Clarence Pette
The sheriff, the coroner, the undertaker, a newspaper reporter, and
another man that the coroner had brought along for a juryman, drove up
to the ranch at five o’clock that morning. It had been past midnight
before Sam had been able to get hold of one of them at Telko, on
account of them all being out taking in the celebration there.
Sam and the sheriff had been friends for thirty years. Sam’s money had
paid for the coroner’s medical education. They, and the others, were
mighty sorry to have to bother us at all, and their sole aim was to
make as little trouble as possible.
They interviewed each one of us, alone, but pleasantly and informally,
in the dining-room; each one, that is, but Danny—the coroner, visiting
her as a doctor, said it would never do to pester her, in the state
she was in—and Martha, who was still asleep, and whom they said it was
no use to wake. They kept each of us about ten minutes. They brought
in the verdict of died by his own hand, for Chad; and, murdered by
person or persons unknown for Gaby. They left, on tiptoe, holding
their hats in their hands clear to the end of the driveway. The
coroner and the sheriff both came, I think, with the conviction that
Chad was the guilty person; but Sam was so right down violent about
Chad’s innocence, that they let that drop at once.
The sheriff left, I am all but certain, with the strong conviction
that I had committed the murder, and with the resolution that he would
not do Sam an ill turn by depriving him of a good cook. The coroner,
and the others, except the reporter, were sure, I think, that one of
us was guilty; but were thankful to goodness that they had not found
out which one.
The undertaker did not leave with the others. He was preparing the
bodies to take them to Telko; there to await the instructions that we
could not give until after we had gotten in touch, if possible, with
Chad’s people, and had come to a decision about Gaby’s burial place.
The reporter, whose name—not that it matters except for its
fitness—was Clarence Pette, waited to return to town with the
undertaker. While waiting, he went snooping about the place, looking
for footprints—there could not have been any, after the deluge of rain
the night before—cocking his head to one side and the other, writing
in a notebook, making knowing, humming sounds between his tightly
closed lips. He had been bothering me, like a fly on the ceiling, all
morning. Finally, when he came poking right into my kitchen, and
opened the door to the back stairway, I turned on him.
“What’s the matter with you?” I asked. “If you have any business, why
don’t you go about it?”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Precisely. Now, my good woman, if you can spare
me a few moments——”
Sam came ambling into the kitchen and threw himself into a chair.
“Ah, Mr. Stanley,” Clarence said. “I was just telling your cook here
that, if she could spare me a few moments of her time, I probably
could be of much service here, under these unfortunate circumstances.
You see, we reporters are, necessarily, detectives, in a smaller or
greater degree. Until I came to Nevada, I was on one of the large San
Francisco dailies. Not taking undo credit to myself, I will say that,
while serving there, I was instrumental in getting to the bottom of
numerous crimes. Have I your attention, Mr. Stanley?”
Sam looked at him as he would look at some snapping puppy that was
pestering around his heels.
I don’t know what Clarence thought. What he said, was, “Precisely. By
mere observation. Trained observation, that is, coupled with a
naturally analytical and deductive mind, _and_ imagination.
Observation, first. As an example: since entering this kitchen, I have
observed that your cook——”
“If you mean Mrs. Magin,” Sam interrupted, “say so.”
“Precisely. I have observed that Mrs. Magin has been but recently
divorced. She was married to a man of some property. Of this she
received a share, at the time of her divorce, in lieu of further
alimony. She has come here, recently, from Chicago, where she lived in
comfort, but not in luxury. She did not keep a servant. Her daughters
were dutiful girls. All of her children, at the time of the divorce,
however, sided with their father.”
I glanced at Sam. He was resting his head in his hands, elbows on the
table. He had not, I could tell, heard one word that Clarence had
said. To my own discredit, at an hour like that, I was curious to find
out how a man could make so many mistakes in so short a time. “But
how——” I began.
He was too eager to explain to allow me to finish the question. “Very
simple, for a trained observer. You no longer wear a wedding ring; but
the mark of one, worn for years, shows plainly on your finger.” (My
wedding ring is set around with garnets; so I always take it off when
I cook, and hang it on a nail for that purpose, over the sink. It was
hanging there in plain sight, right then.) “If you were a widow, you
would continue to wear your ring. Your clothes, your wrist watch, your
silk stockings, show that you have been accustomed to a comfortable
living. Since you came to Nevada, it was you who got the divorce.
Hence—alimony. Had you received a lump sum of money, or monthly
payments, you would not have taken a position as a cook. You
undoubtedly received property, on which you can not at once realize.
Your kitchen apron, here on the hook, and like the one you are
wearing, has the label of a Chicago firm in its waistband, and is of
excellent material. Had you been poor, you could not have afforded
such an apron—more than likely you would have made your own aprons.
