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MURDER IN TEXAS


1


MURDER IN TEXAS
By ADA E. LINGO

Boston and New York
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
tEhe 3&(berffftt JJms Cambridge
1935


COPYRIGHT, 1935, BY ADA B. LINGO
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE
THIS BOOK OR PARTS THEREOF IN ANY PORK
tEbt Aftienflif $tt»s
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS
PRINTED IN THE U.S. A.


FOR
CLARA R. POOL


/


If any character or name used in this book
resembles that of any living person it is merely
a coincidence, for all have been drawn entirely
from my imagination.
The Author





CHARACTERS
John Fordman: Victim Number i — For him they changed
the front page.
Samuel Ross: A banker — 'Alice in Wonderland' sat be-
side 'Married Love.'
Clarence Jones: Grocer — They called him 'Chick.'
Agnes Jones: His wife — Cherchez la femme?
Mildred Jones: Their daughter — Men were her forte.
Mitchell White: Reporter — Whiskey saved him.
Edward Frank: His boss — Nothing meant much to him!
Joan Shields: Gal reporter — The cynic or the 'dick'?
Marion Fordman: Heiress — No local belle, she!
Gerard Drexell: Fordman's assistant — No local Don
Juan.
Mrs. Glieth Lawrence: Fordman's fiancee — Her happi-
ness was brief.
Joseph Levy: Merchant — Do fat men ever kill?
Texas Wills: Chauffeur — He cursed and cried.
Jimmie Shields: Joan's kid brother — In at the kill!
Val Day: Driller — His truck backfired.
Richard Fields: Private detective.
Jim Read: Sheriff.
Tom Harte: Deputy.
Judge William Connor Millbank: County Attorney.



A. Fordman's Fraschini E. Levy's Buick
B. Jones's LaSalle G. Storage Tank
C. White's Ford H. Trotter's Car
D. Ross's Cadillac


I: Monday, July 3: 2.15 p.m.
'Yes, Mrs. Shaw. I got that. And who'd you say
won high-score prize? Mrs. Hall for members and
Miss Vanna Belle Smith for guests? Yessum. I'll
remember to put in about Janice giving tallies. Thank
you so much, Mrs. Shaw. Good-bye.'
And Joan Shields, society editor of the Ford man
Daily News, dropped the receiver of her telephone
back onto its hook and leaned back in her hard desk
chair with a sigh of relief. Damn Mrs. Shaw and her
Laff-a-Lot Bridge Club, anyway.
It was hot, hot as hell, she thought, as she lighted a
cigarette and then wiped her damp face with her
handkerchief. The brassy afternoon sun seemed hung
forever motionless just above the parched locust tree
across the street in front of the little building. It
concentrated intense heat fiercely on the plate-glass
front windows of the office, and the little room, with
its crowded desks and filthy paper-littered floor, was
like an oven. The acrid odor of hot lead and scorched
shavings stung Joan's nostrils and left a flat metallic
taste in her mouth. The incessant clatter of the lino-
types and the shouts of the back-shop men came dis-
tractingly loud over the top of the wall-board par-
tition that divided the office from the newspaper plant.
Joan rose and went to look at the A.P. printers
in the front of the room. Lord, but the news was
dead. Dallas was typing through:
Flagstaff, Ariz., July 3 (A.P.). Fifteen persons were
injured seriously, two perhaps fatally, and 26 others


2
MURDER IN TEXAS
received minor hurts in a miscalculated explosion of
black powder and dynamite...
Flagstaff was too far away, thought Joan. No one
in this hot, dusty, depressed little Texas town really
cared how many people were injured in an explosion
a thousand miles away. They were more interested
in the daily business of their neighbors — in the fact
that Mrs. Harris was pregnant again; that Doc Ross
had taken the new manicure girl at the Frederick
Hotel to the movies last night; that John Fordman
was bringing in a new gusher right on his Paw's old
farm and out of soil that even the hens had refused
to scratch.
She turned to the clock, 'Correct Time by West-
ern Union,' and noticed that it was already two-
thirty. Mitchell should be back with the story on the
well soon. The paper was being held up until three,
waiting for confirmation on the story of the new
strike. The story itself, written several days before,
had been in type for hours. Fordman had known that
there was oil in his well, but he preferred to tell the
world about it dramatically on the front page of this
paper he owned — immediately after the public strike
had been made.
Joan decided to type the story of Mrs. Shaw's party
now, while it was still fresh in her mind, so she returned
to her desk, turned the little cushion in her chair, sat
down and pulled her machine toward her on its rolling
stand.
'Soc. #i,' she pecked in the upper left-hand corner
of the yellow sheet, and under that,'Mrs. W. H. 18 pt.'
She threw the carriage back into position with a


MURDER IN TEXAS
3
bang, spaced five times mechanically, and began
rapidly:
Mrs. W. H. Shaw, 305 West Eighth Street, was hostess
to the members of the Laff-a-Lot Bridge Club at its last
meeting of the season Saturday afternoon. She used a
tasteful color scheme of red, white, and blue in her decora-
tions and refreshments.
Flowers of patriotic colors carried out the July 4th
motif. The hostess served white mountain cake squares
and red, white, and blue brick cream. Small American
flags were used as plate favors. Mrs. Shaw's little daugh-
ter, Janice, dressed as Martha Washington, stood at the
door and presented the guests with hand-painted tallies.
Joan groaned aloud, seeing Janice, her straight,
straw-colored hair powdered white, presenting hand-
painted tallies to perspiring women who had gathered
to partake of Mrs. Shaw's red, white, and blue ice
cream and her bridge prizes.
The screen door slammed at her back.
She turned to see Mitchell White, general news
reporter, walk unsteadily toward his desk behind
her.
She glanced at the clock. 'Correct Time by West-
ern Union' proclaimed it to be two-forty-five.
White dropped into his chair and pulled his type-
writer to him.
'Hi, snooty,' said Joan. He had not glanced toward
her.
The reporter pushed his dusty brown felt hat back
from his wet white forehead and passed a dirty hand
across his mouth. The hat had a dark crescent of
greasy dampness where the sweat had soaked through
from his forehead. Joan could smell the mingled odors


4
MURDER IN TEXAS
of creosote, perspiration, dust, and gin that clung to
his rather untidy clothes.
'Well, hi, snooty,' she said again, more slowly.
She decided that he was pretty stewed.
'God, it's hot, honey,' he replied, clearly enough.
'Did Johnny's gusher gush?' she asked.
He stared at her for a moment, then beyond her.
'Did it gush!' he replied. 'It's raining the damned
stuff out there yet.'
'Well, that's his fifth producer and his second
gusher. He's never even drilled a dry hole, has
he?'
'No, and he won't,' Mitchell said flatly. 'He's
dead.'
'Dead?'
'Yeah, dead. Shot. Dead.*
'Aw, pooh, Mitch, I don't believe you. You
shouldn't drink that lousy gin out in the hot sun, any-
way. You'll be sick. You look sick now.'
She leaned toward him over her chair-back and
looked at his white face closely. He was good-looking,
she decided, with his large, deep-set brown eyes and
his thin, oval, sad face. Dissipation had left small
dark pouches under his eyes, and exhaustion from
being on the job constantly, day or night, had drawn
his features until they were rigid and set. By contrast,
his full rather sensual mouth was hanging slackly with
a cigarette in its corner, his left eye squinted against
the smoke. He grinned wanly at her, and said, 'Oh,
I'm O.K., baby.'
'What'd you mean, Mitch, about John Fordman?'
Joan asked, curious now.
'What I said,' he replied. 'He's dead. Somebody


MURDER IN TEXAS
5
shot 'im when the well came in. I sent A.P. a flash as
I came by Western Union.'
'Who? Was he murdered, you mean? It was an
accident.'
'No, it wasn't an accident. The sheriff says he was
murdered.'
'Murdered! Great day, Mitch, what a story!'
Joan's voice rose with excitement. She bounced
quickly from her chair and ran to the door into the
back shop. 'Mac!' she cried, 'hold the front page!
Mitch has the biggest story we ever cracked. Some-
body shot the Old Man.'
Mac, short and stocky, dressed only in trousers and
an undershirt, appeared at the door. He shifted his
quid of tobacco and said laconically, 'Bad hurt?'
'Dead,' said Joan.
'My God!' he murmured; then turned and shouted
into the shop, 'Boys, hold PI, somebody just shot the
Old Man!'
Mitchell had pulled his machine closer to him and
inserted a sheet of yellow telegraph paper. Joan and
Mac crossed over and stood behind him to watch him
type rapidly:
Special to the Associated Pj%ss
by Mitchell White V
add — Fordman Murder
Fordman, Tex., July 3. (A.P.) An explosion of nitro-
glycerine 1300 feet under the ground was the clever and
effectual shield used by the murderer here today to mask
the noise of the pistol shot which took the life of John
Fordman, multimillionaire oil-man, rancher, and news-
paper owner.
The three hundred odd spectators who had gathered


6
MURDER IN TEXAS
to watch the one o'clock shooting of Fordman's newest
oil well were unaware of the tragedy until Fordman's
daughter, Marion, who discovered the body slumped into
a corner of the family's Isotta-Fraschini limousine,
screamed and fainted. No one heard the shot. In fact,
it is impossible that anyone could have done so, for it
was obvious that it had been timed to coincide with the
explosion of the nitroglycerine which sent oil and mud
high into the air, deluging everyone within a radius of
several hundred feet with its spray. The attention of
almost everyone was riveted to this monster fountain
of liquid gold.
Here White reached the end of his sheet and stopped
typing. He took a cigarette from the pack which
Joan held out to him, lighted it, and then said, 'Twist
that Western Union call buzzer, honey. I want a boy
here by the time I finish this.'
All sounds of work in the back shop had ceased and
the linotype operators and pressmen were crowded
together in the small doorway, looking curiously at
the group in the outer office.
Mac, who had been as engrossed in the story as
Joan, remembered his own obligations and swore
quickly. 'Hell,' he said, 'I've got to rip up that front
page and get tms damn paper made over and to bed.
When can you give us our copy on this, Mitch?'
'I'll copy Mitch's first page, Mac,' said Joan, 'and
he can give you carbons on the rest. Then we'll have
something to work on and the telegraph office can
get the story off, too.'
'Lock that front door, Mac,' said the reporter.
'There'll be a mob around here when this gets out in
town. We can't afford any interruptions. I beat every-


MURDER IN TEXAS
7
body else back, but they'll be in before long. I wish
Ed would come. We could use his help.'
'Oh, well, he's just the editor,' said Joan, pulling
Mitchell's completed first page from his machine.
'We've put the sheet out without his aid before.'
Mac closed the front doors and pulled down the
large green shades in the face of the smouldering sun.
The office was dim in the greenish light. Joan lighted
the desk lamps under their green and white cones.
They swung slowly back and forth on their long cords
from the high ceiling.
'We'll have to have the fan, even if it does blow
things,' she said as she lifted it off the counter, put
it on the floor and flicked its base switch to 'on full.'
It swung slowly in a broad semi-circle, gaining power.
The balls of crumpled yellow paper on the floor rolled
quickly out of its path and the loose sheets of a dis-
carded newspaper caught under Mitchell's feet, flut-
tered in the strong, hot, artificial breeze.
Mac went back to prepare for this unexpected
change in page one's sensation from the shooting of
an oil well to the shooting of its owner, and Joan
began to copy White's first sheet.
The lock on the front door clicked and the door was
flung violently open. Ed Frank, the editor, looked
in and then vanished. In his place appeared a stout,
weather-beaten country woman. She peered into the
dim office and then came slowly in, followed by a
younger woman in a limp calico dress, and a farmer
in new blue overalls. Frank came in after them and
urged them around the counter to his desk.
He glanced at'Joan and Mitch, the latter lost in
rapid composition on his machine. To Joan's inquiring


8
MURDER IN TEXAS
look he said, 'I suppose you know what's happened?
Is Mitch doing the outside stuff?' Joan said 'yes,'
and he replied, 'Then here's something for you. This
is Mrs. Millie Trotter, who saw Marion discover the
body. She seems to be the only one who was looking
at her. She'll tell you about it in her own words and
you can use it for a local story. I'll do the lead, while
you take what she has.'
Joan smiled at the flustered woman and her fright-
ened family and led them to the chairs in the advertis-
ing department's corner.
'Now,' she said to the woman, 'take your hat off
and be comfortable and tell me what happened. I'm
dying to hear about it, you know.'
Mrs. Trotter wiped her red face on her sleeve and
sat down, but refused to remove the rusty black straw
hat which perched at a surprised and raffish angle on
the side of her head.
'No'm,' she said, 'I'll jest set down, though. Crys-
tal, you an' Paw set down, too,' she directed the man
and the girl. They looked embarrassed, but they sat
down and the man took off his large felt sombrero.
'He said,' began Mrs. Trotter, jerking a large red
thumb at Frank, who was on his way into the back
shop to talk to Mac — 'he said as how I'd git five
dollars if I'd tell all about what I seen. Will I?'
'I'm sure you will,' said Joan, 'if he said so. He's
the boss. Now you tell me just what happened.
Begin at the very beginning.' She looked at her pad
of copy paper and her pencil on the desk, but did not
make any motion toward them, as she was afraid of
checking the spontaneity of Mrs. Trotter's story which
was obviously about to burst forth. 'Just begin at the
beginning,' she said again, encouragingly.


MURDER IN TEXAS
9
'Well,' said Mrs. Trotter, hitching forward in her
chair, 'it was thisaway. We-all come in town from
the ranch early this mornin'. We done our shoppin'.
Me'n' Crystal bough ten some piece goods an' Jason,
he's my husband, bough ten a sack o' oats an' a block
o' salt down to Miller's Feed Store. We-all started
home about twelve. The road to the ranch runs
through the oil field an' we got into the crowd of cars
that was goin' out to see the well shot off. We reckined
we'd stop an' see it too, so we pulled up at the rope to
the left of the road.'
'What time was that?' asked Joan.
'About twelve-thirty, I reckin, don't you, Jason?'
said Mrs. Trotter to her husband. Jason mumbled
that it was nearer twelve-thirty-five, but Mrs. Trotter
had swept on, growing more and more confident of
her ability to tell her story.
'About twelve-thirty,' she said, 'an' we-al! got outen
the car an' stood by the rope. I seen Mr. Fordman
up to the well with a lot of other men an' pointed him
out to Crystal. Crystal hadn't never seen him before,
but I had. I seen him in his bank onct. An' a fine-
lookin' man he was too, so big an' handsome.
'But anyways, there he was. They was a-lookin'
at the well an' pretty soon they started off toward
their cars which was parked across the road from us.
They hadn't got but a little piece away, when a man
at the well shouted real loud an' they all begun to run.
They run every which away.
'I kep' a-watchin' Mr. Fordman an' he run too.
He had on a white suit an' a white hat an' I reckin he
didn't want to git any oil on 'em. He run toward his
own car. He opened the back door an' got in an' set
V


10
MURDER IN TEXAS
down. Then I looked back at the well. They was all
millin' around an' yellin'. In a few minutes I looked
back at that there big car of Mr. Fordman's. I heerd
tell it cost over twenty-five thousand dollars, but it
didn't look so different from any other; jest lower an'
longer. I noticed that he had pulled down the window
curtains in the back.'
Here Mrs. Trotter stopped short and wiped her face
off with her sleeve again. 'Kin I have a drink o'
water?' she said. Joan went to the cooler and brought
her water in a Lily cup. She drank a swallow and set
the cup down.
Crystal said, 'Kin I hev one too?' Joan nodded to
her and said to Mrs. Trotter, 'Yes, yes, go on.'
'Well, as I said, he had pulled down the curtains.
I thought, that's funny, don't he want to see his own
well shot off? An' then there was a big hullabaloo at
the well an' the explosion went off. It like to of scared
me to death. Everybody was a-shoutin' and a-blowin'
their car horns. Jason was a-blowin' ours.
'Then after a little while I looked back at Mr.
Fordman's car, a-wonderin' what he thought with
all this new oil an' the money an' ever'thing an' I
seen Miss Fordman, all in white, walk over from
another car near-by and start to git in hers. I poked
Crystal an' said, "That there's Miss Fordman," an'
right then she must of found her father dead because
she sort o' crumpled up on the runnin'-board, an' half
into the car, an' then slid out onto the ground. She
must of screamed because people begun runnin'
toward her an' they all crowded up so I couldn't see
nothin'.
'But in a minute I could see that Miss Fordman's


MURDER IN TEXAS
II
faintin' wasn't all the excitement, because somebody
busted outen the crowd around their car an' come
runnin' over our way an' he was a-yellin' for th'
sheriff.
'Then the sheriff pushed up past me an' he run
over to the Fordman car. He stayed there a while
an' then he come back. Everybody got kind of quiet
an' he said, real loud, "Is there a doctor here?"
'Doctor Phillips got outen his car next to us an'
said, "Yes, I'm a doctor. What's the matter?"
'The sheriff said, "Come on," an' then he turned
'round to us an' says, "Did anybody here see anybody
gettin' into or out o' th' Fordman's car?"
'An' I spoke up an' said, "No, but I seen Miss Ford-
man gettin' in. Did she faint? What made her faint?"
An' the sheriff jus' said, "Never mind," an' he an'
Doc Phillips started away. But I was real interested,
so I said to Paw an' Crystal, "Come on," an' we
ducked under the ropes an' follered 'em.
'There was some more cars parked by th' Ford-
man's, but not so close, an' I seen Mrs. Levy an' Mr.
Levy an' lots of other people all crowded around. I
crowded up close, too, an' there stretched out on a
coat was Miss Fordman. She had come to an' was
lookin' white an' faint-like an' starin' up at the car.
Then I looked up, an' through the open door I could
see the sheriff an' the doctor bendin' over somebody
on the seat.
'Pretty soon they got out, an' by that time Miss
Fordman was standin' up. The doctor said, "Yes, he's
dead," an' at that she jest nodded an' burst out cryin'.
The doctor tried to hush her up, but she couldn't
stop, so he an' she got in the car with Mr. Fordman's


12
MURDER IN TEXAS
mortal remains an' the sheriff got in front with the
nigger man, who was a-cussin' under his breath an'
a-cryin' at th' same time, an' they drove off towards
town.
'We was jest standin' there when Mr. Frank come
up. He knowed my husband, Jason, you see, an' he
says, "Didn't I hear you say you saw what happened?"
An' I says, "Well, I seen part of it." So he ast us to
all come in here, an' here we are,' she concluded rapid-
ly, and looked at Joan expectantly.
'But,' objected Joan, 'who shot Mr. Fordman?
Didn't anyone know?'
'Well, now, I'm sure I don't,' said Mrs. Trotter, as
if the idea was new to her. She looked crestfallen that
Joan should have picked on the one weak spot in her
story. 'But,' she said triumphantly, 'the sheriff don't
know neither, 'cause he said to th' doctor, after they
got outen th' car, "Now who in hell could have done
this?" an' th' doctor said, "Lord knows, but I'm
surprised somebody ain't done it sooner."'


II: Monday, July 3
Mrs. Trotter beamed expectantly at Joan again,
and Joan said,' Well.' She rose and went over to Frank,
who was now seated at his desk up front. He looked
at her. 'Get it?'he inquired shortly.
She nodded and said, 'Mrs. Trotter expects five
dollars.'
He handed her a bill and she went back to the Trot-
ters. She gave it to Mrs. Trotter and watched the
excited woman herd the limp Crystal and the lacka-
daisical Jason out of the front door into the late after-
noon heat.
Feeling Frank's eyes upon her she turned and smiled
down at him.
'Her stuff any good?' he asked.
'Make a feature,' said the girl. 'She didn't actually
know anything, but what she saw was interesting.'
'Yeah. I thought so, too. She gave me an outline
coming in. I had to ride in with them, White went off
and left me.' He glanced at the reporter with amuse-
ment in his eyes and then looked seriously up at the
girl. 'Drunk?' he questioned.
'Not very,' said Joan. 'I think he's sort of sick,
don't you?'
'Whatsa matter with him lately?'
'He's in love, Ed.'
'Marion Fordman?'
'Yes.'
'No go?'
'No go.*


14
MURDER IN TEXAS
'He isn't bearing up so well. No guts.'
'What would you do under the circumstances?'
asked the girl hotly.
Frank smiled and said: 'Well, I wouldn't make
mysejf a laughing stock, anyway. I'd say, "Well,
what th' hell!"' He snapped his long fingers.
Joan smiled too and regarded him more favorably.
'But you're older, Ed, and things don't mean much
to you, anyway, do they?'
'Not much,' he agreed.
'Not anything?' inquired the girl curiously.
'Well, maybe one or two things.' His voice dropped,
but he held her blue eyes steadily with his intense
brown ones.
Joan's composure was a little shaken, so she said,
'Well, I've got to get that story out. It's late.' She
looked up at the clock.
'Correct Time' said four o'clock. The paper
would be hours late tonight, thought Joan. Then
she became aware that the telephones were clamoring
for attention. 'Daily News,' she said into the first
one she reached. An excited voice inquired, 'Can you
please tell me who won the baseball game between
Dallas and Fort Worth?'
'No, I cannot,' said Joan, and hung up. The tele-
phone promptly jangled again, but she unhooked the
receivers of all three instruments and sat down to
her machine to write her story.
Mitchell was still typing rapidly, a wide-eyed
Western Union boy beside him. Joan reached over
and took the completed yellow sheets that lay on his
desk. His story continued from the first page that she
had seen:


MURDER IN TEXAS
15
People were slow in reaching Miss Fordman and she
had slipped to the ground before the first arrived. Only
after she had been revived was the lifeless figure of the
multimillionaire discovered on the back seat. He was
sitting back in the rear, or left-hand, corner of the seat,
his head sunk on his chest and his white Panama hat
pulled low over his forehead. His left arm lay along the
arm-rest and his right arm was in his lap.
He had been shot through the heart. The shades at the
two door windows, as well as at the seat windows, had
been lowered completely. The interior of the car was dark
and cool and the small electric fan mounted against the
back of the chauffeur's partition was whirring softly.
The chauffeur, Joe (Texas) Wills, had left the car some-
time before the explosion was scheduled to occur, with a
note from Mr. Fordman to his chief driller, Val Day.
When he returned and was told of the tragedy, the colored
boy almost collapsed. He had been in Fordman's employ
for over ten years.
Sheriff Jim Read, of the local force, who also holds the
office of local coroner, has the case under his supervision.
No definite statement could be gotten from the sheriff at
this late hour.
Fordman's body was brought back to a funeral home in
the city, where it will rest pending funeral arrangements.
The deceased, who was forty-two years old, left only
one close relative, his daughter Marion. She is said to be
his sole heir.
Widely known throughout the Southwest, Fordman
has been one of the most prominent figures in this section
of the state for several years. He has been mentioned as a
likely candidate for governor following Governor Allred's
present term.
Mr. Fordman's wealth has been estimated at approx-
imately ten million dollars. Twenty years ago he was a
reporter on this sheet at twenty-five dollars a week. He


16
MURDER IN TEXAS
had just graduated from the University of Texas. Within
a year he had been made editor of the paper and during
the next year he married Miss Lillian Schumaker, only
daughter of John L. Schumaker, owner of the Daily News
and its companion paper in Franklin, the Daily Record.
When Mr. Schumaker died, two years later, he left his
papers to his daughter. Mrs. Fordman died a month later
in childbirth. Fordman inherited the papers in trust for
his daughter Marion.
Good fortune followed close on Fordman's heels after
this tragic beginning of his life. A wildcat oil company
struck the discovery well of the Fordman field on the old
Fordman Ranch which had been owned by his father,
Thomas. Thomas, who died when John Fordman was
eighteen, had left the miserable barren farm to his son.
Within a few years, Fordman made his first million.
With it he bought controlling interest in six other news-
papers in this section of Texas.
According to close friends, Mr. Fordman was not known
to have any avowed enemies. Thus the reason for his
sudden death has proved a puzzle to the local authorities,
who admit that they do not know just where to begin the
search for his assailant. The theory that Mr. Fordman
was hit by a stray bullet and killed by accident was
scouted immediately by the sheriff.
Mr. Fordman, as has been stated in earlier dispatches,
was attending the 'shooting' of the newest of the Ford-
man Company's wells, number five B. He was accom-
panied by his daughter and a party of business men and
their wives.
As the time of the event was widely known in the
district, quite a large crowd had gathered. Some three
hundred spectators stood behind a rope strung across the
field at a distance of several hundred yards from the well,
and watched the proceedings.
At the exact moment of the shooting of Mr. Fordman,
the noise was at its height...


MURDER IN TEXAS
17
Here Joan put the paper down, as she knew the
rest of the story. She thought for a moment and then
went over to Frank. 'Who made up the Fordman
party?' she said. 'Are you using their names in the
local story?'
Frank said, 'Yes,' and handed her a list scribbled
almost illegibly in pencil on the back of an old en-
velope. Joan saw that it was quite long, and then
she noticed the names of Clarence Jones and his wife
Agnes.
It was funny, she thought, that they should go with
the party as Fordman's guests. Everybody in town
knew that Agnes Jones had been Fordman's mistress
for the past three years — that is, everyone except
Jones.
She wondered if Jones knew it, too. Then she won-
dered if Agnes Jones knew that Fordman was in love
with a young Houston widow and that they had
expected to be married within the month. This she
knew from Marion, who had told her the story in
strictest confidence.
She went to work on her local angle description of
the scene of the crime and finished just as Mitchell
White looked up from his machine. He gathered the
telegraph blanks together and thrust them at the
Western Union boy. 'Hop to it, son,' he said. The
boy left on a dead run.
Frank called them both over to his desk.
'White,' he said, 'you'd better get up to the court-
house. And you, Joan, look things over there, if you
like, then go on over to Fordman's. We'll want an
inside interview with Marion for the early morning
edition. She'll talk to you. Pick up anything you


18
MURDER IN TEXAS
can on that rumor about Fordman's engagement to
some dame in Houston. Know anything about it,
yet?' he inquired suspiciously.
'Yes,' she said, 'but it's supposed to be a secret.'
'Well, it's no secret now. Everybody's talking and
nobody is sayin' the same thing twice in succession.
It's up to us to give 'em the first clear story. Get me?
Tell the sheriff I'll be up there in a little while.'
'O.K.,' said Joan as she turned away.
Mitchell grabbed a new pencil, ground half of it
away in the sharpener, put it in his pocket with several
sheets of paper, and started out. Joan took up her
white Panama hat and followed him. In their separate
cars they drove to the courthouse, a red sandstone
atrocity in the center of the town square.
Pushing their way through a mob of curious on-
lookers, they entered the building. The traffic cop
on guard at the door recognized them and let them
by. The office of the sheriff was halfway down the
long hall. As Joan and Mitch arrived the sheriff
began his investigation, and in response to his genial
invitation the men in the room seated themselves
about the walls in yellow folding chairs with 'From
Scott & Scott, Undertakers' stenciled across the back
rest. They stopped talking among themselves and
looked toward the officer. There were only four, and
Joan knew them all. Samuel Ross, the banker, sat
near the sheriff's desk. Chick Jones sat next to him
and stared sideways out of the window. Then there
was Gere Drexell, Fordman's assistant, and next to
him, Joey Levy, the town's leading merchant.
Joan sat down beside Levy, who promptly leaned
toward her and whispered:


MURDER IN TEXAS
19
'Miss Joan, have you seen her yet? How's she
taking it? My wife stayed there.'
'1 haven't had a chance to get out to Marion's yet,
Mr. Levy,' answered the girl.
He was perspiring heavily — large, plump man that
he was — and his bald dome glistened with tiny beads
of sweat. Dark crescents of perspiration showed
under his arms, on his blue shirt. Like the majority
of the other men in the room, he wore neither coat nor
vest. His shirt billowed limply over the top of his
trousers and his fat stomach bulged forward, straining
the tight linen.
He started to speak again, but the voice of the sheriff
interrupted him. 'I won't keep you-all long,' it
boomed, and Joan turned from Levy to watch Sheriff
Read lower himself into his worn leather desk chair
which immediately tilted backward so that he could
rest his feet comfortably on a pulled-out drawer of the
scarred oak roll-top desk.
The officer was a large man of the type called
'typical Westerner.' He filled the chair completely,
and for further comfort hitched his heavy pearl-
handled six-shooter in its leather holster around into
his lap. He rested a huge hand on it affectionately,
but unconsciously. His other hand he brushed softly
across the nap of his stiffly roached gray hair. He
looked disturbed and uncertain, but began bravely.
'As you-all know, our admired and respected fellow
citizen, Mr. John Fordman, was murdered this after-
noon.' He looked about him gravely, aware of his
own rhetoric. 'I have asked you gentlemen to come
here so that we can get at this thing right away. You
was all members of Mr. Fordman's party at the time


20
MURDER IN TEXAS
of the shootin' and somebody must of seen somethin'
that might have some bearin' on the matter. Hit
don't stand to reason that a man can be shot in a
crowd of three-four hundred people without nobody
seein' nothinV Here the sheriff paused and took a
long breath. He stared around the circle of faces in a
puzzled fashion.
'Now, folks,' he resumed, 'let's get some facts
together.' Pulling a scratch-pad and pencil toward
him he said:
'First I wanta know who made up Mr. Fordman's
private party an' how you-all rode.' He indicated
Mitchell White and suggested, 'You, White, you're a
reporter. You tell us how things was.'
Mitch scratched his chin and thought for a moment.
Then he began:
'Well, Ed Frank and I went out together in my car.
Mr. Fordman and Miss Fordman and Mr. Drexell
here all rode in the Fordman car with th' chauffeur
driving. Mr. and Mrs. Levy were in their car — and
their little girl was there too; and Mr. and Mrs. Jones
and their daughter were in their car.'
'You left out Mr. Ross,' remarked the sheriff. He
turned to the banker and said, 'Where'd you ride?'
'My own car,' answered Ross shortly.
The officer jotted down his information and, glanc-
ing around the room, stated:
'Well, that's that. Now I wanta know if any of
you know anything or saw anything that might help
us out? Did you, Mr. Ross?'
Samuel Ross, president of the First National Bank
of Fordman, was one of the two men in the room wear-
ing a coat. It was gray seersucker, carefully buttoned.


MURDER IN TEXAS
21
Although it and his trousers had been liberally spotted
with oil, they did not look untidy, only spotted. He
wore nose-glasses which he took off and balanced on
his right forefinger whenever he spoke. Their absence
gave his thin white face a rather naked look, em-
phasized the twin furrows between his pale blue eyes.
He took his glasses off now and looked calmly at
the sheriff. 'Why, no,' he said quietly. 'Although I
have been associated with Mr. Fordman in business,
I am not familiar with his private affairs. You know
that he did not talk particularly freely with anyone.
He was a very wealthy man and must have antago-
nized any number of people as he rose in power. He
was undoubtedly ruthless. But as to knowing who
could have shot him, I am afraid that I cannot even
essay any conjecture.' He replaced his glasses and
unbuttoned the top button of his coat. In this swelter-
ing little room, he must have been just as hot as any-
one, but he looked exceedingly cool.
He was discreet, thought Joan, and so damned
correct. He could cover his feelings, if he had any.
She wondered how much truth there was in the gossip
about the quarrel that he had had with Fordman in
his office last week. The paying teller, Gerald Stokes,
had spoken of it to his wife, Juanita, and Juanita,
always anxious to make some sort of stir, had promptly
spread it over town via the afternoon bridge tables.
The sheriff rubbed his gray fuzz again and then
looked at Clarence Jones, seated next to Ross. 'Well,
Chick,' he said, 'can you offer anything?'
Jones, never prepossessing, looked his worst. The
heat, excitement, and momentary position in the lime-
light all conspired to bring about his demoralization,


22
MURDER IN TEXAS
and as the sheriff's attention singled him out he
crouched lower in his chair and stammered a few words
in a low voice. Joan could not hear him at all. What
an unfit mate for the lush Agnes, she thought. The
thin, unhappy little man with his drawn, white face
and his stringy, straw-colored hair looked like an
undernourished boy rather than a man nearing fifty
years.
Joan could see the perspiration on his upper lip,
the great drops rolling down his high, bulging fore-
head.
The sheriff, leaning forward, repeated kindly for the
second time:
'Whaja say, Chick? You ain't sick, are you?'
The little man sat up suddenly and found his voice.
'No, I ain't sick, Jim. This business has kinda up-
set me, though.' He wiped his face on his sleeve and
continued, 'I ain't one to slander a man that's dead,
but you know as well as I do that there's many a one
as would have been purty glad to see Fordman put
away. But as to who would come right out and shoot
him in cold blood — well, I dunno.'
He looked about defensively, as if afraid of condem-
nation, but the group was silent. Everybody liked
the grocer and sympathized. To Joan he was the worm
that never turned. His wife ran his business success-
fully. She despised him and mocked him publicly.
He was a Caspar Milquetoast to the life.
Joan's reflections were interrupted by Gerard
Drexell's voice. It was a smooth, cultivated voice,
but strong and authoritative as well. This man,
John Fordman's chief engineer and assistant in the
oil business, was everything that poor Chick Jones


MURDER IN TEXAS
23
was not. Handsome, well-educated, he commanded
the attention of the little group.
'I've worked for John Fordman, as you all know,
for about five years now,' he was saying. 'And though
I've often found him high-handed and ruthless, I've
never known him to be dishonest or mean. Many of
you may not have liked him, but if only for the sake
of upholding the law you must forget personal feelings
and give the sheriff here a little co-operation.'
This rather smug speech fell a little flat and Chick
Jones muttered something too low for Joan to hear.
The girl whispered to Mitch, 'Nobody wants to
know who killed him, do they?'
The reporter shook his head. 'As an investigation
it's a flop,' he agreed, smiling slightly.
Drexell spoke again. 'But surely, sheriff, you've
done something about this murder. Did you search
the field? Have you found anything?'
The officer's face turned red and he looked angrily
at Drexell. 'Of course,' he said, 'we've searched
the field. We've done everything possible, but that
stampedin' mob ruined any chances we might have
had at findin' any clues.'
'He wouldn't know a clue if he saw one,' Joan
whispered to Mitch. The corner of his mouth pulled
downward in response.
'Now let's get this thing straight,' continued the
sheriff. 'First, I wanta know just where everybody
was when Fordman was killed.'
He drew the pad toward him and put the tip of his
pencil in his mouth. Joan opened her folded scratch-
paper and copied the answers in shorthand.
'Well, Mr. Ross, where was you?'


MURDER IN TEXAS
25
'I was right behind Mr. Ross,' he declared. 'I
went on over to my own car. My wife was there
and she can bear me out!' He looked around the
room as if expecting contradiction.
'O.K.,' said the sheriff shortly. 'An' you, Chick?'
'Me?' The grocer spoke suddenly and turned
from the window in confusion. Evidently he had not
been listening to the testimony.
'Yeah. Where was you when Mr. Fordman was
shot?' repeated Read.
Jones stared at the sheriff, his eyes blank. Rubbing
his hand across his face he finally said, 'I dunno, Jim.
I can't seem to recollect.'
'Didn't you hear the explosion when the well was
shot?' questioned the officer.
'Oh, yes,' answered the little man. 'I know now.
I was sitting in the car with my wife. I believe that
Mildred and Ed Frank were there, too. Yeah, they
were there, too.' He sighed and arose, saying, 'I
gotta go, Jim. I don't feel good. I'm goin' home.'
There was a general silence as he walked across
the room and out of the door without looking at
anyone.
The sheriff rumbled in his throat and said loudly:
'You, young fella. Where was you?' He pointed a
long brown finger at Mitch White, and Joan felt the
boy jerk upright in surprise.
'Why, I was everywhere. I couldn't say exactly,'
answered Mitch, with a short laugh. 'A reporter's
got to get around, y'know.'
'You can't remember where you was when th' ex-
plosion happened?' prompted Read.
'No,' answered the reporter, shaking his head.


26
MURDER IN TEXAS
The sheriff shrugged his shoulders and wrote the
information down carefully. While he was thus occu-
pied, Ed Frank came into the room and sat down
beside White.
Read looked up and grinned at him, saying, 'I
already know where you was when Mr. Ford man
was shot, Ed, but for th' record...' he paused, pencil
uplifted.
Frank looked about him and said cheerfully, 'Well,
I don't know what these fellows been saying about
me, but if I remember rightly, I believe I was with
Miss Jones in their family car when the well was shot,
anyhow. She and I had been walking around before
that.'
'O.K.,' declared the officer, writing. He scowled
upward through his shaggy gray eyebrows at Joan,
and to her surprise said, 'Young lady, I hear you're
mighty smart — college education an' such — whadda
ya' think about this here business? Know who done
it, huh?"
'Goodness, no, Mr. Sheriff!' declared the girl
hastily, and Ed Frank laughed softly.
Read looked at him and chuckled. 'She ain't so
smart as she's cracked up to be, is she, Ed?'
'She shines in other ways,' answered Frank, glanc-
ing at Joan. 'A good many other ways,' he added
thoughtfully.
The girl smiled her thanks at him and looked at
her watch. It was five-thirty. She rose to leave,
when three men pushed past her and entered the room.
They were Tom Harte, deputy sheriff, Doctor C. T.
Ross, official county doctor, and Val Day, Fordman's
chief driller.


MURDER IN TEXAS
27
'Well, Doc, whadda ya' say?' queried the sheriff.
'To put it plainly, Jim, Fordman was shot with a
gun of surprisingly small caliber, either a .22 or a .25.
The bullet entered his heart and is still lodged in his
body. Death was probably instantaneous. I haven't
had time to go after the bullet yet, but I'll get right
at it. Those little guns' — the doctor spoke scorn-
fully— 'toys — it's amazing how seldom they kill.
It was held smack against his breast and fired only
once, as far as I can tell. The cloth around the bullet
hole is burned and black with powder discharge. I
suppose there'll be a formal inquest tomorrow? I'll
do the autopsy right away. He's up at Scott's and I
reckon the family'll want immediate interment.
This weather, you know — and Scott's ain't equipped
to keep 'em long.'
'Yeah,' agreed the sheriff, and to Harte, 'Well,
Tom, find anything?'
'Not a thing, Chief,' replied the tall officer. 'We're
pullin' in all of the questionable characters we kin
find. That mob out there sure did tromp down
everything. It was easy done. The murderer lost
himself in the crowd and was safer'n if he'd hopped
a plane to Mexico.'
'My God,' whispered Joan to Mitch, 'lemme out
of here. The air is foul. Why don't they go into a
bigger room!' She climbed over his knees, patted
his shoulder, and escaped into the dirty but less con-
gested hall. The drinking-fountain was out of order
as usual and an old-fashioned water-cooler, with an
inverted tin cup hung over the spigot, stood in the
corner of the hallway. Joan went into the county
clerk's office to borrow a glass from the girl at the desk.


