“I want to talk with Daphne Arcola,” Brandon said, getting out of the car and holstering his revolver.
Carr’s lips tightened. “What questions did you want to ask Miss Arcola?”
“Where are you going, for one thing,” Brandon said.
“I received a call which is taking me to my office in the city.”
“You put up bail for Frank Grannis earlier today, I believe,” Selby said.
“That’s right, I did. Is there any law against that?”
“Why did you put up that bail?”
“Because he’s a client of mine,” Carr said, “and I’m satisfied he’s innocent. I feel that he’s been given a raw deal. I put up my own money as bail and I don’t have to answer...”
“And then where did he go when he left El Centro?”
“Good heavens, gentlemen, I don’t know,” Carr said. “I asked him to keep in touch with me, naturally. And, of course, when the time is set for his trial he’ll be there. Otherwise, of course, I’d have to forfeit the bail money.” And Carr smiled blandly.
“All right,” Brandon said, turning to Daphne Arcola. “Why did you go into the telegraph office at Corona and send a wire to Mrs. Barker C. Nutwell in Los Angeles and sign the name of Rose Furman, the murdered girl?”
Daphne Arcola’s eyes widened. Her face suddenly drained of color so that the patches of rouge showed distinctly orange.
Carr flashed her a swift glance, and said, “Don’t answer that question, Daphne.”
“If you don’t answer it, I’ll take you into custody,” Brandon warned.
“On what charge, may I ask?”
“You may,” Brandon said grimly.
“May what?”
“May ask.”
Carr said, “In the first place, you’re out of your county, Sheriff. In the second place, if you try to make an arrest, I shall insist upon having the prisoner informed of the charge against her, and then I shall insist upon the prisoner being immediately taken before the nearest and most accessible magistrate in order that bail may be fixed.”
“Which, I suppose, you’ll put up,” Brandon said.
“I might,” Carr said. “I’m financially able to do so.”
He reached in his pocket, pulled out a wallet, and started taking out thousand-dollar bills.
There was that in the gesture which indicated that if Brandon so elected he might have received some of the contents of the wallet.
Brandon’s face darkened. He pushed Carr to one side, reached in past the steering wheel, took Daphne Arcola by the wrist, and said, “Get out. You’re under arrest.”
“For what?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you what the charge is when I get good and ready,” Brandon said.
“For forging the name of Rose Furman to a telegram,” Selby said hastily.
“Thank you, Counselor,” A. B. Carr said. “She’s arrested on a charge of forgery. That’s an offense for which bail can be fixed. Now if you will take the prisoner before the nearest and most accessible magistrate, I’ll put up her bail, and...”
“All right,” Brandon said, “we’ll take her in on a charge of murder then.”
“Murder!” Carr exclaimed.
“That’s right. You force my hand and see what you get,” Brandon said.
“You’re not going to take this young woman into custody in this county,” Carr said.
Brandon produced his handcuffs. “I’m going to take this woman into custody,” he said, “and if you resist an officer in the discharge of his duties, I’m going to take you into custody.”
“You can’t do it,” Carr said, pushing his way forward. “You’re outside your jurisdiction. You have no authority in this county, you’re acting without a warrant, you’re making an illegal arrest, and you’re refusing to take the prisoner before the nearest and most accessible magistrate. All are distinct violations of the law.”
“So what!” Brandon said. “Do you want me to handcuff this girl to my wrist and then let you try to get her loose with a lot of legal flimflam?”
“I appeal to the district attorney of Madison County,” A. B. Carr said.
Brandon said, “I’m arresting this young woman. Get into the car, Miss Arcola.”
Carr stepped forward. “Don’t do it.”
Brandon whirled to face Carr. “Just try putting a hand on her or on me. Just so much as a finger.”
Brandon piloted Daphne over to the county car and said, “Do you want to get in under your own power, or do you want to be lifted in? Do you want to ride like a lady, or do you want to be handcuffed?”
Carr raised his voice. “Miss Arcola, this arrest is illegal. I advise you not to answer any questions, and I advise you not to submit to any questioning. I advise you to keep absolutely silent and there’s one more thing I...”
Carr crowded forward as though about to whisper some confidential instructions to the young woman.
Brandon suddenly whirled. His shoulder caught Carr in the chest sending him spinning back.
“Watch that girl, Doug,” Brandon said, and strode after the reeling lawyer. “Now then,” he said, “you and I are about of an age. Do you want to make an issue of this, or don’t you?”
Carr suddenly recovered his dignity and his affability. “Certainly not in terms of personal violence, my dear Sheriff. Whatever I do will be done legally,” he said. And with that he got in his machine, started the motor, and once more started speeding along the road to Los Angeles.
Brandon walked around and climbed in behind the wheel of the county car. Selby got in beside Daphne Arcola in the front seat. Brandon started to turn the car.
Selby said, “Why did you send that telegram, Miss Arcola?”
She clamped her lips in a firm, thin fine of determination.
Selby said, “Let’s not take her back to Madison City right now, Rex. Let’s take her to Corona and let this man identify her.”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Daphne Arcola asked.
Brandon grinned, and said, “It always takes a crook to talk about the legalities of a situation.”
They drove back to Corona. Daphne Arcola sat frozen-faced in the automobile while the clerk of the Western Union came out, looked at her, and said, “That’s the one. She’s trying to look different by holding her face all frosty and cold. When she was in here she was all smiles, but that’s the girl all right.”
“She’s the one that sent the telegram?”
“That’s right.”
Selby grinned at Brandon. “Okay, Rex, now let’s head back to Madison City. But first let’s get that telegram.”
“I have it for you,” the clerk said. “I looked it up after you left. I was able to find it. Here’s the telegram just the way she brought it in.”
Selby glanced at the typewriting, frowned, and said, “It was filed a short time before Rose Furman was murdered. Whoever wrote it out must have been planning the murder at that time. It will show premeditation. Now, unless I’m mistaken, Rex, this was not written on Rose Furman’s typewriter, the one that was in her apartment. That’s a portable. This seems to have been written on another machine. Now this... wait a minute, Rex.”
“What is it?” the sheriff asked.
Selby said, “Put yourself in old A. B. Carr’s position. What would he normally have done?”
“What do you mean?”
Selby said, “Daphne Arcola is mixed up in this thing. Her testimony can be damaging to old A. B. C. Ordinarily he would have moved heaven and earth to get her out of jail as soon as she was put in.”