The Gray Mask. Camp Wadsworth

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      A CRYING THROUGH THE SILENCE

      Garth the next day did not repeat his floral indiscretion. One experience had convinced him that practice is necessary to the successful threading of such by-ways. His rose, in fact, had disclosed its limitations even before he had reached the inspector's flat. On his entrance it had not adorned his coat.

      He read the brief and scarcely illuminating account of the Elmford murder in the morning papers. Irritation at his own assignment – an unimportant case up-town – let it slip through his mind without arousing any exceptional interest.

      When he returned to the central office in the afternoon the doorman beckoned to him.

      "Inspector's been asking after you."

      Garth yawned.

      "All right. Tell him I'm here, Ed."

      After a moment the doorman called:

      "Inspector says, walk in."

      Garth went, and paused, ill-at-ease, just within the doorway.

      The huge man lolled in his chair. His quiet eyes fixed Garth genially. For once he failed to fidget with his desk paraphernalia. His rumbling voice was abnormally mild.

      Garth appreciated these portents. They connoted favoritism, but he traced that to the inspector's love for his daughter, because he was too modest to place in the scales his own conspicuous virtues.

      "Come over here and sit down, Garth."

      Garth obeyed.

      "Thanks, inspector."

      The inspector's eyes twinkled.

      "Boys tell me you're a little sore on the jobs you've had since you smashed Slim and George and their favourites."

      Garth grew red.

      "There are old women everywhere," he said. "Nothing to do but talk."

      The inspector guffawed.

      "Ain't it so?"

      "Incriminating question, chief."

      The other leaned forward.

      "I can't take chances with such a valuable man."

      He cleared his throat.

      "Were you thinking of paying your party call to-night? Because I've got to disappoint you. But I don't want to do that two ways. I can't see anything particularly dangerous about this job, but I'd like you to look it over this afternoon. It's the Elmford murder. Suppose you've read about it."

      "I glanced it over in the morning papers," Garth answered. "They were short on details."

      "There doesn't seem much to clear up," the inspector said, "except Dr. Randall's whereabouts. The men I sent out this morning haven't got a trace. Nothing's been heard from the ferries or the stations or out of town. Seems there ought to be some indication at the house for a sharp pair of eyes."

      "There's no doubt then," Garth asked, "that he killed Treving?"

      The inspector ran his hand through his hair.

      "Those must have been rotten papers you read," he answered. "Ask me if Cain killed Abel. Treving's goings-on with Randall's wife have been common gossip. The boys blushed about it in the clubs up town. Listen, Garth. I've found out things you won't get from any papers. Randall and Treving met at their club last night. Seems Randall had overheard some of this conversation. I've had a few of the high-hat crowd down here to-day, and one of the hall boys who heard what went on between Randall and Treving. Randall warned Treving away with threats. Treving lost his head and offered to bet he'd spend last evening with Mrs. Randall."

      "Good Lord!" Garth exclaimed. "Was he drunk?"

      "Can't tell," the inspector said. "The boy thought he had been drinking, but he didn't believe he was drunk. That don't mean much. Nothing like a college education to teach a man how to carry his liquor. Anyway, Randall came back with his own conviction. Swore he'd shoot Treving if such a thing came off. Well! Randall found Treving late last night in the lady's dressing-room."

      "Pretty bad," Garth agreed, "but I've never thought threats were very satisfactory evidence."

      "Plenty of other evidence," the inspector answered. "Randall had stayed late in town. He must have driven up and found Treving's car by the verandah. They're both there now. Easy to understand how that sight fixed his resolution to kill. And the signs of the struggle are all over the room. He left in a hurry after he had shot him. He lost his hat off, rushing down the stairs. It's lying by the newel post. Mark my words. When we find Randall he'll have a new hat or none at all. He had enough sense not to try to make his getaway in his own machine or Treving's. That's why I'm putting you on the case, Garth. You know what a pipe it is to round up these amateur criminals. I tell you this fellow's clever."

      Garth considered.

      "That's clear enough evidence," he said at last, "if the woman – But I suppose she refuses to open her mouth."

      The inspector's rapid fingering of his paper-cutter confessed his annoyance. His small eyes narrowed.

      "Wish I knew if she's acting. She's been practically off her head ever since that motor cop found her kneeling over the body, screaming fit to – to wake the dead. Nothing but hysterics all night and day. Jones reports she's had some nervous trouble – something about the heart. Her cousin, another doctor, is with her. You know I hate to make a wife testify. Got to be done though when she comes around. That's about all, Garth. Run out there and see if you can hit Randall's trail."

      Garth arose.

      "Seems simple, chief. Any dope on the gun?"

      The inspector shook his head.

      "One of these deadly automatics it ought to be a felony to have around. Natural enough for a doctor to carry one."

      He grinned.

      "Got to kill their patients one way or another."

      "Nothing been disturbed?" Garth asked.

      "No. They've taken Treving away, but the room's just as it was when they were found."

      Garth moved towards the door.

      "I know you'll bring Randall in," the inspector called.

      "I'll do my best," Garth answered.

      He hurried through the outer office. Perhaps the inspector was right and the case promised no unusual excitement, but at least it possessed interest.

      It was late in the afternoon when he reached the station near Elmford. He inquired the way from the agent.

      "It's about ten minutes' walk," the man replied. "Maybe you're a reporter or a cop? Say, there's no mystery about that case. Any word of the doctor?"

      Garth smiled discreetly. He disentangled himself from the agent's curiosity and set off along a road bordered by unlovely suburban dwellings.

      These soon gave way to fields and hedges which in turn straggled into a miniature forest. Just beyond that the gateway opened to the left. Garth walked through СКАЧАТЬ