28
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Isn't it excitin'?' gurgled the girl, chewing her
gum vigorously. Joan said, 'Yeah,' and went into
the hall for her water. It was too cold and she had
to hold each sip in her mouth before swallowing. It
cooled her tongue and she could feel the first swal-
lows as they slid downward to her stomach. She
drank three tumblerfuls and returned the glass to
the chewing girl. 'Thanks, Mabel,' she said.
'You're sure welcome, Miss Shields.'
Joan went out and sat in her roadster for a few
minutes before starting for the Fordmans'. It was
nearly six o'clock and the sun was behind the court-
house. She had parked under one of the locust trees
which bordered the sidewalk in front of the building.
The leather cushions were hot and the metal of the
door burned her bare arm. She looked over her notes
and made a careful list of the people, who, to her
mind, might conceivably be suspected by the sheriff.
Naturally it included the members of Mr. Fordman's
party and ran as follows:
Mr. Ross, who said that he was at the cars.
Chick Jones, who was with his family and Ed
Frank.
Ed Frank, who was with Jones and his family.
Gere Drexell, who didn't know exactly where he
was, but thought he was talking with a farmer south
of the well.
Agnes Jones, who was with her husband, daughter,
and Frank.
Joey Levy, who was 'right behind Ross.'
Mitch White, who didn't know.
Marion Fordman.
Etta Levy.


MURDER IN TEXAS
29
Texas Wills.
Val Day.
Mildred Jones, who was with her family and
Ed Frank.
Of course she knew that the murderer might be
an entirely different person, one unknown to her or
to the police, but it hardly stood to reason that John
Fordman would have allowed a stranger or a casual
acquaintance to sit beside him in the car. Then, too,
if a stranger had been in town recently the fact would
have been known, for Fordman was too small to
harbor an unknown.
Joan didn't feel at all horrified at Fordman's death.
She hadn't liked him. In fact, she had scarcely known
him, even though he did own the paper on which she
worked. For the past ten years, since her graduation
from high school, she had not lived in the village.
First college had kept her away, then several years
working on newspapers in New York. Until the past
year she had only visited her family every year or
so, seeing little of the natives on her flying trips.
But the opening of a good job on the local paper,
which had recently been only a weekly sheet, plus
her mother's illness had brought Joan back to her
home for an indefinite stay. It had been a boring
stay so far, unpleasantly crammed with bridge club
items and other unimportant routine events. This,
then, the death of John Fordman, was an event.
Joan was starting the roadster when she saw two
men come out of the courthouse and recognized them
as Gere Drexell and Levy. She waited until they
neared the car and then called to Drexell. The men
had been in earnest conversation and Drexell looked


3<>
MURDER IN TEXAS
up, startled. Seeing Joan he waved, and nodding to
his companion, stepped down from the curb and
came to the car, saying, 'Hello, there, Joan. Saw you
inside, but couldn't get over to speak to you. Going
out to see Marion?'
'Yes, can I give you a lift out?' offered the girl.
The man ran a brown hand through his hair,
glanced at his watch and shook his head. 'No,
thanks,' he said. 'I'll go out later when all those
women leave. I've got a lot to do now, anyway.'
'It's sad for Marion, isn't it?' ventured Joan.
'Yes,' he agreed, looking beyond her. She could
see the small play of muscle at his jaw as he shut his
mouth tightly and firmed his lips. Joan could see
why he fascinated Marion; why Mitch failed to hold
her interest. The reporter was a child in comparison,
gauche, unsophisticated, soft. Drexell carried him-
self with the air of a man who accomplished things.
He was well educated, cosmopolitan, and extraordi-
narily self-assured, an unusual man to find in a small
West Texas town.
He did not seem in a great hurry to leave Joan.
There was an air of something still to be said between
them. He placed a foot on the running-board of the
Packard and leaned against the door. The girl
waited. But Drexell only asked a question.
'Who is this Mrs. Lawrence?'
Joan was surprised and must have shown it, for
he qualified his question with, T mean, you know, I
haven't met her. What's she like? I've wired her
to come up as Marion seems to want her. I know
that John was going to marry her and I just wondered.'
'Well,' began Joan, 'I haven't met her either, but


MURDER IN TEXAS
31
to take Marion's word for it she must be a pretty
swell person.'
'Yes?' Drexell asked this politely and left the
silence there between them.
The girl broke it. 'Why?' she countered.
'Knew her husband during the war,' explained
Drexell.
'I feel sorry for her,' said Joan.
The man's expression did not change. He nodded
and said: 'Well, I must be going. Tell Marion I'll be
there later.'
Joan watched his white-clad shoulders as he walked
away from her and thought to herself: 'Well, I cer-
tainly didn't get much out of him. He's a poker-face.'
A small spasm of excitement unknotted itself under
the region of her breast-bone and spread quivering
tentacles of delightful shivers down her shoulders
and arms. She started the car and shot backward
out of the parking place with a roar of exhaust through
the forbidden cut-out. The Fordman house was five
miles out of town and she wanted to see Marion and
get home in time for dinner at seven-thirty.


Ill: Monday, July 3
Joan skidded dangerously into the drive leading up to
the Fordman home. She shifted into second for the
long, winding road up the hill, but soon had to shift
into first as the road grew steeper. It was cut diagon-
ally across the east side of the hill.'
The mountain, which was in reality only a large
finger of rock mesa-land jutting out sharply from the
higher ground to the north, overlooked the low rolling
prairie land to the south, east, and west. Fordman had
built his home near the edge of the serried red sand-
stone cliffs which marked an abrupt end of the jutting
finger.
The house was always amusing to Joan. Formally
colonial in architecture, it gleamed white and barren
on the red hilltop. Its six slender porch pillars sup-
ported a roof of vivid green.
This country, which called for architecture as simple
and as solid as the rocks themselves, was insulted by
the intrusion of this slender, delicate building. Loud
and blatant with its vivid cobalt sky, its red earth and
its lush green cedars, it shouted insults at the slim
white house perched on its beloved hilltop. The
strong prairie winds pushed at it and rattled its green
shutters, and the frequent sand-storms enveloped it
grimly, but John Fordman's house was truly builded
firm upon the rock! It held itself aristocratically aloof,
returned no bawdy word.
The car reached the level top of the hill panting, and
with relief it turned into the road winding through the


MURDER IN TEXAS
33
young new trees that had just been planted during the
past year. They were Chinese elms, very slender and
erect. Each had been set out in a pit blasted in the
rock and refilled with rich prairie loam. Joan re-
membered the day that the holes had been blasted out
and the small geysers of dirt that had risen incongru-
ously into the sky above the red hilltop. She had been
amused by the fact that the geysers had risen and
fallen again before the sound of the blast had reached
her ears.
The house did not look so odd from the drive, which
curved smoothly around the edge of the hill and swept
up to the front veranda edged with flower-beds filled
with varicolored zinnias. The lawns had been well
rolled and trimmed and were as vivid as the roof. An
underground sprinkler system was on, and the wind
swept the cool geysers of spray over the walks and
into the graveled driveway. As the day drew to a
close and the sun dropped lower and lower, the air
gained in freshness and vitality.
Joan stepped out of her car and cut through the
spray, feeling it soak coolly through her stockings and
linen dress. She mounted to the veranda on which
stood green-and-white striped canvas chairs on tubular
frames grouped about a low glass-topped table. A
bowl of crimson zinnias stood on the table and a brown-
and-white leather bag of golf clubs leaned against a
chair.
The girl reached for a cigarette from a red bowl and
was clicking the silver golf-ball lighter when the screen
door clapped shut behind her. She turned and saw
Texas Wills, the Fordman chauffeur. He was a small
mulatto, very dapper, always courteous, and quite


34
MURDER IN TEXAS
well-educated according to the standards of the South-
ern negro. He smiled at her, showing even white teeth
between thin, well-moulded lips.
'Good evening, Miss Joan.'
'Hello, Texas,' the girl replied. 'How's Miss
Marion?'
'She's takin' it real fine,' answered the man. 'Now
who could have done such a thing, Miss Joan?'
'I don't know, Texas. Where were you?'
'Why, I was looking for Mr. Day with a note from
the boss,' he replied.
'Looking for him? Wasn't he at the derrick?'
'No'm, he wasn't at the derrick and I never did find
him,' declared the negro.
Joan looked at him over her cigarette. She thought
rapidly, and then changed the subject. 'You knew
him real well, Texas. Who'd want to shoot him?
Who were his enemies?'
'Lawd, Miss Joan, I don' know. Not many people
liked him, you know. People was always sayin' that I
was his bodyguard, but I wasn't. I never toted no gun.
He wasn't scared o' no one as I knew of.'
'Who'd you know of particularly that didn't like
him?' asked Joan, and added, 'Anyone who threat-
ened him, for instance.'
'Well, there was a driller back in Ranger that shot at
him once over a card game, and a feller in Borger that
had sold out a lease to Mr. Fordman an' thought he
got cheated, threatened to kill him, but nothin' ever
come of it. He was plumb easy to annoy, come to
think of it, an' mighty free with his fists. I remember
he beat up Mr. Day somethin' awful once, too. You
see Mr. Day was drunk. He said he'd kill Mr. Ford-


MURDER IN TEXAS
35
man, but when he sobered up they laughed about it
an' I saw 'em shakin' hands.'
'I mean townspeople, Texas. Did you ever hear
anyone in Fordman threaten him?'
'Well, yessum. That reporter man that you go
aroun' with — he was here just the other night and
they argued something fierce. He didn't even give me
a tip when I brought his car around, and I wiped it all
off an' washed th' wind-shield. It sure was dirty, too.
I brushed out th' inside, an' back of th' seat was two
strings of beads and three lady's vanity cases.'
Joan laughed. 'I guess that's where mine vanish,
Texas. Thanks for the tip. Where is Miss Marion?'
'She's up in her room, miss. There's a bunch of
ladies in th' parlor, Mis' Levy, Mis' Jones, Mis' Brush,
'n' th' minister.'
'Thanks. I'll go up the back way, Texas. I want to
see Miss Marion first. By the way, did you ever
deliver that note to Mr. Day?'
'Lawd, Miss Joan, I plum' forgot that note! No'm,
I never did.'
'Why not?'
'Well, miss, you see, I couldn't find him when I went
to look for him, and since then 'he stopped sadly.
'Of course. Do you still have it, Texas?'
'Yes, ma'am,' replied the man, fumbling in the pocket
of his uniform coat. He brought forth a folded slip of
blue paper and looked at it. Joan reached out a
naturally commanding hand.
He gave her the note without hesitation and she
read it without a qualm. Written in a bold hand were
the words, 'I want to see you before I leave. J. F.'
Joan refolded the paper and returned it to Wills.


36
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Better give it to him, Texas,' she advised; 'and about
our little talk — don't say anything to anyone.' Then
she walked around the house and reached the second
story by the servants' stairway.
She found Marion Fordman lying on the quaint
four-poster bed in her lovely room, but she was not
alone. As Joan entered, she was surprised to see Mil-
dred Jones rise from a wing-chair by the window.
She waved at Mildred and went over to Marion.
'Hello, darling,' she said. 'I came as soon as I could
get away.'
Marion sat up, glad to see her. She and Joan had
known each other since childhood, renewed their ac-
quaintance in the East where Marion was attending a
fashionable school, continued it warmly during the
past few months that the younger girl had spent in
Fordman. Joan admired her Nordic handsomeness,
her excellent sense of humor, her intelligence. She was
a tall, strong girl, with large hands and feet that were
remarkably slender and well-formed. Her uncropped
hair was ash blonde, with glinting highlights of silver.
The undiscerning called it 'platinum,' but it did not
have that metallic vulgarity of tone. And her eyes, un-
like those of most blondes, were a deep sea blue.
Joan took off her Panama, ran her fingers through
her own curly black mop. The coolness of the prairie
evening was sifting through the open windows. It car-
ried the smell of the spray, the new-cut grass, and the
odor of the thousands of tiny prairie wild flowers.
Mildred Jones wanted to talk. 'Have you heard
anything, Joan?'
'No, nothing new. You-all know as much as I do, I
guess.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
37
Marion dropped back on the pillows and sighed.
'It's a dam' shame, Joan. He was so alive. I wish I'd
known him better. This is the first summer I've been
home in four years. And there's Glieth. She'll be com-
ing soon, I hope. I had Gere wire her.'
'Listen, Marion. What'll they do at the paper? I
mean, who'll be in charge?' Joan had j ust thought of this.
'Why, Frank, I guess,' replied the girl, puzzled.
'I don't know anything about it. Mr. Drennan, Dad's
lawyer, rang up a few minutes ago. He's coming out
right away. There's a will, you know. I'd just say, go
on with them like always. He'd want that.'
'I'll tell Ed, then,' said Joan. 'And don't you want
to make a statement of some sort?'
'Statement?' she repeated. 'Why, no, I guess not.
Should I?'
'Not unless you want to, honey. We'll just carry
the fact that you had no statement to make and that
you've left everything in the hands of the sheriff. Is
that all right?'
'Yes. When Mr. Drennan comes, we'll see. There
must be trustees. Oh, Joan, who did it, do you sup-
pose? I want it found out. I don't believe that the
officers are capable of tracking down a murderer.
They might do all right with rustlers or with Mexicans
selling liquor—but this is real and clever and deliberate.
I'll never forget getting into the car and finding him.
It was so dark and cool-looking. I opened the door
and stepped onto the running-board and said, 'Well,
hail to the oil magnate,' or something silly like that,
and when he didn't answer, I looked at him and saw
that blood on his shirt. It was so dark red against the
white. I never thought Td faint. It was so silly of me.'


38
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Where had you been?' asked Joan.
'Well, when all of the men left, I went over and sat
in the car with that fat Mrs. Levy. Our car was some-
what away from the group and the top is so low that I
couldn't see very well. I wanted to see the well shot.
I'd never seen one.'
Mildred Jones moved out of the wing-chair, to sit on
the foot of the bed. She was a large, plump, capable
girl. Joan thought her fat, but men liked her round-
ness. They described her with two out-waving down-
ward sweeps of their hands. She was like that. Full
and round. Soft. She liked men. They liked her and
called her 'red' or ' rusty' because of her dark-red hair.
She had just finished her four years at State University
and was home having a good time. She made all of the
dances in town and in the neighboring towns, and went
often to El Paso or Dallas or San Antonio for parties.
She sat on the bed and scowled slightly at Joan, for she
disliked her.
'Why don't you offer a reward, kid?' she asked
Marion.
'I don't know what to do. I want to see Gere
Drexell first. Do you know where he is, Joan?'
'I saw him in town,' answered the girl. 'He said
he'd be out later.'
'Well, he ought to call me. Maybe he will soon.'
Marion got up and went toward the bathroom door.
'I'm going to take a shower. I feel so dirty and hot.
'You will wait, won't you?'
Mildred said 'yes,' but Joan got up and started out.
'I've got to get some supper,' she said, 'and go back to
the office.' She went over and kissed Marion and said,
'I'm sorry.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
39
At the door she turned. 'I'll come up early to-
morrow.'
She went out and down the long hall to the stairs. It
was a double stairway, curving smoothly upward from
each side of the large entrance foyer. Joan walked
slowly and silently down the right flight and paused at
the door of the living-room. Here the voices of the
women inside sounded intermittently. She breathed
deeply and went in.
Across the room, seated on the deep-red divan, was
Etta Levy, large and darkly Jewish. Agnes Jones
faced her from an armchair. The Reverend Mr.
Brush and his tall, militant, English wife were seated
on the chesterfield near the door.
The minister rose at the sight of her and came for-
ward. 'Ah, Miss Shields,' he said, 'and how is Miss
Fordman? You've seen her?' His accent was very
broad and Bostonian. He was an addition worthy
of the new Episcopal Church with its leaning toward
ceremony. As tall as his wife, but very thin, he swayed
forward and bowed his narrow dark head. 'It is hard,
very hard, to bear a thing like this,' he said.
Etta Levy called to her and Joan went across the
room to sit beside the woman. Her lovely face, with
its clear-white skin and its contrast of smooth black
hair, rose incongruously from her squat, uncouth
body.
'There is nothing that we can do, I know, but I
do hate to leave Marion, Joan. She is alone.' Etta
was kind, but so deeply interested in the fortunes or
misfortunes of her friends and neighbors that she
caused acute discomfort among those whom she de-
sired to aid.


4o
MURDER IN TEXAS
'No,' replied Joan, 'there is nothing that anyone
can do.'
Agnes Jones rose from her chair. She was a larger,
older edition of her daughter. Her dark, burnt-umber
hair was badly mussed and her eyes were swollen and
bloodshot from crying. Joan was sorry for her. She
had loved John Fordman for years, in the face of public
opinion which had branded her with side glances and
wise, knowing looks as That Woman! Her position
had been made easier since her husband's stores had
succeeded so well and the all-powerful money had come
to aid her.
She wandered vaguely toward the hall door, caught
the eye of the minister's wife, and stiffened immedi-
ately. 'Joan,' she said too loudly, 'is Mildred up-
stairs?'
'Yes, ma'am,' Joan replied.
'I will go up and get her. We must go home.' She
stared steadily at Mrs. Brush, who looked viciously
back at her. The minister had risen and stood un-
certainly beside his wife.
Agnes Jones turned her back and left the room. It
was silent as her footsteps were heard on the stairway.
Etta Levy looked at Joan, and said, 'How on earth
could she come here?'
The minister's wife snorted violently.
The minister was silent.
Joan said 'Good-bye' and went out.
It was almost dark now. The afterglow had van-
ished and the clouds on the eastern horizon were high-
piled purple masses, tipped with silver. Joan shivered,
for the prairie wind was cold.


IV: Monday, July 3
Joan drove slowly down the mountain and into the
lighted town. Her own home was on the main street,
and, as she drew her roadster to the curb, she noticed
that the chairs on the lawn under the large china-
berry tree were empty. The family was at dinner.
She went in quietly, took a shower, and put on
another fresh linen dress.
Her father and her mother and her young brother
Jimmie were still at the table. They were eating
strawberry shortcake for dessert, but even Jimmie
looked up eagerly when she entered.
'I don't like you to be involved in this, Joan,' said
her mother.
'Say, Sis, can I go back to the office with you?
I'll run errands an' answer the 'phone if you'll let
me,' said Jimmie.
Her mother rose and went into the kitchen. 'I've
kept some supper hot, dear,' she said.
'Say, can I, Sis?' begged the boy.
Joan looked at her father, who smiled at her. 'It
is going to be a pretty big mess, isn't it, Sister?' stated
Joan's father.
She nodded and turned to Jimmie. 'Yes, you can
come with me.'
'Does anyone know anything?' inquired her father.
'The town is humming.'
'Not that I've heard. What do they say?'
'Well, some say the nigger man; some say an
escaped lunatic; some whisper Chick Jones, and


43
MURDER IN TEXAS
I've even heard that there was bad blood between
Ross and Ford man.'
Joan nodded. 'But he was reported broken off
with Mrs. Jones,' she offered.
'Maybe so,' said Shields thoughtfully, 'But'
He paused and began eating his strawberries as Mrs.
Shields entered with Joan's plate.
'Do you have to go back tonight?' she said as she
set it down.
'Yes, Mora. There'll be a lot to do.'
'Well, I don't like it. A murder! Have you been
to see Marion?'
'Yes, Mom — just before I came home.'
'Who was there?'
'The minister—Brush, I mean, his awful wife,
Mrs. Levy and Mrs. Jones and Mildred.'
Mrs. Shields shook her head sadly and rose. 'You'll
find your shortcake in the icebox. The whipped
cream is in a bowl.' She looked at her husband.
'Let's go out, John.' she said. 'It's so awfully hot
in here and I feel somewhat upset.'
They left Joan and Jimmie together, Mrs. Shields's
voice returning faintly from the living-room — 'Leave
the dishes right where they are. Minnie will clear
up when she comes home.'
'I'll get your strawberry shortcake, Sis,' said the
boy.
'Thanks.'
He returned from the kitchen a few minutes later
with the dessert, its crisp short biscuit covered with
crushed berries and topped by a mound of cream.
'It's kind of rich, Sis,' he said. 'Sure you want it?'
She said 'yes' and ate half of it while he watched


MURDER IN TEXAS
43
her sadly. 'Here, bum,' she said, and pushed the
rest to him. He gulped it down and caught her at
the front door. They called good-bye to the two in
the chairs under the dark china tree and drove back
to the newspaper office.
There they found work going in full blast. The
regular edition had come off the press some half-hour
before their arrival and the newsboys were getting
their stacks to hawk on the streets. Joan noticed
that each stack was twice as large as usual. Jimmie
vanished into the mel6e of the back shop. The
machines drew him like magnets.
Frank, looking worn and haggard under his green
eyeshade, was sitting at his desk reading a smudgy
first section. Mitch White was nowhere in sight.
The advertising men were at their desks also reading
first sections. Joan went into the back shop and pro-
cured one for herself.
A two-column cut of Fordman was set up in the
center of the page. A seventy-two-point banner head
proclaimed:
JOHN FORDMAN KILLED
The story, under a four-column, thirty-two point
head, was the one that Mitch had written, with a
little change in the first paragraph localizing the
story. Her own interview with Mrs. Trotter had
been dropped under the same heading, but to the left
of a 'box1 which held a short story to the effect that
the paper would continue to function under the
direct management of Edward Frank, Editor. The
story was authorized by Patrick Drennan, Ford-
man's lawyer, and had been confirmed by Marion.


44
MURDER IN TEXAS
Frank looked at Joan over his paper and said,
smiling wearily, 'See you've been home. 'Ja see
Marion?'
'Yes. She wouldn't say anything definite for pub-
lication. Wants to wait and see Drennan and Gere
Drexell.'
Frank raised his eyebrows, moving the eyeshade
with them. 'Drexell, hmm.'
'And likewise "hmm,"' said Joan. 'Where's
Mitch?'
'He's gone over to the boarding-house to grab some
supper and a shower — and a drink, I guess. God-
damn him. If he don't keep sober while this thing is
goin' on, I'll fire him.' He slapped his hand on the
■ paper in front of him. 'I'm goin' home, too,' he said.
"'You keep an eye on things and I'll be back in a
couple of hours. Want to see some of these people.
If anything breaks, just sit on it and I'll call in every
now and then. You c'n head up some of the A.P. stuff.
We're goin' to get a mornin' edition out. Won't
change much but the front page. That's all any-
body'11 want to read.'
He took off the eyeshade and picked up his coat
and hat. 'I got oil on everything I have on,' he said.
'Yeah, I smell it,' sniffed Joan.
'There'll be a mob of fellows from the other sheets
down on us soon. Hall has already called from The
News, and the Fort Worth man wired he'd be over
from Abilene right away. Give 'em as much as you
know, without openin' up too wide. So long.' He
banged the screen door behind him and disappeared
into the darkness.
Joan straightened her desk and wiped away the


MURDER IN TEXAS
45
inevitable yellow dust that perpetually powdered
everything in the country of daily sand-storms. As
she crumpled up and threw away the collected paper,
she came across the story of Mrs. Shaw's red, white,
and blue bridge party. 'Omygod,' she thought, it
missed the evening edition. Still, it could go in the
morning sheet if Mac would recast the Soc. page
for her. She started writing fourteen-point heads
for it —
MRS. SHAW ENTERTAINS
LAFF-A-LOT BRIDGE CLUB
MESDAMES HALL AND —
No — that wouldn't do —
MISS SMITH AND MRS. HALL
WIN HIGH SCORES
The telephone burred at her elbow. She recognized
Marion Fordman's voice.
'Can you talk?' it said.
'Yes,' replied Joan; 'everybody's gone for the
moment.'
'Oh, Joan, I'm so worried. I don't know what to
do. Gere called up, but he said he couldn't come out
until tomorrow. Mr. Drennan has come and gone.
He said that the will would be read tomorrow. It's
in the vault at the bank.'
'Are you there alone?' interrupted Joan.
'Right now, but Mildred is coming back to spend
the night, and Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper, is here.
Mildred went home to take her mother.' Here she
faltered.


46
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Hello,' said Joan into the silence. 'Well, I'm glad
that you aren't alone. Is Glieth coming?'
'Yes, I wired her and she will be here tomorrow
afternoon, she said. She wired awhile ago.'
'Is she in Houston?'
'Yes. I suppose so. She got my wire and I sent
it there.'
'Of course.'
'Oh, Joan, there's so much I want to ask you *
'Not over the 'phone, Marion. I'll come up to-
morrow, early.'
'I guess you're right. I imagine that Central is
listening in, don't you? Anyway, I don't care much.
It's about the police. They are nice enough, but not
very bright. Shouldn't I get someone else? You
ought to know. Drennan hemmed and hawed, and
Gere said "no," but — what do you think?'
'I think so. Most decidedly. And I know some-
one, too. Go to bed now and try to sleep. Lord
knows when I '11 get to bed!'
'Well, thanks a lot. Good-bye.'
Joan sat back in her chair and smiled. Then she
pulled a telegraph blank out of her desk drawer and
wrote:
TO RICHARD FIELDS
3O0I LINDELL BLVD.
ST. LOUIS, MO.
CON TEXAS PAGE ONE'S ACCOUNT LOCAL MESS STOP
FT. WORTH DALLAS SHEETS SURE TO CARRY STOP IF I
WIRE OKAY CAN YOU HOP HERE BY PLANE STOP MAY
MEAN BIG RETAINER AND BIGGER BRAIN TEASER STOP
AIR MAIL LETTER FOLLOWS
JOAN


MURDER IN TEXAS 47
She called a boy and sent the message as a night
wire. She knew that Fields read every important
paper within a radius of a thousand miles and that
by morning he would be sure to find the story of John
Fordman's murder staring at him from every front
page of the Texas papers, at least.
Joan had known the big red-headed detective dur-
ing the two years that she had functioned as refined
sob-sister and feature writer on the New York World.
The same depression that spelled an end for that an-
cient sheet and thus ousted Joan from her post had
sent Fields west to join an agency in St. Louis.
He had been one of Joan's most ardent admirers
in his hard-boiled way, and under the influence of
the girl's sympathy had revealed several interesting
facts about his early life. He was the only son of a
wealthy hat manufacturer of Danbury, Connecticut,
and to papa's supreme disgust refused to follow in
his footsteps and help cover the heads of the na-
tion's citizens with derbys, svelt toppers, straw
sailors, and business-man felts. He made a record at
Brown — on the football field, but was firmly ex-
pelled during his senior year after blacking the eye
of an official who aroused his ire.
Hesitating to face papa after this fracas Dick had
joined the New York State Troopers and later re-
signed to become a junior member of a newly organ-
ized private detective agency. Dick, with his entree
into several top-notch clubs and his acquaintances
in New York society, had been able to bring his
agency much welcome business until the depression
curbed the desires of wealthy New Yorkers to hire
operatives at several hundred dollars a day. The


48
MURDER IN TEXAS
agency went rapidly to the wall and Dick was glad
to get a good opening out in the 'sticks.'
Joan knew that he had done remarkably well
there, for several of his cases had received wide pub-
licity. He had written recently to say that business
was going slack again, however, and why the hell
didn't she invite him to Texas?
Thrusting aside the papers on her desk, she got
out her notes and began to type the letter to Dick.
She clipped the stories in the News and added them
to her own resume. She listed the people who had
been with Fordman and characterized them fully,
so that Dick would waste no time on his arrival.
She outlined the rumors and told of Fordman and
Agnes Jones — of Fordman and his fiancee, Glieth
Lawrence.
Joan thought about Glieth Lawrence. Mrs. Wil-
liam Cameron Lawrence she had been. But Mr. Wil-
liam Cameron Lawrence had been shot down over the
German lines, two days before the Armistice had
been signed. The two had been married a week
before he sailed for France. Marion had told Joan
this. Marion liked her father's fiancee. She had met
her in New York and had introduced her new friend
to her father about a year ago. Marion said that
she was thirty-eight and beautiful. The news of
Fordman's sudden death must have been a severe
blow to this woman, twice within sight of possible
happiness.
She included these thoughts in her letter and was
just finishing the long missive, when a shout from the
door interrupted her. She looked up and saw two
unmistakable newspaper men, both lighting cigarettes,
regarding her over the counter.


MURDER IN TEXAS
49
'Hi, Sister,' said one, 'I'm Davis, the Telegram's
West Texas correspondent. This is Jackie Jackson of *
the Dallas News and Journal. That Texas Bible has
decided to break down and print a murder story.
Can you imagine! We jus' got in. Anythin' new
happened?'
'No,' admitted Joan, 'but you boys come on around
and sit down. Here's our evening sheet. It has every-
thing so far.'
The 'boys' grabbed the paper and read quickly.
'Hell,' said Davis, 'we've got that much!'
Jackson queried Joan, 'Who gets the billion berries?
The gal?'
'I suppose,' she answered.
'You know her?'
'Yes.'
'Good-looker?'
'Very.'
'Pitchers?'
Joan laughed. 'Yes, I've got pictures. I had Mac
run some mats off a plate — two-column. It's a good
one, too. Steichen did the photo. In New York, you
know?'
'Steichen? Holy Gee!' said Jackson. 'Then she's
no local belle. She's been around. Finishing school —
abroad — all that?'
Joan got her index card devoted to the life of Marion
Frances Fordman from her files and held it close to
her. The boys held out pleading hands.
'No, sirs,' she declared. 'You can both copy this.
I'll read it out, but I won't let you carry my files away.'
She read to them the notes she had collected on the
activities of Marion Fordman for her own private


50
MURDER IN TEXAS
morgue of individuals of interest to the readers of her
society columns.
Both reporters dashed for telephones and each
placed calls for his own paper. The calls came through
promptly and they relayed this information to their
respective city editors.
Joan finished her letter to Dick and stamped it foi
airmail and special delivery. She called Jimmie from
the back shop and sent him off to the post-office with
careful instructions as to posting it in the airmail
slot. It would go out on the morning plane, east-
bound, to Dallas, and from there would go to St.
Louis. Dick would have the letter by the next evening
at the latest. She sent Jimmie home.
Jackson came and sat on her desk. He bummed a
cigarette and offered her some corn from a Woolworth
flask. She refused the drink with a wrinkling of her
short nose, and said, 'The spirit is willin', but th'
stummick is weak.'
The reporter laughed and took a long swallow. He
chased it with a drag from the cigarette.
'Close that flask,' said Joan. 'The stink will bring
all of the boys up from the back and we'll never get
out a paper.'
He laughed again and corked the flask. 'Well,
we're goin' up to th' hotel and clean up,' he said,
'but we'll return!'
'I'll bet,' said the girl flatly. She smiled at them
both.
'So long,' they chorused, and the door banged in
their wake.
Joan headed up A.P. copy until Frank returned.
She told him about the reporters. He grunted. He


MURDER IN TEXAS
51
was sore. Mitch, he told her, had passed out at his
boarding-house. She would have to stay for a while,
anyway, and help with the routine stuff. It was ten
o'clock.
She stayed until three and then went home and to
bed. She wondered about White. Had he passed out
or was he ill? He had looked drunk, but he hadn't
talked so badly. His story had been coherent and even
a little dramatic. But he had looked sick.


V: Tuesday, July 4
Joan's Baby Ben jangled her into wakefulness at six
o'clock on the morning of July 4. She got up and shut
it off quickly, but her mother had already heard its
clamor and appeared in the doorway. She was in her
nightgown and slippers and she looked quite cross.
'Are you getting up now?' she inquired.
'Yes, Ma'am,' replied Joan.
'What for?'
'I've got lots to do, Mamma.'
'You came home at three-thirty this morning,'
severely.
'Three.'
T heard the clock strike three-thirty about ten
minutes after you tiptoed down the hall.'
Joan was dressing. Her mother came in and sat
on her bed. 'Please, darling, don't work so hard,' she
said.
'I'm all right, Mamma.'
'Where are you going at this hour?'
'We are getting out a morning edition and I have
to be there.'
She finished dressing, kissed her mother, and went
through the back to the garage. Jimmie was sitting
in her roadster. He had the garage doors open and
the motor running.
'Good Lord! How did you ever wake up?' she said.
'It usually takes a cold ducking.'
The boy giggled. 'I set my alarm for five an' I've
been up ever since. Are you goin' out to the field?'


MURDER IN TEXAS
53
Joan looked at him sharply. 'Does Mom know
you're with me?' she asked.
'Nope.'
'How'd you guess that I was going to the field?'
'I just guessed,' was the answer.
They drove rapidly out of the silent town and onto
the state highway that led toward the oil fields. The
sun had been up only a short time and the air was
still cool. The West Texas country, an odd mixture
of rolling plains and small lumpy hills, stretched clear
and vivid around them.
The ground was clayey red and sandy. On one side
lay the cotton fields. The Mexican choppers were
out and their varicolored clothes showed brightly in
the young green. On the other side of the road lay
pasture land, the greenish-gray bunch grass tall and
dusty. On the ragged mesquite trees the seed pods
were turning red. The dark green cedars looked cool
and fresh. Fat, red cattle with white faces, stretched
short necks upward for the mesquite beans. Occasional
jack rabbits leapt like giant grasshoppers under the
barbed-wire fences and into the mesquite clumps. A
chaparral ran smoothly across the road into a grain field.
About eight miles out, a dirt road turned into the
oil fields. It was deep with dust, finely powdered,
which lay a foot deep in the hard ruts. The over-
powering rotten-egg odor of crude oil hung heavy over
the area.
Joan whistled with disgust and Jimmie said, 'I
like it.' He sniffed appreciatively.
The derricks rose on every side — a forest of barren
metal trees. At some, there was drilling with full
crews, but most of the wells were silent.


MURDER IN TEXAS
55
with many criss-crossings of tire tracks. She and
Jimmie ducked under the rope and walked over the
oily ground toward the well, where she could see Val
Day and the marshal, Tom Harte, talking together.
Harte greeted her smiling. 'Howdy, Miss Shields.
You come out to write up the pink tea the oil boys had
yest'day?'
'You guessed it, Tom,' she replied. 'Whew, the
smell is pretty strong, isn't it?'
'What smell ? '[said Day, the driller, winking at Harte.
'Don't kid me, Mr. Day.' Joan smiled and looked
at Harte. 'D'ya mind if I look around? I see that the
law is on the job.'
Day moved away and entered the engine shed.
'Yes, ma'am, Miss Shields. I got to stay here 'til
the county attorney comes. Lord knows why! I've
been all over this place and I can't find nothin' that
would convict a flea, let alone whoever killed Mr.
Fordman!'
He sat on the floor of the working platform built
into the derrick and swung his feet. His boots were
covered with yellow dust and his tight blue serge
trousers were spotted with oil and dirt. He wore a
blue shirt open at his leathery throat and his Adam's
apple jerked convulsively as he cleared his throat
and spat into the yellow weeds. His brown face looked
like jerked beef, wrinkled and tough. He looked at
Joan with his pale blue eyes and said, 'You'll shore
git dirty if you mess aroun' here, Miss Shields.'
'Where was Mr. Fordman's car parked, Tom?' she
asked.
'Hit was right over there by that tank, by them
mesquites,' said the officer, pointing to the left.


56
MURDER IN TEXAS
Joan thanked him and walked through the dusty
weeds to the mesquite clump. The ground was dry
and powdery near the mesquites and gnarled little
trees were hoary with the dust. She felt a little foolish,
but decided to figure things out to her own satisfaction,
anyway.
Harte, curious, had followed her and pointed out the
heavy tire tracks made by the Fraschini. Joan took
out her pencil and made a rough sketch of the relative
positions of the cars.
Harte, who had been on hand the previous day,
helped her with her diagram. The Fordman car had
been isolated from the others with several mesquite
trees between it and the nearest car: a LaSalle belong-
ing to Chick Jones, Mitchell White's Ford roadster
had been next in line, and Joey Levy's blue Buick
sedan had been the last, facing the road and the well.
Mr. Ross had parked his Cadillac sedan behind the
other cars, facing it toward the town.
Joan left the parking space and walked around the
small storage tank. She noticed that the ground was
permanently moist from the oil that had oozed out of
several leaks in the galvanized iron. A shallow ditch,
about a foot wide and six inches deep, black and soft
with oil, had been dug around its base.
Near the ditch, on the side farthest away from the
wall, Joan noticed a particularly trampled area. She
picked up two cigarette butts, noted that they were
Luckies, and threw them down again, wiping her
fingers on her handkerchief. A small scrap of paper
caught in a weed drew her attention. She picked it
up and found it to be a newspaper clipping, well worn
from folding, of the daily syndicated bridge problem


MURDER IN TEXAS
57
which ran in the Daily News and several of the as-
sociate papers.
She glanced at it curiously and put it in her pocket.
Harte and Jimmie came up. 'Find anything?'
asked the latter.
'Not much,' said Joan. 'I guess I'm no detective.'
They returned to her car and she and Jimmie got
in. 'Thanks, Tom,' she said, 'I'll leave you the smell!'
'I wish you could take it with you, Miss Joan,' said
the wrinkled Westerner.
Joan and Jimmie drove back to town in silence.
The boy knew that she was thinking and preferred
to be left alone. He was surprised when she swung
the roadster into the road leading to the Ford man
home.
'Everybody'll be asleep, Sis,' he said.
'Maybe not,' she replied.
They drove up the long hill and Joan ran her car
around the house to the garage in the rear. The double
doors were open, showing the rears of the Isotta,
Marion's Packard coupe, and the Ford roadster in
which Fordman had preferred to drive himself to and
from the oil fields.
Texas Wills, in brown coveralls, came to the door of
the garage, sponge in hand. He was cleaning the Ford.
Joan sighed in relief and she said sharply, 'Don't
wash the Isotta, Texas. Don't even brush it out. There
might be something important in it or on it.'
The negro looked at her, big-eyed, and sr$ok his
head. T am' teched it, Miss Joan, but it's all bloody
inside.'
Joan got out, leaving Jimmie, and went in to look
at the big car. It was quite dusty. The Isotta had been


58
MURDER IN TEXAS
one of Fordman's prized possessions, and although
he never drove it and seldom rode in it — it was
Texas's particular pride to keep it clean and shining.
Joan looked carefully at the large silver handles
on the tonneau doors — especially at the one on the
right. They were plain and heavy, and to her inex-
perienced eye hopelessly covered with smudges and
dust.
The car itself was sombre, with its rear shades
pulled down and its long black body heavy with dust.
Several irregular scratches paralleled each other along
the entire right side of the body. Clearly, the car had
been carelessly swept through the cat-claw bushes on
the way into town.
Wills saw her eyeing the scratches and said: 'Them
was cat-claws, Miss Joan. I drove too close to the
side of the road yest'day comin' in. It'll take a pow'-
ful lot of work to get them marks out.'
Joan walked around and opened the left rear door,
snapped on the ceiling light, and looked into the ton-
neau of the car. The little fan was silent, its four
blades were still. The deep pile carpet was dirty and
the prints of oily, dusty shoes showed clearly on its
gray surface. She could see a small dark stain on the
edge of the gray seat and a larger dark stain close to
the base of the seat, on the floor. Fordman had bled
considerably. Joan shivered slightly as she looked at
the dry spots, mute witnesses of the hatred of some-
one toward the wealthy oil man. She withdrew her
head and motioned to Texas. 'Let's lock the car all
up,' she said, 'and I'll take the key in to Miss Ford-
man.'
Texas leaned inside and set the locks, turned the


MURDER IN TEXAS
59
key in the handle of the door at the driver's seat and
gave it to Joan. She thanked him and went into the
house. The kitchen clock showed eight-ten, and Mrs.
Smith, the housekeeper, was rattling pans in the
pantry. Joan slipped quickly through and avoided
the old woman, who was annoyingly garrulous. She
went upstairs and knocked at Marion's door, softly.
Marion called 'Come in' and Joan entered, to find
the girl in a chair at the window, looking out over the
lower plain.
'Hello, dear,' she said.
Marion had not realized who had entered until
Joan spoke. Then she rose quickly and cried out
gladly, 'Oh, Joan, you did come early. I'm so glad.'
Joan said: 'I've only a moment. I must go to the
office. Mitch was ill last night and I'm sure there's
lots to do. I did want to talk to you, however, about
calling in someone to help out with this' — she hesi-
tated and then said, flatly — 'unfortunate murder.'
Marion sat down at the word and shut her eyes.
There was silence.
The younger girl pulled her frayed nerves together
with an effort and faced the issue bravely. 'Yes, you
are right. It was a murder,' she said. 'I've tried not
to think of it with that word.'
'I know,' said Joan, 'but if you want things cleared
up, something must be done at once. The local police
will muddle along for a day or so and then the county
attorney will step in with much publicity, and in
my opinion the trail will grow so cold that even Sher-
lock himself would be baffled.'
'What can we do, Joan? / don't know any detec-
tive, I'm sure.'


