THE LADY WITH THE VIOLET PERFUME
"I won't have it," Kirby said flatly. "If Miss McLean tells her story
to the district attorney he'll probably arrest her. It'll come out
about her sister an' the papers will run scare-heads. No need of it
a-tall. Won't hurt me to stay here a few days if I have to."
Jack, dapper and trim, leaned on his cane and watched his cousin. He
felt a reluctant admiration for this virile cousin so picturesquely
competent, so clean-cut and four-square of mind. Was he in love with
the Wild Rose from Wyoming, whose spirit also was like a breath from
the sweet hill pines? Or was his decision only the expression of a
native chivalry that went out to all his friends and perhaps to all
women?
"They'd certainly arrest her," Jack commented. "From a lawyer's point
of view there's every reason why they should. Motive for the crime,
sufficient; intention to force the victim to make reparation or punish
him, declared openly; opportunity to commit it, confessed; presence on
scene and eagerness to escape being seen there, admitted. The case
against her is stronger than the one against you." He offered this
last with a smile decorously but not wholly concealed.
"Yet she couldn't possibly have done it!" the cattleman replied.
"Couldn't she? I wonder." The Beau Brummel stroked his bit of
mustache, with the hint of insolence his manner often suggested.
"Not possible," said Lane forcefully. "Uncle James was a big,
two-fisted fighter. No slip of a girl could have overpowered him an'
tied him. It's not within reason." He spoke urgently, though still in
the low murmur both the cousins were using in order not to be overheard.
Jack put a neat, highly polished boot on the desk of the sergeant of
police. "Ever hear of a lady called Delilah?" he asked lightly.
"What about her?" In Kirby's quiet eye there was a warning.
The man-about-town shrugged his well-tailored shoulders. "They have a
way, the ladies. Guile, my son, is more potent than force."
"Meaning?"
"Delilah chloroformed Samson's suspicions before she sheared his locks."
Kirby repressed an anger that he knew was worse than futile. "It you
knew Miss McLean you couldn't misjudge her so. She thinks an' acts as
straight as a man."
"I don't say she did it, old top. I'm merely pointing out that it's
possible she did. Point of fact your friend made a hit with me. I'd
say she's a game little thoroughbred."
"You an' James will regard what she told you as confidential, of
course."
"Of course. We're of your mind, too, though I put her proposition to
you. Can't see anything to be gained by airing her story unless it's
absolutely necessary on your account. By the way, James wants me to
tell you that he thinks you won't have to spend another night at this
delightful hotel the city keeps for its guests. Bond has been
practically agreed on."
"Fine. Your brother's a brick. We're goin' to run down this business,
he an' I, an' drag the truth to light."
A glitter of sardonic mockery shone out of the dark eyes of Cunningham.
"You'll work together fine and Sherlock-Holmes this thing till it's as
clear as mud," he predicted.
By the middle of the afternoon Kirby was free. After he had talked
over with James a plan of campaign, he called Rose up on the telephone
and told her he would be right out to Cherokee Street.
She came to meet him in the stuffy parlor of the boarding-house with
hand outstretched.
"Oh, Kirby, I'm so glad to see you and so sorry I was such a horrid
little beast last time we met. I'm ashamed of myself. My temper
explodes so--and after you came to Denver to help me and gave up so
much for me. You'll forgive me, won't you?"
"You know it, Rose," he said, smiling.
"Yes, I do know it," she cried quickly. "That makes it worse for me to
impose on you. Now you're in trouble because of me. I should think
you'd pretty near hate me."
"We're in trouble together," he corrected. "I thought that was
supposed to bring friends closer an' not to drive them apart."
She flashed a quick look at him and changed the subject of
conversation. Just now she could not afford to be emotional.
"Are you going back to Twin Buttes?"
"No. I'm goin' to find out who killed James Cunningham an' bring the
man to justice. That's the only way to clear us both before the world."
"Yes!" she cried eagerly. "Let me help you. Let's be partners in it,
Kirby."
He already had one partner, but he threw him overboard instantly.
James Cunningham was retired to the position of an adviser.
"Bully! We'll start this very minute. Tell me all you know about what
happened the evenin' of the murder."
She told again the story she had confessed to his cousins. He asked
questions, pushed home inquiries. When she mentioned the woman who had
passed her on the stairs he showed a keen interest.
"You say you knew it was a woman with the man by the perfume. What
kind of perfume was it?"
"Violet."
"Did you notice a violet perfume any other place that night?"
"In your uncle's living-room."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"So did I."
"The woman I met on the stairs, then, had just come from your uncle's
rooms."
"Looks like it," he nodded in agreement.
"Then we've got to find her. She must have been in his apartment when
he was killed." The thought came to Rose as a revelation.
"Or right after."
"All we've got to do is to find her and the man with her, and we've
solved the mystery," the girl cried eagerly.
"That's not quite all," said Kirby, smiling at the way her mind leaped
gaps. "We've got to induce them to talk, an' it's not certain they
know any more than we do."
"Her skirts rustled like silk and the perfume wasn't cheap. I couldn't
really see her, but I knew she was well dressed," Rose told him.
"Well, that's somethin'," he said with the whimsical quirk to his mouth
she knew of old. "We'll advertise for a well-dressed lady who uses
violet perfume. Supposed to be connected with the murder at the
Paradox Apartments. Generous reward an' many questions asked."
His badinage was of the surface only. The subconscious mind of the
rough rider was preoccupied with a sense of a vague groping. The
thought of violet perfume associated itself with something else in
addition to the darkness of his uncle's living-room, but he did not
find himself able to localize the nebulous memory. Where was it his
nostrils had whiffed the scent more recently?
"Don't you think we ought to see all the tenants at the Paradox and
talk with them? Some of them may have seen people going in or out. Or
they may have heard voices," she said.
"That's a good idea. We'll make a canvass of the house."
Her eyes sparkled. "We'll find who did it! When two people look for
the truth intelligently they're bound to find it. Don't you think so?"
"I think we'll sure round up the wolf that did this killin'," he
drawled. "Anyhow, we'll sleep on his trail for a moon or two."
They shook hands on it.