Erle Gardner - Erle Stanley Gardner’s The Case of the Murderer’s Bride and Other Stories

“Now — here’s something else,” Doxey said, taking out a folded newspaper clipping.

She suddenly went limp. There was no use in further pretense.

Doxey read aloud, “ ‘Following the report of an autopsy surgeon, the police, who had never been entirely satisfied that the unexplained death of Frank Hardwick was actually a suicide, are searching for his attractive secretary, Jane Marlow. The young woman reportedly had dinner with Hardwick in a downtown restaurant the night of his death.

“ ‘Hardwick, after leaving Miss Marlow, according to her story, went directly to the apartment of Eva Ingram, a strikingly beautiful model who has convinced the police that she was dining out. Within a matter of minutes after entering the Ingram apartment, Hardwick either jumped or fell from the eighth-story window.

“ ‘With the finding of a witness who says Frank Hardwick was accompanied at least as far as the apartment door by a young woman whose description answers that of Jane Marlow, and evidence indicating that several thousands of dollars were removed from a concealed floor safe in Hardwick’s office, the police are anxious once more to question Miss Marlow.’

“And here’s a picture of this young lady,” Buck went on, “with some more stuff under it. ‘Jane Marlow, secretary of the scientist who jumped from an apartment window to his death, is now sought by the police after the witness claims to have seen her arguing angrily with Frank Hardwick when the latter was ringing the front doorbell of the apartment house from which Hardwick fell or jumped to the sidewalk.’ ”

Overhead, the plane suddenly ceased its circling and took off in a straight line to the north.

As the car proceeded northward, Buck put on speed, deftly avoiding the bad places in the road.

Jane Marlow tried one last desperate attempt when they crossed the paved road. “Please,” she said, “let me out here. I’ll catch a ride back to Los Angeles and report to the police.”

Kane’s eyes asked a silent question of the driver.

“Nope,” Buck said decisively. “That plane was the Sheriff’s scout plane. He’ll expect us to hold you. I don’t crave to have no more trouble over women.”

“All right,” Jane said, “I’ll tell you the whole story. Then I’ll leave it to your patriotism. I was secretary to Frank Hardwick. He was working on something that had to do with cosmic rays.”

“I know,” Doxey interrupted sarcastically. “And he dictated his secret formula to you.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, “but he did know that he was in danger. He told me that if anything happened to him to take something, which he gave me, to a certain individual.”

“Just keep on talking,” Buck said. “Tell us about the money.”

“Mr. Hardwick had a concealed floor safe in the office. He left reserve cash there for emergencies. He gave me the combination, told me that if anything happened to him I was to go to that safe, take the money, and deliver it and a certain paper to a certain scientist in Boston.”

Buck’s smile of skepticism was certain to influence Kane.

“Frank Hardwick never jumped out of any window,” she went on. “They were waiting for him, and they threw him out.”

“Or,” Buck said, “a certain young lady became jealous, followed him, got him near an open window, and then gave a sudden, unexpected shove. It has been done, you know.”

“And people have told the truth,” she blazed. “I don’t enjoy what I’m doing. I consider it a duty to my country — and I’ll probably be murdered, just as Frank Hardwick was.”

“Now listen,” Kane said. “Nice little girls don’t jump off trains before daylight and tell the kind of story you’re telling. You got off that train because you were running away from someone.”

She turned to Kane. “I was hoping that you would understand.”

“He understands,” Buck said, and laughed.

Overhead, from time to time, the plane came circling back. Once it was gone for nearly 45 minutes and she dared to hope they had thrown it off the track; but later she realized it had only gone to re-fuel and then it was back above them once more.

It was nearly 9:00 when Buck turned off the rutted road and headed toward a group of unpainted, squat cabins which seemed to be bracing themselves against the cold wind while waiting for the winter snow. Back of the building were timbered mountains.

The pilot of the plane had evidently spotted the ranch long ago. Hardly had Buck turned off the road than the plane came circling in for a landing.

Jane Marlow had to lean against the cold wind as she walked from the car to the porch of the cabin. Howard Kane held the door open for her and she found herself inside a cold room which fairly reeked of masculine tenancy, with a littered desk, guns, and elk horns.

Within a matter of seconds she heard the pound of steps on the porch. The door was flung open and the fat man and a companion stood on the threshold.

“Well, Jane,” the fat man said, “you gave us quite a chase, didn’t you?” He turned to the others. “Reckon I’d better introduce myself, boys.” He reached in his pocket, took out a wallet, and tossed it carelessly on the desk.

“I’m John Findlay of the F.B.I.,” he said.

“That’s a lie,” she said. “Can’t you understand? This man is an enemy. Those credentials are forged.”

“Well, ma’am,” the other newcomer said, stepping forward, “There ain’t nothing wrong with my credentials. I’m the Sheriff here, and I’m taking you into custody.”

He took her purse, saying, “You just might have a gun in here.”

He opened the purse. Findlay leaned over to look and said, “It’s all there.”

“Come on, Miss Marlow,” the Sheriff said. “You’re going back in that plane.”

“That plane of yours hold three people?” Findlay asked.

The Sheriff looked appraisingly at the fat man. “Not us three.”

“I can fly the crate,” Findlay said. “I’ll take the prisoner in, lock her up, then fly back for you—”

“No, no!” Jane Marlow screamed. “Don’t you see, can’t you realize, this man isn’t an officer? I’d never get there. He—”

“Shut up,” the Sheriff said.

“Sheriff, please! You’re being fooled. Call up the F.B.I. and you’ll find out that—”

“I’ve already called up the Los Angeles office of the F.B.I.,” the Sheriff said.

Kane’s brows leveled. “Was that because you were suspicious, Sheriff?”

“Findlay himself suggested it.”

Jane was incredulous. “You mean they told you that—?”

“They vouched for him in every way,” the Sheriff said. “They told me he’d been sent after Jane Marlow, and to give him every assistance. Now I’ve got to lock you up and—”

“She’s my responsibility, Sheriff,” Findlay said.

The Sheriff frowned, then said, “Okay, I’ll fly back and send a deputy out with a car.”

“Very well,” Findlay agreed. “I’ll see that she stays put.”

Jane Marlow said desperately, “I presume that when Mr. Findlay told you to call the F.B.I. office in Los Angeles, he gave you the number so you wouldn’t have to waste time getting it from information.”

“Why not?” the Sheriff said, smiling good-humoredly. “He’d be a hell of an F.B.I. man if he didn’t know his own telephone number.”

The fat man fished a cigar from his pocket. Biting off the end and scraping a match into flame, he winked at the Sheriff.

Howard Kane said to Findlay, “Mind if I ask a question?”

“Hell, no. Go right ahead.”

“I’d like to know something of the facts in this case. If you’ve been working on the case, of course you’d know.”