6o
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Ah,' replied Joan, 'but / do.'
'You always did know such queer people. I remem-
ber that party you had for me in New York. Why,
there was even a gangster there.'
'Not a gangster. Mike was just a nice college lad
paying his way through Columbia by selling very
poor Golden Wedding rye. But to get back to the
detective. He is Dick Fields — you may remember
him, a big red-headed fellow. I think that he was
chief bottle-opener at that same party. Well, anyway,
he is in St. Louis with a detective agency. Now I
hear that he's a super-sleuth, and even if it's an ex-
aggeration he is bright. Certainly almost any bright
lad would be better than Read and Harte, or even
County Attorney Millbank and his investigators. If
you want me to do so, I'll wire him to come down and
look things over. I'm certain that there should be a
serious and thoughtful investigation — and immedi-
ately.'
'Well — it couldn't hurt anything, Joan; but will
the local authorities allow him just to sort of take
things over?'
'With your permission, they won't be able to help
themselves, no matter what they think. But there is
no need for them to know — at least, not at first.
There is another thing, though, Marion. I've had
Texas lock the Isotta and here is the key.' She pro-
duced it and held it out. 'Can you get along without
it until Dick can look it over? So far, I don't suppose
that the police have thought of it, have they?'
'No, not that I know of — but why is it so im-
portant?'
'I don't know.that it is,' replied Joan, 'but it might


MURDER IN TEXAS
6l
be, and at least it's the only tangible thing we have
to work with.' She hesitated, and then went on.
'Then you do want Dick to come down?'
'Heavens, yes. Do you think he'll come?'
'I don't doubt it,' answered Joan.'
Marion rose and tightened the belt of her silk
dressing-gown. 'Come down and have breakfast with
me,' she invited.
Joan looked at her wrist-watch and said: 'Well,
I'll have a cup of coffee, anyway. It's late, but Frank
can't afford to fire me for tardiness with his only
reporter out like Lottie's eye. And that reminds me.
I must stop by Mitch's boarding-house and look in
on him. His old she-devil of a landlady will let him
starve to death and never lift a finger.'
The two girls ate breakfast under the attentive
eye of Mrs. Smith and refrained from further dis-
cussion of the murder.
As Joan left, she asked, 'Will there be a formal
reading of the will today?'
Marion nodded and said: 'Pat Drennan is coming
out with Gere Drexell this afternoon at one. Glieth
should get in at twelve-fifteen on the plane from San
Antonio. Shall I telephone you when they finish?'
'Yes. Call right away, will you, dear? The paper
goes to bed at three sharp, but Frank will want to
hold it until he has something definite.'
'Oh, the paper. I forgot about it. Does all of this
have to go in the paper?'
'Well, of course, you could keep it out of the local
paper by just closing down and standing firm, but it
will be in all of the state papers, so we might as well
carry it, too.' Here her professional enthusiasm showed


62
MURDER IN TEXAS
itself in her regretful tone as she visualized their
publication of the Daily News sans the latest develop-
ments. 'It won't make any difference, darling,' she
said. 'Everyone will talk about it and they might
as well have the facts correct. Have any of the out-
of-town men tried to see you yet?'
'Someone telephoned last night, but Mildred found
out who it was and told them that I wouldn't see them
or talk to them. They will probably come out today.'
'You'd better let Drennan talk to them,' advised
Joan, remembering the brutal insistence of the two
who had talked to her on the previous evening.
She looked down at the pale, anxious face of her
friend and realized the feeling of futility which pos-
sessed the younger girl. Years of correct boarding-
schools, extended visits abroad — a nomadic, cos-
mopolitan, but withal well-chaperoned existence, had
done much to blunt her native American aggressive-
ness. She knew little of the people who made up the
great mass of Americans. Their habits and their
thoughts were as hidden from her as were those of the
prairie dog. She was bewildered; yet she was not soft
— not childish. She was a polished, finished, cultured
young woman; modern in a very pleasant way. Good
taste was her chief ikon. She had known so little of
her father, of his life and his interests. He had been
merely the source of her life, so familiar as to be but
a vague background. His existence she had always
taken as a matter of course, and his non-existence
was unthinkable. She could not embrace the change
that it would impose.
She sat wearily at the table, her cheeks cupped in
her hands, and stared at Joan. Waving a vague hand


MURDER IN TEXAS
63
she said: 'I really don't know what to do next, Joan.
All of this... this excitement; this unpleasant tur-
moil'— she hesitated — 'I don't — know what to
do!' she finished lamely.
Joan leaned across the table and patted her shoulder.
'It isn't surprising,' she said. 'By the way, you're
breaking a good reporter's heart and giving Ed and
me twice our usual work to do. What's the matter
with Mitch lately? He worships you, you know.'
Marion smiled a little, then looked cross. 'It's
his own fault,' she declared. 'He's so irresponsible.
He's such a good newspaper man, but he drinks and
neglects his work. You know that Dad was about to
let him go, don't you?'
'No,' said Joan, 'I didn't know. Maybe you could
straighten him out, Marion.'
'Not me. I've washed my hands. I really tried,
but he gets so upset when I see anyone else, and after
all Gere is a lot easier to get on with. We've had a
splendid time this summer.'
Joan nodded. 'He is interesting,'she agreed. They
talked for a few minutes longer and then Joan went
out to her car. She found Jimmie eating a large slice
of toast spread with marmalade.
'Say, Sis,' he muttered thickly, 'say, what'll you
gimme for a clue?'
She pushed his feet ungently off the seat and slid
under the wheel. He flourished the toast and mar-
malade under her nose and said derisively, 'Yah,
you're so smart, but it takes little brother to find
things. Lookit,' and he produced from his sweater
pocket a small dull-black automatic. 'Yah,' he said
again as he flourished this under her nose. '7 found it!'


64
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Give that here,' she demanded. 'Where did you
get it?'
'Don't you wish you knew?' was the thick reply,
as he crammed the last of the toast into his mouth.
Joan was rapidly realizing the significance of the boy's
find, and his antics angered her intensely, to his evident
satisfaction. He leaned back against the door and
grinned.
She controlled herself with difficulty and said
calmly, 'If that is the gun that Mr. Fordman was shot
with, you had better give it to me — you have prob-
ably ruined any of the finger-prints on it by now.'
Jimmie's face became ludicrously blank and he
drew his arm around in front of him and stared at the
gun, now held carefully by one finger through the
trigger guard.
'Oh, gosh, Sis,' he said slowly, allowing her to take
it out of his grasp without protest. 'Gee,' he mut-
tered, 'I never thought of that.'
'Where did you find it?' asked Joan — 'if you did
find it,' she added skeptically.
'Well, I was talkin' to Texas while you were in the
house,' he began, still sobered by the enormity of his
thoughtlessness — he was an avid reader of mystery
stories and knew all about finger-prints — 'an' when
he went in to get his breakfast, I went over to look
at the big car. I didn't see anything important, so
I sat down on the running-board of the Ford. Just
then Texas came out and brought me some toast, so
I stayed there to eat it. And I was lookin' at the rear
end of the Fraschini, when I noticed those two big
spare tires on behind. I was just even with them an'
I noticed the leather cover on the outside one bulging


MURDER IN TEXAS
65
a little. Well, I went over and stuck my hand through
behind and found that between the cover and the tire.
And' — he finished impressively —' it was all wrapped
up in this.' He produced from the same pocket that
had held the gun a man's very oily handkerchief.
Joan took the rag gingerly and smiled at the boy.
'Don't worry about the finger-prints, darling. I guess
that our murderer reads mystery stories, too. I'll
wager that the only prints on this gun will be yours.'
The back door of the house slammed and Texas
Wills stood on the step. 'Any trouble with yo* car,
Miss Joan?' he called.
'No, thanks, Texas,' she replied, dropping the gun
and the handkerchief in her lap. 'We were just talk-
ing.' She started the car and they swung around the
drive into the steep hill road before either spoke.
Then Joan asked, 'Did you show it to Texas?'
The boy rebuked her with a brotherly snort. 'Of
course not, silly,' he said.
She let him out in front of their home, for his break-
fast, and went on to the office. It was early, but the
entire staff was at work. The linotype clacked rhythmi-
cally in the back shop and the printers clicked off the
news in the front. On her desk lay a telegram. She
tore it open, noticed that it had been sent from St.
Louis at six o'clock that morning. It read,
DROPPING EVERYTHING COMING BY PLANE
AT ONCE STOP DEPENDING ON YOU TO GET
CONFIRMATION STOP THANKS LOVE D. F.


VI: Tuesday, July 4: 9.30 a.m.
Joan figured that Dick should arrive by the middle
of the afternoon at the latest, if he had caught the
morning air express from St. Louis to Dallas. She put
the thought aside, however, as she realized how much
work must be accomplished that morning. Already
there were a dozen or more scrawled slips of paper
on her desk, reading:
Call 729J Mrs. Scott
Call 2321 Something on Presbyterian Christian
Endeavor
Call Mrs. W. H. Shaw — Important
The last one was underscored and she winced at
the thought of having to explain the omission of Mrs.
Shaw's party from last night's edition. She rescued
the story from a pile of dusty copy paper on the desk
and rushed back into the shop with it. Leaving it
impaled with its heading on one of the linotype oper-
ator's 'hurry' hooks, she dashed back and called the
irate Mrs. Shaw. That began a long session of calls.
The garnering of news relating to the crop of parties,
sewing-bees, and church-circle meetings which made
up the social life of the women of Fordman. Joan
copied down lists of names, took details of scores of
parties large and small, sorted out her notes, and
typed rapidly during the rest of the morning. The
party lists were long and the entertainments were
many, for the July Fourth holidays despite the heat,


MURDER IN TEXAS
67
bred as many bridges and brides' showers as did Christ-
mas. More than one hundred women had entertained
as many as one thousand of their sisters — had worked
frantically through the day before and the morning
of the party, cleaning their little box-like houses,
counting decks of cards, moulding Jello salads, num-
bering tallies, cutting bread into hearts and spades
and diamond shapes, tying prizes into tissue-paper
bundles with pink, green, and lavender satin ribbons.
More than one hundred husbands ate suppers of left-
over Jello salads and the slightly curled-up fancy
sandwiches, amid a litter of dirty dishes and crumpled
madeira napkins stained with lipstick. Mrs. Johnston
won a wall vase. Mrs. Sanders won a boudoir pillow.
Mrs. Evans won a nest of brass ashtrays, made in
Japan. And so it would go on, forevermore, thought
Joan.
But she thought about the parties only vaguely, for
her mind was on the small black automatic in the
pocket of her car outside. She was trying to decide
whether or not she should turn it over to the sheriff
or wait until Dick arrived. It was a losing fight for
her conscience. She knew that the revolver would
remain where it was until Dick could see it. There
was no way of tracing its ownership by its number,
she knew. Pistol permits were unheard of in that part
of the country. Not that men habitually carried guns,
as their Eastern visitors liked to imagine, but at least
they could buy and own them without question.
The morning advanced and the heat settled down
again on the office. The assistant pressman went out
and came back with his arms full of cold Coca Colas.
Joan gave him her nickel and drank the stuff with little


68
MURDER IN TEXAS
enjoyment. It only made one hotter in the long run.
She leaned over to put the empty bottle by the side
of her desk, and rose again to face Mitch White as
he came through the doorway from the back shop.
He looked faintly cheerful but decidedly rocky.
'Hello, honey,' he said, sitting down at his desk
next to hers.
She smiled at him and did not comment upon his
morning's absence.
'Where's Ed?' he asked.
'He went out half hour or more ago, at about eleven.
Said for you to get the A.P. stuff back as fast as pos-
sible — to cut out your column today — just fill in
with wire sports — and then to meet him at one-thirty
at the sheriff's office. They will hold the inquest this
afternoon at about two-thirty and the paper won't go
out until afterwards.'
'Honey — can't you do the A.P. stuff? I've got to
get a shave and a cup of coffee — and I feel like hell.'
He sat on the corner of her desk and held a cigarette
between his fingers — unlighted. He rolled it back
and forth slowly and lightly. The tobacco began to
spill from the ends and drop into Joan's lap.
'You're ruining that cig,' she said.
'Couldn't stand to smoke the lousy thing, anyway.'
He jerked himself off the desk and dropped the limp
white cylinder on the floor.
'Send the Greek down with a bottle of milk and a
sandwich,' said Joan, 'and I'll get the A.P. job over
with while the men are at lunch. They were calling
for copy a few minutes ago, but my last batch of so-
ciety will hold 'em until they leave.'
Mitch picked up his dusty hat, and waved a limp


MURDER IN TEXAS
69
good-bye at her and was gone. Joan was alone except
for the bookkeeper who stayed from twelve to one
to answer the telephone. He sat on his big stool in
the corner of the office and scratched his ribs re-
flectively — thinking of the glass of cold home-brew
that he'd have when he got home. The linotypes were
silent and the printer clacked only intermittently.
A little boy ran in to leave his mother's recipe for
the Friday contest. Joan wrote headlines — about
the war in China, about Greta Garbo, about Hitler,
about the W.C.T.U., about Jim Ferguson. The tele-
phone startled her out of her sleepy consideration of
a fourteen-point head for a Prince of Wales story. It
was Dick Fields calling from the local airport.
'Come out and get me, honey,' he said plaintively.
'The taxis are conspicuous by their absence.'
Excited, Joan finished up her work hurriedly and
then gathered together the few things that she wanted
to take to Dick: the bridge clipping that she had found
at the field; the copies of the stories run so far in the
Daily News; her own notes; the sketches of the field
and a carbon copy of the letter she had written to
him and which she knew that he could not have re-
ceived.
Driving rapidly out to the airport through the hot
blue midday haze, she reflected that the weather was
perfect for flying. Calculating rapidly she decided
that Dick must have left St. Louis long before the
regular transport ship and hence must have come by
private plane.
Parking her roadster, she recognized Marion Ford-
man's coupe and Drexell's Ford among the cars in
front of the airport station. A small group of people


70
MURDER IN TEXAS
stood on the cement apron in front of the hangar.
Fields came out of the station and walked across to
her car. They shook hands and then he laughed and
kissed her, saying, 'Still love me? God, it's hot here!'
The sun gleamed in his red hair which stood wirily
on end. Perspiration covered his white forehead as
he dashed it off with his hand.
'You look hot,' said Joan sympathetically.
His woolen suit was too heavy for the climate and
he carried an overcoat across his arm. He grinned,
wrinkling his pleasant freckled nose, which was now
pink with wind-burn.
'I wasn't too hot up there. See the crate I came
down in?' He pointed a finger at a small crimson plane
being pulled into the hangar by two of the station
attendants. 'Chartered it special, on the strength
of the case,' he added, beaming.
'Good Lord, Dick, what will you do next?'
'How about taking a bath?'
'That might be a good idea. But wait, Mrs. Law-
rence, Mr. Fordman's fiancee, is due in here on the
transport from Houston at twelve-fifteen. I think I
see Marion Ford man and Gere Drexell over there by
the hangar, too.' She pointed, but Dick, putting his
overcoat in the car, deliberately peeled himself out of
his suit coat, ripped off his tie, and opened his shirt
collar before he would listen to her explanations.
'I can't think when I'm uncomfortable,' he stated,
smoothing his shirt and adjusting a pair of bright blue
braces. 'Now this Fordman girl — she's the daugh-
ter?'
'Yes.'
'And the man?'


72
MURDER IN TEXAS
car which was around the corner of the airport office
building and called to Dick.
'Wait for me a few minutes longer,' she said. 'I'm
going to try something.' She dodged back behind the
building and approached the landing apron from the
rear of the big concrete hangar. Entering the hangar
by a small door, she skirted several planes and slipped
carefully to the big folding doors that spread across
the face of the building and gave out upon the apron.
Peering through a crack between the hinged doors,
she found that she was a bare twenty feet from Drexell
and Marion as they stood watching the approaching
plane.
The big silver transport had settled lightly to the
field and the pilot was gunning her across the dirt
with explosive roars of the motor. She kicked up a
cloud of dust, made a turn and came to rest at the edge
of the apron. An attendant opened the door and
several passengers got out. Marion ran toward a
woman in gray and they embraced. They returned
to where Drexell stood, his white hat in his hand.
Joan could hear Marion's full, pleasant voice, saying,
'... and this is Gere Drexell, Glieth. Mrs. Lawrence,
Mr. Drexell.'
Joan could see Glieth Lawrence's face, dark, thin,
thoroughbred, under her gray hatbrim. She could
see a quick smile come — and as quickly — go. The
woman held out her hand, saying, 'It is pleasant to
meet you, Mr. Drexell.' But Joan did not believe her.
She did not seem pleased now. And that smile had
been one of surprised and instant recognition.
Joan ran quickly through the hangar, gained her
car before the group on the apron moved. She was


MURDER IN TEXAS
73
sitting at the wheel, talking with Dick, as Drexell
came up hurriedly, got into his car and drove swiftly
away. Joan told the detective who he was and ex-
plained what she had seen. He looked puzzled until
she added that Drexell had told her only the day be-
fore that he had not met Mrs. Lawrence, though he
had known her husband in France.
Fields smiled at her. 'It was a smart trick, honey,'
he complimented. 'We'll remember that.'
Joan changed the subject. 'I didn't know you
flew,' she said as she started the engine.
'I've learned during the past two years,' he
answered. 'I think I'll buy that ship I came down in.
It's a dandy.'
'Buy it? Dick, your father hasn't died and left you
the hats?'
'He died, poor old codger, but thank God he didn't
leave me the hats. He didn't think I'd appreciate them
and left the whole outfit to a cousin of mine named
Percy. But he did relent and leave me a few thousand
ducats.'
They drove into town, following the car in which
Marion Fordman and Mrs. Lawrence rode. It was
twelve-thirty when they finally reached the suite that
Dick had secured at the town's newest hotel. He im-
mediately set out a bottle and sent for White Rock
and ice. Joan sampled her drink and said, 'It's swell
to drink something besides corn for a change.'
Fields laughed and set up a bridge table that he
had ordered. They chatted about the past few years
as he laid out paper and a fountain pen, a portable
typewriter, and a small leather-covered box which he
opened carefully.


74
MURDER IN TEXAS
Joan watched him unload a small microscope, a
kit of the standard necessities for finger-print work,
including shakers of black and gray powder, brushes,
millimeter rules and compass. She fingered some of
the other objects from the box — huge bunches of
keys, oddly twisted wires, small and large flashlights,
and a can of 'Three-in-One' oil, a small bunsen burner,
test-tubes, and a dozen small vials of powders and
liquids carefully labeled.
'My traveling lab,' Fields explained.
'It looks complete,' commented the girl.
'It is, pretty well. I may not need any of those
things, you know, but then again I may.' He arranged
the paraphernalia on a glass-topped table in the bed-
room and returned to the living-room. Sitting down
at the bridge table, he picked up his pen, mashed out
his cigarette.
'When's the inquest?' he asked.
'At about one-thirty,' said Joan.
'Well, we'll work for a while. I've ordered some
sandwiches sent up here for lunch. Will that do for
you?'
'Oh, yes,' answered Joan; then, 'I've got something
to show you.' She took the small revolver from her
brief case where she had placed it before driving out
to the airport and handed it to the detective. His
gray eyes hardened as he took it from her carefully —
still wrapped in the handkerchief.
'The prints belong to my kid brother, Jimmie,
and to me,' said the girl. She explained where it had
been found and that no one else as yet knew about the
discovery.
Fields grinned at her, then examined the blue-


MURDER IN TEXAS
75
black weapon in his hand closely. 'These are nice
little jiggers. A .25 automatic,' he remarked.
'It looks like a woman's gun,' Joan said.
'Not necessarily,' he stated. 'This baby is most
effective and carries accurately at quite a distance.
It's easily hidden, too.' He went into the bedroom,
stayed there for a few minutes and then returned.
'I tested it for finger-prints, anyway,' he said.
'There are a few. I'll take yours and Jimmie's and we
can then eliminate. I imagine, however, that it was
pretty thoroughly wiped off before you touched it.
There were six cartridges in the magazine and the
one that was fired makes seven. Undoubtedly one
was fired recently and the gun was not cleaned after
the firing either.'
He made some notes, and then asked:
'Do they know what size the bullet was that killed
Fordman? I mean, have you heard the results of the
post-mortem yet?'
'Not fully,' said the girl. 'Doctor Ross mentioned
either a .22 or a .25, I believe, yesterday, but he hadn't
finished his investigation.'
Fields laid the gun aside; then as an afterthought he
asked another question, 'You didn't,' he said,'remove
the magazine, did you? Either you or Jimmie?'
'I didn't,' answered the girl. 'I don't think he did.
I'll ask him.*
Dick sat down and picked up the handkerchief.
It was plain white linen of good quality, with two
threads, green, drawn into its border for decoration.
There was no monogram. It was dirty and oily.
Joan said, 'It looks as if he used it to wipe off his
shoes!'


76
MURDER IN TEXAS
'No laundry marks,' commented Dick.
'Ain't that somethin'?' remarked Joan.
'It's not so negative as one might think, darling.
The handkerchief's not new. Been laundered. Use
your brain.'
'Clue number one,' said the girl. 'The murderer's
laundry was did by a fat negress named Belinda.' —
'Will you stop being facetious? What d'you mean
— a fat negress named Belinda?' Fields scowled at her.
'It's not so negative as one might think, darling,'
Joan quoted. 'A fat negress named Belinda does the
washing for a large part of our population — either
she or one of her seven daughters named, chronolog-
ically, and geographically, Austin, Mexia, Navasota,
Paris'
Dick interrupted rudely. 'You sound like a train
caller in the Union Depot. What the hell are you
kidding about?'
'I mean that Belinda or one of her seven daughters
named — well, let that pass — probably washed the
hankie, hence the absence of identifying marks. Simple
enough.'
Dick scribbled on the pad in front of him. 'We'll
put it down, anyway,' he said; and reading, 'Check
list of Belinda's customers.' He tossed the handker-
chief over the revolver and picked up the clipping
that Joan had found behind the storage tank at the
oil field.
It was two columns wide and about seven inches
long and was headed 'Your Contract Problems' by J.
Thomas Hall, a syndicated piece by a well-known
authority which appeared simultaneously in hundreds
of papers throughout the country. Dick turned it


MURDER IN TEXAS
77
over. On the reverse side was the left half of a cross-
word puzzle which had been partly filled in, obviously
before the article had been clipped from the paper:
obviously, Dick pointed out to Joan, as several of the
letters forming the words had been cut in half and
many of the words lacked their inevitably accompany-
ing definitions at the top of the puzzle. Definitions for
only twelve words remained and few of those bore num-
bers that would place their answers in the half which
Dick held.
He read the eight-point type that filled the left-
hand column and frowned.
Joan took the paper from him and read a few lines.
She laughed and said: 'It's the continued story — our
daily Hairbreadth Harry bilge. I've read proof on that
thing too many times not to recognize it in my sleep.
This part is just after the heroine, Jacqueline, has
soundly slapped the villain, Mr. Carew, and started
walking home.'
'Is this from your sheet?' inquired Dick.
Joan looked at the clipping closely and said: 'It
looks like it, but I wouldn't swear to it. The bridge
article and the puzzle are both boilerplate, you know.
We carry them, but so do some of the other papers in
our chain. I can easily find out, however.' She pointed
to the small date mark under the puzzle.'and said: 'It
ran in the edition of July first, which was Saturday. I
can compare it with our own edition of that date and if
the placements coincide, we'll know that it ran in the
News. If they don't, we've four other papers in our
chain to check over, to say nothing of the dozens of
others using the piece.'
Dick made another notation on his pad and slipped


78
MURDER IN TEXAS
the clipping away in an envelope which he labeled and
added to the other exhibits on the table.
'Get the paper of that date and bring it up here,' he
said. Joan nodded and handed him the carbon copy of
her letter to him. He flipped through the pages and
then read with complete absorption, while Joan got up
and made fresh drinks for both of them.
'Well,' remarked Dick as he finished the letter,
'that's what I call a help. I believe I'd recognize these
people on the street. Now it's time to fill out our
motive and opportunity chart and then I'll get off to
the inquest. It's two o'clock now, but those things
always start late.'
He took a large sheet of paper and turned it sidewise.
Without hesitation, he scribbled six headings across
the top, and drew five vertical lines.
'We'll take the people just as you have them in your
letter,' he said, 'and examine them closely. Taking for
granted that some one of his acquaintances murdered
the unfortunate Mr. Fordman for reasons as yet un-
known to us, we can at least tabulate as many of his ac-
quaintances as could conceivably have been on hand at
the time of the murder. And a murderer must, in most
cases in which firearms are involved, at least be on
hand.'
He wrote the name of Agnes Jones first in the
column labeled 'Suspects.' Under the column labeled
'Relation to the Murdered Man,' he wrote 'Mistress.'
'1 suppose,' he said to Joan, 'there's no doubt about
that?'
Joan shook her head firmly.
'All right,' he continued, 'we can dig up some hypo-
thetical motives then, I guess.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
79
Joan said: 'Jealousy. Fordman was to have married
Glieth Lawrence soon.'
Dick wrote, 'Jealousy, because of impending mar-
riage,' and skipped to the column labeled 'Opportu-
nity.'
'D'you know where she was at the time of the shoot-
ing?' he asked Joan.
'No. She was at the field. That's all I know. We'll
have to find out.'
Dick made another notation. 'Does she play bridge?'
he asked.
'Does she!' exclaimed Joan. 'She gives lessons at
two dollars an hour.'
Dick added the words, 'Bridge expert' under the
column 'Supporting evidence.' Then he re-read
Joan's note relating to her visit to the oil field that
morning. 'I see,' he said, 'that you picked up and
tossed aside the butts of several cigarettes and that
they were Luckies. We'll have to get them just as a
matter of caution. For instance, were they smoked by
a woman or by a man?'
Joan looked apologetic and said: 'Well, if you mean
did they have lipstick on them I'd be tempted to say
no. I don't remember any, but then I didn't look very
closely. I only looked at the brand. I do remember,
however, that they'd been put out, mashed or stepped
on, because they were still pretty long and couldn't
have been smouldering.'
'Does Mrs. Jones smoke Luckies?' asked Dick.
'No,' said Joan. 'She smokes Chesterfields. Both
she and Mildred do. I can't remember seeing any
other brand at their house.'
Dick left the discussion of Agnes Jones and returned


8o
MURDER IN TEXAS
to the left-hand edge of the paper. He wrote in the
name of Clarence Jones and looked at Joan.
She said: 'Well, let's see. He and Fordman have
known each other forever. Went to school together out
here in the country. Chick's about two or three years
older than Fordman, but they were what you'd call
contemporaries. Fordman and he both went through
high school, but Chick couldn't quite make the grade
for college. He went to work instead — in a grocery
store — and has been at it ever since. He's moderately
successful — owns the Servy Self chain. They've little
competition. I believe that his wife is the reason that
they succeeded. She's the one with ambition and
horse-sense.'
Dick lighted a cigarette and sipped his drink.
'They've a daughter,' he said.
'Yes, Mildred. You must meet her. Men always
like her — and her mother, for that matter. Agnes is
only thirty-eight. She's still handsome, if a trifle large.
We were all out at the Gun Club last Sunday and you
couldn't tell them apart, watching from the car as I
was. I went over to get the scores for Mitch, who was
supposed to cover the shoot but didn't, and found that
I'd mistaken Agnes for Mildred all afternoon.'
'Gun Club?'
'Yes — we have a trap out here south of town and
the villagers while away their Sundays potting the
clay birdies.'
'How does Agnes Jones shoot?'
'Oh, she's top-hole. The best of the women and
better than most of the men.' Joan looked at Dick,
and then said, 'Shooting clay pigeons with a twelve-
gauge isn't like shooting a man with a revolver.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
81
'No,' said Dick, as he rubbed his chin with his
fingers and thumb. 'God, but I do need a shave.' He
got up from the table and opened a bag, saying,
'You write this down and I'll make myself presentable.'
He went into the bathroom and called to her above the
noise of water running, 'Does Jones shoot too?'
'Yes,' replied Joan.
'Well, enter that under "Supporting evidence" for
the both of them. Where did Jones say he was when
Fordman was killed?'
Joan looked at the notes she had taken during the in-
formal inquiry conducted the evening before by the
sheriff. 'He didn't say,' she replied. 'I'll put that un-
der "Opportunity" since we know that he was at the
field, anyway. And I'll also put it on our list of things
to find out. It will probably come out at the inquest
this afternoon.'
She wrote rapidly for a moment and then called to
Fields: ' I say — Chick smokes cigars. I've never seen
him with a cigarette. At least that should go under
"Contrary evidence," shouldn't it?'
'Yes,' was the answer, 'but cigarettes are often re-
sorted to during periods of emotional stress when time
is short. They are a solace because they keep the
hands busy. A cigar is smoked in a meditative mood
and consoles rather than stimulates.'
Joan thought for a moment, privately believing
that the exceptions to the rule were numerous. There
was no time for an argument based on generalizations,
however, so she skipped back across the page and
added the name of Samuel Ross to the list. In the
second column she wrote, "Business associate and
President of the Fordman National Bank.' She com-


82
MURDER IN TEXAS
municated this to Dick, who turned off the water and
appeared in the doorway, his face white with lather
and a safety razor in his hand.
'Oh,' he said, 'that's Fordman's bank. Now we
leave the motives based on love and hate — or shall
we say sex — and come to those based on greed. There
haven't been any rumors out about the bank's in-
stability, have there?'
'It's said to be the strongest in this part of the
country. It's bound to be, with Fordman as chief de-
positor.'
'Still, there may be something fishy somewhere.
Murders have been committed before to cover em-
bezzlement.'
Joan was slightly shocked. This didn't sound at all
like Mr. Ross. She said as much and Dick laughed at
her.
'You think,' he said, 'that murderers must look like
criminals before they can be eligible for suspicion?'
'I do not,' replied Joan, 'but I know Mr. Ross fairly
well and I believe that, though he might be a little un-
scrupulous as to money matters, a murder would be —
well, too messy for him to countenance. He is such a
fastidious man, cautious and precise. He'd think of the
consequences of murder, which are generally messier
than the deed itself. He'd never want his brain clut-
tered up with the afterthoughts that are bound to
arise. He's too intelligent to have murdered John
Fordman.'
'There may be something in what you say, Joan.
Besides, what good would it do to murder Fordman to
avoid the discovery of bank irregularities? After his
death, things are bound to be checked and discrepan-


MURDER IN TEXAS
83
cies immediately noticed. There might have been
something private between 'em — but then, we can
say that about all of our suspects. Carry on. What
about his opportunities?'
Joan gave a brief resume of Ross's account of his
whereabouts during the critical period. 'That places
him in the "possible class," along with the others,'
commented Joan. She went on: 'And as to supporting
evidence in the light of the bridge clipping, I am forced
to say that he is one of the most interested readers of
the column. Called us up and complimented us when
we began the series and raised hell just a few days ago
when his paper failed to come and he missed the
article. We had to send a boy out special with a copy.
He plays duplicate contract, which isn't particularly
popular here as yet. Sent to Chicago for duplicate
boards.'
Joan hesitated, and then said:' I don't know whether
he smokes or not; possibly does not, but I do know that
he keeps a revolver in his desk drawer at the bank.
I've seen it. We'll have to check on that.'
Dick reached over and patted her hand. 'Sister,' he
said, 'you surely are the detective's best friend. I
never saw such a mine of information. You're better
than any morgue I ever ran across.'
'Well, I should hope so,' commented the girl.
'You know what I mean,' he said, emphasizing the
word 'mean.' Then he became aware of the razor in
his hand and the lather drying on his face, and dashed
back into the bathroom.
Joan said:' It's nearly two. I'll add a note or two to
Ross's credit under "Contrary evidence" and we can
finish this thing tonight. You may get some interest-


84
MURDER IN TEXAS
ing sidelights at the inquest, anyway. We've still got
five or six more suspects.'
She gathered up the papers and, when Dick emerged
from the bathroom a few minutes later, he slipped them
all, including the revolver and the handkerchief, into a
bag which he locked and put away in a closet, also
locking that and pocketing the keys. He handed the
key to the bedroom of the suite to Joan and said:
'I'll meet you here between five and five-thirty. If
you get here first, just walk in and make yourself at
home.'
Joan thought of something and went to the tele-
phone, saying, 'Wait a second.' She called the Ford-
man home and got Marion on the wire. After listening
for a few minutes, she said: 'I'll be darned. Thanks.
We'll come out this evening, Dick Fields and I. Call
you first, though Yes. He got here about noon.
Good-bye.'
She turned to Dick, hanging the receiver absently
in space several times before it struck the hook, and
said: 'Fordman left his estate, divided equally, to his
daughter and to his fiancee, Glieth Lawrence. He
made a trust fund for Marion's half, but left Mrs.
Lawrence's part outright. The will was made on Mon-
day of last week and includes a ten thousand benefit for
Gerard Drexell, five thousand for Val Day, Fordman's
driller, and a hundred dollars a month income for the
chauffeur, Wills, for the rest of his life. The five thou-
sand he willed to Day was apparently an afterthought.
It was added in a codicil only last Saturday.'
They left the room reluctantly. It was cool and
breezy and the sun was blazing outside. Joan was glad
that she needn't attend the inquest. The courthouse,


MURDER IN TEXAS
85
filthy and bad-smelling at all times, was particularly
obnoxious in the summer. She had sat through several
trials in the courtroom where the inquest would be
held, and remembered all too vividly the sweating
men and the panting, overperfumed women jammed
together, suffering silently to satisfy their morbid
curiosity.
She dropped Dick in front of the building and
watched him push his way through the mob that
already surrounded the place. Then she returned to
the newspaper office. It was two-forty, and since the
edition would be delayed until five or six so that the
story of the inquest could be included, there was little
activity in the shop.
Joan was surprised to see Ed Frank sitting at his
typewriter working rapidly. He stopped when she
came in, and beckoned to her. In a lowered voice he
said:
'This whole town is going crazy — Sam Ross killed
himself in his bathroom at one o'clock this afternoon.'


