Chapter 3

‘No, Your Honor; he’s been in this country only two weeks.’

‘How can he get about at that hour of night alone, then?’

‘Some friends put him on the car and telephoned the people with whom he
lives to meet him at the end of the line,’ replied counsel for the
plaintiff.

‘Continue.’

‘Paslovsky,’ declared the interpreter, ‘says he picked up this picture
from the floor of the car—a snapshot of a sailor and a girl.’

‘Case dismissed,’ thundered the Judge, ‘and don’t ever bring another
like that into this court.’

‘Why was His Honor justified in so abruptly dismissing the suit for
damages?’

asked Professor Fordney of his class in criminology.

32
_Death Attends the Party_

‘He had a big party last night,’ said Graves, the valet.

‘Certainly looks like it,’ retorted Professor Fordney, as he surveyed
the crazily balanced glasses, overflowing ash-trays, and liquor rings on
the small, fragile antique table at which Carlton Dawes sat.

‘It was awful, sir. Just as I turned to say “good night” to him, he
lifted his revolver, fired and toppled over.’

‘Funny,’ mused Fordney. ‘He had everything to live for.’

‘Everything but the thing he wanted,’ replied the valet. ‘Madeline, his
former wife, was here last night. He is always despondent after seeing
her.’

‘Well, Graves, pretty nice for you, eh? How much did he leave you?’

‘Ten thousand dollars, sir.’

Fordney leaned over to examine the wound in Dawes’s left temple. His
head rested on the edge of the table, his right hand on his knee and his
left hung lifelessly at his side.

‘Anything been touched since the tragedy?’

‘No, sir.’

Fordney picked up Dawes’s revolver where it had apparently fallen from
his hand. After examining it and finding only the dead man’s
finger-prints, he laid it on the table. As he did so, Madeline entered
the room. She stopped, horrified.

‘What—what—has happened?’

‘Where did you come from?’ demanded Fordney.

‘I’ve been upstairs. I didn’t leave with the guests.’

‘Humph—you should have,’ as he shot her a quizzical look. ‘Your presence
may prove embarrassing. Your ex-husband was murdered.’

Madeline slipped to the floor in a dead faint.

What convinced Fordney it was murder?

33
_No Way Out_

On a battered desk in the small, dark room lay a penciled note in
handwriting resembling that of the dead man:

Dear John:

You know the trouble I’m in. There’s only one way out and I’m taking
it. You’re my pal and will understand. Good luck.

(Signed) Paul

The only other furniture consisted of the chair in which Paul Morrow had
been found with his throat cut, a bed, and a highly ornate and
apparently brand-new waste-basket. It had been definitely established
that the dead man had not left the room during the twenty-four hours
before he was discovered.

Finishing his examination of the contents of the man’s pockets—two
twenty-dollar bills, a cheap watch, and an expensive wallet in which
there was a picture of a beautiful woman—Fordney turned his attention to
the meager inventory of the room.

‘That’s all we can find,’ said Inspector Kelley, indicating a
dictionary, scraps of a letter in a feminine handwriting found in the
ornate waste-basket, a pen, some cheap stationery, a few clothes, pipe
and tobacco, and a bloody, razor-sharp knife. ‘Certainly has all the
appearances of suicide,’ he continued. ‘This door was locked and no one
could have left by that window. What do you make of it, Fordney?’

The Professor didn’t reply at once. He picked up the photograph, studied
it a moment, and then, with a slow, searching look around the small
room, said:

‘Better try to piece those bits of letter together. This isn’t suicide;
it’s murder.’

‘I believe you’re right,’ exclaimed Kelley, with dawning comprehension.

What brought Fordney to this conclusion?

34
_Midnight Murder_

‘Who are you, and what’s this all about?’ demanded Inspector Kelley, as
he and Professor Fordney arrived at the apartment in answer to a call.

