Part 2 (1/2)
It took some little time, by calling and pounding outside her door, to arouse deaf Sallie Page, and longer to make her understand that she was wanted. Then, just as Darcy had expected, she began to cry and moan when she heard her mistress was dead, and refused to come from her room. She had served the owner of the jewelry store for more than a score of years.
”Hark!” exclaimed Mulligan, as he and Darcy came downstairs after having roused Sallie Page. ”What's that?”
”Some one is knocking,” remarked his companion.
”Maybe it's the men from headquarters.”
It was--Carroll and Thong, who always teamed it when there was a case of sufficient importance, as this seemed to be. They were insistently knocking at the side door, having forced their way through the crowd that was still there--larger than ever, maintaining positions in spite of the dripping, driving, drizzling rain.
”Killed, eh?” murmured Carroll, as he bent over the body.
”Gun?” asked Thong, who was making a quick visual inventory of the interior of the place.
”No; doesn't seem so. Looks more like her head's been busted in. Hit with something. Doc Warren can 'tend to that end of it. Now let's get down to business. Who found her this way?”
”I did,” answered Darcy.
”And who are you?”
”Her second cousin. Her name was Mrs. Amelia Darcy, and her husband and my father were first cousins. I have worked for her about seven years--ever since just after her husband died. She continued his business. It's one of the oldest in the city and--”
”Yes, I know all about that. Robbery here once--before your time. We got back some of the stuff for the old lady. She treated us pretty decent, too. When'd you find her like this?”
”About half an hour ago. I got up a little before six o'clock to do some repair work on a man's watch. He wanted to get the early train out of town.”
”I see! And you found the old lady like this?” asked Carroll.
”Just like this--yes. Then I called in the milkmen--”
”I saw them,” interrupted Mulligan. ”I know 'em. They're all right, so I let 'em go. We can get 'em after they finish their routes.”
”Um,” a.s.sented Thong. ”Anything gone from the store?” he asked Darcy.
”I haven't looked.”
”Better take a look around. It's probably a robbery. You know the stock, don't you?”
”As well as she did herself. I've been doing the buying lately.”
”Well, have a look. Who's that at the door?” he asked sharply, for a knock as of authority sounded--different from the aimless and impatient kickings and tappings of the wet throng outside.
”It's Daley from the Times,” reported Mulligan, peering out. ”He's all right. Shall I let him in?”
”Oh, yes, I guess so,” a.s.sented Carroll, with a glance at Thong, who confirmed, by a nod of his head, what his partner said. ”He'll give us what's right. Let him in.”
The reporter entered, nodded to the detectives, gave a short glance at the body, a longer one at Darcy, poked Mulligan in the ribs, lighted a cigarette, which he let hang from one lip where it gyrated in eccentric circles as he mumbled:
”What's the dope?”
”Don't know yet,” answered Carroll. ”The old lady's dead--murdered it looks like--and--”