VII: Tuesday, July 4: 2.40 p.m.
Joan didn't sound particularly surprised when she
spoke. Too much had happened in the past twenty-
four hours for anything ever again to seem surprising.
She merely asked, 'Why?'
The editor looked at her curiously and said: 'We
don't know the reason. He didn't leave a note — at
least none has come to light as yet. Probably he killed
Fordman. At least that's what the police are inclined
to believe.'
'Do you?'
'Well,' he mused, his thin lips drawn down at the
corners and his cold eyes hard and expressionless, 'it
would clear this business up nicely. It isn't impossible.'
'I don't believe it,' stated the girl. 'Tell me how he
killed himself.'
'Blew his brains out. He was standing in front of the
bathroom mirror, fully dressed according to the
sheriff. Used a .45 Colt automatic.'
Joan asked, 'Was he holding the gun when they
found him?'
'No,' replied Frank, 'it was in the hand basin, cov-
ered with water. He had left the hot faucet on and
the bowl was entirely filled. If it hadn't had a safety
outlet the whole place would have been flooded.'
'The gun was in the basin?' Joan queried.
'Yes. It does sound funny, doesn't it?'
'Funny is a mild word for it,' remarked the girl.
'Who found him?'
'Oh, the negro girl Sarah heard the shot and ran up-


88
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Well, meet me out front here in ten minutes.
O.K.?'
'I'll be glad to.*
Joan hung up and swore effectively at the telephone.
Frank said, 'What is it now?'
'That fool, Mrs. Wimple, wants me to come out
after her list. She hasn't time to dictate it over the
telephone. As if I have time to dash out to Park Place
and back for every party write-up!'
'Oh, go on. Keep the old sister happy. You've
nothing else but time this afternoon.'
Joan went, and ten minutes later was driving Dick
slowly out Main Street toward the little bumpy hills.
She explained and he questioned, but her knowledge
was limited.
He remarked, 'Finger-prints don't wash off just by
immersion.'
Joan said, 'I wondered.'
Dick continued: 'But unless the sheriff is smarter
than I believe him to be, he'll never look for finger-
prints.'
'He won't,' stated Joan with emphasis.
She speeded the car out the highway, cut in at the
Country Club gates and parked near the clubhouse.
The parched golf course was deserted. They got out
of the open car and fled hastily out of the sun to the
shelter of the broad porch. The house was also de-
serted except for a negro boy who brought them ginger
ale which Dick spiked from his flask.
Joan said: 'We'll give Marion time to get home and
I'll drop you there and get back to the office. She'll
send you back to town all right. You can look at the
Isotta, anyway.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
89
'If this man Ross was the type you described, I
can't see him shooting himself — though I must say
that a bathroom is the best place to do such a messy
job. Do you think that I'll be able to get into that
house? I'd rather see that bathroom than the Isotta,
and the quicker the better.'
'Well, if Marion makes it known that you are work-
ing on the case for her, I expect the sheriff will be de-
cent about it. He's a pretty good fellow.' Joan fin-
ished her drink and continued, 'Maybe it's best, any-
way. I mean for you to work openly.'
Dick pulled himself erect and said impatiently:
'Well, I've wasted enough time getting started.
Haven't seen a damn thing yet except that gun.
Come on. Let's go.'
They drove up the hill to the Ford man house and
Joan parked in the rear as she had that morning.
There were two cars in the front and the three ma-
chines belonging to the house were in the garage.
'They must be back by now,' said Joan. 'I saw
Drexell's car out front.'
She led him through the side entrance and halted
him in the hallway while she sought Mrs. Smith, the
housekeeper. That disturbed woman fell upon her
with small cries of mournful delight and at her request
set off to deliver to Marion the note which Joan
scribbled out at the kitchen table.
Marion appeared immediately and led them up-
stairs, saying, 'Let's get away from that madhouse.'
'What do you mean, madhouse?' asked Joan.
'They all talk and talk and talk,' replied the girl.
She seated them in the upstairs sunroom which was
on the south side of the house. Here it was cool, with


90
MURDER IN TEXAS
the long windows thrown open on the three sides and
the glazed chintz curtains drawn back. The wicker
chairs were comfortable and the dull-green tile floor
gave the illusion of water coolness.
Joan explained that Dick wanted to see the Isotta.
He interrupted with: 'I'd like to take this case, Miss
Fordman, and I believe that I'll lose too much time
trying to work alone. If you will give me your author-
ization and introduce me to your lawyer, I'll see to the
police myself.'
Marion looked at Joan and said, 'I suppose it's
legal?'
'You're twenty-one, aren't you?' replied Joan.
'Did your father appoint a guardian?'
'No,' said the girl quickly, and turned to Dick: 'The
lawyer is downstairs; also Gere Drexell, my father's
friend, and Mrs. Lawrence, my father's fiancee. We
can go down and talk with them.'
'May I ask you a few questions first, Miss Ford-
man?' inquired Dick. The girl nodded and he glanced
into his notebook. 'I have here your statement, taken
from the story in the News, made immediately after
your father's death was discovered by you. Have you
thought of anything to add to that statement? Isn't
there anything you have thought of that might be im-
portant? Even the smallest things can be most im-
portant. For instance, who reached you first, after
you screamed? Or did you lose consciousness im-
mediately and completely?'
'I really don't remember a thing,' she replied, 'after
I realized that something had happened to Dad. That
is, until I came out of the stupid faint and found my-
self lying on the ground looking up at hundreds of


MURDER IN TEXAS
91
faces. I didn't remember immediately about him. I
just felt awfully undignified.' She smiled.
Dick sighed slightly, closed his little book and
offered the two girls cigarettes. They looked at the
crumpled packet and Marion said, 'Not for me —
Picayunes — Gere smokes those awful things.'
Joan took her case out of her pocket and they both
lighted fags of milder blend. She said: 'We've a chap
in the office who smokes those. I tried 'em once.'
'Where is Mr. Drexell from?' asked Dick.
'New Orleans, I believe. He hasn't really a home.
He was in the army for quite a while and then he lived
abroad — in Russia, I believe.'
They went downstairs. Two men and a woman in
gray looked up as they entered the living-room. The
men arose and Marion said:' Mrs. Lawrence, my friend
Joan Shields. This is Mr. Richard Fields.' She waved
a hand at the men and said, 'Mr. Drexell and Mr.
Drennan.' The men shook hands and in the silence
Marion's voice sounded clearly, 'Let's sit down. I've
something to say.'
They all sat down, and she continued:'Mr. Fields is
a detective'
Drexell jumped to his feet. 'My God, Marion!' he
said; 'why couldn't you wait'
She looked at him and he sat down, coloring sud-
denly as he realized that the others were all staring at
him too.
Joan looked at Mrs. Lawrence. She was a calm,
lovely woman with long dark hair and classic regular-
ity of features. Her beauty was Grecian with the long,
straight nose and the high forehead of those un-
smiling ladies of the Golden Age. She wore a gray


92
MURDER IN TEXAS
linen suit, tailored perfectly, with a soft white blouse
and a brown-and-white tie. Joan approved of her
poise and of her unmoved calm. Her hands were in her
lap, quietly holding a brown handkerchief, and her
slender feet in brown-and-white pumps were resting on
a low stool in front of her chair.
Marion was talking. She said: "... and I have
decided that it is best for us to have this cleared up
quietly and quickly. I don't feel that Mr. Read has
had the experience necessary, and even if Mr. Fields is
unable to find an explanation for my father's murder, I
will feel that I have done what should be done in such
a case. I hope that he will be able to tell us something,
however, as soon as he is in possession of the facts.'
She smiled at Dick, who arose and thanked her.
Joan thought, 'It's ridiculously formal.'
Dick said: 'Mr. Drennan, I understand that you
were Mr. Fordman's attorney. Who administers the
estate?'
'Miss Fordman does, with my advice and the
assistance of Mr. Samuel Ross in financial matters,'
replied the lawyer. He was a small, thin man with
sandy hair and a red mustache. He was nervous and
spoke jerkily. 'I don't mind saying,' he continued,
'that I am glad that Miss Fordman has consulted an
expert. Mr. Drexell and I differed on this point, but I
believe an outsider will see things more clearly.
Where are you from, Mr. Fields?'
'St. Louis,' said Dick. 'I will be glad to submit my
credentials,' he suggested.
'Oh, no, oh, no. I didn't mean that,' said the
lawyer. 'I am sure that Miss Fordman knows...' His
voice trailed off.


MURDER IN TEXAS
93
Joan thought: 'He won't antagonize her. He must
make plenty running the Fordman affairs.'
'Well,' said Fields, 'if you will come with me, Mr.
Drennan, I'd like to get back to town. Miss Fordman,"
may I see you for a moment before I go?'
They crossed the room together and Joan saw
Marion hand him an envelope. He turned and bowed
to Mrs. Lawrence, caught Joan by the arm, and the
three of them left. Drexell and Mrs. Lawrence stood
together in the center of the room and Joan heard the
man call peremptorily to Marion as they went out the
front door.
Drennan and Joan waited while Dick went around
for the roadster. He said to her, 'Hasn't something
else happened, Miss Shields? We were not told why
the inquest was postponed and, as the sheriff had van-
ished when the clerk made the announcement, I
couldn't find out why'
'Yes,' answered Joan, 'you see, Mr. Ross killed him-
self just before the inquest'
'Oh, my God!' said the little lawyer, badly shocked.
'I wonder how the bank 'He stopped suddenly
and looked at Joan. 'Did he leave any reason, any note?'
'They haven't found anything yet.'
The roadster roared around the house and came
toward them, scattering gravel into the flower-beds.
The zinnias flamed in the sun, and the silence of that
amazingly silent country was broken only by the noise
of the car. It skidded to a stop and Drennan and Joan
got in, he remarking, 'Should have brought my own
car.'
'Whose Lincoln is that?' inquired Joan, pointing to a
gray car parked on the oval.


94
MURDER IN TEXAS
'I think Miss Fordman borrowed or rented it to use
in place of the Fraschini,' said the lawyer. 'Naturally,
she doesn't care much about driving about in it.'
'No,' said Joan. 'That must have come from the
Ford agency. I'll bet she bought it.'
'I wouldn't be surprised,' said Drennan, and sighed
deeply, thinking of his own battered Chevrolet.
Joan dropped them at the courthouse and went
back to the office.
Frank was still sitting before his machine. He looked
at her sourly and said: 'Old lady Wimple just called.
She said that she was sending the list down by her
sister-in-law. I told her that you were on the way out
like she asked, and she said that she hadn't'
'Yeah, I know,' interrupted Joan, 'but I've got
something better than old lady Wimple's party.
Marion Fordman's hired a detective from St. Louis
to track down the dastardly criminal who perpetrated
this dastardly crime.'
'Who is he?' asked Frank, reaching for pencil and
paper.
'One Richard Fields, private inquiry agent ex-
traordinary. Solved the Brindle case in Kansas City,
and that army post poisoning in St. Louis last year.
Fearless, incorruptible, and so forth.'
'You've met him?'
'Met him! I've known him for years.'
'Listen. Are you working for a paper or not? What's
the idea in holding out on us? This almost missed the
night edition.'
'Sorry, old chap. It wasn't ripe for publication
before now. You might thank me, anyway. Neither
you nor Mitch seem to be so hot on the job.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
95
'Hell, I can't be everywhere at once. Mitch is with
the sheriff — I hope. He ought to be back soon.'
Joan went to work and an hour passed before White
returned. He looked fagged and slumped wearily
in his chair as he reached for copy paper. His hat was
gone and his shirt collar gaped open, the tie pulled
into a hard knot and hanging loosely.
He shifted the cigarette in his mouth and said:
'Some bird, name of Fields, detective from St. Louis,
took a look at that gun of Ross's and said he didn't
kill himself. Said he was murdered. Said being in
the hot water wouldn't bother the finger-prints and
the only ones on it were the sheriff's, made when he
fished it out of the basin.'


VIII: Tuesday, July 4: 5.45 p.m.
'Good jolly old Dick. He always knows a murder
when he sees one, especially if everybody else calls
it suicide. I never did believe that Sam Ross would
choose such a way to die. He might have killed him-
self all right, but he'd have taken poison. He's that
kind.' Thus spoke Joan.
'Don't be funny, kid,' said White. 'This thing's
getting serious. There's a homicidal maniac loose.
He may not stop at two.'
'Don't be silly,' retorted Joan. 'You know that
these murders must be related. Mr. Fordman and
Mr. Ross were too close for it to have been a coin-
cidence. Homicidal maniac nothing!'
White grinned at her. 'Don't get sore, baby,'
he said. 'It's too hot to argue with you. Besides, I
haven't time.' He snatched a sheet of paper and rolled
it into the machine.
Frank said, 'Have you flashed the A.P. yet?'
'Yes,' replied Mitchell, 'this is an add. There's a
mob of reporters in town now and when this gets out
there'll be plenty more. We'll scoop 'em in this area,
of course. What d'you know about this man Fields?
He turned up out at the Ross place with Pat Drennan
and practically took over the investigation.'
'Joan knows him,' snorted the editor. '"Known
him for years,"' he quoted in a smarty falsetto.
Joan defended herself and offered aid when he should
come to that part of the story dealing with Dick Fields.


MURDER IN TEXAS
97
Mitch pounded out the first sheet of copy and Joan
picked it up to read.
Special to the Associated Press
by Mitchell White
add — Fordman Murder
Fordman, Tex., July 4. (A.P.) At about 1 p.m.,
exactly twenty-four hours after the murder of John Ford-
man, multimillionaire oil man, his friend and business
associate; Samuel Ross, president of the Fordman National
Bank, was shot and killed in the bathroom of his home in
fashionable Park Place, south of this city.
In earlier bulletins it was stated that Ross had com-
mitted suicide, this being the belief held by the police at
that time. But now it is known that the banker was
murdered.
A private investigator, Richard Fields of St. Louis,
called into the Fordman case by the murdered man's
daughter, Marion Fordman, pronounced the second
shooting a murder after local authorities had unofficially
called it suicide.
Fields, who is a finger-print expert, came to his con-
clusion after examining the gun with which Ross was
shot. It was found in the hand-basin where it had pre-
sumably fallen when Ross slumped to the floor. The
basin was filled with hot soapy water and the tap was still
open and the water running when the police arrived.
The sheriff himself removed the gun, a .45 Colt auto-
matic, from the water, carefully touching only the trigger
guard and the barrel. Fields tested the surface for finger-
prints and found only those of the sheriff.
He states authoritatively that mere immersion could
not have completely removed the finger-prints which
would have been on the gun had Mr. Ross shot himself.
This reporter watched Fields and Sheriff Read carry out a


MURDER IN TEXAS
99
else. She went into the back shop and began looking
through the files of past copies of the News until she
came to the issue of Saturday, July I. She detached
the paper, folded it inconspicuously into another of
later issue and went back to her desk.
Frank had gone, but Mitchell still pounded his
machine with rhythmic viciousness. The little shop
was filthier than usual, and one could not walk without
kicking through piles of crumpled copy paper and
long curls of discarded teletype news. The edition was
ready to run except for White's story which was being
set up by the shop foreman himself as fast as the pages
could be carried back. The single Mergenthaler clicked
and hummed as the matrices dropped and the hot lead
was forced into rigid slugs, a column width in length
and only type wide. The matrices were carried back
into position and dropped into their respective slots
with musical tinkles. Mitchell's typewriter clattered
on and the air in the room was heavy with smoke
from cigarettes and the acrid scorching odor of hot
lead from the shop.
Joan read galley proof on Mitchell's story as it came
damp from the type. It had few errors. Mac, the shop
foreman, was an excellent linotype operator, and
would have preferred the job to the more important
and hectic one which he held.
The last length of smudgy proof had been read and
impaled upon the O.K. hook when the telephone
rang. Joan answered and Dick asked her to meet him
at the hotel at six-forty-five.
Fifteen minutes later, the girl was seated on the
divan in Fields's room, sipping a pre-dinner highball.
Dick, dressed in white flannels, sat across from her


100
MURDER IN TEXAS
in an armchair. They relaxed and enjoyed the coolness
of the evening wind sweeping through the open suite.
The heat was gone, the air had freshened and held an
unmistakable odor of the sea. It was almost damp,
and one could smell the salt marshes. Joan explained
that this phenomenon always amazed the visitors.
The altitude, some five thousand feet, she said ac-
counted for the drop in temperature, but where the
ocean-smelling breeze came from was a mystery.
The Gulf, more than three hundred miles away,
could scarcely be considered, and the only other water
stood in the chain of shallow 'gyp' lakes that stretched
toward the west.
Dick commented politely upon her little conver-
sational attempt and then said: 'I've ordered dinner
sent up here. We can eat and then discuss this thing.
I want a lot of information from you. Can you stay
all right?'
Joan nodded and went into the bedroom to tele-
phone her mother.
When she came back, the dinner had arrived and
two colored boys were arranging things on the table.
She and Dick ate and talked of New York and the
people they had known there and of the better movies
and the few better books that Joan had been able to
procure in the little town. Joan discovered that Dick
had never read Olive Schreiner's 'The Story of an
African Farm' and he in turn moaned over the fact
that she had not seen 'Maedchen in Uniform.' It
was almost with reluctance that they settled down at
the bridge table a half-hour later, with the door locked,
and began on their problem.
'All right,' said Dick, 'let's clarify what we know


MURDER IN TEXAS
101
and begin our list of what we must do tomorrow.
First, we have the Fordman murder and with it, so
far, only two actual clues — the revolver and the
handkerchief.'
'What about the clipping and the footprints and the
cigarette butts?' asked Joan.
They may have no bearing on the case at all.
Anyone could have left them there at any time. Of
course, we must by no means overlook them. Did
you find the issue of the paper from which this was
cut?' He produced the clipping of the bridge hand
and Joan got the paper. They turned to the daily
article and comparison showed them that it was the
same. Dick marked heavily around the article with
a pencil and they turned the page and placed the
clipping beside the square marked on this sheet.
Joan shook her head and Dick nodded. The reverse
sheet of the local paper carried a crossword puzzle
also, but no part of it was taken in by the heavy
outline marking the position of the bridge problem
on the preceding page.
'Not our paper,' said Joan. 'I could have sworn
to it, but then these things are all syndicated. There
is no telling where it came from. I know that it isn't
from a Dallas or a Fort Worth sheet. The quality
of the paper they use is much better than this and the
whole thing looks better — their presses are newer
and — well, anyway, I know.' She snatched up two
of the papers that she had mentioned and showed
Fields what she meant. 'Then, too,' she continued,
'neither of these run a crossword puzzle on the
editorial page. It's pretty poor make-up, you know.
Violates all the rules and whatnot.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
103
'Yes, the results were just the same as this.' He
produced the little revolver from the kit and showed
Joan the prints on the clip. Taking a large magnify-
ing-glass he studied both clips in silence for a while.
'They aren't the same, as well as I can tell,' he
said. 'It will be easier to compare them when the
negatives are developed and the enlargements are
made.'
'Has anyone identified the large gun yet?'
'Yes, it belonged to Ross, they think. He kept
one at the bank in his desk drawer, about this size.
The sheriff's checking on that. I told him about the
little one and promised to take it by for him tomor-
row when I return the large one. He'll check on
that, too.'
'It's all so very confusing,' remarked the girl.
'What impressed me about the second murder, as
well as the first one,' said Fields, 'was the narrow
margin of time which the murderer had. That girl
at the Ross place was in the kitchen. Ross had come
home for luncheon and evidently went upstairs first
to wash up. He left the bank at twelve-forty-five, as
he does every day. I understand that the banking
people are regular to the minute about lunch or
dinner times. Only two leave at a time and Ross
never went out until the assistant cashier, Jennison,
returned. He has been going home at that hour for
eight years, they tell me. Everybody knew it. He
must have been killed as he walked into the bath-
room. The bullet went through the right temple
and came out just above the left ear. We found it in
the plaster near the window. What kind of a woman
is his wife?'


104
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Poor Mrs. Ross. Where was she? I forgot to ask.'
'Oh, she was at some bridge party. Nobody even
knew where and consequently she wasn't notified
until she came home at about four o'clock.'
Joan thought for a moment, then said: 'She goes
to the Idle Hour Club, on Tuesdays. They met at
Mrs. Fiske's for luncheon today. I remember her
name on Mrs. Fiske's list because there were only two
tables and she won high-score prize for members.
Bath salts.'
'Yeah — bath salts. She dropped them in that
foyer downstairs and they broke and went all over
the place. Fainted when she found out what had
happened. The sheriff certainly is short on tact.'
'And Mrs. Ross is long on nerves. She's a neuro if
I ever saw one, to say nothing of being the worst
hypochondriac in Texas. She's forever away in hos-
pitals taking the baths and the waters and the diets.
Did you talk to her?'
'No, she was pretty well broken up and the doctor
had her put to bed. She didn't know anything,
anyway.'
'How did the sheriff welcome you?'
'He wasn't so bad. Said that these killings were
out of his line and he'd be glad to have me help him.
Both inquests will be held tomorrow. The Fordman
in the morning and the Ross in the afternoon. Can
you take me out to the oil field in the morning, early?
I want to get that place mapped out, and the inquest
isn't until ten o'clock. I've never seen a field in
action.'
'The action here is quite suspended at present,'
explained Joan disgustedly. 'This is a fairly large


MURDER IN TEXAS
105
field with high test crude, but proration has closed
most of it down. You should have seen it in the
boom days.'
'O.K., then — tomorrow at six-thirty. Now let's
finish that chart. Where did we leave off?'
Joan rummaged through the papers and remarked:
'We left off with Ross, I believe. Well, he's elim-
inated.'
'Maybe,' said Dick succinctly. 'Never take any-
thing for granted.'
'But surely, Dick, he couldn't have killed Mr. Ford-
man. He was murdered himself,' Joan protested.
'It isn't logical!'
Dick smiled at her and said: 'Murder seldom is.
Suppose he killed Fordman and then shot himself?
There was a wash-cloth on the basin into which the
gun had dropped.'
'You mean — he could have held the gun with the
washcloth over his hand and so eliminated finger-
prints? Isn't that pretty far-fetched?'
'Yes, it is. I just considered it, that's all. People
do a lot of freakish things when they commit suicide,
you know.'
'Samuel Ross never did a freakish thing in his life,'
remarked Joan positively.
'He got himself murdered.'
'That's so; but I mean if he were going to shoot
himself he'd do it without any flourishes or story-book
details. And he'd leave a memo to the effect that it
was "in his consideration the wisest course, etc."
He was that kind. That's why I was surprised to
hear that he hadn't left a farewell note. It was out of
character.'


io6
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Well, we can safely leave it at murder, I believe.
Who else did we discuss yesterday?'
'Agnes Jones and Chick.'
'Say, my dear — you'll have to start tomorrow
and find out where several of your busy townspeople
were at one p.m. today.'
'Good Lord — you don't want much, do you?'
Joan looked at him dubiously. 'I can check on the
women, but you'll have to find out about the men.'
'All right — let's take a few more suspects. Who
can be next?'
'Well,' said Joan, 'I have Ed Frank, the Daily
News editor, next on my list. I got this at the meet-
ing yesterday, you know. These are all people who
made up the Fordman entourage.'
'All right; Frank. What kind of a bird is he?'
'He's really rather queer. You know I don't like
him and we clash constantly, but I do feel sorry for
him. He seems so lonely. Yet it's hard to have any-
thing to do with him; he's so bitter. You see he was a
big shot with the A.P. for several years and then some-
thing happened. Nobody knows what. I think
probably it was nothing more than a quarrel with
the man above him. Starr, I think it was. Starr is
at the head of the Whole service now, but then he
was only the assistant — in New York, I mean. The
reason I say Starr is because of Frank's attitude
whenever Starr's name comes up.'
'How long has he been here?'
'Ever since Fordman quit managing the paper
himself. Several years. They went to school to-
gether. After Frank left the A.P. he worked on a
paper in Fort Worth. He resigned by request, after


io8
MURDER IN TEXAS
that impression. Ed could be quite lovable, if he
liked. He's fascinatingly attractive.'
'To you?'
'Oh, I don't like him, but speaking generally, he
honestly is. He's tall and thin, with shoulders even
broader than yours; built like a wedge from his
shoulders to his hips. He is the most graceful man
I've ever seen. But his eyes are so hard and his
mouth is so bitter. When he smiles I have cold chills
along my backbone.'
'Pleasant bird. Anything else? What sort of inter-
ests has he? He must have some if he doesn't run
around with women or drink or smoke!'
'His hobby is bridge problems; that's why we run
the series. He got Fordman to put it in. It's the best
and quite expensive. There was opposition, but he
took a census of the readers and they all clamored
for it, so Mr. Fordman laughed and gave in. When
the other papers saw what a good thing it was, he
had to buy it for four of them.'
'Would he carry a clipping of it about with him?'
'I don't see why he should. He gets it in advance,
you know. We get the whole series for a month,
around the first, and cut it up into "takes." They
set it up in the shop several days ahead of time. He
takes all of it home when it comes and studies it
until it's needed.'
'Humm. Well, if he doesn't smoke, at least he
didn't leave the much-mooted cigarette butts. I
hope those things are still there tomorrow. It was
just this morning that you saw them, wasn't it?'
'Yes. I feel as though I've lived through a month
today, however. And a month without sleep. I went


MURDER IN TEXAS
IO9
to bed at three and got up at five-thirty this morning.
I've kept going on excitement and highballs, to say
nothing of cigarettes.'
'Let's finish quickly, then, and get you home to
bed. Who is next?'
'I have Mitch White, our star reporter. Some-
body once said that his epitaph should be:
"He was marked when he was born
To die from drinking too much corn."'
Dick laughed, and Joan continued, 'He's a good
kid, though — sweet, you know.'
'You evidently like him?'
'Everybody does. Even his creditors.'
'Who are his creditors?'
'Gosh, I don't know. He's the kind about whom
it's said, "Oh, he owes everyone in town!"'
'Been here long?'
'Just a year. We celebrated the anniversary last
week. Four of us drank fifty-three bottles of home-
brew between three p.m. and three a.m. Said home-
brew was found later to have had a liberal spicing
of embalmed ants.'
'Joan!'
'Sure enough. We found it in a cupboard in a
house that Mitch and a friend of his had taken for
the summer. It was the best beer I've ever tasted,
heavy and dark with a rich creamy head.'
'But the ants?y •
'There were fQur bottles left and the next evening
we started to drink those when Kay — she was the
other female of the foursome — wandered over to
the kitchen door and looked through her glass in the


no
MURDER IN TEXAS
light of the setting sun. There wasn't anything to
do then, and, anyway, only two of those four bottles
had ants so we decided that if we were still O.K. we
couldn't be killed.' She added, 'We drank the two
bottles without ants.'
'That's what Prohibition has done to our young!'
'That's putting it mildly, dear. What tales I could
tell you about the carousing in this town — but, we
were talking about Mitch. He's one of the chief
carousers, by the way.'
'And you?'
'Oh, I'm only an amateur. He's the professional!'
'And how does he happen to be on your list?'
'Well, he's in love with Marion Fordman, and
Texas Wills told me that he and Mr. Fordman had
a very violent set-to a few days ago. But I don't
believe he'd ever stop to plan a crime. He might
pop somebody off on the spur of the moment, but this
business — it's rather too deep and heavy for Mitch.
His murders would be light affairs.'
'We'll put down "Motive unknown" then. And
as to opportunity, where was he when the first shoot-
ing was going on?'
'Neither he nor Frank has accounted for himself.
They were both at the field and in Mr. Fordman's
party.'
'Well, then, for "Supporting evidence" we'll note
this quarrel. Find out more about it if you can.
Does he play bridge?'
'Oh, yes. He gambles at bridge is a better word
for it, and he was awfully interested in the problem
hands for a while. He hasn't talked about them
quite so much lately. In fact, he's been pretty down


MURDER IN TEXAS
III
about something for several weeks. I think it's
Marion and Gere Drexell.'
'Where is White from?'
'Ranger. He went to the University. Jerked soda
and worked on the paper to pay his way through.
Pledged Sigma Chi, but never quite got the grades
to be initiated. Made the better crowd, the faster
dances, and the slicker girls on his good looks, per-
sonality, and good family. He was always broke
and in debt there. Mildred Jones knew him and she
must have had fa heavy affair with him for a while.
She still watches him pretty closely. Doesn't like
me because we go around together — or did until
he fell for Marion. He was on the Ranger paper a
couple of years before he went to State University
and had pretty good sports and oil field experience.
He is one of the best young sports writers in Texas
and turns out a neat column. Even / read it, and
I hate all sports stories except the ones on tennis
and horse-racing. If he'd lay off the liquor he'd
be darned good. He smokes too much, too — thirty
or forty cigs a day, but no particular brand. Any-
thing except Menthols!' Joan brought her disjointed
characterization to a close and walked to a window.
'The orchestra's tuning up,' she said.
'What orchestra?' asked Dick, joining her.
'Roy's Rascals from El Paso, to be specific. Don't
you know what day this is? It's the Fourth of July
and the local roisterers always dance on Independence
Day. It's another excuse for drinking.'
'Drinking seems to be the major occupation of
the majority of your citizens.'
'Yes, isn't it amazing? Senator Morris Sheppard's


MURDER IN TEXAS
113
mere outline! Do you say that Miss Fordman is
carrying the torch for the gentleman?'
'So I understand. He's the main reason why she
stayed on here this summer. She usually goes abroad.'
'And does he care for her?'
'Well, I honestly believe he just humors her. He
considers her a kid. Still, he may know a good thing
when he sees it. A million goes farther than ten thou-
sand. He's a typical adventurer. Spent four years
in the army after running away from home at seven-
teen and enlisting. When he came back, he went to
M.I.T., I think, and then abroad to Australia or
South America or somewhere with the Shell Oil Com-
pany. He was in Russia for a while, and during the
World War served in the British Air Force. He
cracked up eight times, Marion tells me. After the
war he came back here, and with his technical experi-
ence got a good job with Fordman handling his oil
operations.'
'Well, he has a good motive — as good as any —
and little alibi, for the first murder, anyway. My *
God, we'll have to eliminate some of these people
soon. They all couldn't have done it. I suppose he
plays bridge too?'
'Quite well,' Joan admitted.
'Drink and play bridge — isn't there anything else
to do in this burg?'
'Not much. We have no library. I read about
twenty magazines a month and import as many books
as I can afford. We play golf, the swimming's lousy,
and the tennis courts are monopolized by the high-
school children. Some Sundays we spend the entire
day just riding up and down the Main Drag, out East


ii4
MURDER IN TEXAS
Highway and back by Lover's Lane. It gets rather
boring!'
Fields looked at her curiously and asked, 'Why do
you stay, kid?'
Joan shrugged and said: 'Mom wants me here for
a while, anyway, and she hasn't been well, you know.
Besides, it's a good job and jobs are scarce as the
dickens now, in the newspaper business.'
'In any business.' He nodded grimly. 'It's the
scarcity of jobs that makes more work for guys like
me.' He walked behind her and tilted her head back
against his hard thigh. She smiled up at him and
said, 'You look funny.'
He pulled her hair gently, then thrust her head
forward. 'G'wan,' he said, '1 feel funny.' There was
a moment's silence and he put his hand on her
shoulder.
'I'm glad you haven't married some guy out here
just for the change,' he remarked lightly.
Joan laughed. 'A change for the worse, I'd call it,'
she declared. Feeling his eyes still on her, she added:
'Let's get on. The next is V. V. Day, Mr. Fordman's
boss driller.'
'He benefits, too, doesn't he?' asked Fields.
'Yes. His is the five-thousand-dollar legacy that
Mr. Fordman added on Saturday.'
'I'll have to ask Drennan more about that will.
The man hadn't an alibi, had he?'
'Not that I know of,' replied Joan. 'Texas was
looking for him when they shot the well off.' She
told Dick about the note the chauffeur had shown
her and then told him what the colored boy had
related as to the fight Fordman and Day had had.


MURDER IN TEXAS
115
'It didn't sound very serious,' she remarked; 'he
fought with everyone — had a violent temper and
hated to be crossed.'
Dick continued: 'This lawyer bird, Drennan; you
don't have him down, so I presume that he wasn't
along on the oil well shooting picnic. Does he have
much to do with the administration of the estate? I
mean did Fordman put much responsibility on him?'
'I don't believe that he did,' answered the girl
slowly. 'He attended to the financial end of his
affairs himself. Of course Drennan ran any legal
business, just as Gere ran the actual oil business and
Ed Frank ran the paper here. Fordman dictated
policies and kept a close hand on the newspapers,
much closer than on the oil business because he liked
it better, I guess.'
'Well, we'll check on Drennan, anyhow. Can't
overlook any bets.'
'I'll find out from Marion just how much he had
to do,' promised Joan.
Dick began to gather up his papers, stopped and
said: 'How about that chauffeur? He was unac-
counted for, and he benefits.'
'Good Lord, Dick! Texas loved old man Fordman
with his life. And why would he kill Mr. Ross? Be
yourself. You need sleep.'
'Well, I'll check his alibi, anyway. I may not be
so smart, honey, but I'm thorough. Have another
drink?'
'Nope. I'm going home. It's twelve-forty and I'm
dead.'
Dick put on his coat and together they got aboard
the elevator. The operator grinned at Joan and


n6
MURDER IN TEXAS
said, 'Evenin', Miss Shields. Ain't you goin' to th'
dance?'
'Not tonight, Bill,' she replied.
'First one I've ever seen you miss,' remarked the
boy. A red light glowed on his indicator and the
buzzer had been sounding ever since they had left
Dick's floor.
'Some o' them drunks,' said Bill, and stopped the
car at the second floor. He opened the doors and
three men and a girl crowded on, the men holding
the girl upright. She was Mildred Jones.
Even in her dazed condition she recognized Joan
and threw an arm around her shoulder. Joan intro-
duced Dick as the car dropped the one flight, and
they halted in the lobby. Mildred made no effort
to introduce the men and said loudly, 'Where's
Mitch?'
'I don't know, Mildred,' replied Joan.
The drunken girl fixed her with a glassy eye and
said, 'Like hell, y'don't.'
One of the men tried to draw her away, saying,
'Come on, baby, le's dance.'
She shook him off and turned back to Joan. 'You're
a snob, see?' she said thickly. 'You an' Marion Ford-
man, an' now her old man's dead an' she's got a
million dollars he'll be after her. He's no good, any-
way. I hate him.' Her voice rose. 'I'll get even. I'll
tell where he was yesterday when Mr. Fordman was
killed. He was right by that big car of theirs. I saw
him hiding in the bushes. I called him and he ran.
What'd he wanner run for if he didn't have somethin'
to hide 'She caught her breath, soberer now,
and looked around at them. Her heavy red hair was


MURDER IN TEXAS
117
loose and the powder was caked on her nose. She
put her hand to her mouth and cried out, 'What have
I said? Omygod. I didn't mean 'She turned,
and grasping the elbow of one of the men, pulled him
toward the ballroom door.
The music had begun again.
Joan and Dick went out into the cool night and the
girl said: 'That was Mildred Jones. I'll ask Mitch
what she meant, but I know it will make him mad.
He can't stand her.'
'Blowsy wench,' remarked Dick as they drove up
the deserted street.


IX: Wednesday, July 5: 6.30 a.m.
Joan picked up Dick in front of the hotel. Jimmie was
occupying the rumble seat, speechless at being in the
presence of a real detective. They drove through the
empty streets of the little town and out the highway
toward the field.
'It's three miles less by the short cut,' the girl said
as she swung the car off the macadam, over a cattle-
guard, and into an old road that cut through a pasture
dotted with dusty mesquite and cedar trees. They
jolted down into a deep draw, across its sandy bottom,
and up the other side. Reaching the top of one of the
little hills, they saw the field in the broad valley be-
low them. The derricks rose thickly as far as they
could see and the odor of the crude oil swept over and
engulfed them.
At the well they found Day and another man. The
well was still capped down, and the two •men were
looking over the tools that had been used in drilling.
The huge steel bits were covered with white clay and
mud and lay along the platform which extended west
of the well.
Joan introduced Dick to Val Day and moved away
while the two talked together. She and Jimmie edged
toward the storage tank and the mesquite clump. She
looked back at the men, but they were engrossed in
their conversation, so she, with Jimmie at her heels,
walked around the tank and stopped in surprise. The
whole area, including the small ditch, had been freshly
spaded up and leveled out. A spade was thrust into


MURDER IN TEXAS
119
a mound of dirt banked against the tank, indicating
that the job was as yet incomplete. Joan moved slowly
through the weeds near the spaded area and looked
for the discarded cigarettes. Jimmie watched her
curiously.
'What on earth are you lookin' for, Sis?' he said.
She told him, and he helped with the hunt. They
found no cigarette butts, but they did discover that
the whole area, weeds and all, had been raked and
cleaned. They gave up and went back to the derrick.
Day was explaining the business of shooting the well.
'Yeah,' he boomed, his red face beaming with pride,
'we put seventy-five gallons of nitro in 'er an' she come
through like a lady.' He saw Joan, and his jollity
vanished. He said to her soberly: 'Miss Shields, I
ain't had time to get up to see Miss Fordman yet. I
wonder won't you tell her how sorry I am? Mr. Fields
here has been tellin' me that Mr. Fordman left me
five thousand dollars in his will. I didn't expect
nothin'. It sure was a surprise. Nobody's been out
here yet to give me any orders, so I'm goin' this after-
noon an' see Drexell.' His face clouded and his eyes
narrowed. 'I'd sure like to keep on workin' for this
outfit, but I don't know if I can get along with that
man. As long as I took orders from old John himself,
everything worked fine, but me an' Drexell — we
don't think alike.'
'I'll tell her, Mr. Day. Everything is still so con-
fused, you know, I don't suppose that anyone has
even thought about this end of the Fordman affairs.'
'No'm. I went in yesterday, but I couldn't find
Drexell nor Pat Drennan in their offices, so I went to
the inquest an' wasted an hour or so of my time be-


120
MURDER IN TEXAS
fore I heard about Mr. Ross committin' suicide. Then
I come back here because this plug ain't goin' to hold
her long, what with the gas an' everything.' He waved
a hand at the well. 'That there pocket we opened with
the nitro yesterday is full of gas an' oil. We'll have
to let some of the pressure off soon.'
'You didn't see last night's papers, then, did you?'
inquired Dick casually.
'Nope. The mail comes out this mornin' about nine.
We get last night's papers then. Why?'
'It has been discovered that Mr. Ross did not com-
mit suicide. He was murdered'
'Holy Mother!' breathed the big man, crossing
himself quickly. 'Him too!'
Joan thought that if Day knew anything he was
certainly a first-class actor. He seemed completely
deflated.
'Mr. Day,' began Dick, 'where were you Monday
when the well was — er— "shot"?'
'I was here. Why?'
'You understand, of course, that there's no suspicion
directed against you at all. I'm merely checking on
every person who was in any way connected with Mr.
Fordman.'
The man looked surprised, but he said: 'Well, I
was here with the boys most of the time. Th' truck
that brought the nitro backed up at that there plat-
form and then before th' stuff was lowered I got in
an' drove th' truck over yonder.' He indicated a
southerly direction, and continued: 'When I was
gettin' out, some bird said that John Fordman's
colored boy was lookin' for me. Said he was talkin'
to a bunch of fellers over by th' old well.' He pointed


MURDER IN TEXAS
121
to an abandoned derrick about two hundred yards
south of the new producer. 'I walked over thata-
way, but I didn't see anybody but a bunch of birds
shootin' craps, an' I decided that he should know
where to find me, so I hustled back in time to get
caught in th' spray when th' thing went off. You see
I didn't have nothin' to do with th' shootin' itself.
We hire a professional who does the dangerous part.'
He paused and looked inquiringly at them.
Dick asked, 'Did you know any of the fellows who
were shooting craps, Mr. Day?'
'Nope. Leastways, I didn't recognize any of 'em,
but I was in a hurry. I didn't go up close. Ya know,'
he said excitedly, 'that man of Fordman's mighta
been there with 'em an' that's why he didn't find me.
I kinda knew what John Fordman wanted, anyway.'
He grinned at them rather sadly. 'Ya see, him an'
me an' a bunch o' th' boys planned to play poker last
night an' have a quiet little celebration for th' Fourth
an' for th' well. He was goin' to let me know if he
could come. We played at my place over on th' old
lease ever' now an' then.'
'And yesterday — where were you before the in-
quest was scheduled to start?'
'I come in about ten a.m. an' went up to see Drexell.
He wasn't in an' neither was Drennan. Drennan's
office is in the same building. I waited around in
Drexell's place for about an hour and a half an' then
went down to th' Busy Bee to eat. When I finished, I
went over to Jack's place for a shave an' a haircut,
an' then sat out in my car until it was time for th'
inquest to begin. It was three-thirty by th' time I
started home.'


