A FULL MORNING
But only for an instant. A faint color dribbled back into her yellow
cheeks. He could almost see courage flowing again into her veins.
"That's a lie," she said flatly.
"I don't expect you to take my word. Hull is in front of the house
here under guard. Come an' see if you doubt it."
She took him promptly at his suggestion. One look at her husband's
fat, huddled figure and stricken face was enough.
"You chicken-hearted louse," she spat at him scornfully.
"They had evidence. A man saw us," he pleaded.
"What man?"
"This man." His trembling hand indicated Olson. "He was standin' on
the fire escape acrost the alley."
She had nothing to say. The wind had died out of the sails of her
anger.
"We're not goin' to arrest Hull yet--not technically," Kirby explained
to her. "I'm arrangin' to hire a private detective to be with him all
the time. He'll keep him in sight from mornin' till night. Is that
satisfactory, Hull? Or do you prefer to be arrested?"
The wretched man murmured that he would leave it to Lane.
"Good. Then that's the way it'll be." Kirby turned to the woman.
"Mrs. Hull, I want to ask you a few questions. If you'll kindly walk
into the house, please."
She moved beside him. The shock of the surprise still palsied her will.
In the main her story corroborated that of Hull. She was not quite
sure when she had heard the shot in its relation to the trips of the
elevator up and down. The door was closed at the time. They had heard
it while standing at the window. Her impression was that the sound had
come after James Cunningham had ascended to the floor above.
Kirby put one question to the woman innocently that sent the color
washing out of her cheeks.
"Which of you went back upstairs to untie my uncle after you had run
away in a fright?"
"N-neither of us," she answered, teeth chattering from sheer funk.
"I understood Mr. Hull to say--"
"He never said that. Y-you must be mistaken."
"Mebbeso. You didn't go back, then?"
The monosyllable "No" came quavering from her yellow throat.
"I don't want you to feel that I'm here to take an advantage of you,
Mrs. Hull," Kirby said. "A good many have been suspected of these
murders. Your husband is one of these suspects. I'm another. I mean
to find out who killed Cunningham an' Horikawa. I think I know
already. In my judgment your husband didn't do it. If he did, so much
the worse for him. No innocent person has anything to fear from me.
But this is the point I'm makin' now. If you like I'll leave a
statement here signed by me to the effect that neither you nor your
husband has confessed killing James Cunningham. It might make your
mind a little easier to have it."
She hesitated. "Well, if you like."
He stepped to a desk and found paper and pen. "I'll dictate it if
you'll write it, Mrs. Hull."
Not quite easy in her mind, the woman sat down and took the pen he
offered.
"This is to certify--" Kirby began, and dictated a few sentences slowly.
She wrote the statement, word for word as he gave it, _using her left
hand_. The cattleman signed it. He left the paper with her.
After the arrangement for the private detective to watch Hull had been
made, Olson and Lane walked together to the hotel of the latter.
"Come up to my room a minute and let's talk things over," Kirby
suggested.
As soon as the door was closed, the man from Twin Buttes turned on the
farmer and flung a swift demand at him.
"Now, Olson, I'll hear the rest of your story."
The eyes of the Swede grew hard and narrow. "What's bitin' you? I've
told you my story."
"Some of it. Not all of it."
"Whadjamean?"
"You told me what you saw from the fire escape of the Wyndham, but _you
didn't tell what you saw from the fire escape of the Paradox_."
"Who says I saw anything from there?"
"I say so."
"You tryin' to hang this killin' on me?" demanded Olson angrily.
"Not if you didn't do it." Kirby looked at him quietly, speculatively,
undisturbed by the heaviness of his frown. "But you come to me an'
tell the story of what you saw. So you say. Yet all the time you're
holdin' back. Why? What's your reason?"
"How do you know I'm holdin' back?" the ranchman asked sulkily.
Kirby knew that in his mind suspicion, dread, fear, hatred, and the
desire for revenge were once more at open war.
"I'll tell you what you did that night," answered Kirby, without the
least trace of doubt in voice or manner. "When Mrs. Hull pulled down
the blind, you ran up to the roof an' cut down the clothes-line. You
went back to the fire escape, fixed up some kind of a lariat, an' flung
the loop over an abutment stickin' from the wall of the Paradox. You
swung across to the fire escape of the Paradox. There you could see
into the room where Cunningham was tied to the chair."
"How could I if the blind was down?"
"The blind doesn't fit close to the woodwork of the window. Lookin' in
from the right, you can see the left half of the room. If you look in
from the other side, you see the other part of it. That's just what
you did."
For the moment Olson was struck dumb. How could this man know exactly
what he had done unless some one had seen him?
"You know so much I reckon I'll let you tell the rest," the
Scandinavian said with uneasy sarcasm.
"Afraid you'll have to talk, Olson. Either to me or to the Chief at
headquarters. You've become a live suspect. Figure it out yourself.
