The inspector walked over to stare dissatisfiedly at the small pile of broken glass lying on the floor beneath the broken pane. “Kind of silly stunt, busting the glass first, wasn’t it? You don’t have to break the glass before you shoot through a closed window.”
“Murderers are silly people,” I told him. “It happened the way Amhurst said all right. The door into the front room was slightly ajar, and I distinctly heard the tinkle of broken glass before the gun went off.”
“Why were the two men in here alone?”
“They were getting ready to demonstrate an invention.” I started to. explain what the Gimmick was, and how Fausta and I happened to become involved in the celebration of the newly formed Huntsafe Company, then decided he would understand the contraption better if he got the explanation firsthand from its inventor.
Leading him back into the front room, I said, “Amhurst better tell you about his invention. I’m a little vague on the details.”
“It’s a portable warning device for hunters, Inspector,” Amhurst said. From the mantel he removed the transmitter he had placed there a short time before, moved a small catch and showed that it opened like a box. Compactly arranged inside the case was a small square battery, a few things which looked like minute radio tubes, and a horseshoe-shaped coil wound with fine wire.
“This straps to your waist over the left hip,” he explained. “About where G.I.’s carry their first-aid packs.” He indicated the square battery. “This is the crux of the whole thing. It’s a battery of my own design and it develops seventy-five volts. Briefly, what the transmitter does is set up a huge electromagnetic field about itself. When another hunter enters this field equipped with a Huntsafe, the receivers of both hunters are activated. You wear the receiver on your wrist.”
In illustration he held out his left wrist, looked surprised to discover a compasslike object strapped to it, and said, “I forgot I still had a receiver on. I slipped it on just as Walt was shot.”
Snapping shut the case of the transmitter, he flicked a tiny switch, set the case on the mantel again and walked across the room away from it. When he was about ten feet away his wrist receiver began to emit a soft ticking sound. He stopped, held his wrist in a horizontal position and the compass needle pointed straight at the transmitter.
“In the core of its own field the receiver doesn’t work,” Amhurst said. “If it did, its own transmitter would make it click constantly and the needle would spin in a circle. You have to be at least three yards from the transmitter, and it will work up to four hundred yards.”
“Hmph,” Day commented. He looked at Hannegan and ordered, “Take a look around in there.”
While the lieutenant was carrying out this duty, Warren Day acquainted himself with Barney Amhurst’s guests.
The inspector got no help whatever from either Ed Friday or his bodyguard, Max, both disclaiming any knowledge whatever of Walter Ford’s private life. He did learn from Max that his last name was Furtell, but aside from that his questioning of the two men was a waste of time.
From Amhurst himself Day gleaned only the negative information that he would be unable to identify the murderer if he saw him again. Amhurst said he saw only a dim figure the other side of the glass and could not even be certain whether it was a man or a woman. This was not surprising since it was pitch dark outside.
Reluctantly the inspector turned to the women.
Chapter Five
The red-haired Madeline Strong and the lacquered Evelyn Karnes were able to contribute nothing which interested Day either, but his expression grew alert when he learned Bubbles Duval had not been in the front room with the rest of us when the shot sounded.
“The dead man was your escort, wasn’t he?” the inspector asked Bubbles.
“Yes, sir.”
Day walked into the bedroom where Bubbles had spent so much time. Through the open door I could see him cross to the French windows, unlatch them and stick out his head to peer toward the similar French windows letting into the study.
When he returned, he said, “It would have been a simple matter to step outdoors from the bedroom, fire through the study window and step back into the bedroom again.”
Bubbles shook her head. “It couldn’t have happened that way, Inspector. I was in the bedroom the whole time, and nobody went in or out by the French doors.”
Day scowled past her at the usual forty-five-degree angle. “How long did you know the dead man, Miss Duval?”
“Oh, ages,” Bubbles said. “At least six weeks.”
“I don’t think you can make anything out of that line of reasoning, Inspector,” Ed Friday put in. “Ford hadn’t been out with Bubbles more than a few times, and it looked to me like a casual affair for both of them.” He looked at Evelyn and said with a faint sneer, “Ford was a great guy for casual affairs.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about Ford’s private life,” the inspector shot at him.
Friday shrugged. “There wasn’t anything private about his relations with Bubbles. She’s just a good-looking doll he dated when he. had to appear somewhere in public with a date.” He stared at Bubbles with an expression which approached contempt. “Besides, Bubbles won’t fit for another reason. It takes at least a minimum amount of brains to squeeze a trigger.”
Bubbles giggled.
Hannegan came out of the study, looked at Day and shook his head.
“Nothing at all?” the inspector asked. The lieutenant shook his head again.
“Well, speak up!” Day blazed at him. “Was the blasted room empty?”
Hannegan looked surprised. “No, sir. You want a list?”
“I want a list.”
“Desk and chair,” Hannegan intoned. “Pencils, stamps and stationery supplies in desk. A couple of file folders of business stuff and a few personal letters. None from the dead man, or mentioning the dead man. One waste can, empty except for a sliver of glass from the broken window. Two leather chairs. Nothing under the cushions. A workbench and cabinet with tools and electrical equipment. A rug. Nothing under it. Broken glass on floor.” He paused, stared at the inspector a moment and then concluded, “One corpse on the floor.”
“That’s better,” Day growled. “I didn’t send you in there to gather material for your personal diary.”
A medical examiner arrived at that moment, and following in rapid order came a combination fingerprint man and photographer, two morgue attendants and three newspaper reporters. Before turning to deal with this influx, Day told Hannegan to take a look around outside.
I tailed along after Hannegan.
The lawn outside the study window was close-cropped and thick as a carpet, an impossible surface on which to leave footprints. Nevertheless Hannegan carefully shined his flash over an area several yards square around the French doors. When the light caught a shiny object just outside the doors, I stooped to pick it up.
Together we examined it under Hannegan’s light. It was the casing of a twenty-five-caliber shell. I sniffed at it.
“Recently fired,” I said. “It’s the one that killed Ford all right. Must have been an automatic, since the casing was ejected.”
As usual, Hannegan said nothing. Taking a small envelope from his pocket, he held it toward me with the flap open. I dropped the shell casing inside.
Once more Hannegan methodically went over the area outside the French doors with his light, this time sweeping it in wider and wider circles. A good ten yards away from the doors the flash picked up a black object about six inches long. It turned out to be a short, curved pipe whose bowl was carved into the shape of a lion’s head.
As the lieutenant dropped it into his pocket, I remarked, “This killer left everything but an engraved calling card.”