‘I’m Jack Day. I share this apartment with Al Quale. I returned from the
theater, shortly after midnight, went into his room, and found him lying
there on the bed. When I saw he was dead, I called Headquarters at once.
God, this is terrible!’

‘Those your things on the bed?’ asked Kelley, indicating a blood-stained
muffler, a hat, gloves, and cane.

‘Yes, I tossed them there before I rushed to the telephone. Got that
blood on the muffler when I bent over him.’

‘What time did you leave here this evening?’

‘Shortly before seven,’ replied Day.

‘Can you prove you were at the theater all evening?’ demanded Kelley.

‘Why, yes, I went with a friend.’

‘He’s been dead about six hours, Inspector,’ said the police surgeon,
finishing his examination at this point. ‘A deep knife wound, below the
heart.’

As Fordney picked up an earring from the floor, Day exclaimed: ‘Why,
that belongs to his fiancée.’

‘Well, there’ll be no wedding bells for him,’ remarked Kelley, with a
start as he discovered that Day’s cane was a sword-stick with a long,
thin, shining blade.

‘Any blood, Inspector?’ asked Fordney.

‘None. Clean as a whistle.’

‘Well, Day, looks mighty bad for you,’ stated the Professor. ‘I don’t
know yet whether you killed him with that cane, or whether you killed
him at all, but I do know you were here a few minutes after he was
stabbed.’

How did the Professor know?

35
_Speakeasy Stick-Up_

‘I had counted the cash, and as I was working the combination to open
the wall safe I heard this guy in back of me say, “Get ’em up, Bo. This
is a stick-up.” I reached for the ceiling as he says, “Make a move and
I’ll drill you!” He didn’t sound like he was foolin’, so I kept quiet.

‘Well, he comes over, gives me a prod with his gun, pockets the dough,
and asks me where the best liquor is, saying he don’t want no bar
whiskey either. I told him and he poured himself a drink.

‘Then he got real sociable-like, but wouldn’t let me take my hands down.
He kept on talkin’ and makin’ wise-cracks, but finally got tired, I
guess.

‘With a warnin’ that, if I moved before I could count twenty, my wife
would be a widow, he beat it,’ concluded Sullivan.

‘How much did he take?’ inquired Professor Fordney, who had entered the
speakeasy after hearing the bartender’s call for help.

‘About five hundred dollars,’ Sullivan replied. ‘We had a good day.’

‘Haven’t you a gun here?’

‘Sure, but I didn’t have a chance. I ain’t exactly no boy scout, but
this mug was too big and tough-lookin’ for me to tackle.’

‘How did you get that cut on your hand?’ inquired the Professor. ‘And
that bruise on your finger?’

‘Opening a case of lemons,’ answered Sullivan.

‘Well,’ said Fordney, ‘if your whiskey isn’t any better than your
attempt at a fake hold-up, I’ll have ginger ale.’

You’re right. The bruise had nothing to do with it, but:

How did Fordney know the stick-up was a fake?

36
_Behind Time_

Professor Fordney, on his way to investigate a case of blackmail, was
musing on the perversity of human nature when a jar threw him into the
aisle as the train came to a sudden stop. Jumping off, he rushed ahead
of the engine, where he found a small crowd gathered about the mutilated
body of a man hit by the train. He was identified by a card in his
pocket as John Nelson, an important figure in railroad labor circles.

‘How did it happen?’ inquired Fordney.

‘Well,’ replied Morton, the engineer, ‘I was running twelve minutes late
when I hit him. There are several miles of straight-away along here and
I was beating it along at sixty miles trying to make up time. Didn’t see
him until we were about ten yards away, right on top of him. I jammed on
the brakes, of course, but it was too late.’

‘Did you leave New York on time?’

‘Yes, sir. One-thirty exactly.’

‘Why were you running late?’

‘We were held in a block for about fifteen minutes outside of New
Haven.’

‘What was your fireman doing when you hit this man?’

‘Stoking the boiler.’

‘You say it was just a few seconds after four-ten when you hit him?’
demanded the Professor.

‘That’s right,’ agreed Morton.

‘Did you know this man by any chance?’

‘Yes, slightly—he was an officer in my union,’ replied the engineer,
with a worried look.

‘Well,’ said Fordney, ‘I don’t know your object in telling such a story,
or how you hoped to get away with it—you won’t.’

What justified Fordney in recommending Morton’s arrest?

37
_A Broken Engagement_

‘Peculiar,’ murmured Fordney, as he examined the desk on which lay seven
letters ready for mailing, three gray, one lavender, two pink, and one
lemon-colored.

As he idly shaped the wax of the candle standing on the desk, he
continued to ponder this unusual choice of color in stationery.

One of the letters was addressed to Dot Dalton, who had been murdered
between eleven-forty and eleven-fifty. She was one of the guests at this
house party in the Adirondacks.

All the letters were closed with black sealing wax stamped with the
letter ‘F.’

At midnight, Fordney began his questioning.

‘What time did you retire?’ he asked Molly Fleming, in whose bedroom he
was seated.

‘About ten,’ she replied.

‘Was your door locked?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hear any disturbance?’

‘No; I was tired, fell asleep almost immediately, and didn’t awaken
until you knocked on my door a few minutes ago and told me of the
tragedy.’

‘Why did you write to Dot?’

‘I didn’t see her last night and knew she intended leaving early this
morning. Jack Fahey broke our engagement yesterday and told me he was
going to marry Dot. My letter was to tell her just how despicable I
thought she was in luring him away from me. He didn’t love her. Of
course, I’m sorry she’s dead, but a lot of wives will feel safer.’

‘Why the various colors of stationery?’ inquired the Professor.

‘Oh, I always write in a color that seems to reflect the personality of
my correspondent.’

‘I see,’ said Fordney; ‘but unless you have a better alibi you’ll be
held under serious suspicion.’

Why was the Professor practically certain Molly was involved in this
horrible murder?

38
_The Holden Road Murder_

‘What a night!’ sighed Professor Fordney as he hung up the telephone
receiver. Half an hour later, still grumbling, he splashed his way
through the mud and rain to the door of 27 Holden Road. Removing his
rubbers in the spotless vestibule, he stepped into a large,
well-furnished living-room running the entire width of the house.
Introducing himself and explaining he would question everyone later, he
asked to be left alone.

In the far corner of the room he found a man lying on the floor, his
throat cut. As he bent over, his attention was attracted to a dime lying
about five feet from the head of the dead man. He picked it up, regarded
it curiously, and, with a thoughtful look, put it in his pocket.

The Professor began his questioning with the butler.

‘You found the dead man?’

‘Yes, sir, I was returning from posting a letter about thirty minutes
ago and, just as I was coming up the path of the front door, I heard a
scream, dashed in, and found Mr. White here gasping his last breath.’

‘Lose a dime?’ inquired Fordney mildly.

‘Why, I don’t think so, sir,’ replied the butler nervously.

‘I heard the scream from upstairs,’ volunteered Cannon, owner of the
house, ‘and ran in here right behind Wilkins.’

‘Did either of you leave this room before I arrived?’

‘No,’ replied Cannon; ‘we stayed here until you came.’

‘Did you, Mr. Cannon, lose a dime? No? Well,’ remarked Fordney, ‘it
looks like collusion to me and I can tell you Inspector Kelley won’t
swallow this story.’

What was wrong with the story?

39
_Fishermen’s Luck_

‘Having these stones in my possession, Professor Fordney, isn’t proof
that I had any part in the Morris robbery.’

‘I know all about your story, Holmes. Found the jewels yesterday at
three o’clock in the lake, tied up in a chamois bag, didn’t you? But
what were you doing out in an open boat in the cloudburst that lasted
all yesterday afternoon?’

‘It was because of that cloudburst that I sallied forth,’ explained
Holmes confidently. ‘Perfect fishing weather, so I jumped into my boat
and went across the lake for some minnows. I had rowed back to within a
few yards of shore when I just happened to notice the bag lying on the
bottom of the lake, so I landed, tipped my boat over to keep the rain
out, and waded in. Curious, you know. The water at that point was over
my waist and cold, but when I opened the bag—my courage and curiosity
were rewarded.’

‘On which side of the dock did you find it?’ asked Fordney.

Holmes pointed to a spot on the sandy bottom at the left.

‘Think I’ll talk with the minnow man,’ declared the Professor as he got
into Holmes’s boat. He rowed furiously for about fifty yards, suddenly
dropped the oars and, after glancing from the crystal-clear water to the
bottom of the boat, emitted a victorious chuckle.

‘Stupid of me not to have thought of that before,’ he mused. ‘Wonder if
Holmes is a better fisherman than he is a liar?’

Clever fellow, Holmes. Did his story fool you?

40
_The Unlucky Elephant_

‘Dead! Bullet-hole in right temple,’ said Sergeant Reynolds, as he knelt
by a man lying face down, a revolver clutched in his right hand.

‘All right,’ replied Inspector Kelley. ‘Let’s have a look round. Dressed
for the street, eh?’ While speaking, Kelley picked up from the floor
several fragments of glass and a right-hand glove, turned inside-out.

‘Look at this glove, Reynolds. What do you make of it? And I wonder if
that soiled handkerchief on the table belongs to him?’

‘Gee, Chief,’ said Reynolds, as he turned the body over and unbuttoned
the topcoat, ‘this is young Holman, the millionaire.’

The body was immaculately clothed in the finest custom tailoring.

‘Broke his watch, too. Stopped at eight-ten,’ continued the Sergeant, as
he removed the timepiece from the vest pocket. ‘Let’s see if those
pieces you’ve got are part of the crystal. Yep! And look at this jade
elephant at the end of the chain.

‘Bumped himself off, all right, Inspector, but I don’t get that glove
business, or that dirty handkerchief either.’

‘We’d better look round and find that other glove,’ said Kelley.

A thorough search failed to disclose it, and while the Inspector was
confident it was suicide, he decided to get Professor Fordney’s opinion,
because of the prominence of young Holman.

After explaining the situation to the Professor over the telephone, he
was puzzled at his reply:

‘I’ll be right around, Inspector. From what you’ve told me, it looks
like murder.’

What justified the Professor’s belief that it was probably murder?

41
_The Professor Listens_

‘Why the rush to get back to New York?’ inquired Fordney, a few minutes
after Delavin stepped from the plane. ‘Thought you intended spending the
summer in Cuba.’

‘Well, if you must know, my bank failed, and I came back to straighten
out my affairs.’

‘That’s too bad, Delavin. How did you hear about it?’

He handed Fordney a clipping from the _Jacksonville Herald_:

New York, July 5. (AP)—Foundation Bank & Trust Co., one of New York’s
oldest banking establishments, closed its doors today...

‘Sure you didn’t come back to help your pal Ryan?’ asked the Professor.
‘He’s been in jail for two days. Ever since the Fourth-of-July bombing.
Had a letter on him signed by you asking him to get in touch with a C.
J. Wallace.

‘We traced Wallace and discovered he is with an ammunition company. When
the District Attorney heard you were on your way here, he asked me to
meet you. He thinks you know something about the bombing.’

‘In jail, huh? I didn’t know there had been a bombing. Wallace is a
cousin of mine.’

‘Where did you catch your plane?’

‘Why—er—Jacksonville, Florida. You see, I was staying at a rather remote
place and no planes serve that part of Cuba. Really had no thought of
leaving until I read of the bank failure.’

‘Well, you had better think of a more convincing alibi, before the
District Attorney questions you.’

