Part 15 (2/2)

”What, Ned?” she asked in a frightened voice.

”Mathews has shot himself. I'll go down and stay with her till you get some clothes on. Don't go in there. There's nothing to see.” He went downstairs.

Eloise Mathews was a dim shape lying on the floor beside the bench.

He took two quick steps towards her, halted, and looked around the room with shrewd cold eyes. Then he walked over to the woman, went down on one knee beside her, and felt her pulse. He looked at her as closely as he could in the dull light of the dying fire. She gave no sign of consciousness. He pulled the paper he had taken from her husband's table out of his pocket and moved on his knees to the fireplace, where, in the red embers' glow, he read: I, Howard Keith Mathews, being of sound mind and memory, declare this to be my last will and testament:I give and bequeath to my beloved wife, Eloise Braden Mathews, her heirs and a.s.signs, all my real and personal property, of whatever nature or kind.I hereby appoint the State Central Trust Company the sole executor of this will.In witness whereof I have hereunto subscribed my name this...

Ned Beaumont, smiling grimly, stopped reading and tore the will three times across. He stood up, reached over the fire-screen, and dropped the torn pieces of paper into the glowing embers. The fragments blazed brightly a moment and were gone. With the wrought-iron shovel that stood beside the fire he mashed the paper-ash into the wood-coals.

Then he returned to Mrs. Mathews's side, poured a little whisky into the gla.s.s he had drunk from, raised her head, and forced some of the liquor between her lips. She was partly awake, coughing, when Opal Madvig came downstairs.

VI.

Shad O'Rory came down the stairs. Jeff and Rusty were behind him. All of them were dressed. Ned Beaumont was standing by the door, in rain-coat and hat.

”Where are you going, Ned?” Shad asked.

”To find a phone.”

O'Rory nodded. ”That's a good enough idea,” he said, ”but there's something I want to ask you about.” He came the rest of the way down the stairs, his followers close behind him.

Ned Beaumont said: ”Yes?” He took his hand out of his pocket. The hand was visible to O'Rory and the men behind him, but Ned Beaumont's body concealed it from the bench where Opal sat with arms around Eloise Mathews. A square pistol was in the hand. ”Just so there won't be any foolishness. I'm in a hurry.”

O'Rory did not seem to see the pistol, though he came no nearer. He said, reflectively: ”I was thinking that with an open ink-bottle and a pen on the table and a chair up to it it's kind of funny we didn't find any writing up there.”

Ned Beaumont smiled in mock astonishment. ”What, no writing?” He took a step backwards, towards the door. ”That's a funny one, all right. I'll discuss it with you for hours when I come back from phoning.”

”Now would be better,” O'Rory said.

”Sorry.” Ned Beaumont backed swiftly to the door, felt behind him for the k.n.o.b, found it, and had the door open. ”I won't be gone long.” He jumped out and slammed the door.

The rain had stopped. He left the path and ran through tall gra.s.s around the other side of the house. From the house came the sound of another door slamming in the rear. The river was audible not far to Ned Beaumont's left. He worked his way through underbrush towards it.

A high-pitched sharp whistle, not loud, sounded somewhere behind him. He floundered through an area of soft mud to a clump of trees and turned away from the river among them. The whistle came again, on his right. Beyond the trees were shoulder-high bushes. He went among them, bending forward from the waist for concealment, though the night's blackness was all but complete.

His way was uphill, up a hill frequently slippery, always uneven, through brush that tore his face and hands, caught his clothing. Three times he fell. He stumbled many times. The whistle did not come again. He did not find the Buick. He did not find the road along which he had come.

He dragged his feet now and stumbled where there were no obstructions and when presently he had topped the hill and was going down its other slope he began to fall more often. At the bottom of the hill he found a road and turned to the right on it. Its clay stuck to his feet in increasing bulk so that he had to stop time after time to sc.r.a.pe it off. He used his pistol to sc.r.a.pe it off.

When he heard a dog bark behind him he stopped and turned drunkenly to look back. Close to the road, fifty feet behind him, was the vague outline of a house he had pa.s.sed. He retraced his steps and came to a tall gate. The dog-a shapeless monster in the night-hurled itself at the other side of the gate and barked terrifically.

Ned Beaumont fumbled along an end of the gate, found the catch, unfastened it, and staggered in. The dog backed away, circling, feinting attacks it never made, filling the night with clamor.

A window screeched up and a heavy voice called: ”What the h.e.l.l are you doing to that dog?”

Ned Beaumont laughed weakly. Then he shook himself and replied in not too thin a voice: ”This is Beaumont of the District Attorney's office. I want to use your phone. There's a dead man down there.”

The heavy voice roared: ”I don't know what you're talking about. Shut up, Jeanie!” The dog barked three times with increased energy and became silent. ”Now what is it?”

”I want to phone. District Attorney's office. There's a dead man down there.”

The heavy voice exclaimed: ”The h.e.l.l you say!” The window screeched shut.

The dog began its barking and circling and feinting again. Ned Beaumont threw his muddy pistol at it. It turned and ran out of sight behind the house.

The front door was opened by a red-faced barrel-bodied short man in a long blue night-s.h.i.+rt. ”Holy Maria, you're a mess!” he gasped when Ned Beaumont came into the light from the doorway.

”Phone,” Ned Beaumont said.

The red-faced man caught him as he swayed. ”Here,” he said gruffly, ”tell me who to call and what to say. You can't do anything.”

”Phone,” Ned Beaumont said.

The red-faced man steadied him along a hallway, opened a door, said: ”There she is and it's a d.a.m.ned good thing for you the old woman ain't home or you'd never get in with all that mud on you.”

Ned Beaumont fell into the chair in front of the telephone, but he did not immediately reach for the telephone. He scowled at the man in the blue night-s.h.i.+rt and said thickly: ”Go out and shut the door.”

The red-faced man had not come into the room. He shut the door.

Ned Beaumont picked up the receiver, leaned forward so that he was propped against the table by his elbows on it, and called Paul Madvig's number. Half a dozen times while he waited his eyelids closed, but each time he forced them open again and when, at last, he spoke into the telephone it was clearly.

”'Lo, Paul-Ned....Never mind that. Listen to me. Mathews's committed suicide at his place on the river and didn't leave a will....Listen to me. This is important. With a lot of debts and no will naming an executor it'll be up to the courts to appoint somebody to administer the estate. Get that?...Yes. See that it comes up before the right judge-Phelps, say-and we can keep the Observer Observer out of the fight-except on our side-till after election. Got that?...All right, all right, now listen. That's only part of it. This is what's got to be done now. The out of the fight-except on our side-till after election. Got that?...All right, all right, now listen. That's only part of it. This is what's got to be done now. The Observer Observer is loaded with dynamite for the morning. You've got to stop it. I'd say get Phelps out of bed and get an injunction out of him-anything to stop it till you can show the is loaded with dynamite for the morning. You've got to stop it. I'd say get Phelps out of bed and get an injunction out of him-anything to stop it till you can show the Observer's Observer's hired men where they stand now that the paper's going to be bossed for a month or so by our friends....I can't tell you now, Paul, but it's dynamite and you've got to keep it from going on sale. Get Phelps out of bed and go down and look at it yourselves. You've got maybe three hours before it's out on the streets....That's right...What?...Opal? Oh, she's all right. She's with me....Yes, I'll bring her home....And will you phone the county people about Mathews? I'm going back there now. Right.” hired men where they stand now that the paper's going to be bossed for a month or so by our friends....I can't tell you now, Paul, but it's dynamite and you've got to keep it from going on sale. Get Phelps out of bed and go down and look at it yourselves. You've got maybe three hours before it's out on the streets....That's right...What?...Opal? Oh, she's all right. She's with me....Yes, I'll bring her home....And will you phone the county people about Mathews? I'm going back there now. Right.”

He laid the receiver on the table and stood up, staggered to the door, got it open after the second attempt, and fell out into the hallway, where the wall kept him from tumbling down on the floor.

The red-faced man came hurrying to him. ”Just lean on me, brother, and I'll make you comfortable. I got a blanket spread over the davenport so we won't have to worry about the mud and-”

Ned Beaumont said: ”I want to borrow a car. I've got to go back to Mathews's.”

”Is it him that's dead?”

”Yes.”

The red-faced man raised his eyebrows and made a squeaky whistling sound.

”Will you lend me the car?” Ned Beaumont demanded.

”My G.o.d, brother, be reasonable! How could you drive a car?”

Ned Beaumont backed away from the other, unsteadily. ”I'll walk,” he said.

The red-faced man glared at him. ”You won't neither. If you'll keep your hair on till I get my pants I'll drive you back, though likely enough you'll die on me on the way.”

Opal Madvig and Eloise Mathews were together in the large ground-floor room when Ned Beaumont was carried rather than led into it by the red-faced man. The men had come in without knocking. The two girls were standing close together, wide-eyed, startled.

Ned Beaumont pulled himself out of his companion's arms and looked dully around the room. ”Where's Shad?” he mumbled.

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