“Why—” Paisley began, a little flustered, “why he took it just the way the rest of us took it, I suppose. I don't remember exactly.”
“Did he seem surprised?” I questioned.
“Of course,” Paisley answered,
“He didn't seem relieved?”
“Say, what the devil are you driving at, Thompson?” Paisley burst out.
I saw I could get nothing from him so I left him looking after me with a perplexed and somewhat indignant gaze. As a detective it seemed I might make a good plumber. I knew very well he would not repeat my questions, but it would be just like good old Paisley to worry himself to death trying to solve them.
I drove back to the bridge, determined to find the revolver, if possible, and then hunt up Inspector Robinson to learn what he had to report. Apparently, my suspicions of Frank Woods were groundless. He had had dinner at the club and then waited around for Jim to keep his appointment. He had been seen by Jackson at eight twenty-five; Jackson was positive of that fact. Ten or fifteen minutes at the most in which to go six miles to the bridge and back to the club, put up his car and ask Jackson for a drink. The thing couldn't be done. He had heard of Jim's death with surprise and had heard of Helen's injury with the greatest horror. There seemed to be no doubt of one thing: no matter how much he wished for Jim's death, no matter how much he benefited by the murder, Frank Woods, himself, didn't do the killing.
An automobile was standing at the bridge when I got there and I cursed the whim that had sent me to the club on a false scent and kept me from having an uninterrupted search for the weapon. When I saw, however, that the driver of the automobile was Inspector Robinson, I was greatly relieved, for this would not only give me a chance to learn what he had discovered concerning the men in the black limousine, but would not interfere with the search for Jim's gun. Robinson had his coat off and his sleeves rolled up and was fishing around the edge of the little creek with his hands. So engrossed was he in his task that I was almost upon him before he looked up.
“Good afternoon, Inspector,” I addressed him. “What are you doing, digging for gold or making mud pies?”
“I'm gettin' bait to catch a sucker,” he snarled. “You must have thought you had one this morning.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“All that bunk you handed me about Schreiber and the men in the black limousine. That was a fine stall you pulled. I might have known you was tryin' to cover up somebody's tracks.”
He dried his hands on a rather flamboyant, yellow handkerchief.
“I haven't the least idea what you are talking about,” I replied coldly.
“Oh, you haven't, haven't you?” the little man burst out malignantly. “You're innocent, you are! Too damned innocent! I suppose you didn't know that your brother-in-law was shot in the back of the head and that your sister was the only one that was with him when it was done. I suppose that's news—eh?”
My heart stood still as I heard his words. So he was after the proof that Helen did it. He had read the insinuations in The Sun and had abandoned his work against Schreiber and Zalnitch for the fresher trail.
“I found out this morning that my brother-in-law was shot, but that only makes the case look the blacker for those who openly threatened his life.”
“Among whom was your beautiful sister,” the detective retorted acidly.
“How do you know that?” I demanded.
“From her maid and all the rest of the servants in the house. I found that out when I went up to take another squint at the automobile. You thought you were pretty smart sendin' me on a wild-goose chase after a couple of cracked Socialists, when all the time you knew it was your own sister done the thing. Tried to keep me off the track by slippin' me a little dough. Well, it didn't work, see? There's your dough back.” He threw a crumpled wad of bills on the ground at my feet. “No one saw you give it to me, but I ain't takin' any chances, you may have marked those bills. From now on I work alone without any theories from you.”
“Look here, Inspector!” I demanded, “I was in earnest when I told you I wanted you to find out all you could about the men in the black limousine. I'm sure they had something to do with Mr. Felderson's death. I didn't try to bribe you, nor throw you off the right track. Even though my sister did have a little unpleasantness with her husband, it was no serious difference.”
I determined to find out just how much Robinson knew.
“She was utterly incapable of doing an act like this. What possible motive could she have?”
I could see that Robinson was rather impatiently waiting for me to go before continuing his search.
“Well, I ain't found out her motive yet. That can wait. It might have been money or jealousy.”
“Money?” I scoffed. “My sister had plenty; more than she could use. And as for her being jealous of her husband, that is even more ridiculous.”
The little man eyed me angrily. “I said that the motive could wait. There's no tellin' what a society woman will do. She may have been crazy for all I know. But I ain't, and all your arguin' is just so much time wasted. You think those guys in the automobile done it. I don't. I think your sister done it. You don't. All right, then, you take your road and I'll take mine, and we'll see who comes out ahead.”
He turned and started back to where he had been hunting when I came up.
“May I ask what you expect to find here?” I queried, walking after him.
“Sure you can ask,” he replied. As he found me following, he turned and snapped: “Say, what the hell are you hangin' around here for, anyway?”
“I merely wanted to ask what you had discovered about the men in the black limousine. That's why I stopped.”
“Well, you've found out, haven't you? Nothin'. All right then, you go on into the city and see if you can find out anything more!”
I walked on down the sloping bank, searching the ground to see if I could find the gun that might reveal so much. I could feel the eyes of the inspector boring into my back.
“What are you looking for?” he demanded.
“A cuff-link,” I answered easily. “I think I lost one here last night. You didn't happen to find it, did you?”
“A cuff-link? Humph!” he grunted. “No, I haven't found it, but I wouldn't be surprised if I was lookin' for that same cuff-link.”
All this time I was searching the bank with my eyes. A scrubby, little bush overhung the creek and I kicked at it with my foot. There was a “plopp” as though something heavy had dropped into the water. Instinctively I knew it was the object for which we were both searching, and I turned to find the inspector eying me quizzically.
“What was that noise?”