“Here.”
“Straight here?”
“No. I had an errand to do.”
“What was the errand?”
Fox shook his head. “I’m sorry. Private business.”
“Was it the job that Thorpe paid you for when you got here?”
“That’s out and you know it is. You’re asking me about my pistols and God knows you have a right to.”
“Thanks.” Derwin was sarcastic. “Will you tell me where you went on your errand?”
“No. No connection with the pistols. I didn’t have one with me.”
“Was any one with you on your errand?”
“Yes. Henry Jordan. He came along because we were coming here later.”
“Did Jordan have a pistol with him?”
“No— Wait a minute, let’s sew it up as we go along. I didn’t search Jordan, but it is my belief that he carried no gun. He couldn’t have had one of mine unless he sneaked into my room while I was absent or asleep and took one. I’d give big odds on it.”
“Have you given or lent a pistol to any one?”
“No. Never.”
“Who else could have sneaked into your room and got one?”
“Lots of people. Any of my guests. People who work for me—”
“What about those who were here today? Has any of them besides Jordan had an opportunity to do that?”
“Yes. Andrew Grant and his niece are staying at my house. Jeffrey Thorpe and Mrs. Pemberton were there a little while last evening, but not alone in that room and they couldn’t have been.”
“Has Kester been there? Or Luke Wheer?”
“Not to my knowledge.” Fox tightened his lips. “I’d like to say something. This surprise you’ve sprung on me is just sifting through, and I’m getting good and sore. I’m not in the practice of covering up for murderers, which you may believe or not according to your inclination, but even if it were a lifelong habit of mine I’d abandon it now. I hope you don’t get him, because I want to get him myself. Any one who takes one of my guns, one of my own Dowseys, and commits murder with it—” Fox tightened his lips again.
“That’s enough!” Brissenden snapped savagely. “Your goddam cocky insolence! So you’re indignant because one of your guns was used to commit a murder! Are you?” Exercising great control, he was barely shouting. “Good God, do you take us for a bunch of ninnies? Look here! Monday night, by your own admission before you had any communication from Kester, you told Derwin to buy Thorpe Control on the drop! You knew then it wasn’t Thorpe who had been killed, you knew he was alive! You deliberately let Wheer and Kester be taken in that boat, and yourself with them! You do an undercover job for Thorpe for which he pays you fifty thousand dollars and you refuse to tell what it was! We find the gun that killed Arnold here in Thorpe’s safe and though you have been in Thorpe’s confidence, either that or you’ve been blackmailing him, you claim you didn’t know it existed! And now we find that Thorpe was murdered with your pistol and you know nothing about that, and by God, all you can do is sit there with a smirk on your face telling us how sore you are! You ought to have your tongue pushed all the way down your throat and there are men here who can do it!”
Fox nodded at the glare. “I admit it, Colonel, it sounds terrible. But I don’t admit that I smirk—”
“Oh, you don’t?” Brissenden sprang up and advanced. “If you think smart gags are going to make—”
Fox was on his feet and they were chest to chest. The colonel’s fists were clenched. The owl nervously removed the horn-rimmed glasses. Two troopers moved forward uncertainly. The tense silence was broken when Derwin cleared his throat and said:
“That won’t do it, Colonel. It will complicate matters. He’s tough enough, I know that and so do you — Fox, I want to send a man to your house to take a look at the drawer where you keep your guns and to ask some questions.”
Fox shook his head. “Not unless I go along.”
“You’ll be staying here a while.”
“Then there’ll be no searching at my house without a warrant. I can’t prevent your talking with the occupants. There are plenty there to talk with.”
“Very well.” Derwin was crisp. “You spoke of being sore. So am I. Colonel Brissenden didn’t exhaust the list of your contributions to this case. I hope you won’t mistrust the police so thoroughly when we’re through with it. Men will be stationed immediately on all sides of this house. You will not attempt to leave the house or to communicate with any one outside of it; otherwise, you will be arrested and held as a material witness. If and when you change your mind and decide to come clean, I’ll be here ready for you — Take him out.”
Chapter 18
Fox, standing in the side hall, glanced at his wrist and saw it was half-past six. The expression in his eyes was a rare one, that of irresolution. For immediate exploration he had to choose between two trails and which should it be, a gun or a murderer? Resentment and wrath impelled him to the first, but sharp sense spoke for the second, since that inquiry had been already too long delayed by the jostle of events. A third desire was struggling for the field of his attention, but that he ignored, knowing as he did that his violent inclination to go outdoors was a childish reaction to the circumstance that he had been commanded to stay in the house.
Sense won; and since his own roaming was now restricted, he decided to find a button somewhere and ring for a servant. In the first room to the right of the hall, a small bare one which apparently functioned in the winter as a conservatory, there seemed to be no button; and in the adjoining one the need for a button disappeared. It was enormous and high-ceilinged, and still, judging by its furnishings, clung to its pretensions to the old-fashioned appellation of drawing room. In a corner of it, four people were seated talking in subdued tones. Fox had no desire for conversation with Fuller the lawyer or McElroy the multiple director, but the other two were Miranda and Vaughn Kester, so he approached.
“Excuse me,” he said abruptly, “but things are happening. I know of no reason why I shouldn’t tell you. They found an old Zimmerman revolver in Thorpe’s safe, fired bullets with it and learned that it was used to kill Corey Arnold Sunday night. Did your father own a Zimmerman revolver, Mrs. Pemberton?”
She was looking up at him with a frown. “Heavens, I don’t know. But I know he didn’t kill that Arnold man. I knew my father better than—”
“Excuse me. Did he, Kester?”
“Own a Zimmerman revolver? No. Mr. Thorpe hated guns and would have nothing to do with them.” Kester’s eyes were incredulous. “What you say is absolutely impossible, that they found the gun that killed Arnold—”
“Then you didn’t know it was in the safe?”
“Certainly not! And I wouldn’t believe it—”
“Excuse me. Here’s another one. The Zimmerman is an old German revolver and can’t be traced by sales records. But the one they found on the library floor today is an American pistol, a Dowsey, and can be so traced, and has been. I bought it in 1936 and have had it ever since. It’s mine. It’s the gun that shot Ridley Thorpe. I have no idea — what’s the matter, Mrs. Pemberton?”
Miranda had done more than blink; she had kept her eyes closed to Fox’s darting gaze for a full three seconds. Now his eyes were boring into hers and she was meeting them. “What’s the matter?” he repeated.
“Nothing,” she declared, in a voice perfectly composed. “Why?”
Fox did not blink. “As I observed a while ago, you have extraordinary control of your nerves. That private talk we were having got interrupted. I’d like to go on with it at your convenience. All right?”
“Certainly.” Miranda made a movement. “I have no doubt Mr. Fuller and Mr. McElroy—”