At the mention of the murder, Farnsworth turned toward the desk and Dow’s eyes followed his movement.
“Was her body found in there?” he asked, much interest in his voice.
“That’s where we found it,” answered Darwin.
Dow walked slowly toward the desk.
As he neared it, a small bird, with a great flutter of wings, alighted on the window ledge.
“My God!” exclaimed Dow. “Didn’t get ’nough sleep last night,” he added sheepishly. “When that damn sparrow lit, I thought the whole Tremont Buildin’ was failin’ down.”
“It’s goin’ to rain,” remarked Darwin, looking out of the window at the overcast sky.
Dow glanced at the clouds and approached the desk hurriedly. He went very close to it, but did not touch it.
“How was she killed?” he asked.
“Shot in the forehead,” replied Darwin.
“No other wounds?”
Darwin looked at Farnsworth, who was still standing near the table.
“Headquarters says there were no other marks on her body,” Farnsworth responded.
Dow again eyed the desk.
“She was dead when she was put in there,” he declared.
“How do you know?” asked Darwin.
“I can tell by the bloodstains.”
“What do you know about bloodstains?” asked Farnsworth.
“I was in the A. E. F.”
Farnsworth stepped forward.
“Let me see your gun,” he ordered.
“I ain’t got no gun.”
“What’s that in your pocket?”
“That ain’t no gun.”
Farnsworth made a quick move, held Dow’s arm in a vise-like grip while Darwin took a short-barrelled thirty-two from him.
“What the hell you tryin’ to do?” asked Dow, quite calmly.
“I’m not taking any chances,” replied Farnsworth.
Dow laughed, not only with his lips, but with his blue eyes.
“You don’t overlook no tricks, do you, inspector?” he asked as if pleased. “But you got me wrong. I wouldn’t try to pull nothin’ — not with no one with your rep’ anyway. I read every line of that Pope case. You done good work on that.”
“Why did you try to lie?” demanded Darwin. “The inspector—”
“Say, don’t you know the difference between kiddin’ and lyin’? I don’t call that damn peashooter a gun. I’m used to a forty-five. That’s the baby that stops ’em. But I’m pretty good with that thirty-two. Whammed at an oak plank down cellar ’til I learned her tricks. But she ain’t worth nothin’ at more’n ten yards.”
“An oak plank,” repeated Farnsworth. “Where is that plank?”
“You’ve searched the basement?”
“We sure did,” replied Darwin, brushing some dust from his trousers. “Searched it plenty. But we didn’t find no oak plank with lead in it.”
“Sure you didn’t. I got tired of shootin’ away my own money, so I sawed up the plank and put it in the furnace just before we pulled the fire last week.”
“Did you buy this?” asked Farnsworth, taking the revolver from Darwin.
“Nope. Mr. Conroy issued it to me when he hired me.”
“What was his object in arming you?”
“Holdups was pretty frequent then and he thought I might need it. Never did though.”
Thick clouds entirely obscured the sun and in the distance, thunder growled.
“We are goin’ to have a storm,” declared Dow. “Hope you brought your overshoes along, inspector.”
Farnsworth placed the revolver in his pocket.
“Gimme my gun!” snapped Dow, all traces of good humor gone. “I got a permit to carry it. Mr. Conroy attended to that.” From his wallet he extracted a pink paper. “That’s my license,” he growled. “Gimme my gun or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” demanded Darwin, his words clipped.
“The girl whose body we found in Thompson’s desk was killed by a bullet from a short-barrelled, thirty-two caliber revolver,” remarked Farnsworth very quietly.
“The hell... why... why... Starr’s—”
His lips shut in a straight line.
“Go on,” ordered Darwin, his jaw thrust further forward than usual.
Dow shook his head doggedly.
“I have Starr’s weapon in my possession,” said Farnsworth.
A look of relief came into Dow’s face.
Again thunder growled in the distance.
Chapter VIII
Night Mists
“Does Starr work under you?” continued Farnsworth.
“We both work under Mr. Conroy. Say, where is Starr? He’s supposed to wait for me no matter if I am late. I have to wait for him enough nights. Have you got him in the mill?”
“Did Starr act any differently than usual when he relieved you last night?”
“Not a bit different — grouchy as ever. He was half an hour late. I was fit to be tied. I wanted to get to supper on time, because if I didn’t, the old lady wouldn’t let me out. I made it by breakin’ my neck. Say, I asked you if you had Starr locked up?”
“He’s in General Hospital under, observation,” said Darwin. “He tried to throw himself outta that winda behind you.”
“Tried to jump outta the winda!”
“Where does Starr live?” Farnsworth inquired.
Dow shook his head.
“Even Mr. Conroy don’t know that,” he averred.
“Who employs the women who clean up here nights?”
“Starr. He’s their boss. I don’t know any of ’em.”
“Do you know a woman by the name of Molly Davis?”
“What does she look like?”
“Medium height, rather slender, dark blue eyes, brown hair—”
“Kinda good lookin’ except for her eyes. Funny look, as if she’s a dope?”
Farnsworth nodded.
“Sure I know her.”
“You said you didn’t know the night women in this building!”
Dow started, then grinned.
“Before I come here, I was a watchman in Black’s department store. One day Pete Kennedy, the head store dick, caught this Molly Davis shoplifting. I was in the office when he brought her upstairs. She got six months. I remember the name now.”
“Could Molly Davis work here and you not know it?”
“She couldn’t. I take the pay rolls to Mr. Conroy’s office and I check ’em so Starr can’t put nothin’ over.”
“How often do the help here get paid?”
“Twice a month — the first and the fifteenth.”
“Then if she was hired by Starr between pay days you wouldn’t know anything about it until you saw the pay roll?”
“That’s right, unless I happened to see her when she come on. Not much chance for that. I generally get away before the night women show up.”
The storm was much nearer. Deep shadows lurked in the corners of Thompson’s office and the thunder’s growl had changed to occasional peals.
“Was Molly Davis the girl you found in the desk?” Dow asked.
“The girl in the desk has not been identified yet,” replied Farnsworth.
“What’d she look like?” Farnsworth rapidly described the fair young corpse.
“That ain’t Molly Davis.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“I don’t know. Starr didn’t know her, did he?”
“We haven’t got anything definite from Starr yet.”