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MURDER IN TEXAS
'What time was it when you were in the barber
shop?'
'I dunno. Ask Jack. He shaved me. Mebby he'd
remember.'
'By the way, at exactly what time did the explosion
occur? Do you happen to know?'
'Yep, I do. It was scheduled at one o'clock, but
I looked at my watch when it went off and it was
exactly one-four.' He produced a thin gold timepiece
proudly, and said: 'This here watch John Fordman
give me two years ago, an' it ain't never lost a minute
since then. I wind it up ever' night at ten p.m. an'
check it by the radio. Me an' th' wife listen to Amos
an' Andy regular, you see.'
Dick had taken the information down in a note-
book, thanked Day, and then, in response to Joan's
'I'll show you where the cars were,' moved off with her.
He produced the map of the area and, pacing off
the distances, established the fact that the Fordman
car had been over a hundred feet from its nearest
neighbor, the Jones's LaSalle.
'Why,' he inquired, 'was Fordman so exclusive?
He parked inside the roped-off area and his friends
outside.'
Val Day came toward them from the well. ''Scuse
me for botherin' you,' he said, 'but I just thought of
somethin'. Tom Harte, th' deputy, told me yest'day
that he arrested two boys for shootin' craps Monday,
while he was out here. Mebby they'll know about
Wills.'
Dick thanked him, and asked, 'Why did Mr. Ford-
man park inside the rope?'
'Why, he come before the rope was put up, I be-


MURDER IN TEXAS
123
lieve. I didn't see him because I was over to my shack
eatin' lunch until about twelve-thirty and I only got
here about twenty minutes before one, an' Mr. Ford-
man was talkin' to some men. That's why he sent me
th' note, I guess. He never did see me.'
Joan spoke. 'What are you-all doing with the
ground around the storage tank?' she asked.
'Why, Jake — that's the boy up there — he's
clearin' th' grass an' dry tumble-weeds away in case
of fire. We'll start fillin' that tank up today. Th'
pipeline connection ain't been made yet. He hoed
an' raked around there all yest'day afternoon. Not
much else to do.'
This was a logical explanation and Joan nodded in
agreement.
'That countrywoman,' remarked Dick — 'what was
her name?'
'Mrs. Trotter?'
'Yes. Where is their farm?'
'Oh, it's out north of here somewhere. Why?'
'I'd like to talk to her. She seems to be a pretty
observant sort of person. I wonder just how noisy
this place was before the well was shot.'


X: Wednesday, July 5: 8.30 a.m.
They drove up the hill to the Fordman home and
Joan ran the roadster around to the rear. Texas Wills
came out of the back door and welcomed them.
'Howdy, Miss Joan,' he said. 'Hit's shore goin' to
be one hot day, ain't it?'
The sun had risen in a cloudless sky and already
loomed white-hot against the infinite lacquer-blue
dome above them.
'It's going to be worse than yesterday,' commented
Joan; and then to the colored man: 'Texas, will you
help Mr. Jimmie put my top up? This driving in an
open car isn't so pleasant under such a sun.'
'Sure, sure, Miss Joan,' replied the man, and he
and Jimmie turned their attention to the car while
Dick and the girl went into the garage to look at the
Fraschini. Dick took an envelope from his pocket, tore
it open, and produced the key which Joan had given
to Marion. He got into the big car and backed it out
into the paved courtyard. Then he examined it
minutely, front and back, removing cushions, taking
up the carpets, and shaking out the light robe which
had been folded over the rod along the back of the
front seat.
He slipped his hands into the pockets, brought them
out empty, and then unfolded the small seat on the right.
'Here's the shell,' he said, bending over and picking
up a small brassy cylinder which had been mashed
flat between the metal seat support and the floor. He
put it in his pocket and continued his search.


MURDER IN TEXAS
125
Joan watched him snap the little button that turned
on and off the tiny electric fan. He called her attention
to the latter. There was a faint clicking noise audible
while the fan was in motion.
'Somebody knocked the guard a little lopsided,' he
said, 'and the blade hits it here.' He pointed. The
fan was fastened high against the back of the chauf-
feur's partition.
'It really does a lot of good, doesn't it?' commented
the girl, letting the breeze set in motion by the little
blades blow in her face.
'It only stirs up the hot air,' dissented Dick as he
shut it off and examined the bent guard. He then got
his finger-print apparatus out of the roadster and
under the admiring eyes of Jimmie and Texas dusted
with the powder the door handles, the polished wood
set into the window frames, the fan, the silver fittings
inside the tonneau and the glass partition between the
back and the front seats. He opened the doors and
blew the revealing stuff carefully around the metal
frame, even at the floor. Then, inch by inch, he went
back over the parts so treated, puffing away the excess
powder with his little bulb.
Joan checked the parts on paper as he called them out.
No prints on right door frame.
No prints on fan.
No prints on right window frame in door.
No prints on right window or door glasses.
Superposed prints on right door handle.
Same, outside. Vague and blurred.
No prints on right window cranks, front or back.
Superposed and single prints on partition glass and
frame.


126
MURDER IN TEXAS
None on partition glass crank.
Single and superposed prints on left window and door
frames, also cranks and door handles. Blurred and
indistinct.
Numerous prints, inside and out on left window and
door glasses.
He had focused his camera and taken dozens of
exposures as he talked, carefully numbering and mark-
ing the print positions on each plate as he set it aside.
'I won't waste time on the outside of the car,' he
said. 'The whole business is pretty obvious, anyway.
We won't find the prints we want out of these. He
was cautious and smart.' Dick ran the car back into
the garage and locked it again.
They were getting into the roadster when Marion
called to them from an upstairs window asking them
to stay for breakfast.
Joan declined, saying that she was due at the office
soon and that Dick had several other investigations to
make before the inquest. They promised to come that
evening and report whatever progress had been made.
From the Fordman home Joan drove Dick to the
addition called Park Place where Ross had lived.
At his direction she passed the banker's lovely home
slowly, turned left and drove down the side of the
block. At the alley entrance Dick had her stop for a
moment and they drove on. They turned left again
and were in front of a large whitewashed brick house
with well-kept grounds. The shutters were fastened
and the house had a deserted air.
'That's the Hathaway place,' explained Joan.
'They made a fortune in oil leases and spent it in
two years. Never thought that the money would quit


128
MURDER IN TEXAS
terrace. The girl called to him, 'Hi, Joe,' as they
walked toward the front door, and explained to Dick:
'He's the son of the old man who lives on the Hatha-
way place and takes care of it. They stay in the serv-
ants' quarters over the garage.' She looked back and
saw Jimmie vault out of the rumble seat and join Joe
on the terrace.
As they waited for an answer to their ring, Joan
noticed that all of the screens and the door frame had
been freshly painted a dull and restful green. The
screen door still looked damp and had been propped
open with a brick. Joan was touching it with a tenta-
tive finger when the negro maid, Sarah, opened the
door. She remembered Dick from the afternoon be-
fore and recognized Joan.
'Mis' Ross is 'sleep,' she whispered, but she stood
aside and let them enter.
'Where is she, Sarah?' Joan asked.
'She in de downstairs guest-room, Miss Joan. She
won't go upstairs no mo'.'
'We won't disturb her then, Sarah,' said Dick. 'We
want to examine the upstairs rooms again. They
haven't been touched, have they?'
'No, suh,' said the girl positively. 'Nobody been
up dah, excep' de nurse de doctor lef here to git
Mis' Ross's clo's. She stayed heah all night an' slep'
in de room wif Mis' Ross. On de chase divan she
slep'.' The heavy negro woman walked with them to
the stairs and stood at the foot watching them go up.
Dick took a key from his pocket and unlocked the
door to what had been the banker's bedroom. It
was a lovely east room with a large bay window,
recessed and fitted with bookshelves and a large com-


MURDER IN TEXAS
129
fortable chair. The bath which connected with Mrs.
Ross's room yielded to Dick's key, and Joan said,
'My, what a mess!' when she peered past him into
its cool blue interior. The tile floor was spattered with
blood, as was the hand-basin and the lovely pale blue
tub.
Dick quickly set to work with his finger-print para-
phernalia, and Joan, less interested now, wandered
about in the bedroom.
Dick called to her in warning not to touch anything,
so she guiltily dropped a copy of the 'Rubayiat' of
Omar Khayyam and squatted to peer at the titles
of the books under the bay window. She gasped when
she saw 'The Antichrist' by Nietzsche, several vol-
umes of Schopenhauer, a small leather-bound edition
of 'Alice in Wonderland,' Mrs. Buck's classic 'The
Good Earth,' both volumes of Emma Goldman's
autobiography, Joel Sayres's 'Rackety Rax,' and a
complete set of Romain Rolland. She smiled to see
Marie D. Scopes's 'Married Love' standing on the
bottom shelf between Havelock Ellis's 'Little Essays'
and Dr. Logan Clendening's 'The Human Body.'
She revised her secret estimate of the little banker
and regretted that she hadn't known him better.
When Dick came out of the bathroom, she showed
him the books and he laughed.
'You'd judge the Lord himself by his taste in liter-
ature. When you get to heaven you'll go around
squatting in front of all the archangels' bookcases.'
'I'll bet the most interesting literature will be found
in hell, darling. All of the 'antis' will be in heaven
and they'll censor the books that are imported from
this earth. Can you imagine an archangel from Boston


130
MURDER IN TEXAS
allowing me to enter with Faulkner's 'Sanctuary'
under my arm?'
'Hardly,' he laughed. 'But how about the Songs of
Solomon? Wouldn't it be funny if a Boston archangel
banned the Bible?' He wandered about the room,
peering into drawers, glancing quickly over papers
taken from a suit of clothes hanging in the closet.
It was the gray seersucker that Ross had worn on the
day of the Fordman murder. The odor of the oil was
heavy in the closet.
'Not much here,' he said, as he returned the letters
and receipted bills to their respective pockets. The
drawers of the secretary yielded even less. Scores of
checkbook stubs were packed in one, arranged care-
fully in order. More receipted bills filled another.
There was no personal correspondence. The desk
pen held no ink and the white blotter was innocent of
stains. Dick took the latter out of its leather-covered
holder and turned it over. It was just as unblemished
on the under side.
'He evidently did his writing at the office,' Dick
remarked. 'I'll get to that desk this afternoon, I
hope. And I still haven't seen Fordman's private
papers. His office was at home, wasn't it?'
'Yes, he had a study downstairs and did everything
there. His secretary should be back next week.'
'Secretary? What the hell? Nobody said anything
about a secretary.'
'Well, he's a pretty retiring sort of fellow. His
last name's Squires, but I haven't seen him often.
He's on a month's vacation. I should think he'd be
back pronto, if he's seen a newspaper.'
'What do you mean, retiring?'


MURDER IN TEXAS
131
'Oh, well, mousey, you know. I never laid eyes on
him but once, but you sort of feel his ever-present
absence or his absent ever-presence or — Good Lord,
I sound positively bats. The man's probably quite
normal, with a wife and six kids somewhere in town.
Fordman's personality hardly encouraged others to
bloom in its presence. Squires just has no personality,
anyway. Did you find anything in the bathroom?'
'Nope. Just a precaution. Th' sheriff left some
prints on th' far doorknob, inside, and some on the
hot-water tap handle when he turned it off and on,
but the rest of the place had been wiped clean. Come
into this other bedroom with me. The door's locked
from that side.'
They went down the hall and into the room that
Mrs. Ross had occupied. Almost every object there
was fully and formally dressed in white or pale-blue
taffeta. The dressing-table stood against a plate-
glass mirror panel set into the wall from the floor to
the ceiling. It stood stiffly in a white taffeta skirt back
to back with its own reflection. The bed was low and
mounted, and it was covered with a white taffeta spread
which spilled in stiff ruffles over the side. A mass of
pale-blue pillows was banked against the gilt head-
board. Occasional chairs were blue and a large chaise
longue was upholstered in white. The heavy pale-
blue taffeta drapes were drawn back from curtains
of sheerest net. There was not one bit of evidence to
show that the room had ever been occupied.
'This,' said Joan, 'is the envy of half the women
in town. Looks like a kept woman's boudoir, if you
ask me.'
'Fie, fie, child! How can you be so crass? This


132
MURDER IN TEXAS
room belongs to a middle-aged wedded spinster. It
is the mute revelation of her soul,' said the man,
opening a closet door gingerly with his handkerchief
over his hand. 'Not in bad taste, you know,' he added.
'No,' admitted Joan; 'she paid a decorator enough
for thinking it up. He submitted seventeen sketches,
in color, before she decided on this one.'
Dick was groping about in the closet without enter-
ing, swearing softly to himself. 'Hey,' he said,'where's
the light?'
Joan looked for a switch on the outside, but could
find none. Dick emerged and, looking in his kit,
found a large flashlight. This he trained on the ceiling
of the closet and saw, immediately overhead, a large
glass square which he identified as an indirect lighting
fixture. He got a small chair from the bedroom and,
standing on it, slid the glass panel back, revealing a
cluster of incandescent bulbs. He looked at these for
a moment and then, covering his hand with his hand-
kerchief, twisted one of them to the right. It glowed
brightly, and he swore again triumphantly. 'The
beggar has been just too damn smart this time. He
should have screwed 'em in again.' After screwing
several more of the bulbs tightly into their sockets,
he got down from the chair, leaving the panel open.
The closet was brilliantly lighted.
He removed the blue chair, its silken seat holding
the imprint of his oily shoes, and with Joan at his side
surveyed the tiny room.
It was a model closet. One end was fitted with
drawers from top to bottom, all neatly labeled Shoes,
Hose, Slips, Gowns, Underwear, Hats, Gloves,
Handkerchiefs, and so on. Joan sighed and re-


MURDER IN TEXAS
133
marked, 'Here's where my envy begins. I have four
drawers for everything I possess.'
The wall in front of them was in reality four sliding
doors. Dick stepped carefully across the carpeted
floor and opened them successively, revealing dresses,
coats, and negligees. He retreated to the doorway again
and looked about the floor. The carpeting was a
continuation of the heavy-pile powder-blue chenille
of the bedroom. It showed footprints clearly, for the
threads were soft and easily crushed. Joan could see
numerous impressions, mostly those of a small toe
and a sharp heel. Then there were several of a larger,
broader shoe with a larger heel, and, as Dick pointed,
she could easily discern the unmistakable impression
of a man's shod foot, crossed and partially obliterated
by this second print.
'I've an idea,' said Dick, 'that these belong to the
nurse who "slep' on th' chase divan las' night."'
He pointed to the sensible print and then to the smaller
one, 'and this to "Mis' Ross" who " slep' on the guest-
room bed."1
'And that,' added Joan in a theatrical voice, 'be-
longs to the man who murdered the man whose wife
slep' on th' guest-room bed.'
'Commendable, my dear Watson, commendable.'
Dick rose from his knees and went to his kit again.
He returned with some white chalk which he used to
trace around six or eight of the prints, especially those
which crossed. Then, focusing his little camera, he
took several time exposures. When this was finished,
he entered the closet and examined the floor carefully.
Joan wandered away and was glancing over a copy
of Earnest Dowson's poems which she found on the


134
MURDER IN TEXAS
bed-table. She was thinking that this was pretty
strong stuff for Mrs. Ross when she discovered an
inscription on the flyleaf reading, 'To Sammy from
Nell, in remembrance.' Mrs. Ross's first name was
Thalia.
An exclamation from Dick brought her back to the
closet. He was sitting on the floor with something in
the palm of his hand. He held it out to her and she
smiled as she took it in her fingers. It was the seed
pod from a weed that grew thickly in that section,
its peculiarity being that it was formed of thin flexible
spikes, each tipped with a barbed point. It was
grassy, pale, and wispy, and Joan blew it lightly from
her fingers to the floor.
Dick rescued it and said: 'There are three of these
here. You know what they are?'
Joan replied: 'Do I! I've had enough contact with
the little devils. They are all over the golf course —
in the rough, I mean — and they stick like the dickens.
The dogs pick them up and so do the sheep and cattle.'
'Does Mrs. Ross play golf?'
'Good Lord, no. But they're likely to be in other
weedy spots than the golf course. Still, I can't see
Thalia Ross walking in the weeds.'
'Humm,' murmured Dick as he deposited the 'little
devils' in a pill-box and heaved himself to his feet.
He got his finger-print outfit and blew the powder
all about the lovely closet, revealing dozens of prints
which he examined under his large lens. After a
moment or two he muttered disgustedly, 'Women.'
He again balanced himself upon the blue chair and
unscrewed two of the bulbs from the overhead fixture.
Taking them to a table he dusted them with a black


MURDER IN TEXAS
135
powder and said, quite loudly, 'Well, I'll be god-
damned!'
'What's the matter?' inquired Joan.
'There are no prints at all on these things.'
He tried the others, getting the same result.
Joan grinned at him and said, 'Do you really think
that he was in the closet?'
'Of course,' was the retort. 'He had to hide some-
where while Sarah came upstairs to investigate the
sound of the shot. He unscrewed the bulbs so that
the automatic switch, controlled by the opening and
closing of the door, wouldn't flood the place with
light in case she happened to open it and look in.
'Not that there was much chance of it, of course,
but he had this one planned perfectly. When she
dashed out and made a bee-line for the Nelsons',
he merely followed her and vanished in the shrubbery.
It was easy. That is, easy to get out. I wonder how
he got in.' Dick mused for a moment and then said,
'Well, let's go outside.'
He repacked his kit, locked the doors leading into
the two bedrooms, and they went quietly downstairs.
Joan found Sarah in the kitchen and asked her if
she might use the telephone.
'De man ain' come yet, Miss Joan, to fix de tele-
phone.'
'Is it out of order?'
'Yessum. It ain' work since yeste'day.'
Joan called to Dick, who was investigating the ar-
rangement of the kitchen stairs, and told him about the
telephone. He laughed shortly.
'I rather wondered about that,' he said. 'Let's
go out the back way.'


136
MURDER IN TEXAS
They went through Sarah's shining kitchen, the
screened back porch, and out into the hot sunshine.
A small path led from the steps directly to the garage.
To the right was the paved drive. The whole yard
was thickly grassed and Joan pointed out the small
greenhouse behind a screen of hedges to the left. They
walked over and looked into the glass building.
Dick pointed upward and said, 'Look, there are
four panes broken, curved ones, too.' The glass was
scattered in the aisles and over the beds of yellow
marigolds. The delicate deep-red petals of the azaleas
lay on the ground and one had been overturned. Dick
found near it several large flinty stones.
'Run back, darling,' he said, 'and ask the admirable
Sarah how-come all this.' He waved a descriptive
hand.
Joan ran, obediently, and found Sarah ironing on
the back porch.
'Ah done git so behind yeste'day, Ah's tryin' to ketch
up today,' she explained when Joan appeared.
'Sarah,' she said, 'how'd the greenhouse glass get
broken?'
'Dem boys, Miss Joan. Yeste'day a HT befo' Mr.
Ross come, Ah heard a big crash an' Ah ran out dar
an' find what you-all seen. Ah goes quick tru' de hedge
an' catch 'em playin' ball on de vacant lot. "You
liT hellions!" Ah yells, "what-for you break our
glass?" an' dey yells back, "We ain' break yo* glass,
we jes' playin' ball." "You-all thow'd rocks an'
broke it," Ah says, "an you better not let Mr. Ross
ketch you." So dey run home an' Ah come in. Ah
sho' dreaded tellin' Mr. Ross, but Ah nevah have to.'
Sarah picked up her iron and snuffled. She put it


MURDER IN TEXAS
137
down again and blew her nose violently. 'Ah's ironin',
honey, to keep mah min' off dese sinful happenin's.'
Joan thanked her and left before Sarah's temporarily
pent-up emotions could break forth, and, as she went
down the steps, the negro woman's mournful contralto
was lifted in the old chant, 'Nobody knows de trouble
Ah sees, Nobody knows but Je—sus.'
She found Dick on a ladder behind the garage. He
hailed her with 'Here's where the son of a so-and-so
cut the telephone wires and tied 'em up again.' The
break was completely invisible from the ground. Dick
descended from the ladder and said, 'Well?'
'Somebody tossed a bunch of rocks through the
greenhouse roof at about twelve-forty-five yesterday.
Sarah blames it on some kids playing ball in the
vacant lot next door, but I have my doubts.'
'Good work, Joan. So have I got my doubts —
about the kids, but not about how our fellow got in
the house. He cut the wires, smashed the glass, luring
Sarah outside, and went in while she argued with the
boys. If that hadn't worked, he could have used
another ruse, equally clever.' He dusted his fingers
with his handkerchief and continued, 'Let's have a
look at the alley.'
They went through the gate back of the garage and
Dick wandered up and down the dusty weed-grown
lane. He came back to Joan saying, 'Nothing to be
seen out here.'
When she pointed silently to his legs, he looked
down and cried out, 'Well, I'll be 'Dozens of
'little devils' had pierced his white flannel trousers
legs and clung tenaciously to the woolen cloth. He
pulled several of them off, shook his pants vigorously,


138
MURDER IN TEXAS
and said, 'They certainly stick like hell, don't they?
And they jab my poor bare shanks, too.' He removed
the rest of the barbs, and they went back into the yard.
Halfway down the drive, he ejaculated, 'Ow!' and
sat down on the steps leading up to the side door.
Two 'little devils' had located themselves in his right
sock and were sticking his ankle with experimental
viciousness. He plucked them out and held them in
his fingers. 'That,' he said to Joan, 'is how those
three got upstairs in Mrs. Ross's swell-elegant closet.
They jabbed him in the ankle and he absent-mindedly
took 'em out and threw them down to betray him.'
Jimmie came panting around the corner, calling to
them, 'Say, what d'ya think, what d'ya think'
'Calm down, calm down,' advised his sister.
'Calm down, nothin'! I bet you don't calm down
when you hear this'
'What is it now?' asked Joan amusedly.
'Well, if you'll quit interruptin' me'
'Interrupting you!'
'Yeah, I said interruptin*'
'Go on, son. What is it? Joan, shut up,'commanded
Fields.
Jimmie cast a grateful glance at Dick, gulped and
began. 'Well, I was talkin' to Joe out there an' he
told me that his father'd gone to town to tell the sheriff
about a car he saw parked across from th' Hathaway
house yesterday about noon. He didn't know th'
guy who came along an' got in it about one o'clock,
but he says that he came from this way. So he decided
that he ought to tell th' sheriff about it so he walked
in this mornin'. They haven't got a car. An' he just
come back an' what d'ya think! It was Mitch White's


MURDER IN TEXAS
139
car an' th' sheriff arrested him right then an' there.'
'Mitch, good Lord!' said Joan; 'they're crazy.'
'Well, Joe's old man said that White couldn't
prove where he was yesterday between twelve and
one, an' that th' sheriff knew that he an' Mr. Fordman
had had a fight a few days ago an' that Mitch couldn't
prove where he was while Mr. Fordman was murdered
an' that he is in love with Marion Fordman an' that
he owes Mr. Ross a thousand dollars an' that Mr.
Fordman threatened to fire him if he didn't keep
away from Marion an' that he said, "I could kill you
for that, sir!"' The excited boy took a long breath.
'Doesn't he deny it, Jimmie?' asked Joan.
'Yeah an' no. Joe's old man says he denied killin'
them, but that he didn't deny anything else.'


XI: Wednesday, July 5: 10.30 a.m.
The three of them hurried back to town and Joan
dropped Dick and Jimmie at the courthouse. She
went on to the office and found Ed Frank banging
away at his machine.
'Thought I'd have to get the paper out single-
handed today,' he greeted her. 'You look perturbed.
Heard about Mitchell?'
'Yes, I have, Ed. They are crazy to arrest that
boy. What do they have against him? The story I
heard sounded awfully wild.'
The editor pushed his machine away and leaned back
in his chair.
'I believe,' he declared, 'that you are in love with
White.'
'I am not,' denied Joan, 'but I'm fond of him. He's
a dear. Tell me what happened, Ed.'
'Well, this man from the Hathaway place' — he
referred to a piece of paper — 'name's Josephus Goetz,
came in with the story that he had seen a car parked
across from the house at around twelve. He was cook-
ing dinner for himself and his son in their rooms over
the garage. They ate their dinner and at about one
o'clock, when he sallied forth to hang the dish-towel
out to dry, he saw, so he says, a man dash down the
sidewalk from the direction of the Ross place, enter
the car, and drive rapidly away. The man he saw
only at a distance, of course, and through the hedge at
that, but the car, he swears, was a Ford roadster,
sand-colored, rumble seat open, top up, equipped with


MURDER IN TEXAS
141
chromium disk wheels. They flashed in the sun, he
said.'
'That must be Mitchell's car,' said Joan slowly.
'What else have they against him? They couldn't
arrest him on that.'
'No. They have something else. They went up
last night and got that chauffeur of Fordman's. He
told them that White had quite a quarrel with John
Fordman several days ago. He admitted listening,
and states that it was over the attention that White
was showing Marion. Evidently Fordman had plans
for his little girl that didn't include marriage or any-
thing else with a dirty newspaper man.' Here Frank
grinned sourly and continued: 'He threatened to fire
Mitch pronto and keep him from getting a job any-
where else in Texas, unless he agreed to leave Marion
alone. Said something about his not being fit to touch
his daughter after some of the floosies that he'd been
with in the oil towns around here. Mitch resented
that, of course, though it's pretty much the truth,
and Wills states that he said, "I could kill you for
that, sir." He's positive White said "sir"! Mannerly
kid, eh?'
'Don't joke, Ed. What does Mitch say?'
'Well, on top of that they've found out that he had
borrowed a thousand dollars on a personal note from
Mr. Ross against his father's estate. The note was
due last week and Ross was pressing him for it.'
Joan put in: 'And when his father's estate was
settled, they found that he'd left three hundred and
fifty dollars in assets and five hundred thousand or
more in debts. Oil ruined him.'
'Yes, Mitch has been hard pressed. Owes me a


142
MURDER IN TEXAS
hundred dollars. I don't expect to see it again. Any-
way, they nabbed him. He was still asleep, smelling
like a brewery, when they went over after him. And
here's the crazy part. I'll read the statement he made.
Millbank questioned him personally.'
Question: Where were you between twelve-forty-five
and one p.m. on Monday, July 3rd?
Answer: You won't believe me if I tell you, but I was
over behind those stinking mesquite and cedar bushes
losing a pint of gin and a perfectly good ham sandwich.
The heat and that sulphur smell made me sick, and to
save the good name of my lousy paper I dashed through
the trees and just made cover before the worst happened.
Question: Can you prove this by witnesses?
Answer: God, I hope not.
Question: Did you enter Mr. Fordman's car at any time
during the day?
Answer: I did not. I was busy with my own affairs, and,
besides, John Fordman didn't like me. I never enter cars
when the owners disapprove of me.
Question: Where were you between twelve-thirty and
one-thirty p.m. on Tuesday, July 4th?
Answer: Well, at twelve
Question: Twelve-thirty please?
Answer: I have to tell you about twelve, first. I left the
office and went by the Greek's — it's a greasy-spoon near
the office — ate a fried-egg sandwich, drank a cup of
coffee, and started up to the barber shop on Main and
Second. When I was opposite the Fredrick Hotel I felt so
uneasy in my stomach that I went into the hotel and,
shutting myself securely into the employee's lavatory
downstairs, I again gave up the ghost, or, more specifically,
the fried-egg sandwich, the cup of coffee, and a half-pint
of rotten corn liquor. You won't believe it, of course.


144
MURDER IN TEXAS
to send me in a sandwich. He got the corn there. I
knew that that old buzzard sold it. It's full of fusel
oil. No wonder it made him sick: and with a fried-
egg sandwich! Ugh!'
The telephone jangled. It was Marion calling.
'Joan,' she said, 'Gere's here and he tells me that
they've arrested Mitchell. Where is Dick Fields?'
'He's at the courthouse now, Marion. Why?'
'I want to see him. It couldn't have been Mitchell.
Pat Drennan's to try and arrange bail. I'm so worried.
No one tells me anything and I just sit here waiting
for the telephone to ring. What do you think about
Mitchell, Joan?'
'I think it's a shame. But don't worry. If he didn't
do it, they'll let him go soon. It's just unfortunate. I
suppose you know why he's drinking?'
'Why, yes. I know that he was unhappy over
what Dad said and I told him that it would be best
if we didn't see each other for a while, anyway. I
haven't seen him since Monday at the field, and I
didn't talk to him then. I thought that he was drunk
and I was angry with him for being such a baby. I
wouldn't even speak to him. I went over and sat
with Mrs. Levy so that he wouldn't come near me.
I knew that he'd avoid Mrs. Levy because she's the
W.C.T.U., you know, and she'd have lectured him.
He called me yesterday around lunch time 1
'He called you?' Joan interrupted. 'When?'
'Around lunch time.'
'What time was it? Can't you remember?'
'No, it was some time between twelve and one. Is
it important?'
''Quite. Try to remember. See if anyone else re-
members. Who answered the telephone?'


MURDER IN TEXAS
145
'Glieth did, but she's outside now. I'll ask her when
she comes in and call you if I have time before the
inquest. We are leaving as soon as Gere comes.'
She rang off and Joan turned excitedly to Frank.
'Yes, I know,' he said. 'You are about to establish
an alibi for him. How'll you know where he called
from?'
'Well, if he called from your room in the Mesa,
the operator will know about it.'
'Not if he used the private wire instead of the house
telephone,' stated Frank, shaking his head.
'That's so,' said Joan, 'and I expect that he would
use it, because the girl there listens in.' She sat for a
moment without moving; then she said, 'Didn't any-
one see him go in at the Mesa?'
'He told Milbank that he didn't think so. Every-
body, he said was in at dinner and he went right up
the stairs and into my room as quickly as he could
go.*
'Surely there was someone at the desk. What about
the switchboard girl?'
'She's in the alcove back of the cloakroom and
only comes out when somebody pounds on that old
bell on the counter. The clerk was at dinner. You
know they serve at half-past twelve and all of the old-
timers who usually inhabit the lobby from dawn until
dark make a mighty break for the dining-room as soon
as the doors are opened.'
Joan nodded in forlorn acquiescence. She could
picture the lobby of the Mesa, paneled in golden-oak,
with the old men planted about in the black leather
rocking-chairs, rocking, spitting, shrilly cackling
among themselves, reading papers (often several days


146
MURDER IN TEXAS
old). She could see them looking slyly at their brassy
turnips, at the hotel clock over the desk, calculating,
wondering what would be for dinner that day. She
could see the clock hands stretching vertically, pulling
out into one thin black line, and hear the single stroke
which signaled the unlatching of the screen doors be-
tween the lobby and the old dining-room. With one
accord, she knew, the ancients had risen, spitting for
the last time into the tall brass cuspidors on rubber
mats by the leather chairs, and trooped to the table
on which the food had already been placed, boarding-
house style. For at least half an hour the lobby would
have been deserted and the boy, ill and disheveled,
walking quickly, could have crossed the room and
mounted the broad padded stairs, unseen.
'A chambermaid might have seen him, Ed,' she
remarked hopefully. 'At least I'll ask Dick to in-
quire. Someone might have seen him on the street,
too, though at dinner time it's unlikely.'
Ed merely grunted and began to type again. Joan
remembered her neglected society column and began
her daily telephoning. It took longer than usual to-
day, for the women, curious and sure of her un-
limited knowledge, questioned her unmercifully.
Frank left for the inquest, stopping to say that he
had hired young Billy Barron to help out'for the time
being.' The editor looked down at her and put a slim
hand over hers as they rested on the typewriter. He
drew her fingers together for a moment, let them go
abruptly, and said, 'You're a sweet kid, Joan.' Then
he turned and went quickly away, through the back
shop.
The girl stared after him, excited and pleased. An


MURDER IN TEXAS
147
inner voice keened out, 'He touched you, not casually,
but deliberately. He wants you, he's yours now.' Her
fingers were cold and trembled against the hard,
positive keys of the machine. She jerked them up and
lighted a cigarette. When she had smoked it through,
her heart was still pounding but her head was clear.
She worked again.
Jimmie called at ten-forty to say that the inquest
was just beginning and that Fields wanted her to meet
him at the hotel for luncheon at one o'clock. The boy
shouted, 'I'm stayin' for th' inquest. He's holdin' my
seat. G'bye.'
Mrs. Fiske, who had entertained the Idle Hour
Bridge Club on the preceding day, called at eleven-
thirty.
'Oh, Miss Shields, did you get my list?' she in-
quired.
'Yes, Mrs. Fiske. Your sister brought it in, in ad-
vance, on Monday, you know.'
'Oh, yes. I'd forgot. But you don't know about the
prizes or the refreshments, do you?'
'Why, yes, ma'am. Your sister came by yesterday
afternoon and left me a note. She said that you used a
red, white, and blue motif carried out in refreshments
and decorations'
'And in the flowers, too,' broke in Mrs. Fiske. 'We
had carnations, red, you know, and white, tied with a
blue ribbon, at each plate for favors. The flowers
came from Fort Worth, you know, by mail, special.'
'Yes, your sister put that in,' said Joan, moving her
mouth away from the damp, sticky telephone.
'And the prizes,' continued Mrs. Fiske, 'the first for
visitors was a kitchen clock, green. Miss Jacks, the


148
MURDER IN TEXAS
new elocution teacher, you know, won that. And for
members I gave bath salts, "Tre Jour." Mrs. Ross
won that.' She rushed on: 'Isn't it awful about Mr.
Ross, Miss Shields? And Mrs. Ross playing bridge
here all afternoon and having such wonderful luck!
You know she said once to me, "This must be my
lucky day," poor thing. Little did she know, or any of
us. And when she telephoned home'
'When did she telephone, Mrs. Fiske?' asked Joan.
'Why, I remember exactly. It was just before we
served luncheon. She came into the hallway and
telephoned, but nobody would answer. It must have
been around a quarter of one. She just couldn't under-
stand why Sarah didn't answer. But she didn't try
very long because we were electing officers and she
wanted to vote. You see,' explained the woman, 'she
had been renominated for president against Mrs.
Clarence Jones'
'Mrs. Jones's name wasn't on your list.'
'No, Agnes couldn't come. She called up just an
hour before luncheon and said that she was sick.
Well, anyway, Mrs. Ross was elected president, of
course. She's been president for three years, you
know.'
Joan listened with growing impatience and got rid of
Mrs. Fiske soon by saying that the other telephone
was ringing. She promised to give her a number one
head on her story, to use all of the details, and then she
hung up.
Finishing the day's society news at twelve-thirty,
she decided to run over to the Mesa Hotel and see if
someone had not seen Mitch on the day before. It was
twelve-thirty-five when she entered the dark, musty


MURDER IN TEXAS 149
old building. After the blinding glare outside, the in-
terior was gratefully cool. There was no one in the
lobby. The leather chairs were empty as were the
circular leather benches built around the pillars that
supported the high ceiling. Discarded newspapers
littered the floors around the cuspidors and a bridge
table supporting a large checkerboard with the red and
black counters still in place stood waiting for the com-
batants to return to the deserted battlefield.
Joan could see no one, but she could hear them at
their food. Down the large hall to the right of the
lobby were double screen doors, and the noise of
dishes rattling against trays, against one another, and
being thumped down upon the table-tops almost com-
pletely drowned the low murmur of conversation.
The broad desk held the huge register, open with the
bell upon it, and behind were the rows of pigeonholes
for keys and mail. Joan peered across the desk and
looked into the pigeonhole numbered 22. The key lay
in its box with its identification board dangling outside.
Some letters bridged the box, diagonally, above the key.
Frank had not been in.
The girl turned to her left and went slowly up the
broad green-carpeted stairs. The long hall was empty
and piles of dirty linen stood outside several doors.
The chambermaid was evidently at her dinner, also.
Joan moved down the hall toward the linen closet,
peered inside. The light that had attracted her was
burning brightly, but the little cupboard was deserted.
Ed Frank's room was just across and she tentatively
turned the knob. To her surprise the door opened and
she stepped inside. The unmade bed and a large pile of
soiled sheets and towels on the floor told the story of


MURDER IN TEXAS
the unlocked door; the room was in the process of being
tidied.
Joan had been in it only once before, and now in the
light of her awakening interest in Frank, she looked
about with curious eyes. It was a typical bed-sitting-
room of the old period hotel type. A large white iron
bedstead denuded of its coverings stood near the win-
dow to the right. By it was a glass-topped desk table
holding two telephones. The rest of the furnishings
included a bureau littered with ties, papers, and
magazines, and there were several comfortable chairs
and a bookcase. The bookcase, obviously not the
hotel's contribution to Frank's comfort, was built
against the left wall and extended from the floor to the
ceiling.
Joan looked at the books and mentally cursed Ed
for not having offered some of them to her. The choice
was varied and many were recent. His taste ranged
from the better mystery stories to contemporary verse.
Joan fingered Kay Cleaver Strahan's latest thriller,
noted Mignon Eberhart's 'White Cockatoo,' Francis
Isles's 'Before the Fact,' and Leslie Ford's delightful
'Murder in Maryland.' She felt cheated that she could
not take away with her Mrs. Rinehart's 'The Album'
which she had been unable to keep up with in the
Saturday Evening Post.
She noticed several volumes on short-story writing
and that excellent guide ' 1001 Markets for the Writer.'
Frank must be working after hours, she thought, and
wondered if he had already sold anything. He'd never
tell anyone. She was looking at a book titled 'Pro-
blems in Contract,' when one of the telephones shrilled
behind her. It startled her badly and she dropped the


MURDER IN TEXAS
book to the floor. The telephone rang again and she
walked over to the glass-topped table, wondering what
she should do.
At the third burr of the bell she reached a decisive
hand and plucked the receiver of the French 'phone
from its cradle. The bell was silenced. This was the
outside wire. She glanced at the pile of dirty linen on
the floor and said, pitching her voice into a typical
negro treble, 'Hello.'
A woman demanded, 'Let me speak to Mr. Frank.'
'Mr. Frank ain' heah,' replied Joan.
'Who is this?' asked the woman.
'Dis yere's de chambahmaid.'
There was a silence, and Joan wondered what she
would do if Frank were to come in suddenly. Then the
woman spoke again, 'Well, never mind. I'll call
no, is there a pencil there?'
'A pencil heah?' inquired Joan vaguely.
'Yes, a pencil and some paper. I want you to write
down a message for Mr. Frank. Will you?'
'Wellum 'began Joan; then,'Yassum, there's a
pencil right heah. Ah'll take you numbah.'
'All right. It's seven—two—two. Did you get that?
What did I say?'
'Yo' said "seven—two—two." Ah'l write it right
down an' leave it heah. He'll git it sho'.'
'Don't forget it now,' cautioned the woman. 'It's
quite important. Write " Important" by the number.'
'Wellum,' said Joan vaguely, 'iffen you'll spell it.'
'Never mind. Just leave the number,' came the re-
ply hurriedly, and the connection was broken with a
loud click.
Joan replaced the receiver and stood thinking.


