She was rattling it off, with the obvious desire to finish a disagreeable task as soon as possible. “Since this trouble began, the mixers and the filling benches have been watched every minute by one of us four. If Edna or I did a mix, either Miss Yates or Mr. Fry tasted it just before it was dumped into the trays going to the filling benches. They did that openly, and they also put some in a sample jar and labeled it with the mix number, and took it to Mr. Tingley for him to taste. But when Miss Yates or Mr. Fry did a mix, Edna or I took a sample without letting anyone see us, labeled it, and put it where Mr. Tingley could get it. He told us not to take it to his office because we almost never went there, and they would have been sure to notice it and ask about it.”
Fox interposed, “Where did you put it?”
“I took it to the cloakroom and put it in the pocket of my coat hanging there, and Mr. Tingley would go there and get it. Edna did the same. It wasn’t hard to do it without being seen, since it was our job to dump the mixers. But I guess I got careless, because Tuesday afternoon Mr. Fry caught me doing it and jumped on me. He took me to the sauce room and commanded me to tell him what I was up to, and Miss Yates came in and he told her about it. She got mad at him and told him that the girls, including Edna and me, were in her department and she would handle it, and they fought about that awhile until Mr. Fry got too mad to talk and went out. Then Miss Yates asked me what the idea was, and I was on a spot. I got flustered, and when she got mad I did too, and I saw the only thing I could do was tell Mr. Tingley about it. I bounced out of the sauce room and up to the front, to the door of the office. It was closed. I knocked, and his voice yelled from inside that he was busy and couldn’t be disturbed.”
“What time was that?”
“A little after five. About a quarter after.”
Fox nodded. “He was conversing with his son. Could you hear anything they said?”
“I didn’t stay long enough. I went around through the other offices and out the front entrance and on home. But while I was eating supper I decided I had acted like a fool. If I saw him and told him about it, and he merely told Miss Yates that I had explained the matter to him and she was to forget it, I would be in bad with her forever, and after all she was my boss. She had had a perfect right to demand an explanation, since she didn’t know what the real explanation was, and I shouldn’t have got my Irish up. I decided I hadn’t better wait till morning to fix it with her, so I went to her place on 23rd Street and told her—”
“What time did you get there?”
“Right around half past seven. I told her the whole thing, how I had only been following Mr. Tingley’s orders, and Edna too. At first she didn’t believe me, I guess because she simply couldn’t believe that anybody, Mr. Tingley or anyone else, could think she might be involved in that quinine business. She phoned to ask Edna about it, but Edna wasn’t at home. She asked me a lot of questions, and finally she phoned Mr. Tingley, but found he hadn’t come home yet, so she tried the office and got him there. When she rang off she was so mad she could hardly speak. She would probably have lit into me, though it wasn’t my fault, but just then Miss Harley came and I got out. I thought she’d be cooled off by morning, but I knew I’d get the devil from Mr. Tingley for letting myself get caught. But in the morning...”
Miss Murphy fluttered a hand.
Nat Collins was frowning reflectively and rubbing his chin. Fox was regarding the tip of Miss Murphy’s nose dubiously and pessimistically.
“Anyway,” she said defiantly, “whatever happens to my job, Amy Duncan is a good scout and I won’t have that on my conscience! I mean that I didn’t tell about his being alive at eight o’clock.”
Fox grunted. “It may help your conscience, but I’d be much obliged if you’d explain how it helps Miss Duncan.”
“Why... of course it does! What I said — what you said — if she was unconscious—”
“She says she was unconscious,” said Fox dryly. “Up to now I have believed her. I still would like to believe her. But if you’re telling the truth—”
“I am telling the truth!”
“I admit it sounded like it. But if you’d like to see Miss Duncan arrested for murder and held without bail, go and tell it to the police.”
“If I—” She gawked at him. “My God, I don’t want her arrested! The only reason I came to tell you—”
“Please!” Fox was peremptory. He rose to his feet. “I haven’t got time to diagram it for you, but Mr. Collins will. You certainly have blown us sky-high. But before I start on a search for some of the pieces, please tell me: did the sample Mr. Fry caught you taking get delivered to Mr. Tingley?”
“But I don’t understand—”
“Mr. Collins will explain after I go. Just answer my question. Did Tingley get that sample?”
“Yes. At least I put it in the cloakroom, in my coat pocket — that was about a quarter after four — and when I got my coat later it was gone.”
“Were other samples delivered in that manner to Tingley on Tuesday afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Four or five.” Miss Murphy considered. “I had — let’s see — one Fry and two Yates, and Edna had two Fry — that was the two ham spreads—”
“All right.” Fox got his hat and coat and turned to her again. “One thing. If you tell the police what you’ve told us, Miss Duncan will probably be charged with murder and thrown into jail. At least she’ll be in great danger of it. Suit yourself. I hope you’ll hold off for a day or two, but that’s up to you. How do you feel about it?”
“Why, I—” Miss Murphy looked wholly bewildered and a little frightened. “I don’t want — could they — I mean if I don’t tell them and they find out about it, could they arrest me?”
“No,” said Collins firmly and forcibly.
Fox smiled at her reassuringly. “He’s a good lawyer, Miss Murphy. If you’ll give me time to turn around, say a couple of days, I’ll appreciate it— Where’ll you be if I need you later, Nat?”
Collins told him the Churchill Theater and then the Flamingo Club, and he left them.
As Fox walked north on Madison Avenue and turned in to 41st Street, where he had garaged his car that morning, no friend or associate who knew him well would have been likely, after one glance at his face, to stop him for a jovial word or two. Or even, for that matter, to speak to him, since you don’t speak to a man who doesn’t see you, and Fox wasn’t seeing anything or anyone. The attendant at the garage, seeing the extent of his customer’s preoccupation with inner affairs, trotted out to the sidewalk ahead of the car to avoid a possible manslaughter of pedestrians.
But the feel of the steering wheel in his hands automatically created in Fox’s brain the appropriate concentration of attention, excluding all others, as it does with every good driver, and in spite of the eminently unsatisfactory state of his mind, he arrived at his destination on 23rd Street without scraping a fender. The building he stopped in front of was certainly not modern but had an appearance of clinging stubbornly to self-respect; the vestibule was clean, with the brass fronts of the mail boxes polished and shining, including the one which bore the name of YATES, where Fox pressed the button; and the halls and stairs inside were well-kept and well-lit. One flight up Fox pressed a button again just as the door was opened by Miss Yates herself.
“Oh,” she said.
Fox said he was sorry to disturb her and asked if he might come in, and was permitted, not graciously perhaps but still not grumpily, to dispose of his coat and hat on a rack in the foyer and enter a large and comfortable room with a little too much furniture and an air of being thoroughly contented with the status quo. He accepted an invitation to a chair. Miss Yates sat on an upholstered divan, on its edge as if it had been a wooden bench, and said bluntly: