It took me some seconds to realize what Burke was saying. The others were struck as dumb as I by Burke’s surprising accusation, for the only sound in the room was Myra Young’s horrified, “No, no!”
Burke said: “I’m sorry, Mrs. Young, but that’s the way it has to be. None of the rest of us heard a shot because there wasn’t any shot at the time you pretended to hear it. It made a perfect alibi for you. When we rushed upstairs and found him shot through the head no one suspected you could possibly have fired the shot. Clever. The perfect alibi. Just too damned clever, Mrs. Young.”
“No, no, no!” Her voice rose to a scream. “I didn’t. I don’t know...”
“Yes you do. And I should have known. Leaving the silver cross lying on his body was another clever touch. The silver cross that your husband brought back from Yucatan. Again... it was too clever. It marks you without question as the one who put that same mark on your husband’s cheek after shooting him through the head.”
Myra Young’s face was horribly contorted. “I had an alibi for that. You heard what Mr. Dwight said...”
“And you killed Dwight to preserve that alibi,” Burke broke in grimly. “You traded him your body for his alibi, and then repented the bargain. You killed him to avoid final payment... and so he couldn’t retaliate by telling us the truth... that he watched you through his telescope when you slipped down the hill to murder Leslie.”
Myra lifted her head and laughed shrilly. It was an awful sound. She jerked the torn edges of her dress apart to expose the three scatches on her belly.
“And I suppose you accuse me of doing this, too. And hitting myself on the head. You might as well. It’s just as sensible...”
“I do accuse you of exactly that.” Burke’s big hand caught her wrist, dragged her hand up close to look at her fingers while she writhed ineffectually.
“How else did you get these particles of skin and blood under your fingernails? It was a last desperate expedient to throw suspicion on someone else when Laura’s telephone message warned you I was close to the truth.”
He dropped her hand and she cowered away from him like a whipped animal.
He turned to Jelcoe and said conversationally: “Here’s something in your line, Chief. Take a look over there near where she was lying and see if you can’t find a place where she bumped her own head on something.”
Jelcoe let go of Desta’s arm and moved toward the mantel, talking to himself in a strange gibberish.
Laura came over to me and put her hand on my arm just as Jelcoe dropped to his knees on the hearth and peered up at the under-side of the projecting concrete manteclass="underline"
“Here it is, all right enough. Here’s where she banged her head up against the edge. There’s a couple of hairs and...”
“All right.” Myra Young swayed to her feet. “I killed him. I killed them both. I loved Les too much to stand it when he slipped away to kiss another woman. I... I... Oh God, I l-l-loved him.” Sobbing, she fell forward on her face.
23
It was all over and an atmosphere of peaceful tranquillity hung over my living room. Burke was sprawled out in a comfortable chair, with his pipe emitting clouds of noxious smoke, and Laura Yates and I had companionable cigarettes going. There was an open brandy bottle on the table; Nip and Tuck lay quietly in their corner; and newsboys on the streets were selling Extras of the Free Press carrying the story of Myra Young’s arrest for double murder.
“When did you first really begin to suspect Myra?” I asked Burke.
He emptied his lungs of smoke and looked apologetic. “Not until this morning. Not until I finally thought to ask Hardiman the name of the sleeping potion he administered to Dwight, and learned from Doctor Thompson that the dose would have had almost immediate effect. I then realized that Mrs. Young must have lied about Dwight talking to her when she went into his room.”
“Which ruined a perfect alibi,” Laura put in from across the table.
Burke nodded. “I immediately reasoned there had to be some reason for that lie. When I looked at it from that angle, it all clicked into place perfectly.” He shrugged and took a sip of brandy.
“Wait a minute,” I protested. “It’s all pretty foggy to me. If she killed him when she went up and pretended to ask him about Hardiman... why did Hardiman tell the story of hearing the fatal shot fired while he was in the other room just a few minutes before we came in?”
“That,” Burke admitted, “was one of the queer detours a case like this sometimes takes. Unwittingly, by changing his story to fit what we believed, Hardiman was actually substantiating Myra Young’s carefully built-up alibi.”
“Then... Hardiman told the truth in the first place?”
“Exactly. He left Dwight to let the drug take effect, and Myra slipped in and shot him while Hardiman was gone. Returning, Hardiman found him slumped down on the couch and naturally supposed he had just passed out. He went in and got what he wanted from the safe, totally unaware that Dwight had been murdered. His look of surprise when he looked down at the death-wound was genuine.”
“Then why did he change his story?”
“He was confused and frightened. He had no time to think it over and he was in a tough spot. He knew we thought his first story was a lie, and he tried to think up something that would appear to fit what we believed to be the truth. That’s the explanation he gave me at headquarters when we released him... and it sounds logical.”
Laura nodded. “A man is likely to say anything to avoid being charged with murder when he is innocent.”
“You’re not going to press any charges against Hardiman?” I asked Burke.
“He has suffered sufficiently for an indiscretion. He wasn’t actually going to sell out his country. Senor Rodriguez assured me that Hardiman gave him to understand yesterday afternoon that he would suffer personal disgrace for that one indiscretion of his youthful days rather than force the issue as Dwight demanded.” Burke was silently thoughtful for a moment, then he said: “If we all had to pay for the folly of youthful days, we’d have to build more jails and penitentiaries to hold us. Hardiman has paid in full for whatever breach he made.”
“Look here,” I said, “did you know Myra was the murderess when we made our wild dash out to the canyon?”
“Of course. Everything fitted perfectly once I realized that Hardiman had changed his story to fit our ideas.”
“Then why,” I asked irritably, “did you try to kill us getting out there?”
“Because I was afraid Myra might kill Laura if she went snooping around after reading that note I sent to you, and I knew Laura would go snooping.” He gave one of his rare chuckles.
I stared at him and made a funny noise in my throat.
“What did you think?” Burke asked with twinkling eyes. “That Laura was guilty and I was afraid she’d put Myra out of the way if she got there first?”
I took a drink and didn’t answer, but my face must have given me away, for Laura laughed delightedly and patted my arm. “What a shock you must have gotten when you dashed in heroically and saw me leaning over Myra with a pistol in my hand.”
“I don’t mind saying I was plenty confounded,” Burke admitted. “I began wondering if all my theorizing was wrong when it looked as though any one of you three wenches might have carved Myra up.”