“You are Mrs. Knight, aren’t you?” I asked.
Her head gave a quick, frightened bob.
“Where is your husband, Mrs. Knight?” Instead of answering, she said in a scared voice, “What’s he done?” Her voice surprised me. It was more than merely husky. It was deep as a man’s.
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Nothing I know of. What do you think he did?”
She said, “Tell me. You can tell me. I’ll have to know anyway. What’s he done?” She clasped and unclasped her hands nervously.
“Don’t get excited,” I said soothingly. “A man your husband knew was killed. I’m just making a routine check.”
Her eyes searched mine with suspicion, then hope. “You’re not after him?”
I shook my head. “I think I’ve given you the wrong impression. I’m not from the police. I’m a private investigator.” Fishing my license from my wallet, I handed it to her. “I just want to talk to your husband.”
As she examined the license, some confidence returned to her bearing. “Moon,” she said, still looking at the license. Then she handed it back to me. “He’s out of town, Mr. Moon. On business.”
“What’s his out-of-town address?”
“I don’t know.”
I kept my eyes on her face until she flushed and looked at her hands. Then I said, “The information I have which connects your husband with the dead man, I got from his secretary. She hasn’t told the police. If I can talk to your husband and get a reasonable explanation, maybe the police will never have to know Mr. Knight threatened the murdered man a few hours before the murder. But if I can’t, I’ll have to give what I know to them and let them pick him up. Do you have a phone?”
Her hands began to work together. “I really don’t know Willard’s address. He said he’d send it.”
“Why’d he leave?”
“I don’t know. Something he saw in the papers, I think. He was all right till breakfast. Well, maybe a little grumpy, but not excited like he was after he saw the paper. At first he seemed elated, like the stock market had boomed or something, but when I asked him what the good news was, he looked kind of thoughtful and told me maybe it was a mixed blessing. Then the more he thought about it, the more upset and less glad he seemed. He never did tell me what it was he saw in the paper, just told me to shut up when I asked a second time. Then he packed a suitcase and told me to phone the office; he had a prospect who would keep him out of town a few days. He phoned a taxi, and when it came he said he’d write me.” Her voice turned faintly bitter. “I knew he wouldn’t tell me any more if I asked, so I never asked.”
“What taxi did he call?”
She thought a moment, then shook her head. “I didn’t pay any attention.”
“And you never found out what it was in the paper that upset him?”
She shook her head again. “I thought maybe it was something he saw in the financial section, because sometimes he gets upset over stock market reports. I read over the market list after he left, but I couldn’t find anything about any sensational rises or drops in prices.” Her eyes widened at a sudden idea. “You said a murder. You don’t mean the one...”
Her voice faded out.
I nodded. “Yes I do. Where was your husband last night?”
“At a company board meeting. Jones and Knight Investment Company.”
“How long did the meeting last?”
“I don’t know. He was gone from six till after one in the morning.”
“Your husband’s partner, Jones. What’s his first name?”
“Harlan.”
I rose. “I guess that covers things. Mind if I use your phone?”
She caught her breath. “You’re not... not going to phone the police?”
“I’m going to phone your husband’s partner.” Casually I added, “Jones flew to Kansas City last night. Seems funny he’d do that on the night of a board meeting, doesn’t it?”
Her face went pale. Without a word she rose and led me through a narrow dining room into a back hall where a phone sat on a table.
In the telephone book I found a residence listing for Harlan Jones and dialed the number. A female with an interestingly throaty voice answered.
When I asked for Jones, she said, “Just a moment, please.”
A pompous voice said in my ear, “Jones speaking.”
“Manville Moon,” I said. “I’m trying to locate your partner.”
“Sorry, Mr. Moon. Knight is out of town. May I help you?”
“Out of town?” I repeated. “Did he present my proposition at your board meeting last night?”
“Board meeting?” He sounded puzzled.
“Didn’t you have a board meeting last night?”
“No...” slowly. “I wasn’t even in town last night, Mr. Moon. But I don’t quite understand what you mean anyway. We have no board of directors. We’re not incorporated. Knight and I are sole owners. What was your proposition?”
I hung up quietly.
Mrs. Knight’s squat figure was centered in the dining room door. Her hands rigidly clasped each other and fright peered from the back of her eyes. All I did was look at her without any expression on my face, but she backed into the dining room as though terrified.
I followed her without hurry. “Where is he?” I asked in an easy voice.
“I don’t know! Honest I don’t!” Then words tumbled from her in an hysterical stream. “I don’t know where he goes. He says board meetings and comes in at all hours, and I know it’s not board meetings because his company has no board. But it isn’t drinking either. I’ve smelled his breath after he’s asleep. I don’t know where he goes or what he does.”
She stopped with fat shoulders pressed against a wall. Her frightened face tilted upward and she licked trembling lips.
I said, “Don’t you ask where he goes?”
“I couldn’t. If you knew his temper, you’d see I couldn’t. All I know is he makes good money, but we never have anything. If I said right out I didn’t believe his board meetings, he’d... he’d kill me, like as not.”
Then her eyes grew even wider and the back of one hand pressed against her mouth. “He wouldn’t really,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t kill anybody.”
I looked down at her thoughtfully until two tears seeped from the corners of her eyes and dribbled across her cheeks. Then, suddenly, I felt infinitely sorry for her and a little ashamed of myself.
I said, “Take it easy, Mrs. Knight. Your husband may be able to explain the whole thing.”
She shook her head. “You’ll tell the police. I know you will. And they’ll arrest him for something he didn’t do.”
Her shoulders hunched and she bowed her head into upturned palms as sobs began to shake her body. As quietly as I could, I got my hat from the front room and left, feeling somewhat like a heel.
From a drug store booth I phoned Warren Day at his home.
“How does this sound?” I asked. “Three hours before Lancaster got it, a guy threatened to fix him. The guy’s wife says he has a temper and he wasn’t where he told his wife he was at the time of the murder. Also, he’s taken a powder.”
Day said, “Who’s the guy?”
“Willard Knight. Jones and Knight Investments.” I told him the same story the secretary-bookkeeper had told me. “He’s the kind of guy who invests all his money in stocks and lives in a five-thousand-dollar shack.”
“Where’s the shack?”
I told him the address.