MYSTERY & CRIME COLLECTION. Hay James
Mrs. Allen had gone, Bristow took from a bookcase one of his scrapbooks and went to work pasting into place the clippings he had been reading that morning when interrupted by the cry of murder.
For nine years he had been studying murder cases and the methods of murderers. People had laughed at his fad, but now he was more pleased with himself as a result of it than ever before. He was still pleasantly aware of the prominence he would enjoy in Furmville because of Greenleaf's having called on him for assistance.
"Every murderer," he had said many times, "makes some mistake, big or little, which will lead to his destruction if the authorities have brains enough to find it."
He thought the rule might apply too widely to this case. In fact, his own trouble now was that too many mistakes had been made, too many clues had been left lying around. In order to determine the guilty person, much chaff would have to be sifted from the wheat of truth.
He was closing his scrapbook when the chief of police arrived a few minutes before five o'clock.
"Henry Morley," Greenleaf announced at once, "is a receiving teller in a bank in Washington—the Anderson National Bank."
"And receiving tellers," put in Bristow quickly, "sometimes need money—need it to make good other money they have 'borrowed' from the bank. How did you find this out?"
"He told me when I met him at Number Five after leaving you this afternoon."
"Was he still there then?"
"Yes. It seems that Miss Fulton refused at first to see him. When she did see him, it was for only a minute or two. He was very much agitated when he came from her room."
"There's another thing," added Bristow. "Morley has two hours of last night to account for. He told us he missed the midnight train and went to the Brevord to spend the night. As a matter of fact, he registered at the Brevord a little after two o'clock this morning."
The chief's jaw dropped.
"How do you know that?"
"I called up the Brevord and got the information from the clerk."
"That settles it, then," Greenleaf said, his jaw set. "That young man will have to remain with us for a while."
"Yes; quite properly."
"I guess it's time for us to move." The chief turned toward the door.
"One moment," said the other. "Somehow, I have the impression that we may get important stuff from Maria Fulton. She may not give it to us directly and willingly, but we may get it all the same. And I was thinking this: you and I have got to keep our heads. We don't want to get rattled with the idea that we're up against an unsolvable mystery.
"As you know, I've lived in New York and Chicago and Cincinnati. For the past eight or nine years I've gotten a lot of fun out of watching and studying these cases. And the thing I've learned above all others is that the best way for a criminal to escape is for the authorities to lose their heads and think they are up against something that's really much bigger than it is.
"You see what I mean? What we want to do is to go ahead with our eyes open, knowing that at any moment we may stumble against the one act that will make everything clear and definite."
"That's good talk, and I'll try to act on it," replied the chief, "but, gee whiz! I'm not used to stuff of this sort. It kinder makes me sick."
They went out to the porch.
"By the way," Bristow asked, "what about the two buttons we found?"
"They belonged to Perry," Greenleaf answered. "There's no getting around that. He had the two middle buttons of his overalls jacket missing. What's more, one of the buttons, the one that had a little piece of the cloth clinging to it, fitted exactly into the hole made in the jacket when the button was pulled out."
"Which button was that?"
"The first one—the one you found in Number Five."
They started down the steps.
"You saw the scratches on Mrs. Withers' hand, didn't you?" said Bristow.
"Yes."
"Well, if Perry did the scratching, we can prove it. Any good laboratory man can tell us whether the stuff that was under his nails contains particles of the human skin, the epidermis. If those particles are found, the case is settled, it seems to me."
"By cracky!" exclaimed Greenleaf, his admiration of his assistant growing. "You've solved the problem—gone to the very bottom of it."
"What did Perry have to say? What was his story?"
"Oh, it amounted to nothing. Said he wasn't near Number Five; said he was drunk last night and thought he was at the house of this Lucy Thomas all the time."
"Then, the proof rests upon what the laboratory analysis of the finger nail stuff shows. When can we get that report?"
Bristow was a little surprised by the embarrassment Greenleaf showed before answering:
"We can get it tomorrow—by wire."
"Why can't we get it tonight—or tomorrow at the latest? The Davis laboratory here can do the work. It does laboratory work for all these doctors here."
"It can't do any work for me," objected Greenleaf stubbornly. "Dr. Davis and I aren't on speaking terms, personally or politically. I'll send the stuff down to a laboratory at Charlotte. It will reach there tomorrow morning if I get it off on the midnight train. We can get the telegraphed report on it late tomorrow or the day after."
"All right; I guess that will do," agreed Bristow.
As they started up the steps to the Fulton bungalow, Morley came out to the porch and charged down toward them. His face was convulsed as if by anger or fear. He did not seem to see the two men. Bristow caught him by the arm and put the query:
"Where are you going, Mr. Morley?"
Morley shook off his hand and answered curtly:
"To Washington. I've barely got time to catch my train."
"Don't hurry," Bristow said with a touch of sarcasm. "You're too good at missing trains anyway. Besides, we want to know what you did between midnight and two-ten this morning, and why you failed to tell us this morning that you didn't register at the Brevord until after two."
Morley's face went white.
"There wasn't anything to that," he explained. "I didn't mean to conceal anything. I didn't go anywhere—anywhere specially."
"Where did you go?" insisted Bristow.
"I took a walk. That was all. I didn't feel like sleeping."
"Did you see anybody while you were walking?"
"Not that I remember. Why?"
"Because, if you did, it might be advisable for you to remember. It may become necessary for you to prove an alibi."
"Oh, that!" the young man said with a nervous laugh.
"Yes. Can't you tell us where you went?"
"I wandered around, up and down the down-town streets. That was all."
"Well, remember," Bristow cautioned him. "If you can produce two or three people who saw you down there, it may help you a whole lot."
"Oh, that's all right, I haven't done anything against the law. The idea's absurd."
"Mr. Bristow's right," Greenleaf put in. "We'll have to know more about how you spent those two hours. Really, we will. If you try to leave town, you'll be arrested. My men have their orders."
Greenleaf had forgotten about the ring found in the young man's hotel room, but Bristow hadn't.
Morley went slowly down Manniston Road. There was a cold moisture upon his forehead.