“Right this way, sir. Back of the curtain are French doors, sir.”
Sidney Zoom walked to the curtains, pushed them apart, strode through the doors and began to examine the loamy soil which fringed the cement walk running around the house.
“Look here, Graves. This is serious. See where a box was planted in the soft loam there? And it looks as though some one had stood on it! And look here. Here’s a perfect footprint!”
The butler bent down.
“Yes, sir. So it is, sir. But I’d rather not mix in it any further—”
Sidney Zoom grasped the man by the shoulder, whirled him back against the side of the house.
“Now, Graves, come dean. You’re trying to duck out of this because you think you know who was standing out here. Tell me the truth and talk fast.”
The butler gulped, stammered, swallowed with audible effort, then began to spill words with a rapidity that was almost hysterical.
“Amos Style, sir. He claims to be a cousin of the adventuress. But I think he’s a son of hers by a former marriage. She’s altogether too fond of him for a mere cousin, sir, and he’s nothing but a callow lad. He comes to visit her and stays here in the house a large part of the time.
“If the woman wanted Mr. Ames out of the way quickly, she could have conspired with her son to do the trick — if he is her son. And the fact that Mr. Ames just happened to find Miss Eve at the safe, sir, was in the nature of a coincidence, and—”
Sidney Zoom regarded the imprint of the foot in the soft soil, the oblong indentation that had marked the place where the end of the wooden box was placed.
“Stays here in the house, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you get me his left shoe?”
The butler sighed.
“I don’t know, sir, but I can try. I’d do anything for Miss Eve, sir.”
And Graves melted away, as furtively silent as a shadow, as swift as a stalking cat.
Sidney Zoom leaned forward and searched the ground, inch by inch.
Between the cement walk and the side of the house there had been dwarf shrubbery planted. Between these shrubs there were stretches of bare ground, and it was in these bits of bare ground that the incriminating depressions were found.
But Sidney Zoom parted the little branches, looked with the intentness of a hawk searching good game cover.
And his search was rewarded.
A little glitter of metal struck his eyes, and he stooped. There was a brass cartridge of the type automatically ejected from a gun known as an automatic.
Sidney Zoom picked up the cartridge in his handkerchief, lest he should destroy some of the fingerprints on it. He renewed his search, and found the blued steel of a barrel sticking up from the base of one of the plants.
Once again he used his handkerchief, and dragged to light a small automatic, the same caliber as the shell, the same caliber as the bullet which had resulted in the death of Ralph C. Ames.
Sidney Zoom covered the evidence with the handkerchief, placed it in his pocket, straightened up from his search.
Almost at once he heard a door close, and then Graves came cat-treading down the cement.
“I’ve got it, sir!”
Sidney Zoom took the shoe from his hand, bent down and fitted the sole to the impression in the ground.
The fit was perfect.
“Good God!” exclaimed the butler. “You’ll notify the police of this?”
“That,” remarked Sidney Zoom, “depends upon a variety of things. Thanks, Graves, for your cooperation.”
“You’ll tell her I’m willing to do anything for her, sir?”
“If I see her?”
“Well, will you see her?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Sidney Zoom. Then, as he saw the gray eyes film with disappointment, he flashed the man a reassuring smile. “Not right away, Graves, but later, perhaps. I’ll tell her then.”
And he strode down the cement walk, went to his roadster, where Rip was growling at a man with an undershot jaw and a cauliflower ear who stood on the sidewalk, studying the car. Slightly behind him, parked at the curb, was an automobile. At the wheel of this car sat a thin individual with a beak-like nose and a catfish mouth.
Sidney Zoom bowed to them both. He climbled in his roadster and pressed his foot on the starter. The car purred into motion, and the man with the cauliflower ear hopped into the other machine, which promptly swung out into traffic.
Three blocks down the street another machine, driven by a woman, casually cut in ahead of the car with the two private detectives. Thereafter, Sidney Zoom made certain highly intricate maneuvers. The car with the two men got lost in the shuffle.
The other machine, driven by a baby-faced brunette, somehow or other managed to show up after Zoom had finished his turns and twists from one street to another.
But Zoom paid no attention to that machine, which fact brought the faintest suggestion of a gleam of triumph to the baby-faced brunette.
Chapter VI
Past History
Sidney Zoom lounged back in the chair at police headquarters. Captain Berkeley, seated across the desk, stared at a typewritten report which had been handed him by a messenger.
“Report of the finger-print expert?” asked Zoom, casually.
“Yes — and of the ordnance expert, too.”
“Indeed,” said Sidney Zoom, his eagerness showing in the crispness of his tone. “And what did they discover?”
Captain Berkeley drummed on the battered desk for a few seconds, the tips of his fingers beating a nervous tattoo.
“Zoom,” he remarked, “you’re in wrong.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. You’ve allowed yourself to become prejudiced against Mrs. Ames. And you’ve pulled your usual big-hearted stunt of falling for the hard luck story of a girl in misfortune—”
Sidney Zoom’s tone was hard as he interrupted.
“All of which is preliminary to stating what?”
“To stating,” snapped Captain Berkeley, “that the fatal bullet was undoubtedly fired from this weapon. But every finger-print on it is the print of Miss Eve Bendley — the person, by the way, who did the shooting.
“Probably she tossed the gun out of the window after the shooting. We’re tracing the numbers, but haven’t had a complete report yet.”
Sidney Zoom pursed his lips, a habit of his when thinking.
“You’re right about one thing,” said Captain Berkeley in a more gentle voice, “the so-called cousin is in reality the son of the widow. His real name is Amos Pease. She was a Nettie Pease. What’s happened to the husband is shrouded in mystery.
“I’ve got her history here for the last ten years, however. She’s been mixed up in all sorts of shady transactions. A man named Harry Garford was her partner for years. Finally, in Oregon, they were apprehended in connection with some minor crime. The authorities were determined to punish them, and made the bail pretty high.
“But they raised the bail, got out, and were formally married. Then, when the case came to trial, each refused to testify on the grounds that such testimony would be that of a husband against a wife, and a wife against a husband, which has always been considered a confidential relationship in they eyes of the law.
“The case was, of course, dropped, and they went to Idaho, then drifted into Nevada. Garford dropped from sight a couple of years ago. Nettie Pease, or Garford, to give her right name, seems to have steadied down a bit.
“Garford had a criminal record. Nettie Pease Garford had none. She was arrested several times, but there was never enough evidence to make a case.