds of good, cook says.”