Had you been wealthy, you would not have owned a kitchen apron. It is
easy to tell, from watching you, that you have been accustomed to
having help in your work—hence, your daughters. If your children had
been in sympathy with you, at the time of the divorce, you undoubtedly
would have returned to make your home with one of them, instead of
remaining as a cook in Nevada——”
Sam, who had shifted his position, stretched, and crossed one leg over
the other, interrupted. “Oh, dry up, young fellow,” he said, as if the
sound of Clarence’s voice had tuckered him clear out.
Clarence tittered; embarrassment, I think, made him do it.
“And take yourself and your laughing out of here,” Sam said. “If you
need to be told that this isn’t a place for laughing, this morning,
I’m telling you, now.”
“But, Mr. Stanley, I assure you——”
“Never mind. Just get on out of here. That’s all.”
“As you say. I shall report to my paper, shall I, that the millionaire
owner of the Desert Moon Ranch is, apparently, undesirous of having
the murderer discovered?”
“Report what you damn please to your paper,” Sam answered. “But get
out of here.”
That was all right for the Nevada papers, where Sam was known; but, if
the other papers copied the news, I didn’t care to have that
impression of Sam strewn all over the country. It never did do any
harm, I reckoned, to have the press on your side.
So, with Sam glaring at me, I cozied Clarence up a bit. Told him to
sit down, and have some pie and coffee. While he ate, I flattered his
vanity by asking whether he had formed any opinions concerning the
murder.
“Opinions—no,” he said, pulling back his chin for dignity.
“Theories—yes. Theories, I may say, that I have arrived at quite
independently, since the testimony at the inquest was without value.
Observation, trained observation, and a certain instinct that might
almost be described as clairvoyance.
“For instance: the contents of the bead bag, carried by the victim.
Apparently, rather damning evidence, there, against Mr. Hand. Also,
apparently, other valuable clues. Pouff——” He made a gesture of
blowing the beaded bag and its contents off the palm of his white
hands. Since this was the first I had heard of the bag’s contents, I
was sorry to have them dismissed so airily. I let it pass, not wishing
to question him. “Even the coroner, and the other members of the jury,
untrained as they were, realized, I am sure, that all that was too
obvious. A murderer, my good woman, leaves clues—but not obvious ones.
The contents of that bag were probably arranged by the murderer, after
the murder had been committed. By someone, moreover, who had access to
the victim’s personal belongings.
“Regard this, please, as a suggestion, merely. Does it occur to you
that it is peculiar that a young woman who was unable to meet the
coroner’s jury, should, in the next hour, be able to arise and assist
the undertaker?”
“Is Danny up?” I questioned Sam.
“Teetering around like a sick little ghost. Mrs. Ricker went to ask
her about what dress to put on Gaby, and nothing would do Danny but
that she get right up and help to lay Gaby out.”
“You see nothing extraordinary in that?” Clarence persisted.
Sam made another profane request concerning Clarence’s drying up.
“Well,” I said, “she is her twin sister, you know. And she is a
loving-hearted, unselfish little thing. I reckon she thought it would
be the last service——”
“True. True. But! The victim was last seen at the side of the house
near the rabbit hutch. Suppose that, as soon as she had gotten rid of
the child by giving her the bracelet, the victim had at once
re-entered the house, through the back way, and had gone, at once, up
these back stairs. Miss Danielle Canneziano was upstairs at the time,
was she not? Alone?”
I remembered Danny, coming downstairs, not more than fifteen minutes
after Gaby had gone through the room. I remembered how fresh and sweet
she had been, and how untroubled, except for her headache. A dozen
defenses for Danny, who needed none, flashed through my mind. I should
not have deigned to use one of them, to Clarence, but unthinkingly, I
did.
“If you are hinting at Danny,” I said, “she had neither the time nor
the strength. If she’d had a year, she wouldn’t have done it, and
couldn’t have, with those frail little hands of hers.”
“In my opinion,” Clarence returned, “that job took science, rather
than strength. It took fingers that knew how to find the windpipe and
the carotid artery at the same instant. The Japs understand that grip,
perfectly. An Occidental might stumble onto it by accident. But,
granted your objection, that strength was required. The young woman
might have had an accomplice. One who, filled with remorse, killed
himself. Or one who, in tense excitement, dropped the key into her own
pocket——”
I gasped. Sam rose. He took hold of Clarence at the back of his
collar, and at the back of his trousers, and began pushing him toward
the door.
Sam’s first remark won’t do to repeat. His second was, “And now, you
blithering fool, if you publish one of your filthy, lying
insinuations, against that little, grief stricken sister, or against
our dead boy, or against Mrs. Magin, just one, in that rotten dirty
sheet of yours, you won’t be in Nevada long enough to get your
divorce.” Sam boosted him out through the doors.
All the Nevada newspaper accounts made much of the fact that the
fiend, who had committed the terrible murder on the Desert Moon Ranch,
had made a complete escape, without leaving any clues of any sort.