Fletcher Flora - The First Golden Age of Mystery & Crime MEGAPACK™ - 26 Stories by Fletcher Flora

“Very neat. But not very convincing. If the police are suspicious of young widows of old husbands, they are also inclined to be skeptical about mysterious intruders and invisible guests.” He laughed harshly and snapped his fingers loudly in a kind of reflex to some obscure stimulus. “No, no, Neva, darling. It won’t do. You killed him with your own lovely hands. If you hadn’t, you’d have called the police long before this. What I can’t understand is what you hoped to gain by it. It would surely have been more direct and effective if you had simply killed me.”

“And more pleasurable, certainly. However, as I said, I know you too well. No doubt you made arrangements to incriminate me in the event of your murder.”

“So I did. But I still fail to see what you have gained. In the first place, if I choose to be a good citizen, I can easily direct suspicion your way and probably get you convicted of murder.”

“If you care, in the process, to be sent to prison for attempted extortion.”

“A good point. I’ll concede that I don’t relish the prospect of trading even a few years of my life for all that’s left of yours. I really wish you no harm, and there would be no profit in it. Which brings me to the second place. If I choose not to be a good citizen, which is more likely, you can surely see that you have only strengthened my bargaining position, so to speak. If a few tumbles are worth fifty grand, what’s a murder worth?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Be careful. You may force me to be a good citizen in spite of myself. I’m sure I could point suspicion your way without getting involved. Anonymous letters and phone calls to the police, perhaps.”

“I’m sure you could. I’m sure you would. That’s why I’ve taken the precaution of anticipating you. You’ll keep quiet, that’s what you’ll do, and you will not be paid a cent of blackmail for doing so.”

“You’re damn sure of yourself, aren’t you? I wonder why.”

“Because I didn’t kill Dwight.”

“If you didn’t, who did?”

Neva did not answer directly. She turned her head and lifted her eyes to stare in sudden distraction at a spot on the wall near the junction of wall and ceiling. She seemed in effect to be listening intently for the repetition of some small sound she had heard behind her. After a moment, she raised her voice and called softly over her shoulder.

“Clara? Are you there, Clara? Come in, please.”

The library door opened, and Clara came into the room. She closed the door behind her and stood against it in a posture oddly demure. Her body was erect, her trim ankles placed neatly together, her hands folded loosely before her flat belly.

“Yes, Mrs. Durward?” she said.

“Please tell Mr. Crandell what occurred in this house tonight.”

“Yes, certainly, Mrs. Durward.” Clara’s eyes shifted slowly from Neva’s face to the face of Crandell, and visible in them for an instant, before her dark lashes lowered demurely to veil it, was an expression of immeasurable malice. “At what time do you want me to begin?” Clara asked naively.

“Begin at the time dinner was finished.”

“Well, Mr. Durward came here, to the library, and I brought him his coffee and brandy. You had developed a severe headache and went up immediately to your room. After I had served Mr. Durward in the library, I followed you up and gave you two aspirin, and you lay down in your clothes to rest until the headache went away.”

“Did I come down again?”

“Oh, no. Not until I went up much later to get you. That was after Mr. Durward’s caller had come and gone. I was in the hall or near the stairs the entire evening, and if you had come down, I should certainly have seen you.”

“Very well. You mentioned a caller, Clara. What time did he come?”

“Promptly at nine, as expected. Mr. Durward had told me earlier that a man had telephoned and made an appointment for that hour. I was instructed to admit him.”

“What happened then?”

“My instructions were to show him directly to the library, and that’s what I did.”

“Was Mr. Durward alive at that time?”

“Oh, yes. He answered immediately when I knocked, and when I opened the door to show the caller in, he was sitting in his big chair with a book in his hands.”

“Then you went away and left the two of them alone?”

“As it happened, I didn’t go far. I was nearby in the hall all the time.”

“Were you near enough to hear anything that was said?”

“I could hear nothing until Mr. Durward became angry and raised his voice. Even then his words were indistinct, but I’m sure that he said something about blackmail.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“Yes, Mrs. Durward. Absolutely positive. I’d repeat it on oath in a court of law.”

“Go on, Clara. Tell us what happened afterward.”

“Well, almost at once there was the sound of a scuffle followed by what sounded like a kind of muffled shot. I started to go to the door and open it, to see what was going on, but then I thought better of it and came upstairs to get you. As you know, we came down together and found things as they are. Mr. Durward was dead, and the caller had escaped through the door onto the terrace.”

“You’re a clever girl, Clara. What is your explanation of all this?”

“It seems quite clear, really. Mr. Durward’s caller had come to extort money from him. To blackmail him. But Mr. Durward wouldn’t submit. He went to his desk and got his revolver and was going to hold the blackmailer until he could get the police here. The blackmailer attacked him. They struggled for the revolver, and Mr. Durward was shot.”

“Good. Now, Clara, I want to ask you a very important question. Think carefully and answer honestly. Do you think you would recognize Mr. Durward’s caller if you were to see him again?”

“Surely, Mrs. Durward. I’m very good at observing people.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Yes. He was about six feet tall. A little taller, I think. He had blond hair and pale blue eyes. He was wearing a gray suit with a white shirt and maroon tie and black shoes.” Her lashes flicked up, revealing the immeasurable malice still lying naked in her eyes. “In fact, he looked exactly like Mr. Crandell.”

Crandell laughed harshly. There was a tremor in his hands, and he thrust them into his pockets. “I wonder,” he said, “if you could really bring it off. It would, after all, only be your word against mine.”

“The word of a blackmailer,” Neva said, “against the word of his unfortunate victim and her innocent maid. Bear in mind that I would not hesitate for an instant to confess the sordid details of our affair.”

“I’m not a fool, you know. I might find a way to beat you.”

“You can try.”

“No.” He shook his head. “The game, as the saying goes, wouldn’t be worth the candle. I might beat you, but on the other hand there is always the unpleasant possibility that I might not. In addition, my position is otherwise untenable. In beating the big rap, I would necessarily expose myself to a lesser one, which would be bad enough.”

“In that event, I may be able to persuade Clara to be somewhat less precise in her recollection of poor Dwight’s caller, whoever he was and whatever he wanted. That is not to guarantee, of course, that her memory might not improve later, or that I would not be prepared, if the occasion arose, to sacrifice my precious reputation for the pleasure of seeing you hanged. You will remember, please, that there is no statute of limitations on murder.”

“In such matters, believe me, my memory is infallible.”

He made a slight bow for the sake of effect in the rags of his vanity, and walked to the door. Clara stepped aside to let him pass. The sound of his steps receded in the hall. The front door closed behind him.