“Is that right?” Lt, Jones said, turning to Claire.
“Why, of course,” she said, “but what’s this all about?”
“What time did your plane arrive, Mr. Spencer?” Jones asked.
“Ten, ten-thirty, I don’t know,” Mark said. “It was flight eight-oh-seven.”
“Remember what kind of a cab you caught?” Jones asked.
Mark identified the company.
“You give him this address?” Jones continued.
“Well, sure!” Mark said.
“Good.” Jones flicked a friendly smile on and off. “We can check you out. Oh yes, one more thing. Did you have any visitors last night, either of you?”
Mark looked boldly at Claire. “Did you have any visitors last night, Claire?” he asked with just the right tone. She shook her head, swallowing loudly. Mark smiled at Lt. Jones and his partner. “No visitors at all,” he said.
“Good,” Jones said. He and Lt. Stevens flashed each other a smile of self-satisfaction. “We’ll be going now.” He emptied his cup and put it down. “Very good coffee, Mrs. Spencer,” he said, standing up.
“What’s it all about?” Mark said, managing to put the sound of genuine curiosity into his voice as he followed them to the door.
“Just a routine check on everyone who might even be remotely connected with a case,” Jones said in the doorway. “Nothing to be alarmed about.”
“But what is it?” Mark said.
“Murder,” Lt. Jones said. “You know the man. He works for the same company you do. Hugo Rice.”
“He was murdered?” Claire’s voice sounded in Mark’s ears, raw and jagged.
“No, no,” Lt. Jones said. “He was arrested this morning for killing his wife.” He closed the door.
“Hugo?” Mark said in carefully controlled tones of amazement, staring at the closed door, “... murdered Mildred?” He waited a measured moment, then turned to face Claire.
Claire was putting the cups and saucers onto the tray.
“You never know, do you,” she said carelessly, but there were teeth marks on her knuckles. “Murderers are just something you read about in the papers. Then one day you know one.”
She picked up the tray and went into the kitchen. Mark started to follow her, then changed his mind and sat down on the davenport. What had Claire meant, Then one day you know one? Did she mean him or Hugo? Hugo had obviously tried to get the cops to believe he had been here last night at the time of the murder. The police hadn’t believed him, but had checked it out. Claire had certainly been so upset last night with getting Hugo out of the apartment and straightening things that she actually didn’t know what time he had called her and what time he arrived home. The flight stewardess and the cab driver would alibi him perfectly right to the apartment house. It was all beautiful, beautiful — like a machine in top working order!
Mark lit a cigarette and stretched his legs, letting them come to rest, crossed, on a small stack of magazines on the coffee table. He breathed deeply and blew smoke toward the ceiling.
“Claire!” he called, “how about some more coffee?”
“Coming right up, darling!” Claire answered. Her voice sounded cheerful. When she came in with the coffee pot and a clean cup and saucer she even looked cheerful. “You sit right there,” she said after she poured his coffee. “I’ll have your breakfast ready in a minute and serve it in here.”
He stared in unbelief at her back as she returned to the kitchen. She was certainly doing a remarkably good job of concealing her grief!
Too good a job. An uneasy thought came to Mark. Now that Mildred was dead, if Hugo got off he would be free to marry Claire. Maybe the thought had occurred to Claire, too. Momentary panic churned up acid in his stomach. He forced it out of his mind. He had nothing to fear! And he knew it, so his good spirits returned.
Claire brought his breakfast, set it out neatly on the coffee table, then sat on the floor with her elbows on the coffee table and watched him eat. She smiled quickly when he looked at her.
Suddenly it annoyed him.
He sneered at Claire and fished in his pocket, bringing out a half dollar and dropping it on the table.
“Thank you, sir!” Claire said, getting to her feet and putting the half dollar in her housecoat pocket.
His sneer grew more open. He fought down the contempt he felt for Claire. He knew it showed in his eyes. He closed them. He doubled his fists, waiting for her to start shouting at him. Instead...
“I know how you must feel, Mark,” he heard her say. “You admired Mr. Rice and could think no wrong of him. But it came as no surprise to me. He is a selfish, egotistical man. Don’t grieve for him, grieve for his wife.”
Mark opened his eyes and stared unbelievingly at Claire. She must be a superb actress — no, no one could be that good. She was stupid. A moron. He had never realized it before. His contempt was lost on her. It went over her head, just as the insult of the tips did.
“I’m going out,” he said.
“Ail right, Mark,” Claire said.
She started picking up the dishes, putting them on the tray again. A pathetic, moronic waitress! Mark got his suit coat, and slammed the door on his way out of the apartment. What did it take to make her understand he knew?
He walked several blocks fiercely, frustrated. What did it take to put across to Claire that she could stay in his house as a housekeeper for her room and board, as a waitress who served him for tips, as a prostitute who got paid when and if he decided to sample her wares? Probably if he left a twenty dollar bill on the nightstand on her side of the bed she would be stupid enough to think it a special gift to go out and buy a dress with!
Was he going to have to come right out and tell her in black and white the new state of affairs?
Suddenly he stopped walking, his face lighting up with delight. There was someone who didn’t have to have things spelled out for him.
Hugo Rice! He was the someone!
Mark flagged down a cruising cab. On the way to the police department he leaned back and half closed his eyes, smiling with great contentment. He would play the stupid but faithful friend bit while Hugo ranted. Hugo knew who had killed Mildred, and why. Hugo knew he was in a frame he couldn’t escape.
At the police station Mark asked for Lt. Jones, and then told Jones he wanted to visit with Hugo, see if there was anything he could do for his “friend and boss”.
“I don’t see why not,” Lt. Jones said in a kindly tone. “It’s funny how friends desert a person when he’s arrested. You’re the only one who’s come to visit him.”
Mark was taken to a room with bare walls, a table and four chairs. The door closed, and he was alone for almost ten minutes. He spent the time looking for hidden microphones, not finding any, but convinced they were there. No matter what Hugo said, he would have to be careful not to make any incriminating remarks himself.
A smile kept tugging at the corner of Mark’s lips. He was going to enjoy this thoroughly.
Finally the door opened and Hugo strode in, a scowl of anger on his face, his eyes smoldering.
Lt. Jones looked at Mark significantly. “The officer will be just outside the door,” he said.
“Stay and get an earful, Lieutenant,” Hugo snarled. “I’m going to make this ingrate admit he killed my wife.”
“Are you sure you want to go on with this visit, Mr. Spencer?” Jones said. “I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Yes,” Mark said, “but maybe you’d better stay here. What’s happened to you, Hugo?”