You threaten Cunningham by mail. You make threats before people
orally. You come to Denver an' take a room in the next house to where
he lives. On the night he's killed, by your own admission, you stand
on the platform a few feet away an' raise no alarm while you see him
slugged. Later, you hear the shot that kills him an' still you don't
call the officers. Yet you're so interested in the crime that you run
upstairs, cut down the clothes-line, an' at some danger swing over to
the Paradox. The question the police will want to know is whether the
man who does this an' then keeps it secret may not have the best reason
in the world for not wanting it known."
"What you mean--the best reason in the world?"
"They'll ask what's to have prevented you from openin' the window an'
steppin' in while my uncle was tied up, from shootin' him an' slippin'
down the fire escape, an' from walkin' back upstairs to your own room
at the Wyndham."
"Are you claimin' that I killed him?" Olson wanted to know.
"I'm tellin' you that the police will surely raise the question."
"If they do I'll tell 'em who did," the rancher blurted out wildly.
"I'd tell 'em first, it I were in your place. It'll have a lot more
weight than if you keep still until your back's against the wall."
"When I do you'll sit up an' take notice. The man who shot Cunningham
is yore own cousin," the Dry Valley man flung out vindictively.
"Which one?"
"The smug one--James."
"You saw him do it?"
"I heard the shot while I was on the roof. When I looked round the
edge of the blind five minutes later, he was goin' over the papers in
the desk--and an automatic pistol was there right by his hand."
"He was alone?"
"At first he was. In about a minute his brother an' Miss Harriman came
into the room. She screamed when she saw yore uncle an' most fainted.
The other brother, the young one, kinda caught her an' steadied her.
He was struck all of a heap himself. You could see that. He looked at
James, an' he said, 'My God, you didn't--' That was all. No need to
finish. O' course James denied it. He'd jumped up to help support
Miss Harriman outa the room. Maybe a coupla minutes later he came back
alone. He went right straight back to the desk, found inside of three
seconds the legal document I told you I'd seen his uncle reading
glanced it over, turned to the back page, jammed the paper back in the
cubby-hole, an' then switched off the light. A minute later the light
was switched off in the big room, too. Then I reckoned it was time to
beat it down the fire escape. I did. I went back into the Wyndham
carryin' the clothes-line under my coat, walked upstairs without
meetin' anybody, left the rope on the roof, an' got outa the house
without being seen."
"That's the whole story?" Kirby said.
"The whole story. I'd swear it on a stack of Bibles."
"Did you fix the rope for a lariat up on the roof or wait till you came
back to the fire escape?"
"I fixed it on the roof--made the loop an' all there. Figured I might
be seen if I stood around too long on the platform."
"So that you must 'a' been away quite a little while."
"I reckon so. Prob'ly a quarter of an hour or more."
"Can you locate more definitely the exact time you heard the shot?"
"No, I don't reckon I can."
Kirby asked only one more question.
"You left next mornin' for Dry Valley, didn't you?"
"Yes. None o' my business if they stuck Hull for it. He was guilty as
sin, anyhow. If he didn't kill the old man, it wasn't because he
didn't want to. Maybe he did. The testimony at the inquest, as I read
the papers, left it that maybe the blow on the head had killed
Cunningham. Anyhow, I wasn't gonna mix myself in it."
Kirby said nothing. He looked out of the window of his room without
seeing anything. His thoughts were focused on the problem before him.
The other man stirred uneasily. "Think I did it?" he asked.
The cattleman brought his gaze back to the Dry Valley settler. "You?
Oh, no! You didn't do it."
There was such quiet certainty in his manner that Olson drew a deep
breath of relief. "By Jupiter, I'm glad to hear you say so. What made
you change yore mind?"
"Haven't changed it. Knew that all the time--well, not all the time.
I was millin' you over in my mind quite a bit while you were holdin'
out on me. Couldn't be dead sure whether you were hidin' what you knew
just to hurt Hull or because of your own guilt."
"Still, I don't see how you're sure yet. I might 'a' gone in by the
window an' gunned Cunningham like you said."
"Yes, you might have, but you didn't. I'm not goin' to have you
arrested, Olson, but I want you to stay in Denver for a day or two
until this is settled. We may need you as a witness. It won't be
long. I'll see your expenses are paid while you're here."
"I'm free to come an' go as I please?"
"Absolutely." Kirby looked at him with level eyes. He spoke quite as
a matter of course. "You're no fool, Olson. You wouldn't stir up
suspicion against yourself again by runnin' away now, after I tell you
that my eye is on the one that did it."
The Swede started. "You mean--now?"
"Not this very minute," Kirby laughed. "I mean I've got the person
spotted, at least I think I have. I've made a lot of mistakes since I
started roundin' up this fellow with the brand of Cain. Maybe I'm
makin' another. But I've a hunch that I'm ridin' herd on the right one
this time."
He rose. Olson took the hint. He would have liked to ask some
questions, for his mind was filled with a burning curiosity. But his
host's manner did not invite them. The rancher left.
