He sent policemen scurrying about getting the name of everyone present. Then he allowed everyone to depart. He dispersed the exhibitors too and posted policemen at each door.
“No one’ll be allowed in here until we’ve had time to go over the building,” he announced. “Three o’clock in the afternoon anyway.”
Oliver Quade and Charlie Boston strolled toward a restaurant a short distance from the dog building. “Don’t look now,” said Boston as they entered. “But there’s a flatfoot shadowing us.”
“Naturally. The chief hasn’t forgotten that it’s my booth.”
Lois Lanyard, her brother and his wife and Freddie Bartlett were in the restaurant, seated at a large table. The only vacant spot was at a small table next to theirs. Quade and Boston sat down at it.
Lois introduced them all around.
A waitress came to take their order, then Quade leaned back in his chair and studied the group at the next table. Lois was chattering gaily with Freddie, but every now and then she cast a sharp glance at her brother who was biting his lips and staring moodily at the tablecloth. Jessie Lanyard was trying to make conversation with her husband, but wasn’t having much success. She seemed to have recovered entirely from her faint, but her conversation, it seemed to Quade, was high pitched and forced.
Quade sat up. “Look, folks,” he said, “I seem to be Murder Suspect Number I and the chief of police is going to ask me some mighty embarrassing questions this afternoon. Mind if I talk about it?”
Lois made warning signals with her eyes and Freddie drew himself up stiffly, but Lois’ brother came out of his lethargy. “Yes, let’s talk about it. We’re all thinking about it anyway. Why did my wife faint when the coroner said it was Wesley Peters? Is that what you want to know?”
“No. I want to know why Mrs. Lanyard pretended to faint?”
All four of the people at the adjoining table gasped. Jessie’s face went white, then red. “What do you mean by that?” she snapped.
“I mean that you were no more faint than I,” Quade replied. “I saw your eyes. And your muscles were tensed, not relaxed, when your husband picked you up.”
“Mr. Quade,” said Freddie Bartlett. “I don’t think this is a matter that concerns you.”
“But it does,” cried Lois’ brother. “Jessie put on a scene over there and I want to know the meaning of it. Jessie, why did you faint? Or pretend to faint?”
Jessie’s eyes flashed sparks. “Very well, if you must have a public scene, I’ll tell you. You know very well that I knew Wes before I married you. Naturally it was a shock to learn that he was murdered — under such peculiar circumstances.”
“Why peculiar?” snapped Bob Lanyard. “The dog show was as good a place as any for him to die. He was a — a dog, you know.”
“Bob!” Jessie cried indignantly.
“Why did you have to start this?” exclaimed Lois, looking at Quade.
“Because I wanted to make you all mad,” retorted Quade. “When people are mad they tell things, and I think there are some things to be told. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Lanyard?”
Jessie Lanyard’s eyes slitted, “All right, Wesley was in love with me once. And I almost accepted him before I married you, Bob. I didn’t want to tell you that, but you insisted on having it. So take it.”
Charlie tugged at Quade’s sleeve. Quade turned and saw Chief Costello bearing down on the group.
“Hello, folks,” said the chief. “Thought I’d find you here.”
“You mean your shadow told you we came here,” Quade retorted.
“Still at it, young fella, huh? Well, I got some news for you. I found out who owned the gun that Wesley was killed with.”
Jessie Lanyard rose so suddenly that she bumped the table and knocked over a water glass. Quade saw panic in her eyes.
“It was his own gun,” continued the chief. “He bought it a year ago, got a license to carry it.”
The panic remained in Jessie’s eyes. Quade hesitated, then suddenly pointed a lean forefinger at her. “But didn’t he give you that gun, Mrs. Lanyard?” he asked softly.
Jessie screamed suddenly. She pushed back her chair and it crashed to the floor. Her face was suddenly twisted into a weird gargoyle. “Yes, he gave it to me. Yes, and I killed him. I killed him with his own gun! I’d do it again because I hated him!”
Jessie’s dramatic confession exploded like a bombshell in the crowded restaurant. The place seethed with excitement. Lois sat up in her chair, her eyes aghast. Freddie was frozen stiff in his chair.
Bob Lanyard sprang to his feet. His arms encircled Jessie and he caught her tightly to him. “Jessie!” he cried in anguish. “You mustn’t! You’re over-wrought. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Jessie began sobbing as if her heart was breaking. Her husband soothed her.
Chief Costello stood back uncertainly. It was obvious the social standing of these people impressed him, made him uncertain. Then he ordered his policemen to clear the restaurant.
Bob Lanyard’s soothing quieted Jessie. In two or three minutes she was able to pull herself together, although she still kept a handkerchief covering her mouth and most of her face.
The chief cleared his throat noisily. “I’m mighty sorry about this, Mrs. Lanyard,” he said. “But you understand…”
“You fool!” gritted Bob Lanyard. “Don’t you know she said that to shield me? Wesley was an old sweetheart. She knew I was intensely jealous of him and when she knew he was murdered, she naturally jumped to the conclusion that I did it.”
“Did you?” the chief asked, taken aback.
Quade almost held his breath, waiting for the answer he was sure would come. It did.
“Yes!” exclaimed Bob. “I killed him. I found the gun in Jessie’s dresser, took it to the dog show with me and killed him during the excitement of the dog fight. He — he was annoying Jessie again.”
“Bob!” That was Lois. “You — you couldn’t have! You were right behind me all that time.”
“No, you were with Freddie.” Bob Lanyard refused to accept the alibi offered him.
Freddie Bartlett blundered in. “Oh, come now, Bob, you know very well we were talking together when the excitement began and I remember your being with us when the dog fight was over.”
“Say, what is this?” cried the chief. “Two confessions inside of five minutes. Is there anyone else here who wants to confess?”
“If I wasn’t afraid you’d take me seriously I’d toss in my hat,” said Quade.
The Lanyards and Bartletts were wealthy local residents who could embarrass Chief Costello in his own bailiwick. He had to treat them with the utmost respect. But Quade, the chief knew, was an outsider and a mere book agent. Fair bait. He turned savagely upon him.
“That’s the last damn crack I’m takin’ out o’ you, fella!” he snarled. “You make just one more yip and I’ll not only throw you in the clink but I’ll see that you get worked over plenty with the rubber hose. Get me?”
“I get you, Chief.” Quade subsided, but his mind worked furiously over the problem. He had a strange hunch that this case had just begun. There had been a hundred or more people in the building at the time Wesley Peters had been killed. And the place had been in an uproar. No one had paid any attention to anyone else because of the commotion. Alibis weren’t worth a dime a dozen.
And Wesley was known in Westfield. There could easily have been a dozen people in the building at the time who knew, and perhaps disliked him. Jessie Lanyard was a neurotic. She might say or do anything under stress of emotion. Her husband was a moody, sensitive type.
Chief Costello made a sagacious deduction. “Maybe we’d better not decide anything just yet. All of us know each other and there’s plenty of time for getting together. Anyway, it would be much better for all of you to think things over and maybe discuss them with your families and lawyers. If you’ll give me your word not to leave town suddenly, I’ll make my report and we’ll get together later this evening.” He departed, taking his policeman with him.