‘Oh, I suppose somebody wired him that “Spider” McCoy met the plane when
we landed in Norfolk. He’s got nothing on me!’ exclaimed Delavin.

What do you think of Delavin’s actions? Suspicious? Why?

42
_Ten-Fifteen_

Professor Fordney glanced at his desk clock as he picked up the
receiver—ten-fifteen.

‘Hello!’ came the agitated voice at the other end. ‘This is Waters.
Could you come over right away? Something’s just happened that I’d like
to discuss with you. I’d appreciate it.’

‘Well,’ returned the Professor, again glancing dubiously at the clock,
‘if it’s important, I’ll be round. Good-bye.’

Twenty minutes later, he was met at the door by Waters’s secretary who
was almost incoherent in his excitement.

‘He’s dead, Professor. Dead—there in the library!’

Fordney hurried to the room and found Waters slumped over his desk with
his throat cut.

‘Well, tell me what happened,’ he said to the secretary, as he noted the
position of the body, the open window, and the cigar-ash on the rug
about six feet from Waters’s chair.

‘I came in about an hour ago, Professor, and went right upstairs to do
some work. Twenty-five minutes ago I came down and heard him talking to
you as I passed the library on my way to the pantry for a sandwich. I
was there about twenty minutes, I imagine, and, as I came back through
the hall, I happened to look in here, and there he was. I can’t imagine
who did it or how it happened,’ he concluded.

‘Have a cigar,’ offered Fordney.

‘Thanks, I will, Professor. It’ll kind of steady the nerves.’

‘And now,’ said Fordney, ‘suppose you tell me the real truth of this
affair.’

Why did he doubt Waters?

43
_Rapid Transit_

‘I was beatin’ along the Boston Post Road, about fifty miles an hour,
when I looks around and sees this bird standing on the tail-gate
fumbling with the lock on the doors. I stopped as fast as I could,
jumped out, and ran round to the back. This mug had hopped off with an
armful of furs and climbed into a car that was following. His partner
even took a shot at me,’ said Sullivan, whom Professor Fordney was
questioning.

‘He must have been a very good judge. He took only the best you
carried,’ commented Fordney.

‘Yeah. Guess he was. Fur-stealin’ is a big racket these days.’

‘Why didn’t you report it at the next town instead of waiting until you
got back to the office?’

‘Well, I thought the boss wouldn’t want it to get out that the furs of
his wealthy customers had been pinched. He’s awful particular about us
usin’ our heads.’

‘Where was your helper?’

‘Just after I started out, he said he was feelin’ sick, so I told him to
go on home.’

‘Fifty miles an hour is excessive speed for that truck, isn’t it?’ asked
Fordney, examining the all-steel doors of the massive, dust-proof
moving-van.

‘She’s big, but she’ll do even better than that!’

‘Always wear those gloves when you’re working?’

‘Always,’ laughed the driver. ‘Have to keep me hands dainty, you know.’

‘I thought so,’ retorted Fordney, continuing his close examination of
the doors.

‘Come on, Sullivan, take me for a ride in that truck. I know you’re
lying.’

How did the Professor know?

44
_The Professor is Disappointed_

‘What’ll I do, Professor,’ implored Vi Cargo, as Fordney examined the
ground beneath her bedroom window.

Seven A.M. A fine time to start looking for a thief! Why couldn’t women
be more careful of their jewelry!

‘I was restless all night,’ said Vi, as Fordney knelt beside a deep
impression of a man’s right shoe.

‘By Jove, I thought we’d found one of your stones,’ he said, pointing to
a leaf in the footprint. ‘Look at the sunlight glistening on those
raindrops!’

‘It was the shower that awakened me around six,’ chattered Vi. ‘It only
lasted about fifteen minutes. I dozed off again and awakened with a
start just as a man jumped to the ground, from my bedroom window.’

‘Was that just before you came for me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are are you alone, Vi?’

‘Yes. The servants are in the country.’

