Dell Shannon - Mark of Murder

"I won't listen to this--this rigmarole," said Marlowe rigidly. "Insulting me like this in my own-"

"You'll listen! On Friday night you played friend of the family, paid the little call on Andrea Nestor. It was just bad luck-and not all his, Marlowe!-that you were wearing the same suit, and that Sergeant Hackett came calling just after you… Yes, you were a little surprised yesterday when a man came to paw through your wardrobe, weren't you? And considerably upset. It was just chance again that it was your servant's day off and you could tell the dumb cop, no, you hadn't given away any clothes recently. I think I'd like to hear what your Paul has to say about that."

"No-" said Marlowe in a high frightened voice. Mendoza jerked open the door, which wasn't quite shut. As he'd expected, the manservant was just moving away from it. Mendoza spoke his name, crooked a finger at him.

"In."

"Yes, sir?" The man looked from him to Marlowe, bland and inquiring.

"You look after Mr. Marlowe's clothes?"

"Yes, sir, you could say so."

"Has he told you to give away any of his clothes recently, or have you noticed any missing?"

"Paul-"

"Why, yes, sir," said the man in a colorless tone. "The gray summer-weight tweed, sir. He told me it was getting too shabby, to give it to the salvage people. But as a matter of fact, sir"-he coughed gently-"as it had quite a lot of wear in it still, I gave it to my brother-in-law, who is much the same-er-build as Mr. Marlowe."

Marlowe said thickly, "You're fired! Get out of this house-damn you for a-"

The manservant looked at him thoughtfully, blinking, and faded silently from the room.

"More nice available evidence," said Mendoza, smiling. "Shall we go on with the story? On Friday night, at Mrs. Nestor's apartment, Sergeant Hackett spotted that button missing from your sleeve. And you noticed him staring at your sleeve, and for the first time realized you'd lost a button. And the fact that the sergeant looked interested in that more or less told you where you'd probably lost it, didn't it? Now, he didn't know it was anything but a coincidence, it didn't tell him right away that you were the X who had shot Nestor. But he wanted to ask you questions about it, and look at the other buttons on that jacket to see whether they matched. He'd have come to see you about that later-he let you go then. But you hung around there, waiting, after you'd ostensibly left, to go back and ask Mrs. Nestor whether the sergeant had asked any questions about you. Didn't you? And you didn't keep enough out of sight, and he spotted you when he came out, so he started questioning you then. Maybe more suspiciously than he would have before, because why were you hanging around? And you panicked, didn't you? You knew that that button would be very easy to trace to you, because of your British tailoring. All we had to do was look. And this big tough sergeant knew you had a button missing-but he was the only one of us who did know. And in panic and desperation, you were idiot enough to attack him."

"I-" said Marlowe. He was shaking and white. "Please, I don't understand-how you-"

"Ordinarily, of course, you'd have stood no remote chance of putting him down, far less out. But I can see just how that happened, too. He didn't know what he had, he didn't know its importance, and he wouldn't be expecting any physical trouble from one like you, he was off guard. Shall I tell you how it went? He was standing in the street, behind his car-maybe thinking he'd almost finished with you for the time being-and you were on the curb where you'd both been standing talking. Which brought you about level with him. You hit out as hard as you could for his jaw, and you hit hard enough to catch him off balance-maybe he slipped on some oil left there-and his feet went out from under him and he crashed down on the trunk of his own car.

"And when you found he was unconscious, a really desperate notion occurred to you. You'd done one murder. If the sergeant should, say, be killed in an accident, nobody would ever know about that missing button. You could get rid of the suit, cover up.

"Well, you acted at once. Kenmore's very dark and quiet along there, there wasn't a street light near, only the little light from the apartment entrance. Nobody had heard or seen. But a dog-walker or somebody might come along at any minute, and you hurried. He was a big, heavy man, and dead weight, but they do say"-Mendoza smiled-"needs must when the Devil drives. And you look to be in pretty good condition. You pulled him around and dragged him into the car somehow. The one thing you saw at all clearly right then, I think, is that you'd have to underline the fact that he'd driven off in his own car. So you found his keys, and you drove the Ford up a block or so, to another dark, lonely spot, and parked it. He was still out-but you didn't know how badly he was hurt, you had to-immobilize him. You hadn't any rope to do it with, so you used his belt and yours. And I think you also gagged him, just in case."

Marlowe was watching him, gray-faced, as if hypnotized.

"No, you can't do this to me," he muttered distractedly. "My name-my family-disgraced- I have influence with-"

"Nobody influences the cops in this town," said Mendoza coldly. "Which you'd know if you knew more about us. But you don't know much about us, do you?…

You tried in a clumsy sort of way to give yourself an alibi, but you never really thought anybody'd look at you, did you? You left him there, and you drove home, to set up your crude little alibi here. We've just seen how easily it went to pieces. When you were sure the servant was at the back of the house you slipped out, having left your car parked in the street, and you drove up to the vicinity of Bronson and Franklin and parked it. I wouldn't put it beyond you to have left it in a public lot with an attendant! And then you took a cab back to the vicinity of Kenmore where you'd left the Ford. We'll find the cab driver without much trouble. And into the Ford again and up to that steep canyon road-"

"No, please, I-" Marlowe gasped. "The disgrace-my wife would-" He turned suddenly, blindly, pulled open a drawer; Mendoza was on his feet in a flash, but Marlowe turned holding a small revolver in shaking hands.

"I hope you won't be silly enough to use that," said Mendoza. "But you seem to be silly enough 'for anything. Didn't you think we had any sense, Marlowe? To look at the tire marks, test the car for prints? You had heard of fingerprints-you wiped yours off everything a driver would touch. But that in itself looked very funny, you know… Why Canyon Drive? Maybe you know somebody who lives in that very classy section, and knew the road? Anyway, you"-he stopped, controlling his voice to steadiness-"set up your accident, and a very God-damned stupid way you did it too, and you walked down the mile or so to where you'd left your car. You knew the rest of the family would be out late-yes, there are probably quite a few prenuptial parties going on for Susan, aren't there?… For God's sake, do you really think we're all such fools, Marlowe? I think you really did put us down as a bunch of morons. The way you went to work at it. Well, as you see, we've got a lot of nice evidence on you now, and I'm taking you-"

"No,” said Marlowe. His eyes were wild, but his hand had steadied on the gun. "No-I can't face that-the disgrace, my wife, Susan-this can't be happening-there was no way for you to find out-"

"Give me that," said Mendoza softly, advancing on him. "Let me-"

"No!" shouted Marlowe in sudden savage desperation. He sprang up and plunged for the door, slammed it behind him before Mendoza could reach it. And before Mendoza could turn the knob there was the sharp crack of a shot in the hallway outside…

They looked at the sprawled body in silence for a moment. He had put the muzzle of the gun in his mouth, and there was a little mess. "God damn him to hell!" said Mendoza viciously. "So he does get away after all! I was looking forward to seeing him pulled down in the mud-"