"Was Helen--did Helen get into the front seat with Jim?" I faltered.
"No. She climbed into the back," Mary replied. "They had some sort of
an argument before they left. I knew Jim was excited and that Helen
was angry. Of course I didn't hear all that passed between them, I
tried not to hear any, but they talked very loud and were right in the
next room."
"What did you hear?" I asked, my heart sinking.
"Once Jim laughed, a hard sort of laugh, and I heard Helen say, 'You
lie! You know you are lying! He will disprove everything you say!'
Another time I heard Helen exclaim, 'Give me that pistol! You shan't
threaten him while I'm there!' I knew, of course, they were speaking
of Frank Woods, but I didn't know what it was all about. But why do
you ask all this, Bupps?"
"Mary," I said, and I couldn't look at her, "the coroner has given a
verdict of murder."
"Murder?" Mary gasped. I nodded.
"Jim was shot from behind, while he was driving Helen out to the
country-club to meet Woods, and Helen was in the back seat."
"She didn't do it!" Mary burst out. "She couldn't have done it."
"Of course she didn't do it!" I exploded. We were glaring at each
other as though each was defending Helen from the other's accusation.
"We know she didn't do it, but there are many who won't take our word
for it. I could see by the way the coroner looked at me this morning
that he is ready to accuse her of murdering Jim, and it's up to us to
save her, by finding out who really is guilty."
We drove up in front of Luigi's, and I was able to get a small table,
in the corner by ourselves. Although no one could have overheard us, I
sat as near Mary as I could and we talked with our heads close together.
Mrs. Webster Pratt came in the door just then, with a luncheon party,
and, noticing how we were engrossed, came bouncing over to the table at
once.
"Poor Mr. Thompson, my heart bleeds for you--simply bleeds for you."
I got to my feet and permitted her to squeeze my hand. She squeezes
your hand or pats you at the least opportunity, and this one was
unequaled.
"Poor, dear Mr. Felderson. It is such a loss. I was shocked to death
when I heard it. And Mrs. Felderson, the poor child, is she going
to--ah--t-t-t. I was afraid so when I read it in the paper. I'm
surprised to find you here. How is your poor dear mother?"
I knew that the woman would gossip all over the place about my
heartlessness, unless I explained my presence in a public café so soon
after Jim's death and my sister's injury.
"My mother doesn't know about it yet," I said quietly. "I didn't think
her strong enough to stand the shock. I shouldn't have come here, but
I had a very important matter to talk over with Miss Pendleton."
"I could see that from the way you were sitting," she giggled. "I'm
afraid that you're going to give Eastbrook something to talk about as
soon as this distressing thing is over." She patted my arm, beamed at
Mary and swished over to her party.
"We shouldn't have come here, Mary," I said with a sour grimace.
"I forgot that old cat sometimes comes here. She'll spread it all over
town that you were down here making love to me before Jim was decently
buried. She'll probably say we're engaged."
"Well, I wish we were." I know I must have shown my longing in my eyes.
"Don't, please, Warren!" Mary whispered, putting her hand on my arm.
"We've got too much to do. That Pratt woman drove everything out of my
mind for a moment. I wish she hadn't seen us here."
I didn't feel as though I could eat a thing and neither did Mary, so I
told the waiter to bring us a light salad, and sent him away.
"Mary," I said, after he had gone, "we know Helen didn't do this thing,
but if you are called by the grand jury to tell what you just told me,
they will bring an indictment against her in a minute."
"They couldn't!" Mary expostulated. "They couldn't believe such a
thing."
"Don't you think Mrs. Webster Pratt would believe it, if she knew
everything that we know?" I argued. "She'd believe it with only half
as much proof, and she has just about the mental equipment of the
average juryman. There'll be about four Mrs. Webster Pratts on that
jury."
"What can we do, Bupps?" Mary begged with tears in her eyes.
"Well," I said, "you've got to see Helen as soon as they will let you
and as often as they'll let you, so that the first time she speaks,
you'll be there to hear what she says."
"But suppose she dies, Bupps?"
"Even while she is unconscious," I went on, disregarding her query,
"she may say something that will give us a clue. I'm going out to the
bridge right after lunch."
"What for?" Mary asked.
"To see if I can find Jim's revolver. If it had been found on Helen,
the coroner would have told me this morning, I think. Of course, they
may not have taken it at all. In that case it will still be at your
house. If Helen took it with her, it must have fallen out when the car
turned over, and if it did, I must get it before anybody else does."
The waiter interrupted here with the salad. Mary dabbled with hers a
bit and then said:
"Bupps, hadn't I better get out of town?"
"No," I replied. "They'd be sure to find you, and when you gave your
testimony, it would hurt Helen just that much more."
"But I can't stand up before them and tell what I heard. I'll lie
first." Her lovely little face clouded up as though she were going to
cry.
"You'll do nothing of the kind!" I insisted. "We know Helen didn't do
it. Don't we?"
"Ye-es." Her tone was not convincing.
"Well, then, whatever we say can't hurt her. And we're bound to find
out who the guilty persons are."
"But, Bupps, who could it have been?" she asked anxiously.
"I still think it was Zalnitch and the men who were with him, but it
might have been Woods. I'm going to find out everything he did last
night. It may throw some light on the case. After all, he is the one
who had the most to gain by Jim's death, and his words of last night
were mighty queer."
I paid the waiter and we left the café. On the way to Mary's I stopped
at the undertaker's and made arrangements for Jim's burial. The man in
charge was the saddest looking person I have ever seen. He had a
woebegone look about him that was infectious--made you want to weep for
him or with him. He discussed the funeral arrangements in a hushed
voice and finished by whispering, "I sincerely hope what the papers are
hinting is not so."
"What's that?" I asked.
"The noon edition of _The Sun_ says, 'The finger of suspicion points
very strongly to Mrs. Felderson.'"