XII: Wednesday, July 5: 1 p.m.
A few moments later, Joan was out of the Mesa and,
driving quickly around the two blocks intervening, she
parked in front of the Fredrick Hotel. Dick was wait-
ing in the lobby and they went into the dining-room.
A few people gazed curiously at them as they took a
small table in a corner, away from the group. A
waitress hurried after them and hastily set the table,
saying, 'We only set those up closer. You sure this is
all right?' They reassured her and sent her away with
their orders.
Dick took a notebook from his pocket and said,
'These are the most important facts brought out at
the inquest this morning which, by the way, returned
the verdict of murder by person or persons unknown —
the old stand-by.'
Joan sighed in relief. 'They didn't decide on Mitch,
then?'
'No, the sheriff didn't press his case. He needs more
evidence, and I persuaded him to wait. The jury was a
dumb one, anyway. Here's what came out, besides
what we already know: first, the .25 automatic be-
longed to Marion Fordman. She and Drexell were
practicing with it after lunch on Monday. They were
back of the house, and when Fordman came out and
called them to go to the field with him they got into
the car and Marion slipped it into the pocket on the
right-hand door. Drexell says that the finger-prints on
the clip are most likely his, as he reloaded the gun after
they finished shooting.'


154
MURDER IN TEXAS
'What was Marion doing with a gun?' asked Joan.
'Her father gave it to her to carry in her own car,
she said. She expected to drive down to Houston after
Mrs. Lawrence soon. Incidentally, the large gun be-
longed to Ross and the finger-prints are his. I checked
that last night. Forgot to tell you. Also checked on
the bullet extracted from Fordman's body. It came
from the small gun, and the one in the plaster in the
Ross bathroom came from the larger one.'
'When on earth did you do all of this, Dick?'
'Last night after I sent you home. I went over to
the undertaker's and saw the good doctor who was
performing the autopsy. He gave me the slug out of
Fordman's body. I brought it back here and checked
them both. I had the one that killed Ross. It's pretty
rough checking, of course, with my limited para-
phernalia, but I sent 'em off by air today to Dallas for
an expert to look at, guns and slugs. You see I've only
got a comparison 'scope with me, and in almost every
case it suffices, but both of the bullets were somewhat
battered, the larger one by smashing into the bath-
room wall and the smaller by hitting one of Mr. Ford-
man's ribs and finally lodging in the backbone. I pre-
fer to have 'em verified by an expert with a universal
molecular 'scope. And, too, it was hard for me to get
companion bullets to use for comparison without
flattening them out considerably. They won't have
that trouble in Dallas.'
'It's Greek to me, Dick. What else came out at the
inquest?'
'Nothing of importance. In a case of obvious •
murder the inquest just furnishes a sort of screen
behind which the officers can work. It doesn't tip off


MURDER IN TEXAS
155
the culprit because they seldom allow any important
evidence to be given at that time.'
'So they brought in the verdict of "murder by per-
son or persons unknown,'" mused Joan.
'Yes. The jury seemed bewildered by the evidence,
especially that of your brother.'
'Jimmie?'
'Yes. He was called to tell of finding the .25 auto-
matic. He was pretty thrilled, too.'
'Good Lord! Mom will certainly be mad. She
thinks he's still a baby.'
'He did very creditably and he left you out entirely,
on my advice.'
'Thanks for that,' said Joan gratefully.
'You see,' continued Dick, 'they probably had some
notion of calling it suicide until then, but even they
knew that Fordman couldn't have killed himself and
then run around and stuck the gun into the spare-tire
cover. The doctor testified as to the wound and the
bullet extracted, and they took it for granted, even
without my testimony, that the little gun was used.
A flock of people testified, including the overripe Agnes
Jones. She's an odd one, isn't she?'
'Yes. Both she and Mildred are cases for a good
psychiatrist. Not mental cases — I don't mean that.
Nymphomania, I believe it's called, isn't it? They
can't behave normally where men are concerned. I get
so disgusted with Mildred. Whenever we have a party
or go to a dance, you can always count on Mildred to
drink too much and make a fool of herself over some
man. By the way,' she added, 'one of them seems to
be after Ed Frank now.' She related the incident in
the hotel room. Dick was mildly interested. Then


156
MURDER IN TEXAS
she told him what Marion had said about Mitchell's
call on the day before.
You go,' he directed,'to the telephone company and
get someone in authority. Get their statement as to
when they first knew of the break in service and when
they sent someone out to look things over. They al-
ways keep a record of such things. That kid,' he con-
tinued, 'may get an alibi out of this. That is, if Mrs.
Lawrence can remember exactly when he telephoned
Marion. It's obvious that he couldn't have called
from the Ross place after the wire was cut, and he
couldn't have called from there before it was cut be-
cause he wasn't in the house, if he was the murderer.
Hence, if he called the Fordman house after the break
was reported and before the murder was committed at
one o'clock, he obviously didn't commit the mur-
der.'
They finished lunch and Dick went back to the court-
house to see the sheriff before the second inquest could
begin. Joan went to the office of the telephone com-
pany and asked for Mr. Bell, the appropriately named
general manager. He heard her request, hurried away,
and returned to tell her that Mrs. Ross herself, speak-
ing from the home of C. C. Fiske, had reported that
there was no answer at her home, saying that the
operator had believed the wire to be out of order.
The time, he said, was twelve-forty-six p.m. They had
sent no one out until this morning, as it was the
Fourth of July and the force was short-handed. This
morning, however, the man had found the wires cut
near the garage, had repaired them, and reported that
the telephone was again functioning properly.
Joan returned to the office and found a note on her
0


MURDER IN TEXAS 157
♦
desk with Marion's number scribbled on it. She called
and Mrs. Lawrence answered. She said, 'I understand
that you want to know when Mr. White called Marion
yesterday, Miss Shields?' *
'Yes, it's quite important,' said Joan.
'Well, I remember that it was exactly ten minutes of
one. I looked at my watch as I came through the hall.
I was wondering whether or not I'd have time to dress
before luncheon. You see, I had only arrived a few
moments before and everything was so upset that I
hadn't changed. Marion told me that we'd lunch at
one o'clock and then go to town to the inquest.' Here
her cool voice broke off, but she resumed almost im-
mediately: 'So I hurried indoors, leaving Marion on
the porch talking with the chauffeur about a new car.
As I walked down the hall, the telephone rang. No one
was about, so I answered it. It was Mr. White and he
thought I was Marion. I inally convinced him that I
was not, and went out to call her, but she refused to
answer the telephone, so I returned and told him that
she was too busy at the moment to talk. He seemed
satisfied and, thanking me, hung up. It was five min-
utes of one before I reached my room. I looked again
and decided to change after luncheon.' She waited for
Joan to comment.
'I thank you so much, Mrs. Lawrence. You'll be
willing to swear to this, won't you? You see, Mr.
White has been accused of these murders solely on cir-
cumstantial evidence, and this conversation which he
had with you practically ruins the whole case against
him,' Joan told her.
'Why, yes,' said the woman,' I would swear to it and
so for that matter could Marion and the chauffeur.
0


MURDER IN TEXAS
159
only ones she kept were the four companion papers
that carried the bridge article and several state papers
that might include it. Then she went rapidly through
this pile, keeping only the ones dated Saturday, July 1.
She had seven papers when she finished and stood
knee-deep in the discarded mass. The first one was the
El Paso Banner. She opened it to the woman's page
where the bridge article was run, and found the one
she sought. But the back side of the sheet carried only
sports news. The crossword puzzle was tucked away
in a corner of the last page, with the comics. She
crumpled the Banner and threw it to the floor.
The next paper was the San Antonio Light, a com-
panion sheet, owned by Fordman. It was the one she
sought. Her marking around the bridge article in-
cluded the crossword puzzle and the continued story;
as well as she could tell, this was the exact placement
shown by the clipping. She refolded the paper care-
fully and went through the others just to make certain
that there was no duplication. She found that there
was none, and tossed the mass of discarded exchanges
back to the table, thoroughly mixing the chosen six
among them.
It was three-thirty. The office was quiet. The book-
keeper sat on his high stool in a corner and, arching his
shoulders back, scratched at an inaccessible spot be-
tween them. Billy, a local youngster, journalism
student at State University during the winter, was
conscientiously reading proof at Mitchell's desk. He
had been so quiet that Joan had forgotten him. He
smiled at her as she looked around, and said, 'Did you
find your paper, Miss Shields?' referring to her me-
thodical if messy search among the exchanges.


i6o
MURDER IN TEXAS
She laughed and replied: 'Yes, I keep tabs on the
other society editors. One of them thinks of something
new every now and then and if I don't see it before Mr.
Frank does, he's apt to call my attention to it. We
newspaper people are notorious plagiarists, you know.
Sure as the Dallas News uses a new boxed feature head
over an Amelia Earhart story, we try it out next Sun-
day over two columns of Eleanor Roosevelt human-
interest stuff. I'm in search of new ideas for the Friday
Market Page. It's the devil to keep interesting. Joyce
Maxwell of the El Paso Ledger featured fruit soups this
week. A banana consommd won first prize. She was
certainly hard up for subjects.'
The boy laughed and Joan left. She drove out to the
negro district and stopped in front of a low white-
washed cottage, its fenced yard crammed with every
type of flower that would bloom under the western sun.
A negro woman sat in a rocker on the small porch.
'Hello, Belinda,' called Joan as she got out of the
car.
'Howdy, Miss Shields,' cried the woman, coming
down the steps toward her. 'Come in, come in,' she
continued. 'Hit's too hot out yere in de sun. Come in
an' set on th' po'ch an* Ah'll git yo' some lemonade.'
She raised her voice suddenly and bellowed, 'Austin,
git Miss Shields some lemonade.'
Belinda's daughter appeared in the doorway, giggled,
withdrew. When she returned a few moments later,
she bore a tall glass of pale-yellow liquid with a piece of
mint tucked in the side.
Joan accepted it, thanked her, and they talked about
the heat, the depression, and the terrible happenings in
town. The girl finally approached her mission casually,


MURDER IN TEXAS
I6l
with 'By the way, Belinda, you wash for the Ford-
mans, don't you?'
'Yassum,' replied the woman. 'Ah does all o' Miss
Fordman's dresses, lak yo's.' She chuckled.
'Do you work for Mrs. Jones, too?'
'No'm. She has a girl who does dey things on de
place.'
'Belinda, if you saw a man's handkerchief, would
you recognize it? That is, I mean, if it was in your
work regularly?'
'Mebby Ah would, Miss Shields,' said the negress
doubtfully, 'but if Ah didn't, Dallas might. She's de
younges', you know, an' she does the HT flat things.'
Belinda referred to her seventh daughter, who was in
the neighborhood of eight years and whose head was
extending over the edge of the porch directly behind
her mother.
The negro woman thought awhile and then said:'Ef
it was dahned, Miss Shields, or ef it had a spot or
somethin', it would be easier. Did you-all git an extry
hank'chief in yo' wash? Ain' nobody complainin' about
losin' one. You-all jes' keep it,' she advised.
'I hate to do that, Belinda,' replied Joan. 'I'll bring
it by tomorrow and let Dallas look it over. She may
know whose it is. Do you keep any record of your
customers?'
'Yassum,' said the puzzled woman. 'Ah has to, else
we'd never know when who was who. Whaffo' yo' ask?'
'We'd like to run a story about you and the girls in
the paper, Belinda,' said Joan rashly. 'With pictures
and everything,' she added. 'I might be able to run a
list of your customers along with it. It would do your
business a lot of good.'


162 MURDER IN TEXAS
The negress beamed at her, delighted. 'Well, well,
well,' she said, 'ef yo' ain' sweet, Miss Shields. Ah's
got my customers' list right heah.' She produced a
ten-cent composition book from her apron pocket and
held it out to Joan. As the girl thumbed through it,
her spirits fell. There were at least fifty names. She
copied out into her own notebook about thirty of
these — the ones she thought might help — and re-
turned Belinda's list to her.
Promising to send a photographer out next week,
she got away and cursed herself roundly, on the way
back to town. She'd have to run the story about Be-
linda, she knew. Couldn't disappoint her. Belinda
would be telling her neighbors now, and begin looking
for the photograph in the evening's edition. Joan's mo-
ther had a saying, 'Never promise a child or a negro
anything unless you intend to do it. They are too
easily disappointed.' Well, she thought, if Belinda can
identify the handkerchief that Jimmie had found with
the gun, she'd have earned a story. Anyway, a few
lines on the girls' names .were always amusing.
She stopped by the office and Billie told her that
Dick had called and asked her to meet him at five
o'clock at the courthouse. Ed was still away and
Billie was waiting for someone to tell him what to do.
It was four-forty-five and he told her that the inquest
had just 'let out.' 'They brought in the same verdict,
Miss Shields,' he said. 'I called up Dad an' he told me.
He was on the jury an' just got back to th' store. He
said that it sure was one big mess. Nobody seemed to
know anything except that detective from St. Louis
who just called you, and he only answered the ques-
tions, didn't volunteer anything extra, Dad said.'


MURDER IN TEXAS 163
Frank came in and threw a sardonic smile at Joan.
'Well,' he said, 'they didn't hang Mitch this after-
noon, but he's still in the coop. How are things going
here?'
The linotypes were silent in the shop and, after a
short search, he and Joan found Mac and the boys
rolling dice in the pressroom.
'Hell,' said Mac, spitting tobacco juice in the pit
under the press, 'there ain't no copy left to set up.
We been waitin' around here two hours. Everything's
ready to go but th' front page and an inside I kep' for
run-over. We can get it off in an hour and a half.'
Ed returned to his desk and started on the story of
the second inquest. Joan, knowing that there was
nothing more for her to do, waved good-bye to Ed and
went to meet Dick.
He was standing in front of the jail talking to the
sheriff. They went in to see Mitchell. He was lying on
the cot in his cell, reading, by the light of the one small
window above him, a newspaper which he threw to the
floor and jumped to his feet when Joan called to him
from the corridor.
'Hi, Mitch,' she said, 'you look soberer than I've
seen you in days.'
'I am sober, honey, and I can't get the sheriff to let
me even send out for corn!' He laughed and seemed
glad to see them. There was a few moments' silence.
He broke it with: 'I've been reading the state papers.
They've sure got it covered, haven't they? There was
a bunch of fellows up this mornin'. The sheriff let 'em
talk to me — through the bars. I knew most of 'em.'
He stopped and then spoke to Dick. 'Say, Fields,' he
said, 'how long'll it be before you get this thing cleared


MURDER IN TEXAS
up? I'm going to get tired of reading papers soon. An'
that cot' — he gestured — 'it's sure hard. I'm not
looking forward to my night's rest.'
'We'll get you out before long, Mitch,' promised
Joan. The sheriff chuckled behind her. She turned
and spoke to him. 'Sheriff, I can give you an alibi for
Mr. White right now that will cover yesterday's mur-
der. You want it?'
'I'll listen, Miss Shields,' said the big man politely.
Joan turned back to Mitchell, who was regarding
her with interest. 'Mitch,' she said, 'what time did
you say that you went over to the Mesa?'
'I don't know for sure, Joan, but it must have been
after twelve-thirty. Those old fossils were in at dinner.
It must have been before one, too, because I met
Frank at one-thirty in the sheriff's office and I shaved
and bathed during the time I was there. Say twelve-
forty or twelve-forty-five, I guess.'
'What else did you do while you were in Ed's room,
Mitch?'
'What else? Nothing that I know of. Why?'
'Think again, Mitch.'
The reporter pressed his head against the barred
door and they all stood in silence.
He jerked his head up and said, 'I didn't want to
say, but I guess you mean did I telephone anyone?'
Joan nodded and looked at the sheriff. He moved
closer and rumbled in his throat.
Joan said to Mitch, 'Who'd you telephone, idiot?'
'Why, I called Marion, but she wouldn't talk to me,'
he answered slowly.
'What time did you call Miss Fordman?' put in
Dick.


MURDER IN TEXAS
one o'clock, because he[was inside the Ross home and
the telephone service was disconnected.
'Now, Mrs. Lawrence is ready to swear that Mr.
White called and asked for Miss Fordman at ten
minutes of one. He talked with her for at least two
minutes and waited two more while she went to inform
Marion that he was on the wire.
'And, furthermore,' she added, 'I have proof that
the Ross telephone was out of order at a quarter of
one, because Mrs. Ross herself reported the fact at the
telephone office. She had tried to 'phone Sarah from
Mrs. Fiske's, and when she couldn't get anyone and
Central told her that the wire seemed out of order, she
called the business office and reported this fact.' Joan
stopped and drew a long breath.
Mitchell said, 'Thanks, kid, I'll do as much for you
some day.'
The sheriff rumbled in his throat again, brushed his
hand across his gray roach, and thought for a moment.
'It'll have to be verified, White,' he declared, 'and if
it's true, I'm sure I'll be glad enough to let you go,
providin' Millbank agrees.' He turned to Joan and
grinned: 'Ya see, Miss Shields, ya can't blame us. He
never told us nothin' about this-here 'phone call an'
them alibis he give us was just about the worst I've
ever heard. Sick in th' bushes. Sick at th' Fredrick.
It didn't sound possible.'
'It was a remarkable coincidence,' said Joan.
'Call it what ya like,' added the sheriff, 'but anyway
ya look at it, it sounds fishy. An' with all them people
out at the field on Monday, we can't find a one who
says they saw White.'
The four of them stood in silence, and then the


MURDER IN TEXAS
'You used to like her, boy; why the sudden
change?'
'Ya can't eat ripe olives every meal,' was the suc-
cinct rejoinder, and Joan left him mumbling.
She joined the sheriff and Dick who had waited for
her at the end of the corridor.
They went into the former's office and talked the
situation over for a few minutes, Joan telling them
what Mitchell had said about the Levy child.
The sheriff looked skeptical, but said:'You might go
talk to her, Miss Shields, in front of her mother, of
course, an' see what she says. This whole dam' busi-
ness has me buffaloed, I don't mind sayin', an' with
Millbank yellin' for an arrest Well, that stuff
about the telephone calls, it oughta spring 'em. I'll go
see Millbank now an' you can see the Levy kid an'
meet us here in two hours. How about it?'
Joan assented, and she and Dick left the building.
They sat in Joan's car and the girl told him about the
San Antonio newspaper, producing it from her brief
case. He looked at it and then took her list of Belinda's
customers. They went over it together, but it yielded
only four names to interest them. These were, Ford-
man, Drexell, Ross, and Levy. Joan went over the list
again carefully, and then added Mrs. Getschalk, say-
ing, 'I hate to do this, but I see that Mitchell's land-
lady is also represented. She sends his things out for
him, I know.'
'Well,' announced Dick, 'we seem to be getting
somewhere. At least the number of our suspects is
dwindling. Say, I wired that bird Hall today, the
bridge columnist, you know, and asked him who sent in
the problem that's presented in our clipping.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
169
'What good will knowing that do you?' asked Joan
curiously.
'What good? Say, didn't you read the article
through?'
'Lord, no,' was the reply. 'One bridge conundrum is
like another to me. I read the first two or three para-
graphs, but that's all.'
'You shock me, Joan. And I thought that you had
the makin' of such a good detective.' He shook his
head sadly and climbed out of the car. 'Come up and
see me sometime. I'll show it to you. In the mean-
time, mull over it, darlin'. You had the darn thing
almost as long as I have. Well, I must away. You go
out and quiz the women and children for your boy
friend. I've other work to do. See you here at seven.'
He did see her there at seven. She was excited and
obviously amused over something. Judge Millbank
and Sheriff Read were in the latter's office. Millbank,
an officious little fat man dressed in senatorial black,
wearing a William Jennings Bryan bow-tie, bowed
politely to Joan. Her father was a wealthy man and
his opinions were highly respected in matters political.
The four of them went over the case and the con-
clusion reached regarding Mitchell's part.
Joan said: 'And I've another bit of proof that should
convince you that he is telling the truth about Mon-
day. I went out today and talked to Mrs. Levy and
Rea. The child is eight years old, you know, and quite
intelligent, if a pest. I began by asking Mrs. Levy
where she herself was when the well was shot off. She
said that she had not moved from their car at any
time and that Miss Fordman had joined her at twelve-


170
MURDER IN TEXAS
thirty. She knew because she asked Marion the time.
They agreed that they still had a half-hour to wait.
'Rea, she stated, had gone with her father to get a
closer view. She said that her husband returned, with-
out the child, at the moment the well was shot off. He
arrived out of breath because he had run to keep from
being in the spray that always follows the shot.
'She asked him where Rea was and he said that she
had left him quite some time before, to return to the
car. They both grew very agitated as the moments
passed and Rea didn't show up. But just as Mr. Levy
was going away to look for her, she appeared with
some story about a man who had yelled at her.
'They were still talking to her, scolding her, when
Marion left them and went to her own car, finding, as
you know, her father's body. The ensuing hullabaloo
drove the thought of Rea's adventure out of their
minds.
'But Rea remembered it!' Here Joan laughed and
continued. 'I'll tell you what she said that the man
yelled at her presently. It's really funny. You should
have seen Mrs. Levy's face — but, anyway, her story
was that she had come back to the car and, noticing
that Miss Fordman and her mother were talking, she
slipped around and crept into the mesquite thicket to
get some mesquite beans to chew.1 Her mother con-
sidered this a dirty practice, hence the secrecy of the
venture.
'She was in the middle of the thicket gathering, and
I presume chewing, the beans, when a man came
1 When ripe, these long reddish beans are considered quite delectable
to Southwestern youngsters, who chew and suck them much as if they
were sugar-cane.


XIII: Wednesday, July 5: 7.45 p.m.
Mitchell and Joan and Dick took a small table in
the back room of the roadhouse. Mitch recommended
the rye, so they ordered highballs and sandwiches
and talked about the case.
'What I can't understand,' said Joan, 'is how the
murderer used your car, Mitch.'
'I thought about that in jail,' answered the reporter.
'It was easy. I left it in front of the courthouse at
about eleven-thirty and I didn't use it again until
one-thirty, when I drove out to the Ross place with
the sheriff's party. I never lock the thing, you know.
It's pretty well shot and I've got good insurance. I
wish that bird had wrecked it.'
'Someone must have used it deliberately,' said
Joan, 'to implicate you.'
'What came out at the second inquest?' asked
Mitchell of Dick.
'Nothing of importance. They only took the testi-
mony of the maid who found the body, the doctor,
the sheriff, and myself. Oh, yes, and that of the
paying teller at the bank, who says that Ross left
there at around twelve-forty-five. Since it was a
holiday no particular attention was paid to the exact
luncheon hours. Only three or four of the employees
were working, anyway. Ross, however, worked every
day — even came down on Sundays.'
'Have the police checked on the alibis for the second
murder yet?' asked Joan.
Dick snorted. 'They are trying to do so "incon-


174
MURDER IN TEXAS
spicuously" according to Millbank. Anybody in
this place with a little cash in the bank is sacred.'
'Well, what are they doing?'
'For one thing they're looking up the past histories
of Drexell and of Day. Both of them are comparative
newcomers here. That is, they aren't "old-timers."'
'Is that all?'
'Well, we are going into conference tomorrow morn-
ing and interview a bunch of these people. Millbank
has decided that we'll have to risk offending them.'
They finished their drinks and sandwiches and
drove back to town. After dropping Mitch at his
boarding-house, Dick said, 'How long will it take to
get out to the Trotter farm?'
Joan looked at him curiously. 'About half an hour.'
'We'll go,' he announced — and they went.
Out the South Pike, through the oil fields and on
into the rolling farm country. It was dark before
Joan turned the roadster into a sandy lane that ended
in a barnyard. They went through the barbed-wire
gate and up to the house. The Trotters were sitting
on the front porch and a young fellow in overalls,
evidently Crystal's beau, arose from the porch step.
Joan was greeted effusively by Mrs. Trotter, and they
all gazed at Dick when Joan told them that he was
representing the police and wanted to ask some more
questions.
'Well,' said Mrs. Trotter, rising excitedly to her
feet, 'let's all go in th' settin' room where we kin see.'
They followed her into the musty-smelling parlor and
seated themselves about the room. Dick took a
chair at the oak center table on which Crystal had
placed two oil lamps.


MURDER IN TEXAS
175
Mrs. Trotter leaned forward in her straight-backed
kitchen chair and watched Fields solemnly. The
others were intensely interested.
Dick produced the sketch of the field, talking to
the woman as he did so. 'Mrs. Trotter,' he com-
plimented, 'your story was a marvel of accuracy,
but there are a few things that need elaboration —
er— I mean, more explaining. The situation, as you
probably know, has become even more serious and
we need all the help we can get.
'Now tell me... you stated that it was between
twelve-thirty and twelve-thirty-five when your hus-
band parked near the rope.' He pushed the map
toward her and continued, 'Just where were you,
exactly?'
Mrs. Trotter studied the sketch and said: 'This-
here's real clear. Our car was th' second one in th'
line acrost th' road from Mr. Levy's.' She pointed,
and Dick marked the place. 'You see,' continued
the country woman, 'when we drove up, there was
lots of cars already parked, an' we thought we'd
have to walk up to see anything, but jest as we was
backin' off, a car come out of that space an' we got
it.'
'I see,' said Dick, then, 'and how long after that
did you notice Mr. Fordman?'
'Well,' she considered, 'we got outen th' car an'
watched by th' rope for a while. I seen Mr. Fordman
then, talkin' to some men'
'Where were they standing?' interrupted Dick.
'Right there at th' corner of th' derrick — th'
corner nearest us.'
'The northeast corner?'


176
MURDER IN TEXAS^
'Yes, I guess that was it. I never do remember
directions well.'
'This must have been about twelve-forty-five?'
'I guess. It couldn't have been more'n five minutes,
anyway.'
'Then?'
'Well, we got too hot out there in th' sun. So I
sez to Crystal, "Let's git back in th' car." We all
did, Jason too, an' it was about then that I seen Mr.
Fordman goin' towards his car.'
'Did you know any of the men with him?'
'No, I can't say as I did. I didn't notice no one
in partic'lar. There was people runnin' all around
an' some man was tryin' to get 'em outside th' rope.
There was lots of kids too, an' I remember sayin'
to Crystal that their folks oughta be ashamed to let
'em run aroun' loose where there might be an ex-
plosion any minute.'
'Then you watched only Mr. Fordman. What did
he do?'
'He walked acrosst towards his car an' when some-
body shouted at th' well he began to run. Everybody
was a-runnin'. He got to his car, opened th' door'
'Wait,' said Dick. 'When he opened the door did
he get in immediately?'
'Well, no, not exactly,' answered the woman. T
remember he put his foot on th' runnin'-board an'
stood there a moment. Then he looked back at th'
well an' got in.'
'You said in your story that "he got in and sat
down." Could you see him after he got in the car?'
'Well, now, I reckin I couldn't. I probably said
that he set down because that's what anybody does


MURDER IN TEXAS
177
when they git in a car, but now that you mention it
I don't suppose'
'You stated that you looked away then, at the well.
Was this at the moment of the explosion?'
'Oh, no. Th' man that yelled must of made a
mistake because it was quite a while before th' thing
exploded. We kep' a-waitin' an' a-waitin', ever'body
gittin' nervouser an' nervouser all th' time. It was
kind of like watchin' a kid blow up a balloon, expectin'
it t' bust any minute. Crystal had her fingers in her
ears 'til she near deefened herself. Then she took
'em out just when th' thing went off.'
Mrs. Trotter allowed herself to chuckle softly at
the memory.
Dick said, 'But you didn't have your fingers in
your ears, did you?'
'No,' said the woman, 'loud noises don't bother
me none. Why, Crystal was a-jumpin' ever' time that-
there truck back-fired, thinkin' it was th' well.'
'What truck was that?'
'The one at th' well. Th' man who got in it to drive
it away couldn't seem to git it started an' it back-
fired all the time 'til he finally got it over back of
th' well. That made ever'body laugh.'
Dick glanced at Joan, who nodded approvingly.
He smiled at her and then said to Mrs. Trotter, 'It
was particularly noisy then before the explosion?'
'Laws, yes,' answered the woman. 'Ever'body was
a-yellin' an' when that-there truck begun its noise,
they all laughed an' shouted an' blew their car horns.
You know how people act when somethin' like that
happens.'
Joan knew. She could easily reconstruct the inci-


MURDER IN TEXAS
179
of what Mrs. Trotter just told us. We must rearrange
our time limit. The murderer had from twelve-fifty
to about one-ten — twenty minutes — in which to
act. He or she could ;have been out of the car and
well away from it by one-four, when the well was
shot.'
'Then you think that Mr. Fordman could have
been murdered during the fourteen minutes before the
explosion?'
'Yes. With the noise that Mrs. Trotter described
in full blast, the crack of that little revolver would
easily have gone unnoticed.
Joan applied her brakes suddenly and they bumped
over the last cattle-guard and turned into the high-
way. 'What did you do while I went to see the Levys
this afternoon?'
11 went through Ross's things at the bank. The only
interesting discovery that I made was in his personal
letter-file. The space marked "Fordman" was empty.'
'Empty?'
'Yeah. It had been quite full, too. The gap hadn't
been shoved together, if you get what I mean.'
'Well, I never heard of a gap being shoved together,
but I think I understand,' remarked Joan. 'That's
the first actual link, isn't it?'
'Yes,' he admitted. 'Shall we go by the Fordmans'
now?'
'I told Marion we'd come,' said Joan.
They drove along in silence until they neared the
entrance gates to the Fordman estate and it was
Joan, peering ahead of the area lighted by the car,
who discovered the commotion at the turn-off. There
were several cars lining both sides of the highway and


182
MURDER IN TEXAS
carefully with his flashlight. The sheriff talked with
Joan.
'Where was Mrs. Lawrence going?' asked the girl.
'Wall, fur's I kin make out she was agoin't' town,'
stated the officer. 'Nobody knowed much about it,
an' when Miss Fordman heard about it she fainted
an' I ain't been able to see her yet. The fust thing
I knowed somebody 'phoned in an' said to come out
here quick, that there'd been a stick-up.'
'Who 'phoned?' asked Joan.
'I dunno. One o' th' boys took th' call. We come
right out an' found this car down at th' gate. I drove
it up here.'
Dick came over and asked, 'Were the lights on
when you found that car down the hill?'
'Naw. They was off,' answered the officer.
'Did Drexell find them on?'
'I dunno.'
'Did he say whether or not the engine was running
when he found Mrs. Lawrence?'
'Wall, now,' mused the sheriff, 'I don't rightly
recall whether he said it was runnin' or not.'
Dick grunted slightly, and said, 'I'll go and find
Drexell if I can.' He started for the house and Joan
followed. The sheriff spat out a quid of tobacco and
came with them.
As they entered the deserted foyer, Drexell appeared
at the head of the stairs. He came down rapidly,
greeted them without enthusiasm, and was going to
pass by and go out the front door when Dick stopped
him.
'I'd like to speak with you,' he said pleasantly.
Drexell stopped and looked at the detective without


MURDER IN TEXAS
183
expression. They eyed each other for a long, silent
moment before either spoke. In that moment Joan
realized that Drexell was in a bad state of physical
and mental discomposure. His eyes were bloodshot
and puffy and his hands were shaking as he took them
out of his pockets to light a cigarette. A three-cornered
tear in the side of his linen trousers revealed a bloody
cut on his leg. His hands were scratched and dirty
and across the toe of one of his white buckskin shoes
was a smear of blood.
He got the cigarette lighted, remembered Joan's
presence, and offered the pack to her. She refused and
he replaced it and his hands in his pockets.
Dick said, 'The sheriff told me that you found Mrs.
Lawrence. Won't you tell me the story?'
'God! I've told it six times already,' was the man's
reply.
'I'm sorry,' said Fields, 'but I haven't heard it yet,
and you can appreciate the necessity of my knowing
exactly what happened.'
'You people should get some order into your in-
vestigation. Of all the slipshod methods I've ever
seen, those of the police here are the worst.' He stared
at the sheriff, who protested unintelligibly. Then he
smiled a little and shrugged his shoulders.
'All right, let's go into the living-room here and
I'll tell it again. There's not much to tell, any-
way.'
Read asked, 'Is Mrs. Lawrence able to talk yet?'
Drexell shook his head. 'No,' he said shortly.
'Well, I'll be goin',' remarked the officer and stalked
across the hallway and out the door.
Joan, Dick, and Drexell went into the living-room


MURDER IN TEXAS
185
'Looks like it, doesn't it? The sheriff told me that
her purse was gone and I know that her engagement
ring is missing.'
'Engagement ring?'
'Yes. She wore an emerald, and when I got her
up here both Mrs. Smith and I noticed that it was
gone.'
The detective rubbed his chin and stared at Drexell.
'Was the engine running when you found the car?'
he asked suddenly.
'No,' answered the man. 'No, the ignition had been
cut off.'
'And the lights?'
'And the lights.'
'About what time did you find her?'
'I don't know exactly. It must have been a little
after nine-thirty.'
'Where were you prior to that time?'
'Working in my office.'
'Alone?'
'No, my secretary was working with me.'
'I suppose that there is a lot of work to be done —
getting the estate in shape and all that?'
'Yes.'
'Well, Mr. Drexell, that covers things so far as the
accident is concerned, but I wonder — have you been
quite frank with me?'
The man stared at Fields. 'Frank? What do you
mean? I've told everything I know.'
'We have information that leads us to believe that
you and Mrs. Lawrence have known each other for
quite some time,' Dick stated quietly.
Drexell laughed shortly, scoffingly. 'And if,' he
said, 'we have — what about it?'


MURDER IN TEXAS
I87
'So,' he continued, 'she could scarcely have been
going out to pay a social call. We must know why!
That's the reason you will have to see Marion and
find out.' He frowned. 'I don't like the whole set-up.
An ordinary hold-up at a time like this is too coin-
cidental.'
They came out of the hot closet and Joan looked
at him despairingly. 'I hate to do it, Dick,' she
declared.
He looked at her grimly and then glanced down the
empty hall. 'Look here,' he said softly, 'I know how
you feel, but remember that there've been two
murders already and Mrs. Lawrence is in a critical
condition. If she dies, that will make three. Three
deliberate, cold-blooded murders.' He paused, and
then went on; 'Remember, the gates were closed to
stop the car. The woman was struck down. Her
bag and jewelry were snatched to make the job look
real. Then, to keep passers-by from finding her too
soon, the car lights and the engine were switched off.
Does that look like an ordinary hoodlum job? You
know darn well it doesn't.'
'No,' admitted the girl slowly. 'It doesn't.'


XIV: Wednesday, July 5: 10.45 p.m.
Mrs. Smith, the elderly housekeeper, was sitting
beside Marion's bed when Joan entered the room.
The girl was conscious, but she looked pale and
frightened. Mrs. Smith arose, saying:
'I'm glad you came, Miss Shields. She was bound
to get up and I couldn't of kept her down much
longer.'
Joan looked at the blue lump above Marion's eye-
brow. The skin was cut and the place was bleeding.
She sent Mrs. Smith away for gauze and tape and sat
down in her chair.
Marion asked, 'How's Glieth?'
'She's all right,' lied the girl. 'The doctor is with
her.*
'Wasn't it a shame?' Marion was near tears. The
blood dripped in tiny splashes on the pale-green pillow
slip and she raised a handkerchief to her forehead,
unconsciously.
Mrs. Smith came with the things that were needed
and there was silence as Joan bathed and disinfected
the lump above Marion's lovely arched eyebrow. She
covered it lightly with a square of gauze and fastened
the gauze in place with tape. Then she nodded to
Mrs. Smith and the woman went away.
'Marion,' she began, 'why did Mrs. Lawrence want
to go to town?'
The girl on the bed looked at her in surprise and
answered: 'Why, she went to meet you and Mr.
Fields. He called her at eight-thirty and asked her to


MURDER IN TEXAS
come to the hotel. She had been looking for him since
six-thirty.'
'Of course,' said Joan. 'Why did she want to see
Dick, Marion?'
'She didn't tell me,' answered the girl, shaking her
head. 'We had dinner downtown following the inquest
— Gere took us. Mrs. Smith is all to pieces and it
was more convenient, anyway. When we got home
there was a letter for her. She read it and immediately
tried to get in touch with Dick. When she couldn't
locate him by telephone, she had Texas take her to
town, but she didn't find him then. They came back
within an hour.'
'Don't you know what was in the letter, Marion?
It might be important.'
'I'm sure that it must be, Joan, but I didn't read
it. I know who wrote it, however. It was from my
father'
'Your father!*
'Yes. He'd evidently written it several days ago
and it had reached Houston after Glieth left to come
here.'
'How did it get up here so late?'
'It didn't come late. You see we were at the inquest
all afternoon. It came in the afternoon mail that
Texas brought out from town. Mrs. Smith put it on
the hall table and it stayed there until we got home.'
'Who else saw the letter, Marion?'
'Why, let me see — Mrs. Smith, Texas, and myself,
of course. And Mr. Drennan was here, and Gere
Drexell also. I remember I picked it up from the tray
on the hall table and handed it to her. It had been
forwarded here.'


190
MURDER IN TEXAS
'So she tried to find Dick,' commented Joan. 'Do you
know where she went when Texas took her to town?'
'No. She didn't say.'
'When did the call come?'
'You mean, when did Dick Fields telephone?'
'Yes.'
'About eight-thirty. We were sitting on the front
porch, with Pat Drennan. Mrs. Smith called Glieth
to the telephone and when she came back she asked
me for the keys to the coup6, saying that she must
meet you and Fields at nine-thirty. I didn't want
her to drive in alone, but she just laughed at me.
Mr. Drennan left in a few minutes and at about nine-
fifteen Glieth said that she must go and that she'd
be back in a short time. I watched her start the coup6
and then I heard the telephone ring. It was Mildred
Jones, and I talked to her for quite a while. I was still
in the telephone booth when Gere came in with Glieth,
calling for me. I was just trying to get him on the
'phone when I heard him calling. I hung up quickly
and opened the door. His voice sounded so hoarse
and funny. When I saw Glieth, I ran toward them
and tripped on the rug. The next thing I knew, Mrs.
Smith was splashing water on me and everything
was in an uproar.' She closed her eyes and the first
tears overflowed.
'They tell me that she's very badly hurt,' sobbed
the girl. 'Do you think she'll die?'
'I haven't talked to the doctor, darling,' said Joan.
'I don't think that she will. She couldn't have been
hit very hard.'
'Good God, Joan,' she said, 'what will happen
next?'


