Jim's car had been moved to his own garage the morning after the
accident, and as I had a pass-key to the place I found it unnecessary
to go to the house at all. Wicks and Annie were taking care of the
establishment until Helen should come home, or the house be sold.
I opened the door of the garage and shuddered involuntarily as I caught
sight of the wrecked Peckwith-Pierce. It had been more badly smashed
than I had at first supposed. On the night of the murder I saw that
the chassis was twisted and the axle broken, but I had not noticed what
that jolting crash had done to the body of the car. The steering rod
was broken and the cushions were caked with mud. One wheel sagged at a
drunken angle like a lop-ear and the wind-shield was nothing but a
mangled frame. One long gash ran the length of the body, as though it
had scraped against a rock, and this gash ended in a jagged wound the
size of a man's head. In the back were three small splintered holes.
I examined these with particular interest, wondering what could have
caused them. Evidently the police had neglected to examine the
machine. The sight of what looked like the end of a nail caused me to
drop to my knees and to begin digging frantically at the wood with my
pen-knife. At the end of five feverish minutes I held the prize in my
hand.
It was a misshapen, steel, "32" rifle bullet.
In the floor of the car, near where Jim's feet must have been, I found
two more splintered holes, apparently made by the same rifle from which
the shots had been fired into the back of the car.
Two thoughts flashed through my mind, exuberant assurance that this
latest discovery cleared Helen completely. She couldn't have fired a
rifle from the rear seat of the automobile, nor could she have put
those bullet holes into the back of the car. In my joy that I had
found proof of my sister's innocence, I forgot to speculate on who
could have committed the murder. My second thought was really a
continuation of the first, that I must bring the coroner and Simpson at
once to confirm my discovery.
I carefully locked the door of the garage, as though fearful some one
would rob me of my find, or that the automobile might move away of its
own volition, then I ran to the house and rang the bell. All the
curtains were drawn and I had about decided there was no one at home,
when, after what seemed an interminable wait, I heard the sound of
footsteps within, and Wicks opened the door.
"Who'd you expect to see, Wicks, a policeman?" I asked.
"No, sir. One of those blarsted reporters, sir."
"Poor old Wicksy," I sympathized. "Well, it'll soon be over now. I
want to use the telephone."
I ran down the hall to the table where I knew the telephone to be, and
called up Simpson. He promised he would come right up.
The coroner demurred for a moment, pleading important business, but
when he heard I had proof that would clear Mrs. Felderson, he, too,
promised to be with me in a few minutes.
Wicks, who had been listening, was so excited that he momentarily
forgot himself and clutched me by the arm as I put down the receiver.
"Is it true, sir, that you can prove Mrs. Felderson 'ad nothing to do
with it?" he gasped.
"Truest thing you know, Wicks!"
"I fear I'm going to act unseemly, sir. I feel like yelling, 'ip, 'ip,
sir." Then he noticed he had me by the arm and hastily murmured
apology.
"That's all right, Wicksy, old top. Go as far as you like," I cried.
"I'm so happy and relieved I could kiss the Kaiser."
"You surely wouldn't do that, sir," Wicks reproved.
"All right, Wicks. I guess it's not being done this year."
The butler turned to leave but stopped at the door to say: "Mr. Woods
called about a week ago, sir."
"What did he want?" I demanded.
"He stated as 'ow 'e was after some papers concerning a business deal
that 'e and Mr. Felderson were interested in."
In the excitement over my discovery, I had completely forgotten the
real errand that had brought me to the house.
"What did you tell him, Wicks?"
"I told 'im that you had charge of all Mr. Felderson's effects, sir,
and that he could probably obtain them from you," the butler replied.
"That was right. Did he leave after that?"
"Shortly after that, sir," Wicks answered. "But first he asked for the
key to the garage, sayin' that 'e would like to hinspect the auto."
"Did you give it to him?" I snapped.
"Y-yes, sir. I saw no 'arm in that, sir."
I ran to the garage and quickly searched the broad pockets of Jim's
car. The portfolio was not there. I hurried toward the house to ask
Wicks if Woods had had any papers with him when he returned the garage
key, but slackened my pace before I had gone half-way. After all, it
made very little difference. The evidence had only been gathered to
keep Helen with her husband. Now, since that was no longer an issue,
what did it matter if Woods had stolen the proofs of his own
dishonesty. True, Simpson and Todd had asked me to get them, but I
felt that they had urged the importance of those papers more to give me
something to do than for any real need of them.
Just then an automobile came up the drive and Simpson jumped out. He
was gravely skeptical until I led him into the garage and showed him
the bullet holes; then he was enthusiastic. He examined the back of
the car minutely, and at the end of his scrutiny he turned to me.
"I'm not at all sure that we were justified in giving Zalnitch a clean
bill of health so soon. It is just possible he had a lot more to do
with this than we supposed."
While we were talking the coroner drove up. He took the bullet I had
extracted from the back of the car and looked at it as though he
expected to find its owner's name etched on it, after which he examined
the holes in the back of the car and in the foot-board. Then I eagerly
related our suspicions against Zalnitch, but he shook his head.
"This would seem to clear Mrs. Felderson but it also makes it look as
though every other suspect is innocent. Look at these holes in the
floor! The bullets that lodged there must have been fired from above.
Also you will notice there are three bullet holes in the back of the
car and two in the foot-board, besides the shot that killed Mr.
