“In the house.”
“But where?”
The man fidgeted. “Inasmuch as I must tell, sir, we were having a bit of a party.”
“Who?”
“The maid, the chauffeur, the housekeeper, and myself.”
“A foursome, eh?”
“Yes, sir. You might call it that, sir.”
“Where?”
“In the kitchen, sir.”
“That’s in the back of the house?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was it a noisy party?”
“No, sir, very quiet.”
“How did it happen you were having a party?”
“The fact of the matter is, sir, that with the master expecting a young woman calling on him, he wouldn’t care to be disturbed, and that, therefore, he wouldn’t disturb us. So, to tell the truth, sir, we were drinking a bit of the master’s whisky and making merry in a very quiet manner.”
“Now, then,” Duncan asked, “did you hear the sound of the window breaking?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you hear the sound of a shot?”
“No, sir.”
“Could you have heard it from where you were sitting in the kitchen?”
“Yes, sir, we could, sir.”
“How do you know?”
“The experiments which your office made, sir. We could hear the shot perfectly.”
“Now then,” Duncan said, “that house is near a railroad track, is it not?”
“Yes, sir. Unfortunately, after the master had purchased the property and built the house certain political influences which were hostile to him granted a franchise to...”
“Never mind that,” Duncan interrupted. “The fact is that the track runs very close to the house, does it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, at ten forty-seven a passenger train went past the house?”
“That’s right. Yes, sir.”
“And made quite a racket.”
Duncan turned to the members of the Grand Jury and nodded.
“I think that is all I will show by this witness at the present time,” Duncan said. “This fixes the time of the murder. Other witnesses will show that Natalie Rice was probably present when the murder was committed, and I think I can prove that she telephoned Sam Moraine within what must have been a few seconds after the shot was fired.”
Duncan turned to Moraine, his manner very official, very dignified, and asked calmly, “Do you wish to question this witness?”
Moraine nodded, faced the butler, and asked, “Did this party that you mentioned last from ten o’clock until midnight?”
“Not quite, sir. It broke up about eleven o’clock, when I went to my room.”
“Taking a candle with you?” asked Moraine.
“No, sir. I had left a candle in my room. I took it up there when I placed a candle in the master’s room.”
“And this room you have mentioned was on the third floor front? Did you have to go past the room where the body was found in order to get to your room?”
“No, sir.”
“How long had you been working for Pete Dixon?”
“Quite some time, a matter of seven or eight years.”
“What hold did Dixon have on you?” Moraine asked suddenly.
“I don’t understand you, sir.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Moraine said. “Dixon wouldn’t let any man keep such a position as you occupied over such a period of time without having some hold over him. What was his hold over you?”
The man wet his lips. His nostrils expanded slightly, but his face otherwise remained impassive.
“I don’t understand you, sir.”
“Oh, yes, you do. Have you ever been convicted of a felony?”
The man looked appealingly to the district attorney.
“Do I have to answer the questions of this man?” he asked.
Duncan, his face showing puzzled interest, nodded his head.
“Answer,” he said.
“I was convicted of a felony once, yes, sir.”
“Where?”
“California.”
“Served a term in San Quentin Prison?”
“No, sir. It was in Folsom.”
“What for?”
“Embezzlement.”
“What was the nature of the embezzlement.”
“I was an accountant.”
Moraine stared steadily into the face of the witness. That face had now assumed a peculiarly agonized expression.
“So you knew accounting and you were an ex-convict?”
“Yes sir.”
“Now then,” Moraine said, “how did it happen you were sent to Folsom Prison?”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Oh, yes, you do. First offenders are sent to San Quentin. Old timers are usually sent to Folsom. This was the procedure when you were sent up, was it not?”
Once more the man wet his lips and said nothing.
“Where was your first conviction?” Moraine asked.
“In Wisconsin.”
“You served a term there?”
“Yes, sir, at Waupum.”
“For what?”
“Forgery.”
“And Dixon knew about this?”
“Yes, sir. He knew.”
“And because of this knowledge,” Moraine said, “Dixon virtually held you in his power and had he discharged you and refused to give you any reference, you would have had a hard time getting any other position.”
The witness wet his lips, but said nothing.
“Now then,” Moraine went on, “you went down to view the body of Ann Hartwell, the young woman who had been found by the railroad track at Sixth and Maplehurst. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And didn’t you recognize her?”
“No, sir, I had never seen her before.”
Moraine got to his feet, stared steadily at the witness.
“Don’t try to pull that line with me,” he said. “You were one of the men on the yacht the night I paid the ten thousand dollar ransom for Ann Hartwell.”
The butler fidgeted uneasily.
Moraine, still staring at him, said, “Don’t lie, because if you do you’re going to jail for perjury. It isn’t going to be difficult now to round up the men who were on that boat.”
The witness dropped his eyes and said, “Well, what if I was on the boat?”
“Then,” Moraine told him, “you’re guilty of kidnapping — and you know what that means.”
“She wasn’t kidnapped. It was just a plant. She was the one that suggested it.”
“Her half-sister put up the ransom money,” Moraine insisted.
Tucker remained silent.
“And,” Moraine said slowly, “you’re guilty of kidnapping.”
The witness sighed, and said wearily, “The money wasn’t put up by Doris Bender; it was put up by Dixon. It wasn’t ransom money; it was just white-wash.”
“In other words,” Moraine said, “Dixon and Ann Hartwell didn’t want Carl Thorne to know where she’d been spending her time during the period she was supposed to have disappeared, so they figured this kidnapping business in order to account for her time. And I was picked as intermediary because they knew I was friendly to the district attorney and the district attorney was friendly to Thorne. And that if I paid over the ten thousand dollars the district attorney would accept my word that the money had been paid and that would keep him from thinking the kidnapping was a frame-up. Is that right?”
Tucker’s lips were clamped together, but he slowly nodded his head.
“Now, then,” Moraine went on, “on the night Dixon was murdered, he instructed you to leave the side door open because he was expecting a young woman to visit him. You knew that young woman was Ann Hartwell, who was expected to return to the house, didn’t you?”
The man’s nostrils were expanded now. He was breathing heavily.
“Yes, sir,” he said thickly.
“And the fact that you knew of these things, and knew that Dixon didn’t want to be disturbed, shows that you are convinced the relations between Dixon and the young woman weren’t purely platonic.”