“Sure, an’ would you tell me, miss,” he asked courteously, “what you mean when you said you ‘almost come to the house’?”
“I came in my friend’s car,” she explained. “We had just motored from Philadelphia, and at first I thought I would come home, although my friend, Miss Welford, wished me to spend the evening at her home. We… we drove here, almost to the door—”
“Yes, miss? Did you see Mr. Stewart at that time?”
“Oh, no,” she hastened, “we didn’t come in. We stopped on the Arborway, near the fence. We were there several minutes — Miss Welford was trying to persuade me. I saw that the house was all dark, and thought every one was away — so I went with her to her home.”
“An’, if, you please, ma’am, about what time was this?”
“I think it was shortly after seven.”
The detective considered, frowning again. This seemed to tally with the automobile which a neighbor had observed. He studied Virginia Stewart more closely. It seemed impossible, heartless, to attempt to connect this girl with—
But he had his duty to perform. He cleared his throat.
“It’s very sorry indeed I am to be askin’ this question, ma’am,” he said quietly, “but I must know when it was, and why, that you took your father’s revolver.”
She gasped and pressed her hand to her lips — a gesture of fright and bewilderment.
“I… I… why, I don’t know what you mean!”
“Isn’t it the truth that you took Mr. Stewart’s revolver from his desk?”
“Certainly I have never taken his revolver!”
“Did you know that he kept one there, ma’am?”
Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. “Y-yes—”
“But you have not taken it?”
“Positively not! I… I don’t understand—”
“Did you take any of his cartridges, miss?”
She caught her breath. Her voice seemed frozen.
“Tell me, please, Miss Stewart,” Reilly insisted. “Did you take any of Mr. Stewart’s cartridges?”
“No, I did not.” Her tone was calmer.
“Can you explain to me, then, ma’am, how it is that your finger-prints are so plain on the box of cartridges?”
The girl drew back, very pale, and sank into a chair.
“Indeed I’m sorry to be causin’ you so much alarm, ma’am!” declared Reilly earnestly. “But don’t you see that you must tell me what you have done with Mr. Stewart’s revolver?”
“But… but I… I haven’t taken the revolver!”
The girl collapsed utterly. In a few broken sentences she told him all that she knew.
Chapter X
A Call to Headquarters
The late afternoon brought two developments in the case.
The first was the release of John Egan, the vagrant who had been arrested on Stewart’s grounds. The police could not hold him more than twenty-four hours as an “s. p.,” without bringing a definite charge against him.
As they had found no evidence to connect him with the lawyer’s death, he was dismissed with a warning not to trespass on private grounds for the purpose of begging.
The second event was the recall of Detective Frank Reilly to headquarters. In response to the summons, Reilly came at once to the commissioner’s office.
The police commissioner was a heavy, fleshy man, with a sagging lower lip and a general air of abstraction and disinterest in everything that he undertook.
He was really a very shrewd man, but few would have suspected it. When the young detective entered, nearly a minute passed before his superior glanced at him.
“Well, what is it?”
“You wanted to see me, sir? Frank Reilly?”
“Oh, yes. I damned well want to see you.” The older man’s glance hardened. “Reilly, when I detail a man to work on a case, I want him to go at that case with his mind open and his eyes open, instead of taking a preconceived notion that some fool has put in his head and sticking to it. What kind of police work do you call that?
“There’s absolutely no reason at all to suspect Mr. Winslow Fraim in connection with this crime; but instead of getting to work and digging out the facts, you’ve been spending your time trying to pin something on him.”
Reilly’s face flushed. For a second he strove for words, while he wrung his felt hat in his hands.
“Well,” his superior flung at him, “isn’t that the truth of it? Isn’t that exactly what you’ve been trying to get away with?”
“No, it is not, sir!” the youth returned with spirit. “Me nor any one else on the case, sir! We’ve not been tryin’ to hang anythin’ on any one! We don’t believe in railroadin’ folks, Mr. Commissioner!”
“No? Then what are you trying to tie up Mr. Fraim in this thing for? He’s given you a satisfactory explanation of how his automobile happened to be there, hasn’t he? But you’ve got your mind made up—”
“No, sir, I have not!” Reilly cut in. “As a matter of truth, I’ve not been considerin’ Mr. Fraim at all. I don’t think he done it. I think the case is too plain. To my way of thinkin’, some one is tryin’ to send him up for it. But it ain’t me, Mr. Commissioner — an’ I think before long I can prove who it is.”
His superior studied him. “Then how is it he’s been questioned twice at his apartment?”
“I… I think Inspector Gray done that, sir—”
“Oh, I see! Well, I was told it was you. Now, if you’re going at this with an open mind, let’s hear what progress you’ve made. What have you got to show for it? What line are you taking?”
Reilly hesitated. “Well — it’s like this, sir. Have you ever heard tell anythin’ about Mr. Stewart’s wife?”
The commissioner shook his head.
“I’m told she’s an awful speedy-actin’ woman,” confided the young detective. “She’s his second wife, by the way. Sure, she can do what she likes with his money now, I guess. He got rid of his first wife three years ago, after he set himself up in this fast bunch that calls themselves smart society.”
The older man caught his breath. “Never mind society, Reilly! Let’s have—”
“Sure, an’ that’s what I’m comin’ to, sir!” the other returned indomitably. “They can call themselves what they please; but I pray God no kin of mine will ever get into society like that. Young women taken home drunk from their parties, and all such things.
“To be sure, they had a complaint here at headquarters about one of Stewart’s festivals; and it’s proud I’d be if I could say the department went through with it instead of hushin’ it up. Mr. Stewart wanted none of his first wife in such society as that. So what does he do but he frames her up, three years ago, an’ gets a divorce an’ marries again.
“He fixed things so he got custody of the daughter, too; an’ since then I hear he ain’t never brought her up as a young girl should be. The mother was bitter about it. So was her brother, a man named Frank Armitage, of Atlanta — he’s here in town this week. So was a young chap named Duncan who’s in love with the daughter.
“An’ not two weeks ago there was an altercation between Stewart an’ young Duncan; and Stewart told Duncan if ever he come to the house again and talked to him like that—”
“Like what?”
“About the way he’d been bringin’ up his daughter, sir. He said if Duncan ever talked to him like that again, he’d shoot him. It was heard by two of the household, sir. So now do you see what I’m workin’ on, Mr. Commissioner?”
The older man was silent. He was amazed.
“An’ sure, there’s a box of cartridges with the daughter’s finger-prints in machine oil, in Mr. Stewart’s desk — as no doubt you yourself must have seen when you was goin’ through his papers.”