MURDER IN TEXAS
191
Joan held her hand tightly and said nothing. She
touched the bell-push on the night-stand and in a
few moments Mrs. Smith reappeared. Joan got up,
saying, 'I'll be back right away, dear.'
She went downstairs and found Dick waiting im-
patiently at the front door. He tossed his cigarette
butt out into the darkness and said softly, 'Is she all
right?'
'Yes. I bathed her head and put a bandage on.
The doctor is still with Mrs. Lawrence. She should
have a sedative.'
'Yes? Did you find out why...?'
'Mrs. Lawrence was on her way to meet you,'
replied Joan.
'The devil...' began Dick, but Joan stopped him
and related Marion's story.
Dick was thoughtful and took out his notebook to
record the times that Joan had mentioned. He snapped
the little book shut and remarked: 'It's pretty clear,
isn't it? Well, our murderer made a slip this time.
You stay here with Marion. I want to see that chauf-
feur and make a quick trip to town. When the sheriff
comes, tell him that I'll be right back.'
He pushed the screen open, cleared the steps with
one jump, vaulted over the closed door of Joan's road-
ster, and shot it around the oval with a roar of exhaust
and a skidding swish of gravel.
Joan stood in the doorway lighting a cigarette, and
her mind dwelt morbidly on the details of the catas-
trophe. Swearing silently, she shuddered, felt her
flesh quiver, and drew her thoughts back to Marion,
lying unhappily upstairs.
The telephone shrilled as she passed the tiny closet,


192
MURDER IN TEXAS
and she answered it, to hear Mitchell White's excited
voice blurt out:
'What in the name of Heaven has happened out
there, Joan? We've a report that Mrs. Lawrence had
an automobile accident and was killed. It wasn't
suicide, was it?'
'You've got it all wrong, Mitch,' said the girl. 'Mrs.
Lawrence was held up at the gates, knocked down,
and robbed. She's badly hurt, they say. If you're
going to get out an extra just for this, I'd wait for a
full report, anyway.'
'Oh, she wasn't killed then. How's Marion?'
'She's rather done up, of course,' replied Joan,
hesitating to mention Marion's fall.
'Poor kid. Would she see me, d'you think?'
'Not now, Mitch. She'd best be quiet.'
'Yeah — say, listen, Joan, call me if you learn
anything. Ed's on his way out now and I'm covering
the telephone in case anything comes up. We'll get
out that extra when we get enough dope.'
He clicked off, and Joan, brought back effectively
into the world of the living, ran lightly up the stairs
and opened the door to Marion's room. The girl was
asleep, and Mrs. Smith, sitting beside the bed, raised
a finger to her lips. Joan nodded and withdrew. The
hall was oppressively quiet and Joan walked to a
window at the front of the house. She could hear
faintly the shouts of men and the sound of cars. Evi-
dently the sheriff was at the scene of the accident.
Joan considered for a few minutes and walked to the
door of the blue room that had been given to Mrs.
Lawrence. She didn't know what she expected to
find when she stepped inside and shut the door silently


MURDER IN TEXAS
193
behind her. A small bed-lamp was burning on the
night-table. Joan switched on the ceiling lights and
saw on the floor near a small knee-hole-desk an open
traveler's writing portfolio, its sheets of paper and its
envelopes spilled out onto the carpet.
She knelt over it and saw that several letters had
been hastily tucked into the pocket of the back flap.
That they had been shoved in quickly she judged by
the fact that the edges of the letters were folded over
and some of them had been crammed in doubled. The
untidiness of the portfolio was at such variance with
Joan's estimate of the woman's character that she
felt assured that it was indicative of excitement and
a hurried search by Mrs. Lawrence, or of a ransacking
by other hands than hers. A crumpled wad of charac-
teristic yellow caught her eye. It was a telegram
crushed into the flap. Taking a nail file from the
dressing-table she poked the paper out of the pocket
and opened it carefully. It was a telegram, addressed
to Mrs. Lawrence, care of El Patio Hotel in San Antonio.
It had been sent from Houston on Monday, July 3,
at 4.46 p.m. and read:
MESSAGE HERE FROM M. F. TO EFFECT THAT F. HAS
HAD FATAL ACCIDENT STOP SHE REQUESTS THAT YOU
COME TO HER BY PLANE ARRIVING IN FORDMAN AT
TWELVE-FIFTEEN SAME PLANE STOPS IN SAN ANTONIO
AT ELEVEN-TWENTY-FIVE STOP HAVE ANSWERED
THIS MESSAGE FROM HERE SAYING THAT YOU WILL BE
ABOARD THE SHIP.
The telegram was signed 'Louis.'
Joan re-read its amazing contents as she knelt over
the scattered sheets of the portfolio on the floor.
Dazed, she leaned back against a chair and painfully


MURDER IN TEXAS
195
swore again. 'Miss Joan, there's a lunatic a-loose,'
he stated. 'Fields sure it warn't no ordinary hold-up?'
'Reasonably sure.'
'Wall, I gotta talk to th' doc. I wonder how long
it'll be before we kin talk to her?'
'I don't know. She's still unconscious.'
'Too bad, too bad. An', say, when your boss gits
here, don't forgit t' tell 'im what I said about them
reporters.'
Joan nodded and went downstairs to sit out on
the front porch. Ed Frank arrived in Mitchell's car
almost before she'd lighted a cigarette, and unfolding
his long, lean body, came across the central flower-bed.
'What th' hell's goin' on out here, anyway?' he
asked.
Joan told him briefly, and relayed the sheriff's
message regarding the reporters.
Frank laughed and replied: 'Yeah. They were sure
sore when I got through down there. I'll go and have
a look around. Where's your friend?'
'Who?'
'The boy detective from St. Louis.'
'He went to town,' replied Joan, ignoring the dig.
'So he's been out here?'
'Yes, we came out together. We didn't know about
Mrs. Lawrence until we got here.'
'I don't suppose he's so interested in this, is he?'
'Why not?'
'Ordinary hold-up, the sheriff said.' Frank's eyes
twinkled.
"Ed, you're just trying to find out if I know any-
thing!' Joan declared, laughing.
'Well,' he warned, 'if you do, remember you're still


196
MURDER IN TEXAS
working for a newspaper. I'd hate to fire you.' He
grinned at her faintly and left. She heard the Ford
skidding around the first turn.
An hour passed before Dick returned. He hurried
into the hallway, his red hair on end, gleaming in
the light.
'How's Mrs. Lawrence?' he asked. 'Any change?'
'I don't think so,' said Joan doubtfully. 'The doc-
tor is still with her. Did you find out anything in
town?'
'I'll say!' He beckoned the girl into the living-
room and they sat down on the red divan, facing the
door.
'Our trip to the Trotters' was worth less than it
should have been,' he began. 'If we'd come directly
here, we'd have been a darn sight nearer the end, and
Mrs. Lawrence wouldn't have been hurt.'
'How is that?'
'It's easy to reconstruct what happened. When
Mrs. Lawrence returned here following the inquest
and dinner in town, she found a letter from Fordman
written shortly before he was killed. It contained
evidence of sufficient importance to make her — an
unusually calm and thoughtful woman — desire to
see me at once. The fact that she hesitated to wait
until we came, as we had promised, is proof that the
letter held direct and damaging information. She
telephoned the hotel at six-thirty and learned that I
was out. Then she called the newspaper office and
asked for you, but you were out.
'Then she called the sheriff's office, but he was at
a restaurant eating and no one answered the telephone,
although a man in the county clerk's office heard it


MURDER IN TEXAS
197
ring. She waited until seven o'clock and then got
Wills to take her to the hotel.
'There she asked for me again, and when she was
informed that I hadn't come in, requested an envelope
and paper. At a desk in the lobby she wrote a message,
placed it in the envelope, returned to the desk. The
clerk said that it was marked with my name and
"urgent." He took it and promised to give it to
me as soon as possible. Mrs. Lawrence left and Wills
drove her home.'
'How did you find out about the calls?' asked Joan.
'I talked to the switchboard girl who handles the
calls from here. Naturally she listened in, especially
when Mrs. Lawrence called the sheriff's office. You
see, she is not only "operator" from six to twelve,
but "information" as well. Mrs. Lawrence asked her
for the numbers of the hotel, the newspaper office,
and the sheriff's office. I expect that she telephoned
from her room upstairs and there wasn't a book.'
'And the note she left for you?' asked Joan. 'What
was in it?'
'I don't know,' replied the man. 'I didn't get it.
That's why she was attacked.'
'Why — what had that to do with it?'
Fields smiled wearily. 'Too much. Somebody called
the desk at the hotel and told the clerk to send my
mail over to the sheriff's office at the courthouse
immediately. He knew that I was a detective by that
time, so he gave a bell-hop the note and some other
mail that had come and sent him off. The call came
in about ten minutes after Mrs. Lawrence had left
and whoever impersonated me merely asked if there'd
been any calls or letters for Mr. Fields. The man told


200
MURDER IN TEXAS
Oh, well, it's all over now. I'm keeping the whole amaz-
ing document, however, for you to see. Gave it to Ross to
put in safe-deposit. I never thought that anyone could be
as thorough. He has watched my every movement for
years. There are snapshots from Juarez, Chicago, New
Orleans. There are photostats of hotel registers and so on.
All of this, my dear, was many years ago, but people
would not stop to think of that.
There were affidavits from two inspectors admitting
that they'd accepted bribes. There are a dozen photo-
stats of checks. There is even a map of the oil field show-
ing accurately the whereabouts of secret pipe-lines that
carried the hot oil.
It makes me shudder to think what the papers could
and would have done with this if they'd gotten it. And
what could I say to the fine men who are urging me to run
for governor? 'Gentlemen, I am afraid to run. I have an
enemy who would delight to ruin my reputation. He has
proof of my dishonesty and my sinful past.' Could I say
that? Hardly!
Thank God, I can say it to you — have said it to you.
You are so wise and understanding. That's why I want
to bring you closer to Marion. She needs you and your
love, my dear.
How strong and confident I feel tonight! For the first
time I believe that I know who this blackmailer is, and
what is more, I shall be sure of his identity soon. The
money I gave him is marked, and I shall trap him in a web
of his own weaving. I am arranging to prove that it was
stolen from my library safe and when I send the officers
for him, they will find evidence enough to send him up for
many years. But enough of this.
Marion tells me that she is planning to drive down next
week to visit the Hendricks and will bring you back to
me. I count the days'
Always yours
John


MURDER IN TEXAS
201
Joan refolded the letter and returned it to Dick.
'It must have been an awful blow to get that after
he was dead,' she said sadly. Then, 'Where did you
find it?'
'Under the car seat,' he answered. 'You see, her
bag was gone, and I took it for granted that the letter
was in that, but on my way back from town I decided
to look again. Evidently her purse was too small to
take the envelope — it's an extra big one — so she
put it on the seat beside her and it slipped behind.
Lucky, huh?' He grinned at her.
'I should say,' agreed the girl. 'But, Dick, it doesn't
say whol It isn't much help, really.'
'No, it doesn't, but I'm thankful for small favors.
It clears up the motive, though, and opens several
lines of further investigation.' He drew out his note-
book and wrote slowly, reading aloud as he wrote:
1. The murderer is a man.
2. He has 'watched' his victim for several years, therefore
he must be closely associated with Fordman, as he did
not excite his suspicion.
3. He has received for a year 'huge payments' from Ford-
man. This money was paid over either by cash or by
check and Fordman's accounts should be examined.
4. The blackmailer has this money. Is it in a bank — as
an ordinary account; in safe-deposit; invested; or has
it been hidden intact?
5. Where is the 'quarter of a million' in marked bills and
how were they marked? Did anybody know that Ford-
man was raising this much money in actual cash?
6. Where have the photostatic copies of checks, etc.,
been made? Locally — near-by — far away?
7. What inspectors in state oil commission took bribes
from Fordman and were willing to sell the information


202
MURDER IN TEXAS
to the blackmailer? They must have been discharged
or resigned.
8. What private detective agencies in towns mentioned
might have assisted in the gathering of the 'evidence'?
9. Who could have known of the positions of the pipe-
lines carrying 'hot oil'?
As Dick finished this list, Joan frowned. 'It'll
take so long,' she objected, 'to find out all of those
things.'
'Yes,' admitted the man. 'But they'll tell us the
story!' He paused, and then continued: 'Things have
been going too fast, anyhow. This hasn't been an
investigation — it's been a footrace.'
Joan laughed. 'It would help to get some sleep,'
she said.
'Well,' said Fields, with satisfaction, 'we've learned
that the murderer is a man and that he is most method-
ical and patient. I believe that we know the actual
motive for Fordman's killing — the man learned that
his victim had given him hot money and was planning
to trap him. Undoubtedly that's it.'
'How would he know?' asked Joan.
Fields shrugged his shoulders. 'Maybe Fordman
told him, thinking that he was telling a friend. Re-
member, he wasn't sure as to the fellow's identity.'
Joan remembered what she had found upstairs and
they went to Mrs. Lawrence's room together. Fields
looked about carefully and, stooping, as Joan had done,
studied the portfolio and its contents.
Joan urged, 'It's the telegram, there.' She pointed
and he pulled out the yellow paper.
The man read the message and looked up at Joan.
'Who is Louis?' he asked.


MURDER IN TEXAS
203
Joan shrugged. 'Maybe,' she offered, 'Marion
knows.'
Dick went through the letters and commented:
'Here are two from Marion; one from somebody who
signs himself "Sincerely, H."; a note from Riese and
Riese, stock-brokers, stating that they must have
eight thousand dollars additional collateral without
delay; a bill for eight hundred and ninety dollars and
fifty-nine cents from Saks, Fifth Avenue, in New
York; but nowhere do I find any communication from
her fiance, John Fordman.'
'She must have been rather hard up,' remarked Joan.
'Not necessarily,' was the reply. 'The Saks bill
is dated July 1 and shows no unpaid balance. The
broker's letter is dated June 29. She may have raised
the eight thousand before she left Houston. But I
can't understand why she didn't carry any letters
from Fordman!' He glanced about the room and
spotted a gray fabric-covered case on a stand. It was
not locked and he rummaged slowly through its meager
contents, carefully replacing Mrs. Lawrence's fragile
under-things as he found them. In a blue silk hand-
kerchief case, folded in a lace handkerchief, he found
a snapshot. Joan came over and looked at it.
It was one that had been taken by the smallest of
folding cameras, and although it was barely two inches
square every detail was perfect. A man wearing the
uniform of a commissioned officer, complete with
boots, visored cap, and crop, stood with his back
against the body of a plane, half hiding the emblem
painted on the plane's side. He was leaning against
the ship, holding his stick in both hands and smiling
a little, as if he were embarrassed.


204
MURDER IN TEXAS
Joan stared at the little photograph, wondering
what was wrong with it. Something didn't fit. She
was trying to decide whether it was the ship or the
uniform when Dick said,
'I thought Mrs. Lawrence's husband was a U.S.
flyer.'
'He was,' answered the girl.
Fields pointed a big finger at the snapshot. 'This
guy has on a British Royal Air Force uniform,' he
told her. 'And that emblem behind him was never
painted on a U.S. ship.'
The girl stared at the little picture and saw that he
was right, but she saw something else.
'That, that fellow,' she declared, 'is Gere Drexell,
or I am crazy!'
Fields looked more closely at the picture and nodded
his head. 'You're right, Joan,' he agreed. 'It's
Drexell, without a doubt.'
'It doesn't look like an old snapshot,' commented
the girl. 'Do you suppose she's had it ever since the
war?'
The man turned it over, but there was no writing
on the back. 'No,' he said, 'I believe that this has
been printed recently.' He took out an envelope
and put the little picture safely away, saying: 'Well,
I'll ask that fellow a few more questions. It's sure
funny Mrs. Lawrence being engaged to Fordman and
carrying this bird's photograph around in her hand-
kerchief case.'
Joan sighed. 'I'll go home on that,'she said. 'I'm
too tired to stay up any longer.'
They walked down the stairs together and Fields
told her that he and the local officers would hold an


MURDER IN TEXAS
205
informal court of inquiry the next morning in his
rooms, starting at nine o'clock. On the porch they
found Ed Frank talking to the sheriff.
Ed said: 'Got your car, Joan? I'll take you home.'
'Thanks, Ed, I'll let you. Dick, you keep the
roadster. I'll get Dad to drive me down in the
morning.'
They got into Mitchell's Ford and Ed drove more
carefully than usual down the long hill, through the
crowd of newspaper men and curious townspeople,
who had been checked at the gates, and out onto the
macadam.
'Want a drink, Joan, or a sandwich?' inquired the
man.
'No, thanks, Ed. Just need sleep.'
'Come on an' have a drink with me, anyway,' he
urged. 'You've never so honored me. Tonight's a
good one to start with.'
Joan realized suddenly that he had had several
drinks himself. She'd never known him to drink be-
fore, f
'What are you doing with liquor on your breath,
Ed?' she asked. 'I thought that you drove the
water wagon.'
'Had t' drink with the boys back there,' he replied.
The liquor betrayed him only by its odor and by a
slight softening of his usually clipped and acid speech.
He wasn't drunk, but he was very near to being.
'Stop at the hamburger place, Ed,' Joan commanded.
'I would like some coffee. Don't you want a hamburger?'
'Sure,' he replied, 'sure.'
They drew up near the large hot-pig stand, a proud
object made of two huge wooden pig silhouettes out-


208
MURDER IN TEXAS
Mrs. Lawrence had been attacked because of the
letter, but the attacker had certainly bungled by not
retrieving that dangerous document.
She thought of the telegram found in Mrs. Lawrence's
room, and of the snapshot. Suddenly her mind, grop-
ing for some familiar fact, recalled the bridge clipping
from the San Antonio paper. With San Antonio only
two hours away, why not believe that the paper that
had carried the clipping had been brought to Fordman
by someone who had spent the week-end there? Ford-
man residents 'ran over' constantly. Who else could
have been there on the week-end? She tried to recall
paragraphs from her Sunday 'News of Personal
Interest' column: Mr. and Mrs. Joe Shotts, and
daughter, Betty Joe, are visiting relatives in San
Antonio over the week-end... Wilson Phillips and
family motored to San Antonio Saturday... and so on.
She marked this duty in her mind, to scan carefully
the News and the papers of the city in question for
some clue as to who might have returned to Fordman
with the clipping that she had found. Then she slid
peacefully into the cool current of sleep.


MURDER IN TEXAS
211
Fields shuffled some papers on his desk table and
suddenly began his questioning.
'When you drove out to the Fordmans' place last
night, Mr. Drexell, did you see anyone — pass anyone
you knew?'
'No.'
'And you saw no one on the Ford man property?'
'Not a soul.' The man's voice was positive.
'Have you ever seen this?' questioned the detec-
tive.
The man leaned forward and then settled back in his
chair, holding a slip of paper in his hands. Joan recog-
nized it as the bridge clipping.
'It's Hall's article,' he remarked. 'I've not seen this
particular one.' He was silent for a moment as he
scanned the clipping. Then he cried out,'Say, did you
notice that the problem was submitted by someone in
Ford man?'
'Yes,' Fields answered. 'Who do you think would
have sent it in, Mr. Drexell?'
But Drexell did not answer at once. He was still
reading the article, and when he did look up, it was not
to reply to Dick's question, but to state: 'I know this
hand. It was played here two months ago during the
Contract Tournament at the Country Club. It just
about broke up the party. Mrs. Clarence Jones and
her partner got it, unfortunately.'
'How was that?' asked the detective.
'Why, Mrs. Jones and her partner, Mitchell White,
were playing East and West. Mrs. Jones was East.
North and South bid and made six hearts, doubled and
redoubled, which netted them twelve hundred and
twenty points. Mrs. Jones insisted that White could


MURDER IN TEXAS
have bid his hand differently, thus giving them the
contract at six clubs or, if their opponents insisted on
bidding, at seven spades. As Hall says here, seven
spades goes down two tricks or two hundred and fifty
points, as against twelve hundred and twenty gained
by North and South. If they'd got it at six clubs
doubled and redoubled, they'd have made a neat
eleven hundred and eighty points.
'They argued about it — or rather Mrs. Jones did —
for almost an hour. Then the argument got to be gen-
eral and we had a hard time getting things going again.
Frank, the newspaper fellow, was quite interested in it,
and so was I. We couldn't decide on the correct form
of bidding to arrive at a decent declaration by East and
West, so Mrs. Jones suggested that we send the pro-
blem to Hall and let him settle it. I think that she did
so.' Drexell concluded his long speech and looked at
his watch.
Dick said, 'But you've never seen this particular
clipping?'
'No.' Drexell leaned forward and laid the paper on
the table.
Joan remembered something. She should have re-
membered it long ago. It was a small item that Mitch
had written and tossed onto her desk for the society
columns early last Monday morning. The item, only
faintly remembered because she had not composed it
herself, had read in effect:
Miss Marion Fordman and Gerard Drexell spent the
week-end in San Antonio visiting friends.
At that moment the telephone rang and as she arose
to answer it, Dick appeared in the doorway.


MURDER IN TEXAS
213
'Expecting a call,' he explained, as he walked across
the room and lifted the receiver.
'Yes,' he said into the mouthpiece. Then, 'Yes,' and
in a few moments another 'Yes' closed the conversa-
tion.
Joan told him about the item that she had recalled.
He returned to the living-room, resumed his seat,
and said to Drexell, 'Were you in San Antonio last
week-end — on Saturday, to be more specific?'
'Last Saturday?' repeated the man curiously.
'Yes.'
'Well, let me see. Yes, Miss Fordman and I drove
over.'
'And yesterday at noon, Mr. Drexell — where were
you then?'
'Another alibi?' asked the man. He was not an-
noyed.
'Call it that,' agreed the detective.
'Well, I talked with you at the airport at about
twelve-thirty, wasn't it?'
'Twelve-fifteen,' corrected Fields.
'Then I came in town and had luncheon here at this
hotel. After that I drove out to the oil field. Got there
about two, I believe.'
'Thanks,' said Fields. 'You seem to resent my
questions less today than you did last night,' he re-
marked.
Drexell laughed easily. 'I was pretty upset last
night,' he said in way of apology.
'Yes, I can imagine that you were,' agreed the de-
tective. 'I asked you a question then that I'd like to
ask again,' he continued quietly. 'I refer to the in-
formation that I have concerning your acquaintance


214
MURDER IN TEXAS
with Mrs. Lawrence.' He paused, then added: 'Don't
think that I'm prying into your personal affairs to no
purpose, Mr. Drexell. Everything pertaining to Mrs.
Lawrence is of interest to us in this investigation.
Surely you must understand that?'
Joan peered through the crack to stare at Drexell.
His face was expressionless, but the girl felt that he
was trying to come to some decision in his mind. Then
he shrugged his shoulders and suggested, 'Why don't
you wait and question Mrs. Lawrence?'
'We may not be able to do that,' answered Fields.
The man's jaw tightened, but he made no com-
ment.
Fields opened an envelope and flicked the snapshot
that he and Joan had found the evening before across
the table. Drexell picked it up and glanced at it.
Then he tossed it back to Fields and laughed rather
unpleasantly.
'Look here,' he began, 'I'll tell you about that, but
I'd rather tell you alone. I don't want it all over the
town.' He looked pointedly at Millbank, who began
to puff and protest.
Dick said, 'I'm sure that the Judge and the sheriff
wouldn't think of repeating anything said here — in
confidence, you know.' But Joan thought: 'You don't
know 'em. Old Millbank is the worst gossip in town.'
Evidently Drexell had the same idea, for he re-
marked, 'Take it or leave it.'
Fields said, 'How about it, Judge?' And presently
Millbank and Read and the stenographer left the
room.
Drexell sighed. 'I didn't want this to be known in
view of the circumstances until Fordman's murder had


MURDER IN TEXAS
215
been cleared up,' he stated, 'but it'll be better if you
know the truth.'
'Much better,' encouraged the detective.
Without any further preliminaries the man plunged
into his story. 'Mrs. Lawrence,' he declared, 'was not
going to marry John Fordman. She was going to marry
me. She still is going to marry me,' he added.
Fields interrupted, 'Did Fordman know this?' he
asked.
'No,' answered the man. 'I don't believe that
Glieth had told him. She said that she would tell him
while she was here on this visit.'
'And what caused this change on her part?' in-
quired the detective.
Drexell rubbed his hands together between his trim
brown-clad knees. 'Well, you couldn't say it was a
sudden change, exactly. You see the Old Man —
Fordman, I mean — rather rushed her off her feet last
year. Their engagement hadn't been announced. He
just took it for granted, I think, and told everybody.
You know, Fordman was always apt to get a thing by
wanting it hard enough.'
'But I don't see just where you come in, Mr.
Drexell,' remarked Fields curiously.
The man caught his lower lip between his white
teeth and considered his next words carefully. 'Well,
you see I met Mrs. Lawrence a good many years ago.
I knew her husband in France and, when I came back
to the United States, I looked her up. She was living
in New York at the time. We kept up our acquaint-
anceship over a period of years, even after she moved
back to Houston, which had formerly been her home.
Then, when Marion went abroad last year and Glieth


2l6 MURDER IN TEXAS
was in New York at the time of her return, I wrote to
them both and had them meet. John went East to
meet Marion and she introduced him to Glieth. He
fell pretty hard for her, of course.' The man stopped
talking and leaned back in his chair, glancing at his
wrist watch.
Fields said, 'And Fordman didn't know that you
knew Mrs. Lawrence?'
'No, I don't believe that he did. You see we had
very little personal contact and, though I went down
to Houston several times to see Glieth, I'm sure that he
didn't know, or care, why I went.'
'Weren't you surprised when you found that Mrs.
Lawrence was considering marriage with Fordman?'
The man laughed shortly. 'I certainly was,' he ad-
mitted readily.
'And did you do anything to cause Mrs. Lawrence to
change her mind?'
'Yes. I went down to Houston and we talked it over.
She decided that she had made a mistake.'
'In not having accepted you?'
'I hadn't asked Glieth to marry me, until then,'
stated the man quietly.
'Oh.' Fields was a little nonplussed, but he rallied
quickly. 'But you did ask her then?'
'I didn't exactly ask her,' said the man, smiling.
'We just took it for granted — both of us.'
Joan thought, 'He's terribly in love with her!'
'So Mrs. Lawrence was going to break the news to
Fordman during her visit here?' asked Fields.
'Yes.'
'Why were you afraid to admit that you and Mrs.
Lawrence knew each other?' asked the detective.


MURDER IN TEXAS 217
I
'You told Miss Shields that you did not know her at
all.'
'It was a mistake to believe that we could keep our
relationship quiet until things had blown over,' ad-
mitted the man.
'And did Mrs. Lawrence agree to this secret between
you?'
'She thought it wise,' declared Drexell.
'After you suggested it?'
'All along.'
'Why was Mrs. Lawrence in San Antonio during the
past week?'
'She had been visiting friends.'
'At the El Patio Hotel?'
'Not that I know of. She was visiting friends on a
ranch several miles south of the city.' Drexell was
growing restive. He had picked up his hat from the
floor and was twirling it in his hands.
Fields said: 'Thanks, I guess that's all for now, Mr.
Drexell. Do you stay here at the Fredrick, by the way?'
'No. I've moved over to the Mesa. The service
here's rotten lately and the prices are too high.'
'Thanks. You can go now.'
Drexell left hurriedly.
Immediately Joan heard Harte say: 'Mr. Fields,
here's Mr. Fordman's secretary. He wants t' see you.'
'O.K.' came Dick's voice.
The newcomer walked hesitantly into Joan's line of
vision and sat down. He was a small, sandy-colored
man, thin and stooped. He looked around at Judge
Millbank, who had followed him into the room.
'I didn't know about Mr. Fordman until yesterday,
Judge,' he said.


218
MURDER IN TEXAS
The Judge introduced Fields, who began his ques-
tioning with 'Where have you been?'
'Why, I've been out in New Mexico, near Ruidoso,
to be exact, fishing. I go every year.'
'When did you go, Mr. Squires?'
'I left a week ago Monday,' stated the little man.
'I wasn't due back until the coming Monday,' he
added hurriedly.
'How was it that you failed to hear of your em-
ployer's death?'
'I don't get the paper up there. You see I stay in a
cabin back up in the hills with some friends. We came
into the village yesterday morning for supplies and I
saw a paper. I was horrified. I still don't know much
about it. The paper that I saw was a Tuesday edition
of the El Paso Times and it had nothing at all about
Mr. Ross's death. I found that out only this morning.
Of course I left Ruidoso right away and drove in. I
drove all night,' he added.
'That was the thing to do, Mr. Squires,' commented
Dick absently. 'We'll probably need your help soon.
Right now I want to know about Mr. Fordman's bank
accounts. Did you draw his checks and keep the stubs?'
'Oh, no. He drew them himself, from his personal
account, and never filed the stubs at all. If he over-
drew, he was notified and made further deposits from
other accounts.' The man looked worried. 'It wasn't
very business-like,' he added, 'but I couldn't do any-
thing with him.'
'Of course not,' agreed the detective. 'The records
will be at the bank, anyway. Did he keep statements?'
'He didn't, but I did,' answered Squires promptly.
'I have them all. They cover about seven years.'


220
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Well, keep in touch with us. You can probably
help Miss Fordman and Mr. Drennan now. You'd
better report to her.'
Squires left, and Dick came in to talk with Joan.
'Waiting on the Joneses,' he said. 'What did you
think of Drexell's story?'
'You could have knocked me over with a feather,'
admitted the girl.
'There are holes in it.'
'Poor Marion,' commented Joan. 'No wonder he
wasn't interested in her.'
'Well, it looks as if Mrs. Lawrence was just playing
Fordman to get Drexell to tumble. He's a reticent
fellow, isn't he?'
'Very.'
'Still, Fordman died mighty convenient. Saved her
a nasty scene with him.'
'Do you suppose that Drexell's story is true?'
'We can't check on it until Mrs. Lawrence comes
out of the coma she's in,' said the man. 'He may have
exaggerated when he said that they had come to an
agreement. It looks like it when you remember that
she started to recognize him out there at the airport
and he shut her off. She hadn't been tipped to keep
quiet then.'
'I like her,' stated Joan irrelevantly. 'That was a
slick suit she had on yesterday.'
Fields laughed and walked to the window.
'What on earth is that?' he called suddenly.
She came and stood beside him, looking beyond the
fringes of the town and out across the high prairie land
that lay in the north. A low, reddish-gray cloud hung
along the horizon, stretching as far to the east and
west as one could see.


MURDER IN TEXAS
'Oh, hell!' said Joan warmly. 'It's a sand-storm.'
She watched the huge curtain of yellow dust advancing
slowly toward the town. 'Why does there have to be a
sand-storm? It's so hot now that I can hardly breathe
and that will be the last straw — unless it brings rain.
Then you'll witness the edifyin' spectacle of a rain of
mud.'
'How long will it be before it hits here?' inquired
Dick.
'Oh, it's a long way off. Probably four or five hours
yet. This is an odd time of the year for one. They
usually come in the spring so that they can ruin the
young crops, but I guess that the drouth is responsible.'
Fields turned from the window. 'You know,' he re-
marked, ' I can't make up my mind whether that fellow
Drexell is a bounder or not. You can't grasp him,
somehow.'
'That's so,' agreed the girl.
He shrugged and changed the subject. 'I got re-
ports from Dallas. The bullets were fired from the
guns I sent, all right. Expected that. Oh, yes. The
prints on the cartridge clip of the large automatic be-
longed to Ross, just as I had expected. The others
were Drexell's, as he stated.'
'Nothing helpful,' Joan said.
'No. Most of the trails end like that — in blind
alleys.'
The sheriff rapped on the door and opened it at the
same time. 'Howdy, Miss Joan,' he said vaguely, and
to Fields: 'The Joneses come. You gotta handle 'em.
I can't think of all th' things to ask like you do,' he
complimented.
He and Fields re-entered the living-room and Joan


222
MURDER IN TEXAS
adjusted the door so that she could look directly at
Clarence Jones as he sat in the chair in front of Dick's
desk.
'Looky here 'began the groceryman.
But Dick broke in with: 'Now, Mr. Jones, we'd ap-
preciate your help. Just answer a few questions. You
made a statement as to your whereabouts at the time
of the shooting of the Fordman well. You were sitting
in your car. Correct?'
'Yes,' answered Jones. 'I was with my wife, Mil-
dred, my daughter, and Ed Frank, the editor of the
paper.'
'Very good. How long had you been there before
the explosion occurred?'
'Why, I was there all the time. I never got out of the
car. Neither did my wife.'
'Was there someone with you all of the time?'
'No. We just sat there by ourselves.'
'How did it happen that you and your family at-
tended the shooting of the well, Mr. Jones?'
'Why shouldn't we of gone?' countered the man.
'No reason,' replied Fields. 'It's a routine question,
you know.'
'Well, I'm a stockholder in the Fordman Oil Com-
pany an' I gotta right to see th' wells shot,' explained
the man. 'Besides, John asked me to come,' he added.
'You said that your daughter was in the car with
you when the explosion occurred, but she was not
there all of the time. When did she leave you?'
'Mildred?' the man repeated stupidly.
'Yes. Did Miss Jones leave the car?'
'I believe she did,' said the man slowly. 'She and
Frank came up just before the explosion.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
223
'Together?'
'Yes.*
'But neither you nor Mrs. Jones left the car?'
'No.' The man was patently nervous. His small,
sharp Adam's apple slid quickly up and down as he
swallowed and he bit his lower lip with his squirrel-like
upper teeth.
'What were your relations with Mr. Fordman, Mr.
Jones?'
'I don't know what you mean.'
'I mean, were you friendly?'
'Yes, friendly.'
'You had nothing against Mr. Fordman?'
'No, of course not. Why should I?'
'/ don't know, Mr. Jones. That's what I'm trying
to ascertain. Where were you between twelve and one
on Tuesday?'
'I was home.'
'Who else was at home?'
'My wife.'
'A servant?'
'No. My wife gave her the day off. You see she was
going to a party, but after Mr. Fordman's death she
didn't think she should. They were old friends, you
know.' The last statement was made quickly. Jones
was pale, but not quite so agitated.
'Then you were alone with your wife?'
'Yes.'
'She got lunch — I mean dinner — for you?'
'No. I got something myself from the icebox. She
felt ill and went to bed.'
'Did you see her between twelve and one?'
'No. I don't think so. I talked to her, though,
through the door.'


