Part 49 (1/2)
”Why, killing Hen Smitz--what crime did you think?” said Mr. Wiggins.
”Do I look like a man that would go and murder a man just because--”
He hesitated and Mr. Gubb, who was slipping his suspenders over his bony shoulders, looked at Mr. Wiggins with keen eyes.
”Well, just because him and me had words in fun,” said Mr. Wiggins, ”I leave it to you, can't a man say words in fun once in a while?”
”Certainly sure,” said Mr. Gubb.
”I guess so,” said Mr. Wiggins. ”Anybody'd know a man don't mean all he says. When I went and told Hen Smitz I'd murder him as sure as green apples grow on a tree, I was just fooling. But this fool policeman--”
”Mr. O'Toole?”
”Yes. They gave him this Hen Smitz case to look into, and the first thing he did was to arrest me for murder. Nervy, I call it.”
Policeman O'Toole opened the door a crack and peeked in. Seeing Mr.
Gubb well along in his dressing operations, he opened the door wider and a.s.sisted Mrs. Smitz to a chair. She was still limp, but she was a brave little woman and was trying to control her sobs.
”Through?” O'Toole asked Wiggins. ”If you are, come along back to jail.”
”Now, don't talk to me in that tone of voice,” said Mr. Wiggins angrily. ”No, I'm not through. You don't know how to treat a gentleman like a gentleman, and never did.”
He turned to Mr. Gubb.
”The long and short of it is this: I'm arrested for the murder of Hen Smitz, and I didn't murder him and I want you to take my case and get me out of jail.”
”Ah, stuff!” exclaimed O'Toole. ”You murdered him and you know you did. What's the use talkin'?”
Mrs. Smitz leaned forward in her chair.
”Murdered Henry?” she cried. ”He never murdered Henry. I murdered him.”
”Now, ma'am,” said O'Toole politely, ”I hate to contradict a lady, but you never murdered him at all. This man here murdered him, and I've got the proof on him.”
”I murdered him!” cried Mrs. Smitz again. ”I drove him out of his right mind and made him kill himself.”
”Nothing of the sort,” declared O'Toole. ”This man Wiggins murdered him.”
”I did not!” exclaimed Mr. Wiggins indignantly. ”Some other man did it.”
It seemed a deadlock, for each was quite positive. Mr. Gubb looked from one to the other doubtfully.
”All right, take me back to jail,” said Mr. Wiggins. ”You look up the case, Mr. Gubb; that's all I came here for. Will you do it? Dig into it, hey?”
”I most certainly shall be glad to so do,” said Mr. Gubb, ”at the regular terms.”
O'Toole led his prisoner away.
For a few minutes Mrs. Smitz sat silent, her hands clasped, staring at the floor. Then she looked up into Mr. Gubb's eyes.
”You will work on this case, Mr. Gubb, won't you?” she begged. ”I have a little money--I'll give it all to have you do your best. It is cruel--cruel to have that poor man suffer under the charge of murder when I know so well Henry killed himself because I was cross with him.
You can prove he killed himself--that it was my fault. You will?”
”The way the deteckative profession operates onto a case,” said Mr.