He recalled that Patrolman Graves had said the fragment of rope was tied to the air-vent pipe by a fisherman’s knot. This was an odd knot to use on half-inch rope, as primarily it was used to tie flies to a nylon leader. Of course there was no reason it wouldn’t hold as effectively with rope as it would with a delicate leader, but it seemed to indicate that the person who tied the rope to the air vent knew something of fishing. And Betty was as accomplished an angler as her husband had been. In their youth Marshall had many times seen Betty tie a fisherman’s knot. As a matter of fact, he had taught it to her.
Then, after working himself up over the evidence of her guilt, he angrily began to berate himself for having so little faith in her. Of course she couldn’t have deliberately murdered her husband, he told himself. Not only was she incapable of such a crime, it would have been ridiculous fo her to commit it when divorce was so easy these days. Inasmuch as she had all the money in the family anyway, there would be no financial advantage. Even the house was hers. All she would have had to do to get rid of him was to put him out of the house and fly to Reno for six weeks.
He began to feel a little better.
Chapter VIII
George Reed answered the door to their ring. Marshall introduced the chief, they were invited in, and found Betty and Audrey Reed in the big front room. Betty’s last surviving blood relative was a slim, still-shapely woman in her early fifties with smartly styled gray hair and the chronic assurance of the typical club woman. Both she and Betty wore conservative street dresses suitable for women in mourning.
Reed introduced his wife to the chief, then said, “You remember Kirk Marshall, don’t you, dear?”
“Of course,” she said, giving Marshall a smile of cultivated charm. “It’s been a lot of years, though, hasn’t it, Kirk? You were just a boy last time we met. It was lovely of your mother to take over here until we arrived.”
“She enjoyed it,” Marshall assured her.
Barney Meister had waited patiently for the social amenities to be gotten over. Now he said, “A little something has come up, Mrs. Case. Mind if we look around the place a bit?”
Betty looked surprised. “You’ve already gone through every room in the house.”
“I mean outside.”
“The grounds? Why certainly. Look anywhere you please.”
Meister and Marshall excused themselves and went back outside. George Reed trailed along to see what they were up to.
The driveway which curved past the front of the house made a loop past the wide door of a three-car garage set at right angles to the house. The door was counterbalanced to swing upward and fold against the ceiling when it was opened. The chief heaved it up.
All three stalls were occupied. In one was the station wagon Bruce Case used to drive, in the second was Betty’s little sports car, and in the third was Bruce’s fourteen-foot fiberglas boat on a trailer. The boat was powered by an outboard motor.
The chief walked into the garage and peered into the boat. Both the anchor line and the mooring rope were the same type of half-inch hemp which had been tied to the roof air-vent pipe. Neither had been recently cut, however, and were much darker in color from countless immersions in lake water than the fragment found on the roof.
At the rear of the garage were some narrow shelves containing tools and various kinds of hardware. One shelf was devoted to fishing equipment, and lying in its center was the remains of an unused coil of half-inch hemp.
Pulling the two-foot segment from his pocket, the chief matched its cut end to the cut end of the coil. Standing next to him, Marshall could see even without the aid of any magnification that the ends matched. He felt a queasiness form in his stomach.
George Reed was standing on the chief’s opposite side. He said, “You got a match there. What’s it mean?”
“This was tied to the roof vent the night your brother-in-law was shot,” Meister said, indicating the two-foot length.
The banker mulled this over. “You mean this so-called cat burglar stole the rope he used right here from the garage?”
The burly chief shook his head. “Since the coil’s still here, this two-foot section must have been cut off in the garage, but not by the cat burglar. Why would he take only a two-foot length of rope when it must be fifteen feet from the air vent to the second-floor hall window?”
It took several moments for Reed to digest this. When he finally had, he frowned. “Are you implying there was no burglar here that night, but somebody arranged things to make it seem there had been?”
“Implying, no,” the chief said. “I’m saying it right out.”
He strode out of the garage and mounted the porch steps with Marshall right behind him. The plump banker scurried to keep up.
With a policeman’s caution about entering private premises without invitation, the chief didn’t barge right in, even though his previous invitation presumably would have covered the situation. He paused in front of the door until Reed got there and courteously waited for the banker to open it and precede him inside.
As they all entered the front room together, the flustered banker said, “I think the chief is going to make some kind of accusation, Betty. Don’t say anything at all.”
Both his wife and Betty looked at him in astonishment. Audrey said, “Whatever are you talking about, dear?”
Barney Meister cleared his throat. “Mrs. Case, we’ve uncovered evidence that the items indicating the presence of the cat burglar the other night were deliberately planted. I’ll have to ask you to come downtown with me.”
Betty merely stared at him.
George Reed said loudly, “Wait a minute, Chief. How do you explain the cut screen?”
“That only makes the case stronger, Mr. Reed. Microscopic examination showed it was cut from the inside.”
The banker’s mouth opened and closed several times like that of a fish kissing the side of a bowl. Eventually he abandoned whatever it was he had intended to say and turned toward Betty.
“What’s the name of that fellow who was Bruce’s law partner?” he asked.
“You mean Henry Quillan?”
“That’s it. You remember Bruce’s office number?”
“Of course. Miller 4-3200.”
“Miller 4-3200,” Reed repeated, fixing the number in his mind. “I’ll have Quillan down at headquarters before you get there. Meantime, don’t say a word.”
“This is ridiculous,” Betty said. “Chief Meister, are you accusing me of murder?”
“I’m arresting you on suspicion of homicide, Mrs. Case. Your uncle is right that you don’t have to say anything without legal counsel, but you do have to come along with me.”
Audrey Reed said, “You must be mad, Chief. My niece is no murderess.” She turned to her husband. “Never mind Henry Quillan, George. Get on the phone to our own lawyer in Rochester and ask him to arrange for the best criminal lawyer in the state.”
Rising to her feet, Betty said with a strained smile, “If you don’t mind, I prefer Henry Quillan. Will I need to pack a bag, Chief?”
Marshall said huskily, “If they hold you, I’ll bring you what you need. Where’s Bud?”
“Over at a neighbor boy’s. He’ll be all right. Aunt Audrey and Uncle George will be here. I’m quite ready to go.”
Picking up her handbag from an end table, she moved toward the front door. Marshall reached it first to hold it open for her. He let the chief go out immediately after her. As he pulled the door closed from outside, he could hear the sound of George Reed dialing the phone.