“But,” Collins objected, “when she got there, at 7:10, Tingley was already dead, and the murderer heard her coming and hid behind the screen and knocked her on the head as she entered. So Judd didn’t kill him at 7:30 and neither did Phil at 7:40.”
“I am quite aware,” said Fox irritably, “that a man can die but once. And I am assuming provisionally that Tingley had already been killed, or at least had had his skull cracked, before Miss Duncan got there, for if not, it must have been he who laid for her and conked her. Which wouldn’t fit anywhere, the way it stands now. In fact, I would say that we have to put it down that Tingley was already dead or unconscious when his niece arrived, or else reject her story altogether.”
“I like her and I like her story,” said the lawyer emphatically.
“So do I.” Fox held up his fingers, crossed. “And the fact that Judd got there at 7:30 and Phil at 7:40 doesn’t prove that one or both of them hadn’t been there before. One or both could have arrived at any time between 6:15, when Miss Yates left, and seven o’clock, killed Tingley, started to search the room for whatever was wanted, been interrupted by Miss Duncan and knocked her out, got panicky and took a powder—”
“No soap. Cliff was watching in front and would have seen him or them leave.”
“Not if they went out the delivery entrance. From where Cliff was — accepting his story — he couldn’t see that.”
“Judd wouldn’t know about the delivery entrance.”
“He might, but he probably wouldn’t. But Phil would. He or they — I like it they — fled the scene without finding what they wanted, and went separate ways. Later each of them got up enough courage to go back for the object they sought, which was something small enough to be in the pocket of an overcoat, since Tingley’s coat had been searched and left lying on the floor. Maybe one of them found it and maybe not. Also maybe, Tingley had only had his skull cracked, and it was 7:30 or 7:40, either by Judd or by Phil, that the throat-cutting was done when it was found that he was still breathing.”
Collins grunted. There was a long silence. Fox chewed on his lower lip, and the lawyer stared at the process as if he expected elucidation from it. Finally Fox spoke.
“I’m giving myself,” he said grimly, “twenty-four hours more. Until six tomorrow. Then I’ll have to take it to Damon. Judging from my performance today, that’s the best way to get Miss Duncan out of a jam, which is what I undertook to do— There’s the forewoman that’s had a dream. Am I invited? Shall I bring her in?”
Collins said he would go, and went. In a minute he was back with the caller.
Carrie Murphy, in a brown coat with a muskrat collar, with a little brown felt hat perched on the top of her head, preceded the lawyer into the room with a determined step and a do-or-die expression on her face. She looked younger than she did in her working smock, as he stood appraising her while Collins helped in the disposal of her coat and pulled up a chair for her; and he decided that whatever she might have come for, it wasn’t to tell of seeing a big white bird in a dream.
She sat down, directed a level gaze at the lawyer, and said, “I don’t know much about lawyers and this kind of thing, but you’re representing Amy Duncan and you must be the one for me to tell. Amy is in trouble about this, isn’t she? I mean in the paper tonight — is she suspected of killing Tingley?”
“That’s a strong way to put it,” said Collins, “but... yes, she is certainly under suspicion.”
“Well, she didn’t do it. Didn’t she get there soon after seven o’clock?”
“That’s right. About ten minutes past seven.”
“And wasn’t she knocked unconscious as she entered the office?”
“That’s right.”
“And she didn’t come to until after eight o’clock?”
“That’s right.”
“Then she couldn’t have done it while she was unconscious, could she? Mr. Tingley was alive, talking on the telephone, at eight o’clock.”
Chapter 13
Fox’s eyes went half shut and then opened again. Collins cocked his head and frowned. The lawyer spoke: “That’s a very — remarkable statement, Miss Murphy. I suppose you’re sure of it?”
“I am,” she declared firmly.
“Was it you Tingley talked to on the phone?”
“No. It was Miss Yates.” She gulped, but her eyes were steady and her voice unfaltering. “I went to see her at her apartment Tuesday evening. We discussed something that made it — she had to call up Mr. Tingley, and she talked with him three or four minutes. She called him at his office. It was just a minute or two before eight when she rang off, because right after that a friend of hers came and I left and it was just past eight when I left.”
“By your watch? Was it right?”
“I set it by the radio every day at six o’clock. Anyway, the time was mentioned, because Miss Harley — Miss Yates’s friend — was expected at eight and she was right on time.”
“Did you hear Miss Yates phoning Tingley?”
“Certainly. I was right there.”
“Did you speak on the phone yourself?”
“No.”
“But you’re sure she was speaking to Tingley?”
“Of course. She was talking about — the business matter we had been discussing.”
“What was that?”
“It—” Miss Murphy halted. She gulped again. “It was a confidential business matter. If I tell you I’ll probably get fired. I may anyway. I spoke to Miss Yates about this yesterday, and said we ought to tell about it for Amy’s sake, but she said it wasn’t necessary, that Amy couldn’t possibly be guilty and she’d get out of it all right. But when I read the paper this evening — I decided to tell you about the phone call. But that ought to be enough. I don’t see that it matters what we were discussing.”
“Did you often go to see Miss Yates at her home?”
“Oh, no, very seldom.”
Collins leaned back and regarded her. “It’s like this, Miss Murphy. If we pass this information on to the police, you can be sure they will insist, they’ll demand, that you tell them what you were discussing with Miss Yates, because it was the subject of her conversation with Tingley on the phone, and they’ll want that from her, every word of it. And unless you give us all the details I’m afraid we’ll have to turn it over to the police, because we can’t deal intelligently with information as fragmentary as that. I’m sorry, and I certainly don’t want to get you into trouble, but that’s the way it is.”
She met his gaze. “If I tell you, Miss Yates will know I told you.”
“Possibly not. She may tell us herself without our revealing that you have already done so. We’ll try that.”
“All right. I’ve started it and I’ll finish it. It’s a long story.”
“We have all night.”
“Oh, it won’t take that long. Of course you know about the quinine.”
“Yes.”
“Well, for three weeks we’ve been investigating it. Questioning all the girls — everybody. And trying to prevent it’s being done again. New locks were put on the storage rooms and packing room downstairs. Upstairs everything was watched every minute. Edna Schultz and I knew that Mr. Tingley had Miss Yates and Mr. Fry watching us, but they didn’t know that he had us watching them. He called Edna and me into his office one day and said he didn’t suspect us or Miss Yates and Mr. Fry, but that he had to act as if he suspected everybody, only he didn’t want Miss Yates and Mr. Fry to know about it.”