Part 20 (1/2)
”I will tell that,” exploded Bates, ”only I won't tell where I was through the evening, and, you know yourself, that has nothing to do with the case.”
”I know, and, nine times out of ten, it doesn't matter what the people were doing who refuse to tell. But it might make a difference, and it's always a bother to be worrying about it.”
”Why worry?”
”Because it may pay. According to Corson's hunch, two of those chorus chicks don't want to tell where they were at the time of the crime----”
”Oh, well, they wouldn't----”
”I know; but it's an uncertainty. Now, take your aunt. She falsified about hearing your front door close just now. I've a full belief that was merely because of a piffling vanity about her deafness,--a thing n.o.body wants to admit,--but, I wish she hadn't, for it proves that she is not above prevarication.”
”I don't think she would fib in any serious matter,” vouchsafed Richard.
”You don't think so because you don't want to think so. That can't cut any ice with me, you know.”
The elevator stopped and the three went down.
In a business-like way, Gibbs rounded up all the girl employees available and put them through a rigid investigation.
They were a voluble lot, and it was easier to get information than to prevent it.
Daisy Lee was among the most vindictive. Although a frail, pale little thing, she was full of indignation at the late Sir Herbert's ways, and expressed herself without reserve.
”He was an old nuisance!” she averred; ”he was free with his presents and he was a gentleman,--I'll say that for him,--but he thought he could pat any girl on her shoulder or even s.n.a.t.c.h a kiss, without making her mad. He made me so mad I wanted to kill him,--and I told him so, lots of times. I didn't, and there's no way I could have done it, so I am not afraid to say that I would have stabbed him myself if I'd had a good chance!”
”You don't mean that, Miss Lee,” said Gibbs, coolly, ”and you're only saying it to make a sensation.”
”Why, what a story!” and Daisy turned on him. ”Well, that is, I don't suppose I really would have done the actual killing, but I'd have the will to.”
”Quite a different matter,” said the detective, ”and your will would have fizzled out at the critical moment.”
”Of course it would,” put in Julie Baxter, the telephone girl. ”Daisy's an awful bluffer. None of us girls would kill anybody. But one and all we are glad to be rid of Sir Herbert, though I can't help being sorry he's killed.”
”You mean you'd have been glad to be rid of him in some more peaceable fas.h.i.+on?”
”That's exactly what I mean. He was insufferable----”
”In what way?”
”Not only, as Daisy says, because he had free manners, but he was silly, beside. Always saying, 'Well, little one, how do you like my new necktie?' or some foolishness like that.”
Richard Bates looked uncomfortable. ”Need I stay?” he inquired. ”You must realize I dislike to hear this talk about my uncle.”
”Stay, please,” returned Corson, briefly; ”and, young ladies, don't give us any more of your opinions of Sir Herbert, but tell, if you know, of any circ.u.mstance bearing on his death.”
Apparently none knew of any such, and the girls looked at each other in silence.
”And now, tell me where you were at two A. M., each of you, and then you may be excused.”
Every one declared that she had been home and in bed at that hour, except Julie Baxter. She, with a fine show of independence, refused to disclose her whereabouts at that time.
”There it is again,” said Corson in despair. ”Now, Miss Baxter, I don't think that your reticence necessarily incriminates you at all, but it leaves room for doubt. Take my word for it, it would be wiser and far better for you to tell frankly where you were, even if it calls for criticism from your mates.”