Felix Ritter in Denver said, “Will do,” and Shayne hung up. The patrolman was on his way out, and Shayne told Gentry, “You’ll be getting a call about Mrs. Blair from Central City before noon. I’ll be checking with you…”
Another telephone on Gentry’s desk interrupted him. The chief scooped it up and said, “Yes?” He listened a moment, lifting a beefy hand at Shayne, his rumpled eyelids moving up and down slowly. He hung up and told Shayne, “Let’s get out to the Rogell place with Petrie and Donovan. Marvin Dale committed suicide out there last night. And left a suicide note addressed to you.”
13
In Shayne’s car, he and Rourke followed the screaming siren of Chief Gentry’s limousine through downtown traffic and out Brickel Boulevard to the Rogell estate. There were no other cars parked in front of the house, and the two men trotted up the stairs and across the porch behind the chief and his two detectives.
A white-faced maid opened the door for them immediately, and Mrs. Blair hovered in the wide hallway behind her, wringing her hands and with tear streaks on her broad face.
“This way,” she directed them. “Up the stairs here. I just can’t believe it. Poor Mr. Dale. Who’d ever have thought he’d do a terrible thing like this.”
The five men trooped beside her silently up the curving stairway where she turned to the right to an open doorway with Charles standing in front of it. He was in his shirtsleeves and without a tie, his hair uncombed and a heavy growth of dark stubble on his square face. There was a bluish bruise on his cheekbone and a pad of gauze on the side of his mouth under a piece of surgical tape. He kept his lips pressed tightly together and his eyes had a sullen glare when he saw Shayne with the others. He stepped aside from the doorway without speaking, and they entered a medium-sized bedroom with the body of Marvin Dale sprawled on the floor in front of a drop-leaf table with an overturned straight chair beside him.
The young man’s face was twisted and ghastly in death, his body stiffly contorted, indicating that he had writhed agonizingly on the floor before death mercifully ended his suffering.
There was a bottle of whiskey standing on the table, with a highball glass beside it. The glass held a small residue of brownish liquid. Off to one side was a small, round, squat bottle with the warning skull and crossbones plainly imprinted on it. It was labeled “Strychnine” and there was also the word “Poison” in large type.
Beside the bottle of strychnine were two torn pieces of note-paper that had been crumpled up and then smoothed and carefully placed one above the other, with torn edges in juxtaposition so that a superficial glance indicated that they were the torn top and bottom pieces of the same sheet of notepaper. A square box of the same notepaper and a ballpoint pen were on the extreme left-hand side of the table.
While Gentry and the two detectives knelt beside Marvin Dale’s body, Shayne leaned over the table to read the scrawled handwriting on the sheet of torn notepaper:
Shayne read the torn note through without touching either half of it. Gentry got to his feet from beside the body with a sigh and said, “All the signs of typical strychnine poisoning. He’s been dead for hours.” He stood beside Shayne and looked down at the note, mumbling the words half aloud as he read them. Then he turned to the doorway and ordered the chauffeur curtly, “Come in here.”
Charles walked in with his chin up and shoulders squared.
“Who are you?”
“Charles Morton. The chauffeur.”
“What do you know about this?”
“He hasn’t been touched,” Charles said stolidly. “Nothing has been touched…” He paused and his gaze flickered down to the table and the torn note. “…except that piece of paper. Mrs. Rogell discovered her brother’s body about nine o’clock. The note was lying on the table… all in one piece. She called me in from my rooms over the garage and showed it to me. She wanted to tear it up before she called the police. I told her we couldn’t destroy suicide evidence and tried to snatch it from her. It got torn and crumpled as you see it, but I insisted the police had to see it… no matter what interpretation you put on what Marvin said.”
“Very cooperative and law-abiding of you,” said Gentry harshly. He turned his gaze back to the torn paper and read aloud, “‘She is a sweet girl and after seeing her with Charles tonight I am utterly revolted.’ How do you expect me to interpret that?”
“In the very nastiest way possible, I’m sure,” said Charles steadily.
“How do you explain it?”
“Marvin was drunk last night. No drunker than usual, but… staggering. After I had returned with a couple of pills Dr. Evans gave me, Mrs. Rogell became worried about my injuries and came out to the garage wearing her gown and robe just to be sure I needed no further medical attention. In his drunken state, Marvin saw her going out the back door and followed her up to my bedroom. He burst in on us and made a nasty scene… accusing his sister of all sorts of wild things. I chased him out, and then sent Mrs. Rogell back to the house. That’s why she wanted to destroy the note before anyone read it.”
“Because it might be misinterpreted?” sneered Gentry. “Because other people might have the same idea about her presence in your bedroom late at night wearing a nightgown?”
Charles said, “People do have nasty minds.”
“What does he mean by saying…” Gentry turned to look down and read again: “‘John and Henrietta were old and mean and deserved to die.’”
Charles said, “I don’t know. That’s for you to decide, isn’t it? He didn’t confide in me.”
“Do you think it’s a confession that he killed Rogell and tried to poison Henrietta?”
“I think that’s for you to decide. Personally, I don’t know that Mr. Rogell was killed or that anyone tried to poison Miss Henrietta.”
“Where did the strychnine come from?”
“I think it’s a bottle from the garage that the gardener keeps for killing moles. It looks exactly like one that was always kept in the garage, and I checked after I saw it, and that bottle is gone.”
“Then you want us to believe that Marvin was so upset by surprising his sister in your bed that he got this bottle of poison from the garage, brought it in and wrote that note, and then drank a dose of it?”
“I don’t particularly want you to believe anything,” countered Charles doggedly. “There he is and there’s the note. I convinced Mrs. Rogell that it would be better to give you the note and tell you the exact truth instead of destroying it as she wanted to do.”
“Because then we might have suspected his death wasn’t suicide?”
Charles said sullenly, “I didn’t want to get mixed up in anything. There’s already been too much loose talk around here by Miss Henrietta about poisoning and such. I had brains enough to realize that this… on top of all the other talk… would look mighty suspicious if he hadn’t left any note. That’s why I grabbed it away from her and wouldn’t let her tear it up.”
“What happened to your face… and your two front teeth?” demanded Gentry.
“Ask him.” Charles jerked his head toward Shayne. “He entered the grounds illegally last night planning to dig up the body of Mrs. Rogell’s pet dog, and he attacked me when I prevented him from doing it.”
“That so, Mike?”
Shayne said, “I attacked him while he was holding a cocked, double-barreled shotgun on me. Marvin was pretty drunk that early in the evening while I was here, and he seemed determined to get a lot drunker. I don’t see how he stayed sober enough to do this.”
“He’d often drink so much he’d vomit it up and get sort of sober, and then start over,” offered Charles.
There was the thin keening of a siren outside, and Gentry said, “That’ll be the doc and the lab boys. Stay in here, Donovan. Petrie, you take this fellow downstairs and hold him. I want to talk to the servants and Mrs. Rogell.”