Up and down his room Kirby paced a beat from the window to the door and
back again. His mind was busy dissecting, analyzing, classifying.
Some one had once remarked that he had a single-track mind. In one
sense he had. The habit of it was to follow a train of thought to its
logical conclusion. He did not hop from one thing to another
inconsequently.
Just now his brain was working on his cousin James. He went back to
the first day of his arrival in Denver and sifted the evidence for and
against him. A stream of details, fugitive impressions, and mental
reactions flooded through.
For one of so cold a temperament James had been distinctly friendly to
him. He had gone out of his way to find bond for him when he had been
arrested. He had tried to smooth over difficulties between him and
Jack. But Kirby, against his desire, found practical reasons of policy
to explain these overtures. James had known he would soon be released
through the efforts of other cattlemen. He had stepped in to win the
Wyoming cousin's confidence in order that he might prove an asset
rather than a liability to his cause. The oil broker had readily
agreed to protect Esther McLean from publicity, but the reason for his
forbearance was quite plain now. He had been protecting himself, not
her.
The man's relation to Esther proved him selfish and without principle.
He had been willing to let his dead uncle bear the odium of his
misdeed. Yet beneath the surface of his cold manner James was probably
swept by heady passions. His love for Phyllis Harriman had carried him
beyond prudence, beyond honor. He had duped the uncle whose good-will
he had carefully fostered for many years, and at the hour of his
uncle's death he had been due to reap the whirlwind.
The problem sifted down to two factors. One was the time element. The
other was the temperament of James. A man may be unprincipled and yet
draw the line at murder. He may be a seducer and still lack the
courage and the cowardice for a cold-blooded killing. Kirby had
studied his cousin, but the man was more or less of a sphinx to him.
Behind those cold, calculating eyes what was he thinking?
Only once had he seen him thrown off his poise. That was when Kirby
and Rose had met him coming out of the Paradox white and shaken, his
arm wrenched and strained. He had been nonplussed at sight of them.
For a moment he had let his eyes mirror the dismay of his soul. The
explanation he had given was quite inadequate as a cause.
Twenty-four hours later Kirby had discovered the dead body of the
Japanese valet Horikawa. The man had been dead perhaps a day. More
hours than one had been spent by Kirby pondering on the possible
connection of his cousin's momentary breakdown and the servant's death.
_Had James come fresh from the murder of Horikawa_?
It was possible that the Oriental might have held evidence against him
and threatened to divulge it. James, with the fear of death in his
heart, might have gone each day into the apartment where the man was
lurking, taking to him food and newspapers. They might have quarreled.
The strained tendons of Cunningham's arm could be accounted for a good
deal more readily on the hypothesis of a bit of expert jiu-jitsu than
on that of a fall downstairs. There were pieces in the puzzle Kirby
could not fit into place. One of them was to find a sufficient cause
for driving Horikawa to conceal himself when there was no evidence
against him of the crime.
The time element was tremendously important in the solution of the
mystery of Cunningham's death. Kirby had studied this a hundred times.
On the back of an envelope he jotted down once more such memoranda as
he knew or could safely guess at. Some of these he had to change
slightly as to time to make them dovetail into each other.
8.45. Uncle J. leaves City Club.
8.55. Uncle J. reaches rooms.
8.55- 9.10. Gets slippers, etc. Smokes.
8.55- 9.20. Olson watching from W. fire escape.
9.10- 9.30. Hulls in Apt.
9.30- 9.40. _X_.
9.37- 9.42. Approximately time Olson heard shot.
9.20- 9.42. Olson busy on roof, with rope, etc. Then at
window till 9.53.
9.40- 9.53. James in Apt.
9.44- 9.50. Jack and Phyllis in Apt.
9.55-10.05. Wild Rose in rooms.
10.00. I reach rooms.
10.20. Meet Ellis.
10.25. Call police.
That was the time schedule as well as he had been able to work it out.
It was incomplete. For instance, he had not been able to account for
Horikawa in it at all unless he represented _X_ in that ten minutes of
time unaccounted for. It was inaccurate. Olson was entirely vague as
to time, but he could be checked up pretty well by the others. Hull
was not quite sure of his clock, and Rose could only say that she had
reached the Paradox "quite a little after a quarter to ten."
Fortunately his own arrival checked up hers pretty closely, since she
could not have been in the room much more than five minutes before him.
Probably she had been even less than that. James could not have left
the apartment more than a minute or so before Rose arrived. It was
quite possible that her coming had frightened him out.
So far as the dovetailing of time went, there was only the ten minutes
or less between the leaving of the Hulls and the appearance of James
left unexplained. If some one other than those mentioned on his
penciled memoranda had killed Cunningham, it must have been between
half-past nine and twenty minutes to ten. The _X_ he had written in
there was the only possible unknown quantity. By the use of hard work
and common sense he had eliminated the rest of the time so far as
outsiders were concerned.
Kirby put the envelope in his pocket and went out to get some luncheon.
"I'll call it a mornin'," he told himself with a smile.