Felderson. Unless your friends, the Socialists, were carrying a young
armory with them, they could never have fired that many shots in the
short space of time that it took Mr. Felderson to pass them. I should
say that it would take a man from--well, from fifteen to thirty
seconds, at least, to fire six shots at _any_ target, and before that
time, the automobile would have been out of range."
"He might have used an automatic rifle," I interposed.
The coroner took off his hat and rubbed the bald spot on the back of
his head.
"That is possible," he admitted, "but it doesn't explain how those
bullet holes got into the floor. There might have been a struggle and
the gun discharged into the floor that way."
"That doesn't explain the holes in the back of the car," I objected,
fearing that they would again go back to the theory that Helen was
responsible.
"The holes in the foot-board seem to me positive proof that the shots
were fired from above," Simpson argued. "Are there any buildings or
trees along that road where the murderer might have stationed himself
and waited for Felderson to come along?"
"There are no buildings," I replied, "but there must be trees in the
vicinity of that stream."
"That sounds as though it might bring results," Simpson said.
"Thompson, suppose you take the coroner out there and see what you can
find. In the meantime I'll start proceedings to quash that indictment
against Mrs. Felderson."
The coroner insisted he was due at an inquest that very moment, but
would go with me in the afternoon. As we walked toward the cars,
Simpson asked me if I had found the papers dealing with Woods' case,
and I told him I thought Woods had stolen them and repeated the
information Wicks had given me.
"I don't think we shall need them, fortunately," Simpson replied.
"Todd saw Woods last night. He's making a frantic effort to raise
money and came to him, among others. He says that Woods can clear
himself of all connection with the crime. Men who were with him that
night can testify he didn't leave the club. By the way, Woods hasn't
approached you, has he?"
"No," I laughed, "he knows I have no money, and if I had I wouldn't
give it to him."
After they had left, I decided to go out to the Blandesville bridge and
do a little preliminary scouting on my own. Eager for Mary's company,
and wishing to tell her the glorious news that was to clear Helen, I
drove to the hospital, only to find that Mary had not been there and
Helen was asleep; so I drove on to Mary's, hoping to find her home.
"Miss Pendleton is just going out, but I will ask if she will see you,"
the maid informed me.
I stepped into the living-room and picked up a magazine. As I took it
in my hand it fell open to a story entitled, "Who Murdered Merryvale?"
I looked at one of the illustrations and quickly laid the magazine
down, conscious that I'd never again read a mystery story built around
a tragic death. Then I heard Mary's light step pattering down the
stairs and turned to greet her. She was dressed in a smart,
semi-military costume which she had worn while a volunteer chauffeur
during the war, and she looked simply radiant.
"Mary, we've made certain discoveries which absolutely clear Helen of
suspicion," I cried, taking her hands in mine. I told her of my find
of the morning, and watched her eyes widen with joy and surprise. "So,
while we haven't found out yet who murdered Jim, we know that Helen had
no part in it."
Mary was thinking hard about something, but she recalled herself
quickly, and said:
"Oh! It's wonderful, Bupps, simply _wonderful_!"
"I'm going out to the Blandesville bridge to do a little sleuthing on
my own hook. Can you come with me?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't, Warren. I have another engagement," she
answered.
"Some other man?" I asked, disappointed and a bit jealous.
"Yes."
"Is it that young Davis?"
She shook her head.
"It's some one you don't like very well."
"That's natural," I replied. "I don't love any of my rivals. Who is
it?"
"Promise you won't say anything if I tell you who it is?"
"Of course I won't say anything," I said a little haughtily. "You have
a perfect right to go with any one you care to."
"It's Frank Woods."
"Mary," I gasped, "do you mean to say you'd be seen with that man,
after what he did to Jim?"
"Now, Bupps, you promised not to say anything."
"I know--but this is different. Do you think I'll stand quietly by and
see that man make a fool of you as he did of Helen? Do you think I'll
let that--that rake make love to you?"
"He's not going to make love to me!" Mary answered with some asperity.
"That's what you think. That's what Helen thought and Jim thought.
That's what all of them think when he starts. Do you know what he
wants to do? He asked you to go out with him so he could try to borrow
money of you, to save his rotten hide."
"But, Bupps, he didn't ask me to go riding with him. I asked him to
take me."
"You asked him to take you?" I cried.
"Don't talk so loud, Bupps! The people on the street will hear you."
If there was anything she could have said that would have made me
angrier than I already was, it was that.
"I'm not talking loud," I shouted, "and what if I do? The people on
the street may hear me, but they will _see_ you with Frank Woods, which
is a hundred times worse. Why, it is as much as a girl's reputation is
worth to be seen alone with him."
"I'll take care of my reputation," she replied coldly.
"You think you will," I said, flinging myself into a chair.
"Warren! Do you know that's insulting?" Mary exclaimed angrily.
"You're acting like a schoolboy. I have good reasons for wanting to go
out with Frank Woods."
"Reasons!" I sneered.
She went into the hall and I followed.
"Mary, I don't know what your reasons are, and I don't care. I'm not
going to have that man making love to you. Either you don't go out
with him, or I quit."
Mary turned and looked me straight in the eyes.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Any girl who is Frank Woods' friend, after the mess he stirred up in
my family, isn't my friend."
Mary's face was white, but her little chin was set determinedly.
"That's just as you wish," she said, and ran up-stairs.