James Chase - This Way for a Shroud

He saw a scared expression jump into her eyes, and she looked quickly away from him.

“I haven’t any relations.”

“No one at all?”

“No.”

He suddenly realized that this interview might not be as straightforward as he had imagined.

“Miss Coleman, I believe you called on Miss Arnot on the 9th, around seven o’clock.”

Her dark eyes flickered uneasily over his face, then moved away.

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you see Miss Arnot?”

“Yes.”

Conrad was aware now that the palms of his hands were moist and his heart was beginning to bang against his ribs.

“May I ask why you wanted to see her?”

“I — I would rather not say.” A faint flush rose to her face and she looked anxiously around the room as if she were trying to find a way of escape.

“Well I won’t press that question. You did see Miss Arnot?”

“Yes.”

“How long were you with her?”

“Oh, about five minutes. Not longer.”

“Do you know why I am asking these questions?” Conrad said gently, his eyes on her face.

“I — I suppose it’s because of Miss Arnot’s death.”

“That’s right: because of her murder.”

He saw her flinch, and bite her under-lip.

“What did you do when you left Miss Arnot?”

“Why, I came away.”

“Did you walk down the drive?”

“Yes.”

Conrad took out his handkerchief and wiped his hands. The next question would decide Maurer’s fate.

“While you were in the grounds of the estate, did you see anyone, apart from the guard or Miss Arnot?”

“I—I don’t think so.”

She was looking down at the pattern of the rug that covered her, and Conrad stared at her, a feeling of sick disappointment coming over him.

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yes.”

Why didn’t she look at him? he wondered. Could she be lying?

“Miss Coleman, this is vitally important. I want you to think carefully before you answer my next question. You know Miss Arnot has been murdered. She was killed on the 9th, a few minutes after seven o’clock: at the time you were there. We had hoped you might have seen the killer. Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see anyone except the guard and Miss Arnot?”

There was a long pause. He noticed she was trembling under the rug and her hands had turned into small white knuckled fists.

“Yes,” she said at last.

“You mean you didn’t see anyone?”

“I didn’t see anyone.”

He looked down at his hands, his mind busy. If she had looked him in the face when she said she hadn’t seen anyone he would have instantly believed her, but the fact she couldn’t meet his eyes made him doubt whether she were telling the truth.

He studied her. She was still staring down at the rug, her hands still clenched into small tight fists.

“Did you arrive at Miss Arnot’s place by car?” he asked quietly.

She looked up, startled, and her eyes told him she was searching for a trap in the question.

“I — I walked.”

“It’s a long walk. It must be three miles from the boulevard.”

She flushed.

“I — I like walking.”

“Did you see anyone as you were coming from Dead End on the sea road? Anyone in a car, Miss Coleman?”

“No.”

“And yet that was the way the killer had to come,” he pointed out patiently. “There is no other approach to Dead End except by that road. It’s odd, isn’t it, that you were within a quarter of an hour of Miss Arnot’s murder and yet you didn’t see anyone?”

She didn’t say anything, but her face went whiter and she looked anxiously towards the door as if hoping someone would come in and stop his questioning.

In spite of the growing conviction that she wasn’t telling the truth, Conrad felt sorry for her and he had to force himself to continue to badger her.

“When you talked with Miss Arnot, did she give you any idea that she was expecting someone?” he asked.

He could see the girl was growing tense, and her trembling increased.

“I don’t know anything about it,” she said in a tight small voice. “Please stop asking me questions. I — I’m not feeling well. I want to go home.”

“That’s all right, Miss Coleman,” he said and smiled. “I’m sorry to be a nuisance. You have some sleep. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“But I don’t want to!” she cried fiercely. “I want to be left alone. I don’t want to go to sleep! I want to go home!”

“I’m afraid you will have to stay here until tomorrow,” Conrad said as gently as he could. “One of the gunmen who tried to shoot you is still at large. We can’t let you go until he is caught.”

“But he wouldn’t hurt me,” she blurted out, sitting bolt upright. “He said he wouldn’t and I believe him. This is just an excuse to keep me here! I’m not going to stay! You can’t keep me here! You’ve no right to keep me here!” Her voice was rising hysterically, and Conrad got to his feet, a little alarmed at the wild trapped look in her eyes.

The door opened and the nurse came in quickly.

“Perhaps you had better leave her to me,” she said, crossing the room.

Frances threw the rug off and struggled to her feet.

“I won’t stay here! You can’t make me stay!” she cried wildly, and took a few tottering steps to the door.

Conrad saw all trace of colour suddenly leave her face and her eyes rolled back. He jumped forward and caught her as she crumpled to the floor in a faint.

Sam’s street saloon was an old-fashioned honky-tonk on the waterfront, frequented by dockers, sailors and prostitutes. Its long, low-ceilinged room had high-backed booths along one side where Sam’s clients could talk and drink without being seen or disturbed. The other side of the room was given up to a long S-shaped bar that glittered with mirrors and lighted advertising signs.

Pete Weiner sat in the last booth at the far end of the room where he could

watch the swing doors of the saloon. A bottle of Scotch and a glass stood before him and an ash-tray piled high with butts indicated the time he had been in the booth.

Pete felt cold, frightened and sick. Already he was regretting what he had done. In Frances’s company he had been brave enough, but now he was on his own, a slow chill of terror was creeping over him.

He knew the word would have gone out by now, and the streets would be death traps. But what was he to do? He was short of money, and he thought longingly of the five hundred dollars he had in his room. He dared not go back there to collect the money. His room would be the first place they would go to, and one of them would be waiting for him at this very moment.

He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his trousers pocket and checked them. He had fifteen dollars and a few cents. He hadn’t even a car. The railroad depot would be watched. If only he knew of some place where he could hole up for a few days! Without money he was helpless.

He shifted his mind away from his immediate troubles and thought of Frances. He had gone after her when she had run away from him, but he had quickly lost himself in the maze, and lost her, too. He had run on and on blindly until suddenly he had found himself at the exit. He had had no intention of getting out. He had wanted to kill Moe, but instead he had found himself out among a vast crowd that instantly hemmed him in as they gaped at the arriving police who swarmed up the walls of the maze and spread out, guns in hand.

Pete had heard the shooting, and had stood in the crowd, waiting, sure Moe had killed Frances. It wasn’t until he had seen an ambulance arrive and watched Moe’s dead body loaded on board and had seen Frances carried to a waiting police car that he had thought of his own safety.