"Why?" said Johnny.
''Why? Why, because there were people quarrelmg."
"A man and his wife?"
"It was the middle of the night," she said. "And Bart was quite right to take the gun. Youll see. He went down and there she was. That McCauley—Clinton was his name— I never hked him. He had hit her with a big heavy candlestick. Oh, it was wicked! And he was drunk. He had opened the safe. He had stolen her pretty pin. He was a wicked man I"
"The pins had been yours, ma'am?" asked Johnny.
"Yes, Francis gave them to me before we were married and that was surely a long time ago. I haven't thought of Frank—"
"Your first husband?"
"Yes. He was my first husband."
"And you gave the other pin to your stepson Nathaniel?"
"To Josephine. Nathaniel didn't realize . . ."
"Reahze what, ma'am?"
The old lady's face sagged. Her lids drooped. She seemed to have suddenly gone to sleep.
"What are you trying to do, Sims?" said Bart quietly. "It was all gone into thoroughly at the time. As you should know. You've evidently read up on it. I think you've got what you came for, haven't you? Thanks to my seventy-nine-year-old mother." His voice was cold.
"I'm tired," said the old lady crossly.
"Of course you are," said Blanche and sprang up to the handles of the chair.
Nathaniel didn't reahze," Johnny said, rising, "but you ... ?"
"I understood," the old lady said, openiag her eyes. "You come see me again, young man."
"I wiU."
Blanche's eyes said to him hostilely, No, yoti wont.
"Realize?" said Bart, after they had gone. "What was thatr
Johnny answered honestly, "I don't know."
"Tricks?"
The room was silent. Nan's eyes were round. "Years ago," said Dick to her comfortingly.
"But, really?" Nan said. "Killed in this house?"
"Poor Christy McCauley," Dick said. "I barely remember her."
Bart rose. "I don't like puzzles and tricks. I don't think you can expect any more, Sims."
Johnny rose also. "No, not here, sir."
"You are going to poke around this town?" Bart's voice was light, yet hostile.
"Yes, sir."
Dick had risen too. Nan said nervously, "Johnny, do you have to do this? If—if Bart doesn't want you to . . . and Blanche doesn't . . . ?"
Johnny said, "It's my job.''
"But, I told them you were a friend."
"I'm that, too," Johnny said with a grin. "I understand," he said to Bart, "better than you think I do. I've done such jobs before."
Bart gave him a crisp nod of dismissal.
"Good-night, Nan."
Nan's lips were pouting disapproval and did not say good-night.
Dick said, in a friendly way, "I'll see you to the door."
So they went together out into the red-floored hall and Dick opened a leaf of the front door. He stepped outside,^ himself, and JoJinny followed.
"Are you really going to stir up this old dust?" Dick asked him.
The hght was going and, with the trees so close, the porch was dim,
"A job," said Johnny. "I m supposed to talk- to people, get the local color, atmosphere, all that."
"I suppose you've heard," Dick said, "that there once was a flurry of suspicion that I had killed Christy McCauley? Or haven't you heard that?"
"I've heard that," Johnny said quietly.
"From McCauley himself?"
"No. Grimes told me." Johnny hed. His heart raced. He had almost made the mistake of admitting he'd seen Mcr-Cauley. This man would then know—or would he?—that Johnny must have foimd out from McCauley who Nan was.
"Going to see McCauley, I suppose?" Dick asked. "Strange to think that he is still alive."
"After I'm through here," Johnny said. (His thoughts raced. Was the man probing?) "I understand he's sick, right now. In the prison hospital," Johnny said carelessly.
The man beside him was looking oflF into the trees. "Are you thinking," said Dick in a moment, "that Nan ought to know about those suspicions of me?"
"What do you think?" said Johnny stiflfly.
There was a little silence. "They wouldn't make an awfully pleasant wedding present," Dick said softly.
"No." Johnny's head jerked up. "I agree with you on that.''
"It was all checked into at the time, you know."
^I presumed so," Johnny shrugged.
"But youTl check again?"
"I've already checked, a little. I saw George Rush."
"ReaUy? Old George? How is he?"
"He's fine. He—was out that night."
"I know." Bartee looked away. "Of course, I understand ^ you," he said.
"Understand?" Johnny's reason sank under the flooding of emotion.
"I got your girl, eh?" said Dick. "Well, have a go at it. I don't suppose I can stop you." The man was smiling.
Johnny conquered anger because one shouldn't be angry at what was true. He said, "Did ycni think McCauley was a no-good bum?"
"That was the consensus around here,'' said Dick. "I was just a kid." Then he added. "You put me in a spot. I don't know what to do."
yodor
"About telling Nan." The eyes came back. In the dusk Johnny seemed to feel them resting on him. "I suppose I must."
"WTiy don't you wait?" said Johnny, feeling sudden dismay. He made himself smile. "/ won't tell her, if I don't have to. I can probably make it sound too dull for Grimes."
"It is quite dull, as a matter of fact," said Dick Bartee in a moment. He sighed. "Maybe I've got you wrong. Maybe I do you an injustice."
"Injustice?"
"Nan's told me all about you. Tve been assuming you— resent me."
"Naturally," said Johnny with his best rueful grin. "I resent you."
The gray eyes smiled back. "Well, good hunting." Dick Bartee held out his hand. "Convince yourself."
Johnny took it. Couldn't stand on niceties. (He could hear Dorothy saying, "What do they matter, if Nan's engaged to a murderer?")
He heard himself say, "Thanks a lot," in a voice that sounded weak and confused. Then Johnny set out in his car, tr>ing to think.
The old lady. Maybe Clinton McCauley was an awful man who only dreamed that he was a saint. Maybe Dick Bartee was a killer and a fortune-himter. Maybe not.
The man had charm. He seemed straightforward. Johnny tried to imagine what he, himself, would say if he were Dick Bartee and innocent. It came out a lot like Dick Bartee.
He drove in and found a room at the first motel he came upon. Responsibihty and doubt were hanging heavily upon him.
What was it that Nathaniel Bartee had not realized? What was it Dick Bartee admitted when he said he knew that George Rush had been out? Why was Blanche Bartee so very eager to stop Johnny's inquiries?
How could he, J. Sims, discover the truth about a kijing seventeen yeaii old? How objectively could he judge? And by what right?
CHAPTER 10
In the parlor, Bart said, ''I wonder why my father took his gun that night. Do you know I never questioned that before?"
"If someone were in the house," began Dorothy.
Bart said, "If my mother woke him to say she heard Christy and Clint—The point is, Miss Dorothy, Clinton McCauley lived in the house."
"Oh?"
"I'm just ashamed of Johimy," Nan said in a low voice. "I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Bartee."
Dorothy said, "Probably Johnny thinks he can—well, protect everyone."
She faltered and looked up. Bart's smooth face was turned upon her. "Perhaps that's it," he said.
Blanche hustled in. She wore very high heels. Her legs were thin and sinewy, not pretty. "Has he gone?" she asked. "Bart, can't you stop this?"
Bart said, "No, I don't think so," not vehemently, but thoughtfully. Blanche, looking troubled, said no more. Dorothy perceived that Bart was the head of this house.