‘Then why did you have all your jewels in the house?’

‘I had worn them to Mrs. De Forest’s party.’

‘Do you know anyone who smokes this brand?’ asked Fordney, picking up
from the ground an unsmoked cigarette of English manufacture.

‘Yes. Mr. Nelson, who brought me home last night. However, I threw that
one there.’

‘The thief chiseled open this window directly under your bedroom.’

‘I wondered how he got in! The doors were all locked.’

‘Come, my dear! Don’t you think you’ve treated the old Professor rather
shabbily? You women! I know your jewels are heavily insured and I also
know of your bridge debts. Who helped you fake this robbery? Nelson?’

Where is the clue?

45
_A Dramatic Triumph_

A clock softly chimed eight-forty-five as Professor Fordney and
Halloway, dramatic critic of the _Times_, finished their after-dinner
coffee. They strolled leisurely to the corner and reached the Belmont
just in time for the curtain.

As the first act ended, Fordney remarked enthusiastically: ‘Halloway,
it’s magnificent! Boswell is certainly our finest dramatic actor. How he
held that audience, for forty-five minutes, from the moment the curtain
arose! That’s genius!’

The final curtain found him even more enthusiastic in his praise of
Boswell’s acting.

Learning next morning of the actor’s murder, he became personally
interested.

Sibyl Mortimer had been questioned by the police and quickly dismissed.
Her alibi appeared sound. She had an engagement with Boswell last
evening, but said he telephoned her shortly after nine breaking it, so
the police concerned themselves with his reason for doing so.

A taxi-driver, who drove Boswell and another man from the theater,
dropped them at Fifth Avenue and Sixty-Fifth Street at midnight. His
description of the man checked with that of Jenks, Boswell’s manager,
who was missing. It was learned that his reason for breaking the
engagement with Sibyl was to discuss a new contract with Jenks, about
which there had been considerable disagreement.

A charred piece of the contract was found in the actor’s fireplace, in
front of which he lay. Jenks’s cane and a vanity-case monogrammed ‘S.
M.’ were also found in the room.

Acquainted with the facts by Sergeant Reynolds, Fordney replied,

‘I’m afraid you’ve overlooked a valuable clue.’

What was it?

46
_Murder at the Lake_

‘Here’s all we’ve been able to learn, Professor. I wish you’d see what
you can make of it,’ said Sheriff Darrow.

‘Garden’s cottage fronts the lake at a point about halfway between the
head and foot of its mile length.

‘A strong east wind off the lake that morning caused him and his two
guests to abandon their proposed fishing trip. Garden remained behind
while Rice and Johnson set off hiking in opposite directions.

‘Rice said that fifteen minutes later, as he was retrieving his hat
which had blown into the lake, he heard a shot and hurried to the
cottage. There he found Johnson with blood on his hands bending over
Garden, who had been shot through the heart.

‘Johnson said he had gone only about two hundred yards when he heard the
shot and rushed back. He claims he got the blood on his hands when
ascertaining if Garden were alive. He also admits moving some furniture,
although cautioned against it by Rice.

‘Fortunately for Rice, we found his hat still wet, but discovered he had
changed his shirt before the arrival of the police. He had also gone
through Garden’s desk, but said he removed nothing.

‘Both men entered through the back door, though the front entrance was
more convenient.

‘We haven’t found a gun or any other weapon and we haven’t been able to
establish a motive yet,’ concluded Darrow. ‘What do you make of it?’

‘It’s a bit muddled, Sheriff,’ replied Fordney, ‘but I would question
________ further.’

Of whom was he definitely suspicious—and why?

47
_The Professor Studies a Coat_

‘They covered us with a gun, and when the cashier tried to give an
alarm, they shot him. Then they handcuffed me, grabbed five stacks of
bills, and beat it.’

‘Calm yourself,’ ordered Fordney, ‘and tell me who “they” are.’