224
MURDER IN TEXAS
'What did you talk to her about?'
'I asked her if she wanted some tea or coffee, or any-
thing to eat.'
'Did she?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'I think she was asleep,' Jones admitted slowly.
'Then she didn't answer you?'
'No.'
'Did you look in to see if she was asleep?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Why should I? Besides, the door was locked.'
'Then you did not see your wife between twelve and
one, and she didn't see you?'
'Well, if you want to put it that way.'
'Your daughter wasn't at home?'
'No. I don't know where she was.'
'Where were you last night before I saw you at the
club upstairs?'
'At home.'
'You stay at home a great deal, don't you, Mr.
Jones?'
'Nothing wrong in that,' answered the groceryman
indignantly.
'No,' agreed Dick,'but why did you leave home and
go to the club at such a late hour? When, exactly, did
you leave your home, by the way?'
'About ten, I guess,' answered Jones sullenly.
'Then it wasn't your car that was seen turning into
the road up to the Fordman estate at nine o'clock?'
asked Dick in conversational tones.
The man stared at him and jumped to his feet. 'No,'


MURDER IN TEXAS
225
he shouted, 'it wasn't! You can't prove it! You're
just trying to get me to say something that will ruin
me.'
'Why ruin you, Mr. Jones?' interrupted Dick.
1I know that somebody tried to murder Mrs. Law-
rence. Everybody in town knows it. By God, you'd
better catch whoever's doing this. It's awful! I'm
nearly crazy, anyway. You'd better watch that man
Drexell. He's no good. He gets ten thousand dollars
and he'll get the girl, too. But, by God, he'd better
stay away from my wife! I'll kill him! I'll kill him!'
Jones screamed the last in sheer rage, pounding on the
desk in front of Dick. Joan had arisen and was peering
through the door.
Something made her glance toward the hall, and
there she saw Agnes Jones, staring at her husband with
loathing and contempt.
'Clarence!' she said sharply. The man halted his
tirade, fist high in the air. He looked around at the
woman and smiled foolishly and uncertainly.
Dick waited for something to develop, but no other
word was spoken. Jones dropped back into his chair
and Mrs. Jones returned to the room across the hall.
Harte's face popped in. Looking flustered and angry
he said: 'Hell's far, boss. I couldn't do nothin' with
'er. She wuz quicker'n a wild cayuse.'
'It's all right, Harte.' Dick gestured Jones out and
asked him to send his wife in. The grocer hesitated at
the door, but finally did as he was told.
Agnes Jones came in immediately and sat down.
She was well dressed in a smart black-and-white linen
suit. Her heavy dark-red hair had been waved that
morning and lay close to her head under a crisp white


MURDER IN TEXAS
227
'Did you answer him?'
'No.*
'Why not?'
'My husband is a fool. I preferred not to talk to
him.*
There was a short silence. Joan smiled to herself.
Chick Jones was a fool. He probably drove his wife
crazy with his endless questions and his hangdog air.
'What time did your husband leave home last night,
Mrs. Jones?' began Fields again.
'I could not say. I was in bed, asleep,' answered the
woman flatly.
'You were John Fordman's mistress for several
years, weren't you?' asked Fields casually.
'Yes,' was the non-committal reply.
'What were your feelings when you found that he
was planning marriage with Mrs. Lawrence?'
'My feelings are my own business and have no place
here,' stated Mrs. Jones.
'Did John Fordman provide for you when he broke
off the affair?' was Fields's brutal question.
The woman went white and her eyes narrowed, but
her reply was clear and low. 'You are insulting, Mr.
Fields.'
Dick rustled some papers on his desk. His next
words were deferential. 'I'm sorry. There are things I
must know. Is this your signature?'
Agnes Jones leaned forward and sat back in her
chair holding a slip of white paper.
'Yes,' she said. 'Where did you get this?' Her
composure was somewhat shaken.
'That check came in too late to be mailed to you
with your regular monthly statement, Mrs. Jones. It


228
MURDER IN TEXAS
was still in the bank. It tells us that you withdrew
yesterday three thousand dollars from your account in
the Fordman National. Are you planning to leave
town soon?'
'No,' said the woman. 'I am making an investment.'
'Payable in cash?' inquired Fields.
Mrs. Jones looked at him for a moment, and then
said calmly: 'I don't know why I should tell you. It is
my own business. But I will tell you. I withdrew my
money, yes. I withdrew it to get out of this God-
damned nasty little town. I've had enough. I'm sick
of it. I'm sick of the lying, the pretense, the peering,
self-righteous women. I'm sick of my husband. I was
sick of John Fordman long before he tired of me. All I
wanted was money — enough money to get me out and
away from here. Well, I've enough now and I'm going.
My daughter can stay here with her father. She hates
me, anyway.' The woman's voice rose exultantly. 'I
got enough out of John Fordman and I'd have had
more 'she stopped suddenly.
'What do you mean, "more"?' asked Fields.
'Nothing,' was the cautious, sullen reply.
'Oh, come, now, Mrs. Jones,' said Fields sharply.
'You must have had something else in mind. Unless
you tell us, we have only one thing to think, and it's
not so nice.'
'What do you mean?'
'Blackmail,' was the detective's incisive reply.
'Blackmail? Oh, no. I'd never have done that to
John.' The woman's voice rose, 'Not that,' she re-
peated.
'What else can we think, Mrs. Jones? Fordman was
about to marry. He stopped your allowance. You ad-


230
MURDER IN TEXAS
'What was the offer made to you?' he asked. 'Tell
us the whole story.'
'Well, this bird — man, I mean,' she corrected hast-
ily — 'I guess he was a man. Anyway, he wrote me
about three years ago, first. The letter was type-
written on a piece of gray wrapping paper. I remember
it like it was yesterday. It said something like this:
"When you are through with John Fordman, keep me
in mind. This is a simple proposition. I only want
words from you. For instance: who are his friends on
the state oil commission board? What does he think
of proration and is he trying to beat it?"' She stopped.
'That's about all in the first one,' she said.
'Did it give the return address then?'
'Yes. I sent back the letter and a note with it.'
'What did you say in the note?'
The woman looked tired, and opening her handbag
took out a vanity case. Her voice was low as she
answered:
'I said, "Go to hell. I love John Fordman and I
won't sell out on him."'
'Did you mention this to Mr. Fordman?'
'No, I didn't. He was out of town at the time and
when he got back I decided not to.'
'Why not?'
'I don't know. I just decided. He was a little cold
toward me.'
'And the next letter?' prompted Fields.
'It came about six months later,' she admitted.
'And found you more interested?'
'I'll say it did,' the woman answered firmly.
'You agreed to help this blackmailer?'
'Blackmailer?' Mrs. Jones shook her head. 'I tell


MURDER IN TEXAS
231
you it wasn't blackmail. He was writing a book, he
said, and needed my help in filling parts of it out.
You know these books they write about rich men now
— they tell everything, especially the bad things.
And it seems to me the meaner the men were the better
the book sells.'
Fields nodded and smiled a little. 'How much did
he offer you for your help?' he asked.
'Ten thousand dollars,' admitted the woman re-
luctantly.
Fields whistled faintly, and Joan could hear both
Read and Millbank make quick, incredulous ejacula-
tions.
'And has he paid?' pursued the detective.
'Only two thousand dollars,' Agnes Jones said flatly.
'The rest?'
'Was to be paid when the book was published.'
Fields laughed and said:'Surely you knew that such
a book could never have been published, Mrs. Jones?
The publisher and the author would have been sued
for libel...*
'Why libel?' asked the woman reasonably. 'There
was to be nothing untrue in it. The publishers wanted
a personal story of Fordman's life and John had told
me everything important. I knew how he did busi-
ness, who he bribed and how he still sold his oil, even
after the field here was prorated. I knew where his
bootleg pipe-lines were because he showed me, and I
knew why the officials never found them. I knew about
his marriage. He never loved his first wife. His whole
ambition was to make money and to pull wires that
made the politicians jump. Oh, I knew John Ford-
man.' She stopped and smiled maliciously in the


232
MURDER IN TEXAS
direction of the county attorney. 'I know a few things
about you, Judge,' she said.
The man cleared his throat several times and mut-
tered weakly: 'My dear lady. Look here, Fields. You
don't believe all this, do you? John Fordman was our
most respected citizen. He couldn't have...' His voice
trailed off.
Fields grinned at the Judge and motioned to Mrs.
Jones. 'Go on,' he said.
'Well, I wrote back and said I'd help with the book,'
she continued. 'The second note was a lot like the
first, but it was written on a different typewriter.'
She looked shrewdly at the detective.
'How'd you know?' he prompted obligingly.
'Well, the first one was big type like an office ma-
chine and the second was small type like on a Corona
portable. It looked just like the type on my own
machine.'
'Good,' commented Fields.
'Anyway,' continued the woman, 'the second note
said, "I think you've changed your mind, haven't
you? Well, get your stuff together and answer these
questions." There was a long list of them and some
about trips that John and I had taken together. I
answered them and the next letter had five hundred
dollars in it in hundred-dollar bills — old ones.'
'Did you try to find out who was promoting this
business?' asked Fields.
'Well, I wondered,' admitted the woman, 'but how
could I find out? There wasn't any Louie's Tire Com-
pany or garage in the 'phone book. After I wrote my
letter acknowledging the receipt of the money, I went
to the post-office and located the box by its number.


234
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Yeah,' agreed the woman listlessly.
'And you returned every letter?'
She nodded.
'Too bad.' Fields turned to Millbank. 'Have one
of your men get onto this right away, sir. Get them to
check the post-office files and find out how payment,
application, and so forth were made. If there are any
handwriting samples, they'll be invaluable.'
The county attorney made a notation of the re-
quest and hurried out, glancing back at Agnes Jones as
if she were a new and horrible species of rattlesnake.
The woman lighted a cigarette and grinned sug-
gestively at Fields.


MURDER IN TEXAS
237
'What are you going to do this afternoon?'
'Have a few more interviews to finish...' He broke
off as the sheriff thrust his head in and called:
'Say, Stephens and that feller Goetz has come, Mr.
Fields.'
Joan returned to her post and Stephens was ushered
in first. He was a tall, rawboned farmer with a lined,
unhappy face. Hooking a thumb under his overall
bib he stood and stared at Fields.
'Have you seen Mr. Drexell lately?' asked the
detective.
'Yep,' was the reply.
'When?'
'He come out to see me yest'day.'
'What for?'
'T' git a watermelon an' some fryin' chickens.'
Fields looked puzzled. 'You live north of town,
don't you?'
'Yep.'
'Does Mr. Drexell come to see you often?'
'Nope.'
'Did he ever buy any chickens from you before?'
'Yes. Him an' Miss Fordman come onct an'
bought some.'
'Recently?'
'Not so recent.'
'What time was he there?'
''Long after dinner.'
'D'you mean about seven o'clock?'
'Hell, naw. We eat dinner about eleven-thirty.'
'Did Mr. Drexell speak of the happenings here in
town?'
'Ef'n you mean these here murders, he shore did.


238 MURDER IN TEXAS
We talked about 'em fer nigh onto half an hour. He
said he'd jist come f'm th' inquest. I was int'rested
becuz I was out to th' held th' day Mr. Fordman
was shot.'
'Did Mr. Drexell remind you of the fact that he
talked with you that day?'
'I didn't need no reminder.'
'Then he did speak of it?'
'Yeah. He told me when it was. I'd forgot th'
time.'
'When did he say it was, Stephens?'
'Jest after th' well was shot, he said. I rec'lected
it when he mentioned th' fact.'
'Was he standing with you when the nitroglycerine
exploded in th' well?'
'Yep.'
'How long had you been talking?'
'I dunno.'
'Come, now — surely you can say five or ten
minutes, or longer?'
'Say 'bout ten minutes, then.'
'No longer?'
'Well, it might of been.'
'But you wouldn't swear to it?'
'Swear to what?'
'Swear to the fact that Drexell had been with you
at least twenty or thirty minutes before the well was
shot?'
'I'd swear that he was talkin' to me, but I wouldn't
want to go to co't an' swear to th' time.'
'Did Mr. Drexell tell you why he wanted you to
remember that he was talking with you at the field?'
'Yep. He said bein's he was with Mr. Fordman


MURDER IN TEXAS
239
he had to give a alibi as to his whereabouts when th'
shootin' come off. Ain't that so?'
'Yes,'Fields replied. 'That's so.' He took the man
back over his testimony swiftly and then let him go.
Goetz, the caretaker at the Hathaway place, came
in next. He, too, was a weather-beaten man, but
small and stooped. He spoke with a faint accent,
carefully, and was quite intelligent. Telling his story
again, he said that the man had come down the walk
not exactly running, but rather in long hurried strides.
At Fields's insistence, Goetz finally remembered that
the man had worn a dark felt hat.
'Felt,' repeated the detective in surprise. 'On the
Fourth of July?'
Millbank put in: 'People around here wear felts all
year 'round, Mr. Fields. Sort of hang-over from the
days when everyone wore ten-gallon Stetsons. Most
of the boys think straws are sissy. The sheriff, for
instance, wears his Stetson all of the time, though it's
not quite as big as some the old-timers still affect.'
Fields let Goetz go on, and asked the sheriff to
get Joseph Levy for him. He came in to Joan and
said, 'It'll be half an hour before Levy comes, if you
want to do anything else.'
Joan took her car key from Dick and drove down to
the office. The heat had moderated with the approach
of the sand-storm, but the air was heavy and dead.
Small funnel-shaped whorls of dust twisted crazily
about the streets, and these miniature cyclones, swirl-
ing papers, weeds, and dead leaves, dipped from lawn
to roadway, caught at flowers, and twisted the tops
of trees. Joan looked across the north at the reddish
wall of approaching dust. It had grown in height and


MURDER IN TEXAS
dates, personal friends, and employees. We decided
that it could scarcely be an outsider, a stranger in
Fordman. Every act indicated prescience on the
murderer's part, especially in the murder of Ross, and
to some extent in the attack on Mrs. Lawrence. If
our murderer isn't in this list — well, I guess the
Governor's men will have to try.'
'I can't believe that any of those people would kill
anyone,' said Joan. 'I've known most of them so
long.'
Fields was silent for a few minutes as he worked
and then handed her a roughly drawn chart, with
columns for each of the three attacks and names of
all of the suspects listed down the left-hand side of
the page.
Joan studied it for a minute and then said, 'Well,
there's not a person who doesn't have at least one
pretty good alibi for each of the three times, is there?'
'Notice the Joneses, how they alibi each other,'
remarked the man.
'Yes. There are a lot of things to be checked. We
can let the Jones family go for the time being, I
suppose, and Mitch. He's been checked and double-
checked for the third and fourth, anyway.'
'Levy,' said Fields, pointing, 'needs checking in
two instances. He has no absolute alibi for the time
of Fordman's death, but I'll leave that and concentrate
on the last two he gave. Drexell's much-prompted
story told by that fella Stephens sounded awfully
thin and we're checking up on the lunch he was sup-
posed to have had there. He left the airport ahead of
us, I remember; before twelve-twenty, wasn't it?'
'Yes,' agreed the girl.


MURDER IN TEXAS
247
'He said that he was in bed,' answered Fields. 'The
night clerk at the Mesa saw him go up and routed
him out about an hour or two later when White called
to tell him about Mrs. Lawrence. What I want to
know is, why did he go to bed so early?'
'He'd been up all night, for two nights running,
you nit-wit,' said Joan crossly. 'I know just how
he felt.'
Fields tactfully left the subject. 'Day's alibis have
not been broken so far,' he continued. 'The sheriff
is working on them now.' He stopped and put down
the paper.
Jimmie said, 'There's somebody knocking at the
other door.'
It was the sheriff. His heavy face was gloomy and
he sat down on the divan as if he were both tired and
disgusted. He brightened somewhat as Dick began to
explain his alibi chart, and caught its significance at
once.
'Wall, that's real smart,' he said. 'Hit's a darn sight
easier to see 'em all wrote down than it is t' keep 'em
in yore head.'
'Did you check up on Levy?' asked Fields.
'Yep. He was to lodge meetin', all right. Least-
ways they've got him marked present on th' roll.'
'How about Day?'
'Looks like we got to let him out, anyhow. There's
three men ready t' swear that he was in Jack's shop
on Tuesday. An' he was out to th' lease last night.
I 'phoned out there an' got holt of that boy that helps
him. They had a lot of trouble with th' well an' had
t' work almost all night.'
'And Ed Frank?'


248
MURDER IN TEXAS
'Oh, him? He was with me all right on Tuesday,
playin' poker with th' boys. Went out to th' Ross's
place in my car. I'd swear t' that.'
'O.K.,' said Fields. 'It looks like White's in the
clear.'
'Yeah.'
'Then that leaves us Drexell without a good alibi
in any case. And the Jones pair, both could be lying.
They haven't any proof to bolster up their stories at
all. The routine investigations are well under way
now, aren't they?' he asked briskly, opening his
notebook.
'Yeah. Millbank has his men checking bank ac-
counts, withdrawals, an' any rumors they kin scare
up. An' like you said we've sent out inquiries to all
th' photostat places anywhere near.'
'How about the inspectors of the state oil commis-
sion? Have any luck yet finding out if any have re-
signed or been fired within the past few years?'
Read shook his head. 'I wired the Governor last
night to get that information,' he answered. 'We
ain't heard yet.'
The telephone rang suddenly and Fields lifted the
receiver of an instrument that had been installed in
the living-room that morning. He motioned Joan to
the extension in the bedroom. She grabbed her pad
and pencil and was in time to hear the operator
say:
'Ready, New Orleans.'
A heavy voice inquired, 'Fields?'
Dick said, 'Yes,' and the man in New Orleans began
to talk.
'This is Malloy of the Southern Agency. Got your


MURDER IN TEXAS
249
wire last night. You wanted to know if we'd had
anybody tailing a bird named Fordman?'
'Yes,' came Dick's voice.
'Well, we went back several years like you suggested
and found this in the files. I guess it's what you want.
I'm gonna read. Ready?'
'O.K.,' said Fields.
'It's a letter dated June 21, four years ago last
month, an' says:
Southern Agency
2132 Canal
New Orleans, La.
Dear Sirs,
Enclosed find $200 as a retainer.
Within a day or so a man named John Fordman, of
Fordman, Texas, will arrive in New Orleans. He will un-
doubtedly stay at the best hotel. He is about thirty-seven
or thirty-eight years old, big, good-looking, blond.
Shortly after his arrival I have reason to believe that a
woman will join him. She is handsome, red-headed.
Please put a man on these two and find out what you
can as to their relations. I will pay another $200 for a
snapshot of the two together or for any photostatic record
that can be used in a court of law.
The woman is my wife and I need proof of misconduct
to obtain a divorce.
Yours truly
Louis Bell
Box 2162
Fordman, Texas
Malloy paused and Fields spoke: 'That's it. That's
just what we want. Did you people take the case?'
'Yeah,' said Mr. Malloy. 'It all turned out as this
bird said it would and our operative got a swell snap-


MURDER IN TEXAS
251
ing to the others he cried: 'Mrs. Lawrence is conscious
and the doctor says that I can talk with her for a few
minutes. She's been asking for me.'
Sheriff Read sighed gustily. 'Well, that's somethin'
t' be thankful for, ain't it?' he asked the room in
general.
Fields arranged with the officer to stay and answer
any calls that might come for him, and he and Joan,
with Jimmie at their heels, set out for the Fordmans'.
The sunshine had a peculiar flat quality and the
cool air smelled of rain and dust. Joan looked across
to the north and noted that the approaching sand-
storm was much nearer.
'It won't be long now,' she said as they climbed
into the roadster. They didn't talk during the drive.
Fields was slumped down into his corner, hands in
pockets, his face moody, his red hair blown into a
tangled mass.
Joan noticed that people were putting cars away,
taking potted plants into the houses, and the few
pedestrians who trotted homeward were clinging tightly
to their hats and bundles as the first quick gusts of
wind darted around corners and across the streets.
As they topped the hill on which the Fordman house
stood, the sun, like a gigantic orange, began to slip
quickly down behind the black horizon. Before they
had got out of the car, a quarter of it was gone and the
little floating fleecy clouds above it began to look as
if each had been dipped in blood.
Inside they found Marion and Doctor Ross waiting
for them, and shortly Joan and Dick stood beside
Mrs. Lawrence. She lay very still and looked utterly
spent and weary. Her head was bandaged and there


252
MURDER IN TEXAS
were great blue concussion circles under her closed
eyes.
When Dick spoke to her, she looked up at him and
smiled. Her voice, still cool and even more remote
than ever, came faintly.
'Was the letter gone?' she asked.
'No,' answered the detective, 'I found it under the
seat.'
Her eyes widened a little in surprise. 'Did it help
you?' she asked.
'A little,' admitted the man. 'Do you know to
whom Fordman referred?'
She closed her eyes and moved her head slightly
in negation. 'He didn't know who the blackmailer
was himself,' she said, 'when he talked with me.'
'And you have no idea who struck you?' asked the
detective hopefully.
She moved her head again. 'I was opening the gate
when I heard a movement and then felt the blow.'
Her voice was weaker now, and Fields reluctantly
signed to Joan that he was through. Doctor Ross
came in and before they had left the room Mrs.
Lawrence was sleeping.
They went into the living-room where Marion was
waiting and the doctor soon followed. He was tired
and haggard, but cheerful.
'She'll be all right now,' he assured them. 'I didn't
like to submit her to the strain of questioning, but she
was worried more about not seeing you,' he told Fields.
'She didn't know a thing,' declared the latter rue-
fully. 'Just socko from behind — then black-out.'
The physician shook his head. 'I can't understand
it,' he said.


MURDER IN TEXAS
253
Fields turned to Marion and asked, 'Where is that
secretary, Miss Fordman? I'd like to see him.'
'He's been here all day,' answered the girl, 'but he
went to dinner at six. We are going through all of
Dad's papers and trying to get things straightened
out.' Marion looked rested and cool in a white linen
dress, but Joan could see that she was more nervous
than she had been the night before. There was an
unhappy shadow in her blue eyes and Joan was not
surprised when she beckoned her away from the men
and took her out into the empty hallway.
'Listen, Joan,' she said. 'I sat with Glieth this
afternoon while the nurse was getting some sleep and
she talked — talked about Gere.'
Joan said nothing, but her heart contracted. The
girl continued:
'She knows him, Joan. She's known him for a long
time, I believe.'
'Why do you think that?' asked Joan.
'She called him. She said: "I know. I know how
you feel. I've loved you for years, Gere."' The girl re-
peated the woman's words quietly and looked at her
friend.
Joan swallowed with difficulty and changed the sub-
ject slightly. 'How did you meet her, Marion?' she
asked.
t 'That was rather odd, now that I think of it,'
answered the girl. 'I had just got back from France
and was staying at the St. Moritz, buying clothes and
just seeing things. It was late in August, you know,
and I'd decided to get an apartment in New York and
go to Columbia for the winter. Dad didn't like the
idea and came up to try and persuade me to come down


254
MURDER IN TEXAS
here and spend the winter. One day I was waiting for
him in the lobby when Glieth came up to me. She
said, "You're Marion Fordman, aren't you?" and I
said yes, of course. She looked perfection itself and I
remembered having seen her in the hotel before. Then
she said, "I'm Glieth Lawrence of Houston. Some
friends of mine at home wrote and told me that you
were here at the St. Moritz and since we are fellow
Texans I just couldn't resist introducing myself."'
Marion smiled at Joan and continued:' I liked her at
once and was glad to have someone to dash about with.
Dad was busy most of the day and Glieth and I had
a marvelous time. Dad just went goofy over her, and
I thought that it was sort of funny at first, but after a
while I thought that it was swell. She didn't encourage
him, but she was so sweet and kind that he was com-
pletely in love with her before he left. I stayed, after
all, you know, and Glieth didn't go home for a month
or so. After she did go, Dad wrote that he'd been to
Houston several times to see her and hinted that they
were going to be married. I didn't write to Glieth
about it, because she hadn't mentioned it in her
letters.'
'Then you didn't know for sure when you came home
this summer whether they would be married or not?'
asked Joan.
'No, I didn't,' answered the girl. 'But I believe now
that Glieth wasn't going to marry him and just hated
to tell him. It would have hurt him badly.'
'Do you think that she is in love with Gere?' in-
sisted Joan.
Marion smiled a little. 'I've made an idiot of my-
self over him this summer,' she admitted. 'I know


MURDER IN TEXAS
255
darn well that he's just been sweet and polite with me,
and if he loves Glieth I think he's got good taste.'
Joan was relieved. 'It'll all come out in the wash,'
she said flippantly, and at that moment the telephone
rang.
Marion said, 'Please answer it, Joan. It's probably
a reporter.'
But it was the sheriff, his voice harsh with excite-
ment.
'Miss Joan,' he cried, as he recognized her voice,
'something else has happened. You listen and then
tell Fields to meet me right away.' He calmed his
voice. 'A minute ago one of the telephone girls called
and said that a light on her board begun to flash on an'
off as if someone was a-jigglin' th' hook. She was busy
an' didn't answer right away. When she plugged in,
she said all she heard was a loud yell an' a thump, like
somebody'd dropped the 'phone. She didn't know if
it was a man or a woman, but it scared her so she re-
ported it right away.'
The officer paused to get his breath, and Joan
asked:
'But where was it, Sheriff?'
'It was out to Chick Jones's house. You tell Fields t'
git there right off and I'll come fast as I kin git my car.'
He hung up, and Joan ran across the hall to find Dick.
The doctor and Marion had returned to Mrs. Law-
rence's room and Fields was smoking a cigarette and
staring out a west window at the brilliant after-
glow.
He listened to the short message and grabbed her
roughly by the'arm. 'The damned fool!'he said. 'It
was that bridge clipping. She knew where it came


MURDER IN TEXAS
263
and his bunch drove up just as I got you in the
house.'
Joan said, 'It seems like an age.'
The doctor stood up. 'You pretty near got him this
time, Fields,' he commented.
'Got him!' repeated the man bitterly. 'He got me.
I walked right into a trap, Joan,' he explained. 'The
front door was open and I came in. He slugged me, and
the next thing I knew there I was trussed up like a
turkey, behind a bed. Helluva detective,' he added.
Joan sat up suddenly and exclaimed: 'Jimmie!
Where is Jimmie? He was in the rumble seat!'
Dick stared at her, horror in his eyes. 'My God!' he
cried. 'I forgot about the boy.'
The doctor exclaimed involuntarily. 'Surely,' he
said, 'the boy couldn't have been in the car or they'd
have seen him and not tried to take it. Maybe he got
out after you did, Joan.'
'No,' stated the girl positively. 'I told him to stay
and direct the sheriff. The last I saw of him he was
crouching down in the rumble seat to avoid the sand.
With his head down and in the darkness and the
storm, I don't believe anyone would have seen him.'
Her voice broke as she realized that the boy's predica-
ment was of her own making.
The doctor regarded her kindly and attempted to
reassure. 'Don't worry, Joan,' he advised. 'The posse
is out now and they'll catch him soon. Read got a report
that the car had been seen on the South Highway.'
'Leaving town?' asked the girl.
'Heading toward Mexico, I expect,' affirmed the de-
tective. He stood up and stated: 'I must get on the
'phone and warn all of the towns below here.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
265
'Well, I'm going too,' she repeated, walking
cautiously about the room and locating her injuries.
Fields and the doctor protested, but she had her way
and the three of them went out and got into the doc-
tor's car. The sand-storm had blown over and it was
raining large warm drops that hit the ground heavily.
Doctor Ross let them out at the newspaper office and
with difficulty they got through the large crowd of
townspeople and reporters jammed about the glass
front of the building.
White opened the wicket to the office section and
they helped Joan to a chair.
'Any news?' she asked Mitch.
'Not yet,' was his reply. He and Dick retired to the
A. P. printers and stood watching them. The noise
was almost deafening as members of the crowd outside
shouted to one another and to Fields and White.
Joan realized that several deputy policemen were
keeping the reporters back and she recognized the
Dallas News man as he struggled to gain her attention.
She smiled at him and waved a limp hand.
Dick climbed upon a chair and motioned for silence.
'Please,' he began, 'be a little quiet. Miss Shields
has had a very harrowing experience and cannot
answer questions at present. You know as much as she
does, for she has been unconscious since she fell from
the running-board of her car.
'The only thing that I can add for publication is that
Miss Shields's brother, who was in the rumble seat of
the roadster as it stood before the house, has dis-
appeared and we are afraid that he has been kidnaped
by the fugitive.'
The noise burst forth afresh at this information and


266
MURDER IN TEXAS
Fields was forced to amplify his statement and give the
story in detail.
He finally came over with Mitch and sat down be-
side Joan who inquired, 'Where's Ed?'
The reporter laughed shortly. 'Hell,' he com-
plained, 'he's in on th' fun. He's with th' posse and
here I am tryin't' get out a paper single-handed.'
Fields asked sharply, 'How do you know Frank is
with the posse, White?'
'He called in a few minutes ago and said he was
goin'.'
'Where'd he call from?'
'He was at Sam's place, a speakeasy out south of the
town. He said a car was waiting for him.'
Fields took up the telephone on the desk asking,
'What's Sam's number?'
Mitch referred to a card thumb-tacked to the wall
over his desk and soon gave the detective the number.
Fields got the operator and Joan moved to her own
desk to listen over the extension. The speakeasy pro-
prietor at the other end of the wire soon confirmed
White's statement.
'Yes, sir,' he said positively, 'Mr. Frank was in here
'bout twenty minutes or so ago. He told me he was
with a posse.
'What'd 'e do? He 'phoned his paper. Yeah, I
heard 'im. He come back to my office instead of usin'
th' public 'phone. Yeah, there was a lot of customers
here. Leave? Yeah, I heard 'im leave. He went off
south.'
Dick grunted and hung up. 'That checks, anyway,'
he said.
Joan laughed. 'You will suspect Ed, won't you?'


MURDER IN TEXAS
267
'I suspect everybody, even myself,' retorted the man.
'What do you suspect yourself of?'
'Idiocy.'
There was a shout from the group in the corner by
the A. P. printers. Mitch ran over to them with a slip
of paper and Joan read the printed words;
a62i fordman
editor's note: word has been received from
correspondent in rocktown that a large
packard roadster, believed to be driven by
the fugitive wanted for murder in fordman,
raced through there at 8.06 p.m. headed
toward del rio.
rocktown officials had not at that time
received warning account damaged wires
north of town, therefore no attempt was
made to stop the car.
Farther down on the slip was another message:
FORDMAN PLEASE COMMUNICATE ANY FURTHER
DEVELOPMENTS. PAPERS HERE WAITING.
SIGNED KEANE
This was from the home office of the A.P. in Dallas
and meant that they were waiting for word from Mitch
or from their special correspondent. The latter, some-
body volunteered, had struck out south after the
sheriff when it was learned that a posse had left.
Mitch said, 'Hell, I can't spend all my time wirin'
th' A.P. We gotta paper here too.' He ran his hand
through his hair and dashed for a typewriter.
Dick got up and read the message to the reporters,
who received it with disgust.
The Dallas News man remarked, 'We might as well


268
MURDER IN TEXAS
be home. They know more'n we do.' He began to
harangue Dick, who shook his head and returned to
Joan's side.
To her he said:'I can't give this stuff out yet. Mill-
bank's officially in charge. Let him issue statements.'
Two men came through the back-shop door. One
was Joan's father and the other was Doctor Ross.
The girl remembered her mother when she saw Mr.
Shields's anxious face.
'Does Mom know?' she asked.
'About you?'
'About Jimmie.'
'She doesn't know anything yet, sister,' assured her
father. 'Are you all right? Ross came up and told me.'
'I'm all right,' she answered impatiently, 'but I'm
worried sick about Jimmie. And it was my fault.'
'I should think he'd have popped up yelling,' re-
marked the doctor. 'How would he know that the fel-
low in the car was friend or enemy?'
There were no answers for that and they all sat in si-
lence several minutes. Fields had retired to the glassed
booth at the back of the room and Joan could see his
mouth move as he talked. Soon he emerged and
beckoned.
'Millbank's heard from Read,' he told her. 'They
reached the county line without any luck and are com-
ing back.'
The man looked thoughtful. 'I'm worried about
that fool Jones woman,' he admitted. 'Something
happened out there. I couldn't find any evidence of
violence, but I think that she got it in the neck. I've a
feeling.'
'I hope not,' said the girl. 'Too much has happened
now.'


MURDER IN TEXAS
271
'That brings us to Mr. Ross,' prompted Joan.
'Yes, Ross,' agreed the man. 'Fordman's letter
clears our motive for that too. I thought the man was
killed because he knew something, but I believe now
that he was killed so that the blackmailer could retrieve
his papers and forestall any discovery that might ex-
pose him. If that document had got into the hands of
any detective, even the dullest one could have traced
it to its source.'
'How?' asked Joan.
'Paper, typing, contents, style of writing, and
finger-prints,' stated the man rapidly. 'Any paper
worked over as much as that must have been would
carry a million prints. He's bound to have handled the
snapshots and the photostats and they hold prints
nicely. Osmic acid vapor or iodine vapor will develop
prints on paper even after they are months old. Swan
ink will develop prints three years old. This is common
knowledge now.'
'But how would he know that Ross had the stuff,
and where?' asked Joan.
'That I can't say,' admitted the man. 'Likely Ford-
man told him. But however he knew, the fact remains
that he did and that Ross had to go. He waited for the
banker, killed him, took his keys and, entering the
bank, probably that same night, cleaned out the Ford-
man file. We found Ross's keys on his desk and I
thought of it at the time, but it fits in nicely now. It
was safer to leave the keys than to keep them and risk
having them found.'
'It sounds very reasonable,' commented Joan. 'And,
too, the attack on Mrs. Lawrence fits in nicely. When
he knew that she had a letter written by Ford man,


MURDER IN TEXAS
277
WATTS DECLARED THAT THE LICENSE NUMBER
CORRESPONDED WITH THAT SENT OUT BY FORDMAN
OFFICIALS, BUT HE WOULD NOT COMMENT ON THE
RUMOR THAT THREE PERSONS HAD BEEN FOUND IN
THE WRECKED CAR, ONE OF THEM A WOMAN.
Immediately following this flash came another one.
ADD A62I FORDMAN
AUSTIN, JULY 6 (A.P.). SCOTT RUE, A SPECTATOR
WHO SAW AND REPORTED THE ACCIDENT THAT
WRECKED THE ROADSTER BELIEVED TO HAVE
BEEN DRIVEN BY THE FORDMAN FUGITIVE, STATED
POSITIVELY TO REPORTERS HERE THAT THREE
PERSONS HAD BEEN TAKEN BY POLICE FROM THE
CAR AND RUSHED TO A HOSPITAL. HE SAID THAT
ONE WAS A WOMAN.
'i WAS WALKING DOWN FEDERAL STREET,' STATED
RUE, 'WHEN I HEARD A CAR COMING BEHIND ME. IT
WAS COMING PRETTY FAST, ABOUT THIRTY OR
FORTY MILES AN HOUR. IT PASSED ME AND BEGAN
TO SLOW DOWN A LITTLE ABOUT A BLOCK AHEAD. I
COULD SEE THE HEADLIGHTS. THEN IT TURNED
SUDDENLY AND RAN UP ON THE SIDEWALK AND HIT A
TREE. THERE WAS AN AWFUL CRASH AND I RAN.
'WHEN I GOT THERE I FOUND A YOUNG KID ON THE
GROUND NEAR THE CAR. HE WAS CUT BUT BREATHING.
IN THE CAR, WHICH HAD TURNED OVER ON ITS RIGHT
SIDE, I FOUND A MAN AND A WOMAN, BOTH UN-
CONSCIOUS. I TRIED TO FIND A 'PHONE, BUT COULD
NOT AND WAS RUNNING FOR A DRUGSTORE DOWN THE
STREET WHEN I MET A POLICEMAN WHO CALLED
THE AMBULANCE.'
The machine was silent.
'Why in hell don't they quit flashing rumors,' said


278
MURDER IN TEXAS
Mitch. 'That police chief won't give out a statement
and the reporters are wild.'
But a fuller story was coming through at that
moment.
A62I FORDMAN
AUSTIN, JULY 6 (A.P.). POLICE HAVE TENTATIVELY
IDENTIFIED ONE MEMBER OF THE GROUP OF THREE
WHICH THEY SAY WERE RIDING IN THE 'GETAWAY
CAR' OF THE FORDMAN FUGITIVE WHICH CRASHED
IN A RESIDENTIAL DISTRICT HERE THIS EVENING.
HE IS SAID TO BE JAMES ESTES SHIELDS, OF FORD-
MAN, HIGH-SCHOOL FOOTBALL STAR OF THAT CITY.
HIS IDENTITY WAS REVEALED AS DOCTORS AND
DETECTIVES OF THE CITY HOSPITAL EXAMINED HIS
CLOTHING AND FOUND NAME TAPES IN HIS SNEAKERS.
ALL THREE VICTIMS OF THE CRASH, ONE A WOMAN,
ARE STILL UNCONSCIOUS, BUT NOT SERIOUSLY
INJURED, ACCORDING TO DOCTORS AT THE CITY
HOSPITAL.
The machine hesitated, returned to starting position,
then tapped out:
NOTICE TO EDITORS: FULL DETAILS FORDMAN
STORY SOON.
After this promise it was still, and the three in the
office sat in anxious silence. Joan called Millbank and
found that he had been in touch with the Austin
officers. They declared that none of the victims of the
accident were badly hurt. Millbank told her that he'd
caught Sheriff Read at Midway and that he and a few
of the posse had started immediately for Austin.
The printers had started another story before she


MURDER IN TEXAS
279
finished talking with Millbank, and Mitch brought it
to her when she hung up. It read:
A62I FORDMAN
AUSTIN, JULY 6 (A.P.). HIS IDENTITY STILL A
MYSTERY TO LOCAL OFFICERS, ONE MEMBER OF
THE ILL-FATED GETAWAY CAR USED BY THE
FUGITIVE WANTED IN FORDMAN WAS TAKEN TO THE
PRISON HOSPITAL HERE TONIGHT.
UNTIL HE CAN BE IDENTIFIED BY PROPER AUTHORI-
TIES HE WILL BE HELD FOR RECKLESS DRIVING IN
CONNECTION WITH THE ACCIDENT IN WHICH TWO
PASSENGERS WERE INJURED. HE IS STILL UN-
CONSCIOUS, ACCORDING TO THE POLICE.
Following this was the message:
FORDMAN PLEASE NOTE I FILE IMMEDIATE STORY ON
JAMES ESTES SHIELDS, MEMBER OF THE ESCAPE
PARTY WRECKED IN AUSTIN. IS HE 'JIMMIE' SHIELDS,
FLASH HALF-BACK CAPTAIN OF THE CHAMPION
PANTHER TEAM? IMPERATIVE THAT WE HAVE
DETAILS AT ONCE. PAPERS WAITING. WHERE IS
HURLEY?
KEANE
Mitch yelped: 'Where is Hurley? Yeah, where is
Hurley! Where is Ed? Where are all those guys? On
the way to Austin. That's where they are.'
'Who is Hurley?' asked Joan.
'Their special correspondent,' explained the re-
porter, sitting down in front of his machine.
Mr. Shields said: 'I know the mayor of Austin. I'm
going to 'phone him to see that Jimmie is properly
taken care of.' He hurried to the booth. Fifteen
minutes later he came out grinning.


MURDER IN TEXAS
283
want to hear it again. Maybe I can pick up a few
pointers.'
'It sure was lucky,' the boy began, 'that you made
me stay in the car. I never woulda got 'im if I hadn't,
and nobody else would have either,' he added seriously.
'Go on,' urged his sister.
'Well, after you got out I laid down on th* seat to
get out of th' wind. It was pitch-dark and noisy as the
devil, what with the wind and sand. I figured you two
would be right back an' I couldn't see anything that
was goin' on, anyway. So I was layin' there listening
for th' sheriff's car when right at my ear I heard a guy
say, "Get in quick!" I'd read about it, but it was th'
first time I really heard a fella, you know, snarl.
'I was pretty near paralyzed an' I couldn't of hol-
lered, anyhow, things happened too fast after that. I
felt the car move and somebody got in and sat down.
Then this guy got in and started the motor, real easy.
But just as he threw her into first, you came bustin' out
like a crazy person, yellin'. I tell you I never was so
scared in my life. I expected him t' shoot you then and
there, but th' car started fast an' I heard a shot from
back of you. It hit th' fender and scared me worse
than ever.'
Fields shook his head. 'I shouldn't have tried that
shot,' he said,'but I thought I'd get the tire. Joan was
lying in the street and I could see her white dress, so
she wasn't in danger.'
'Well, you didn't miss the tire much, nor me either,'
conceded the boy. 'We turned the corner on two
wheels and then, instead of hittin' it outa town like I
expected, he just drove up that alley behind the Jones
place and parked!'


288
MURDER IN TEXAS
later it was a patrolman. I began to get scared again
because I could see he wasn't taking any chances. But
I was gettin' mad, too, bein' cooped up in that place
so long.
'Then we had a flat on a front tire. I was pretty
near crazy for fear he'd look in the back for tools. He
stopped the car and cursed and told Mrs. Jones to get
out. She said she couldn't since he'd tied up her feet,
so he must of untied her, for in a few minutes she got
out. "Don't try anything funny," he told her. She
said she wouldn't and asked if she could sit up on the
back fender. He let her, and then I heard him move the
seat and find the tools.
'Then, while he was workin' on th' tire she got the
rumble seat open. I was more frightened than ever for
fear he'd notice it, but he didn't. He just threw the
tools back in the car, made Mrs. Jones get in, and we
started again. He left the wheel with the flat tire right
there in the road.
m 'Well, we drove for hours, it seemed, switching back
and forth on country roads. From what he'd said to
Mrs. Jones I knew we were headed for Austin. I ex-
pected him to ditch the car somewhere soon after he
got there and beat it. I knew he'd fix Mrs. Jones up
so she couldn't get to the police, so I figured that if I
was goin' to do something, I'd better do it quick.
'I didn't think that I could hit him with the car
stopped, he'd see me or hear me. So I decided to hit
him with the car moving. I got that big flat piece of
spring we use for a tire tool and tried to decide
whether to use the edge or the flat side.
'When we hit Austin, though, we were goin' so fast
that I didn't have a chance. He shot through town and