‘Two fellows who robbed the bank just now,’ explained the excited
narrator, who had rushed into Fordney’s cottage at Lakeview. ‘I knew you
were vacationing in the village, so, as soon as they escaped in their
car, I ran over here.’

‘Didn’t you call a doctor for the cashier?’

‘Too late. He must have died instantly.’

‘How do you know the bandits escaped in a car?’

‘I saw them from the window.’

‘Were you and the cashier alone at the time of the shooting?’

‘Yes. I had just made a deposit. I guess they got my money, too.’

Fordney walked over and picked up the overcoat his visitor had removed
upon entering the living-room.

‘You seem to have had a little accident. How did you get this?’ he
asked, examining a long tear in the front of the coat.

‘Why—I guess I tore it on the door when I rushed out of the bank. I
broke a button, too, you’ll notice.’

‘Let’s see your hat!’ demanded Fordney, eyeing his visitor sharply.

‘Why—where is it? I—must have left it in the bank!’

‘Well—let’s go. The police will be interested in your story—and bring
that coat with you!’

Why did Fordney suspect this man of complicity in the hold-up?

48
_Too Late_

‘Perhaps you’d better tell me exactly what happened,’ said Professor
Fordney kindly to the agitated man.

‘Well,’ continued Palmer, ‘Frank has been despondent and talked of
suicide for some time. I thought exercise and the open air would do him
good, so I suggested a vacation at my place in the country.

‘We’d been there three days, and he seemed in much better spirits. Then,
Thursday morning, after we’d been fishing an hour or so, he said he
thought he’d try another stream about a mile away. I was having good
luck, so I told him to go ahead and I’d meet him at the cabin later.

‘About eleven o’clock, when I’d caught my limit, I started back. As I
neared the cabin, I seemed to have a premonition of trouble, and ran the
last few yards. When I opened the door, God! I’ll never forget it! I’d
got there not more than five minutes behind him, and yet there he
lay—dead! That hideous look on his face! It haunts me! Why couldn’t I
have been just a few minutes earlier?

‘A whiskey bottle on the table and the glass which smelled of cyanide
told me the story. He’d done it, after all! I’ll never forgive myself,’
Palmer concluded with a sob.

‘Had you any visitors while at camp?’ asked Fordney.

‘No, we hadn’t seen anyone for two days.’

‘Did your friend smoke?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Was the door open or closed when you arrived?’

‘Why, closed.’

‘And the windows?’

‘Closed, too, Professor.’

‘If you’re innocent, Palmer, why are you lying?’ demanded Fordney.

What was the lie?

49
_Sergeant Reynolds’s Theory_

‘Inspector Kelley picks out such nice messy jobs for me.’

Professor Fordney smiled as Reynolds made a wry face.

‘We found him lying against a boulder about ten feet from the bottom of
a fifty-foot embankment of solid rock. While there were no traces of the
path of his fall, the concrete road directly above him was stained with
blood. I don’t know why people insist on walking along the highway.

‘That’s such a bad curve right there. I don’t suppose we’ll ever find
out who struck him. And then, it’s possible for someone to have hit him
without knowing it. And I believe the car that did stopped and the
driver seeing how badly he was hurt, in fear, drove on.’

‘What makes you think that, Reynolds?’

‘There are tracks of a car skidding along the shoulder of the road, and
footprints in the blood where the fellow dropped on the pavement. I
suppose the poor old man regained consciousness, staggered to his feet,
and rolled down the embankment. That finished him. Ugh—it was a messy
affair!’

‘Who is he?’

‘We’re not sure. The only identification was a small scrap of paper in
his pocket with the name Tabor. By a queer coincidence there was a large
T deeply cut in the blood-stained boulder which stopped his fall.’

‘No doubt, Sergeant, the murderers intended you should take exactly the
inference you have, but don’t you see t____ w__ n_ b____ b______ t__
r___ a__ t__ b______?’

What did the Professor tell Reynolds?